The last week here is always a mix of emotions. There is stress. There is profound sadness. But there is also joy.
On the way up to Suzette.
The stress, of course, is all related to travel. Travel has always been nerve-wracking, but toss in the added nightmare of Covid and all the hoops one must go through to get back to Canada, now it’s a general high-blood-pressure-inducing experience. I have a few extra steps than most people with having to drop off my bike, my car, and flights always leave way too early from Marseille for me to do that on the same day, so I need a hotel too. Then there is always the fear of what state the airport will be in. When Jason left, his flight was extremely early in the morning, and we foolishly thought the airport would be a ghost town. It was quite the opposite: Jason finally checked his bag a mere five minutes before the flight was to leave. I’ve never seen such chaos. Learning from that experience I thought I better leave plenty of time to check-in. Alas, arriving two hours before my flight, there was no one. I went through check-in, the health checks, and security within 10 minutes, with hours to spend in a funny little terminal with nothing to do. It’s always a gamble.
From the other side of the Gorges de la Nesque looking toward Sault.
The heartbreaking sadness arrives on schedule about two weeks before my departure. Every year I can’t believe how fast the time has gone. My sister said recently time is behaving so strange, either passing as slow as molasses or gone in a blink. Nothing in between, and I would agree. Once the days start getting darker, the time seems endless, like we’ll never get the other side of winter. But when I am in Provence, and I feel alive, happy, and healthy—a full calendar season—three months pass like I wasn’t there at all. With every bike ride, every sunrise and sunset, every beautiful thing, I breathe in deeply and try to hold on to it, while my heart is breaking at the idea of leaving. While I’ve been trying to slowly work up to never having to leave, these things are complicated and don’t happen fast. So the heartbreak continues.
Autumn colours starting in the Ventoux.
Then finally, there is joy. It’s impossible to be surrounded by such natural beauty and not have joy. Everywhere you look, it’s green, alive, dotted with charming villages, and very quiet. I found out recently Mont Ventoux and the area around it is classified as a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. These designated reserves are learning places for sustainable development. No wonder it feels so special because it is. Even though it’s getting cooler, the days shorter, the sky is still stunningly blue, and the places to cycle are endless. I take every moment to take in the sights and sounds and feel how relaxed and happy my body and mind are. It’s a healing place that gives me so much fulfillment, and all of it is free. I am so lucky to have been here as much as I have, and I never take it for granted.
As every passing year goes by, I realize the uncertainty of life and know it’s not a given I will be back. I just put my plans in place and hope the universe also believes I belong here, so it will keep allowing me to come back. A la prochaine ma belle Provence.
