The first time I went to Aix-en-Provence was the summer when I was 19. My family, minus my older brother, had rented a house right on the outskirts of the city. That sounds sketchy, I know, but all it meant was that we were located up on a hill with a something like a two-mile walk into the heart of Aix, with its plane tree-lines avenues and outdoor cafés. We would wander into the city when we wanted and when we got tired make the somewhat arduous hike back with the knowledge that when we did we could open the wooden shutters of the house to the evening sounds of children and chirping bugs and collapse on the outdoor terrace to a meal of bread (bought on the way home from the boulangerie conveniently located along the way) and ridiculously smelly cheese and wine. Such a cliché...but delicious.
During the two or so weeks that we spent in our hillside house, we got to know Aix fairly well. We found a pizzeria that had capers the size of my fist on their veggie pizzas, and went back there for dinner at least five times. We drank pression pêche after pression pêche, the perfect summer drink which is made by adding peach-flavored syrup to whatever beer is on tap (my French friends in Normandie actually introduced me to that, so it might sound sickeningly sweet but it lives up to French standards, at least). I, for one, got to know the local shopping pretty well.
We also explored outside of the city, taking a day trip to Arles and taking a bus tour through the Luberon valley, known for its idyllic hilltop villages, vineyards, lavender fields, and Peter Mayle. No one likes blatantly standing out as a tourist — an impostor —but, admittedly, there are times where you have to just suck it up and get on the damn bus (put on the damn headphones, follow the damn umbrella, etc). Such was the situation with the bus tour through the Luberon, which turned out to be amazing. I felt like we were inside a Provence calendar, and each page that was turned just had another, even more breathtaking scene. I'd seen photos of Provence before — every good Francophile has spent hours gazing at them longingly — but I still didn't believe that a place could be so incredibly gorgeous. I'm glad I was wrong.
It also helped that our tour guide was the epitome of the handsome, charming young Frenchman (he wasn't wearing a scarf, alas, but it was summer so I shall forgive him). His name was Thibaut, and he had an adorable accent, swishy hair, and effortless, casual style. He probably would have been smoking a cigarette if it weren't for the fact that he had to make a good impression on the Americans he was leading around.
At one point on the tour, he was describing the cherries that you could find in Provence. They were in season and apparently there was an exceptionally tasty batch that year. Thibaut delicately pursed his lips and closed his eyes so as to imagine the sheer cherrygasm that was eating une cerise provencale. "Zey are so sweet," he sighed, opening his eyes and gesturing vaguely. "So....guuuuuuud.
Naturally, this became the catchphrase for the rest of the trip.
Images of the late-afternoon sun shining off Thibaut's naturally highlighted chestnut locks have since faded from my mind, but the one of Aix and of all of Provence have stuck. And lucky me...one week from Friday, I get to go back to that very same city and be a part of the local scene for four months with the American University Center of Provence. I'll be studying language and literature and culture and I'm even taking a drawing class, which means I get to go out into the countryside and sketch my little heart out à la Cézanne, the most well-known (former) artist-in-residence. We have language partners, French university students, with whom we meet up twice a week for an hour of English conversation and an hour of French. We do a few hours of community service every week, and we choose a club or organization of Aix that we would like to join. Essentially, AUCP is not Little America. I'll be there with other Americans, but it's a linguistically-based program, and they don't want you hopping on a train every weekend and going off to explore the rest of Europe — they want you to know Aix and be a part of it.
This has its pros and cons, naturally, and we'll see how it goes. I, however, am sure it will be sweeter than a cherry and guuuuuuuud-er than the peachiest of pressions.
