ILLUMINATING THE GLIMPSE - 17 October 2011
17th October, 2011
I've spent the last few days reading everything I've written since we first came to Provence on March 11th and it's interesting to discover the recurring themes.
One of them is the sensation of glimpsing, and I think about how this ties in with another theme, which is the nature of the light.
Let's take the "glimpse" first because it is essential to seeing on a deeper level. To me, a glimpse is a small shaft of seeing. By small I really mean narrow, because really a glimpse is both narrow and deep: narrow in that is not a panoramic vision; deep because one espies, for a brief moment, the heart of something and based on that brief moment of seeing one decides whether or not one wants to see more. There is also an element of surprise to the glimpse.
In the early weeks of being here, back in March and April, we had many glimpses into Provence and they were all surprising: the way a gorge suddenly rises out of a valley, the way the sea suddenly sparkles in the the far distance, the way one suddenly catches a glimpse of something ancient in the midst of urban sprawl.
Take yesterday, for instance. After stopping in L isle-sur la-Sorgue for a quick perusal of its renowned antique market, plus a couple of scoops of the famous Isabella's ice-cream, we looked at the map to see which nearby towns we haven't yet visited and which might interest. We chose 2. The first didn't call to us so we drove on to St.Didier. On approach it seemed that it, too, might disappoint, but as we have learned over and over here, sometimes you have to persevere. In other words, there is a difference between a cursorary glance and a glimpse. The former is something you cast, the latter is something you reap.
Our first glimpse of St. Didier was one of those outdoor cafes you've seen in a thousand French films. The clientele were straight out of casting; mainly older, local men sitting around arguing. Then we glimpsed another outdoor cafe that was also very French but of a different clientele - the sort of solitaries who like to enjoy a glass of wine or a cafe while reading. It was the end of the lunch hour, but we could see in the garden of another restaurant yet another French film scene. This one perhaps a little bourgeois; the remains of a 3 course lunch, the wine glasses and cloth napkins.
You could say that these 3 cafes provided 3 different glimpses into French life and what these glimpses added up to was the recognition that we had stumbled on a real French country village, complete with all walks of life, and it made us want to look further.
We parked and began our amble, turning down a couple of Impasses that beckoned, poking our noses over garden fences and into courtyards.
During the one and half hours we spent there we didn't see one tourist. We did see a large boules court and a community center. We passed, although closed for Sunday, all the amenities necessary for a simple life: charcuterie, boulangerie, patisserie, a tiny supermarket, a florist, hairdresser, the post office and the aforementioned cafes. We passed a small public garden. We saw a man barefoot in his garden lounger reading, a boy playing in a tree, a young couple cleaning their backyard. All glimpses, all adding up to a larger picture that told us a simple way of life can still be lived.
On the way back to the car we passed the 2nd cafe and glimpsed a long zinc bar and beyond it a garden with tables. It called to us. On the small terrace above the garden we met Olivia, who spoke good English. We told her what we are doing in Provence and what appealed to us about this town. Yes, she said, it's real here. Originally from Paris, she spent some time in Florida where her father, a Frenchman, has lived for years. She couldn't understand why he chose to live there. She felt he had chosen a superficial life and demonstrating, walked over to a small piece of wood propped agains the wall. Ok, she said, I see it has a front. Then she took a step to the side. Ah, yes, she said, and it has sides. Then she pulled it slightly away from the wall. Oh, but there is nothing behind it, like Florida, she said.
She takes us inside to the zinc bar, perhaps 24' long, immaculate, old, proudly trucked down from a bar in Paris, by her mother. The real thing, she says as she pulls 2 lemonades on tap for us.
We exchange emails and hope to return for a meal. Then having glimpsed the real thing, decide to head home. Pulling out of the town we see we are immediately deep in the country. Just like that. The village ends, the valley begins. And just as suddenly the valley ends and we are in one of the most spectacular gorges we have yet seen.
And just as suddenly the gorge ends and we are in another village. And the so the afternoon goes: villages, fields, valleys, gorges, villages, fields. It is as if the landscape of Provence is the terrain of the glimpse.
And then, as I said some paragraphs ago, there is the light, which in this season is scintillating. It wasn't until the end of our first trip here in the spring that we came to understand the quality of the light. I described it then as similar to an epee, the French sword with the long, glancing blade. It is a light which is perfect for glimpsing in that it is swift and piercing and goes to the heart of everything and once there illuminates everything from within.
In Tuscany we experience the light as all-encompassing; a warm embrace that seems to gather us into the center of everything. Here, in Provence, the light individuates everything up close, while in the far distance the light dissolves into mist, keeping the world at a remove.