Time of Your Life

Today marked the first of what I am certain will be numerous official and non-official "lasts". My Monday class at Collège Campra will be in London (or Brighton) next week, so I won't have them again. I foresee some of these lasts being welcome changes - the last time I have to carry my laundry 100 yards across town to use costly washing machines that may or may not get my clothes sufficiently clean; the last time I have to shower in the three square foot shower with a head that shoots straight across at the wall on the other side, making it difficult to actually wash oneself with two hands; the last time I have to visit friends with a very strong ulterior motive of using their unrestricted internet; the last time I have to worry about an unpredictable but powerful upstairs neighbor threatening to kick me out of my on-campus housing. But, as is often the case, change brings loss, and a lot of these lasts will accompany very strong emotions - the last time my friends can roll their eyes at me for choosing to come home and skype with my boyfriend instead of going out on the town; the last time we get to pack 20 people into a 16m^2 apartment that used to be a restaurant; the last day trip with great friends. The lists could both go on forever.

In the 1990s, Greenday released a song called "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)." When I think of the phrase "Good Riddance," I tend to associate it with being pleased that someone is gone, but as I was wandering home from my (last Monday) class (ever) this morning, the idea that it might also be able to mean, in a completely non-sarcastic sense, "being pleasantly finished with and or leaving something enjoyable." And if that is a possible meaning, then I definitely think it is appropriate to apply to this experience. Moreso, two sets of song lyrics always pop into my head at apparent endings: "It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right." and "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." The former is strongly apparent in my assistantship, and the latter seems to be emerging as I make plans to return to the States.

I've been having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that the plans for this jaunt abroad started well over a year ago. It is equally difficult to believe that I've already been here for six whole months and considerably harder to believe that I will leave this place as my "permanent" residence in (now less than) two weeks.

The French say "doux-amer" to mean "bittersweet," and that's a very concise explanation of this leaving. There is sweetness in the idea that I will be close to people I love dearly upon my return; it has been hard staying in touch with friends and family with a 7-hour time zone difference that puts them out of work at midnight. However, as we near the end of our "stage" in Aix, dear friends here begin to scatter across the globe. There will be a day when it will be necessary to visit each one in Egypt, Russia, Italy, Argentina, Canada, England, and many different cities across the US. Or perhaps we could just reconvene on Aix once every few years, buy a house, visit, and enjoy Provence some more.

This past weekend was enjoyable. Katy, an assistant friend from Apt (a good bit north of Aix), came down, and on Saturday she and I went to Arles, the Camargues (a swampy area famous for wild horses [that couldn't drag me away], flamingos, and bullfights. Of these, we saw flamingos), and St. Marie de la Mer (the town in which the three Mary's are believed to have landed after the death of Jesus). Sunday, we had a picnic, saw a carnival (we dress in costume for Halloween and have parades for Mardi Gras; the French dress in costume and have parades for... April 3rd?), made breakfast-for-dinner, and watched The Breakfast Club. It was a good weekend.

My favorite photo from the weekend is this one of Katy on the rocks at the beach at St. Marie.