Anna Sofia let me borrow a pen...
What a roller coaster ride today has been. Sleeping in because I was afraid to get up. Finally up because they came to clean the room at 11:30. Not out until 1pm. Wasted the morning. Then to wander and see the Palais - that is why you're here, oui? Oui. Walk into the gift shop - which is of course the end of the tour - quell the urge to go to the boutillerie (wine bar - i learned the essentials kids) because I've already missed too much. Make my way around to the front of the Palais and stumble upon the garden which are breathtaking...with views that are breathtaking! the Rhone - the countryside - the rooftops - the trees - the land - the Alps in the distance...I think they're the Alps. I wish Kate was here. She would know.
The Palais seems like too much and Kate loved the bridge so I keep moving and finally walk to Port Avignon and buy a ticket before I can think too much about being alone. They ask where I'm from. I panic - I imagine they are going to point and laugh when they here me speak - then gather my senses and deduce they are keeping tabs on visitors for marketing purposes so I proudly (read: shyly and quietly) say America so that she can check the little box - but non - she gives me a free audio guide. Free, people, FREE. That shit costs you in America and I rarely have the money for admission, much less the guided tour, but this was the jackpot! I learned all about that damn bridge - St. Benedictine - how he was crazy and "touched" by God. Lifting the rock when the King laughed and challenged him to lay the first stone. Onlookers said, "Angels bathed the stone in a golden heavenly light." that allowed him to lift the rock and therefore he was sent by God and the bridge was built - it all happened because it was all a sign from God. Then learned how it was later attacked, reassembled, rededicated, crumbling and finally restored, but never resucitated - it stands, half of what it was and if I had any talent for sketching I would have filled the pages of my notebook pages with drawings of the sun burning a hole in the clouds streaming light on the Rhone and blinding me in its reflection - a sign from God, surely.
Newly invigorated I ran to the Palais de Papes - confidently I went in and said Bon Jour! to the front desk clerk who responded with many words I did not even vaguely recognize - but all the while pointing into the next room which allowed me to smile brightly and respond, "Ah! Merci!" Then in the room where I am obviously given the audio guide, I step to the woman behind the desk and say, bon jour...ah...A-mer-i-kan? We both have a long good laugh (hers is a little more extended than mine) She says, "Only English, OK. Merci." Merci. Halfway through the tour I get lost and confused along with this lovely pair of older French couples. In an effort to put me back in the right direction, they try to speak to me which causes my face to squinch and beg - Non...par...pas..Francais? Francois? "Ah..." they reply with only a slight tsk tsk and a head shake. We follow one another till the end with lots of smiles, pointing, shrugging and finally a valiant "Au voir!"
Totally empowered at this point. Armed with my newfound culture, I visit a nearby boulangerie. Bravely order pain au chocolat. Move on and find an internet cafe that is world's cheaper than the 1 portal in the hostel. Stay for 2 hours corresponding, bragging to everyone how wonderful it is, blogging of my newly found magnificence and cracking only when I begin to write to Matthew. My confidant. I tell him the truth - that all I have had today is that pain au chocolat and a bottle of water from the vending machine because I hate doing things I'm not good at immediately and speaking French and looking like a fool falls into that category. That I would gladly have eaten entire meals from the vending machines, but I didn't have correct change and getting that would require some interaction. I sulk a little, sink a little, then suck it up, and go out to find a place to eat...
hmmm...too empty...too clubby...too stuffy...too specialzed...where am I? Is this safe? This isn't even on the map...is that the city wall? Have I been walking the wrong way all this time? Turn around. Yes you just saw me...yes I just passed you a moment ago...Quaint and cute in the light of day turns dark and claustrophobic at night for this Ameri-kan - ok, enough exploring on my own, now to consult the Lonely Planet. Maison Nani - which I saw last night, but was closed and Tapalocas which is considered "Cheap but fun." I turn a corner out of sheer luck and stumble upon Tapalocas. People are everywhere, pouring out of the place. I panic like I'm suddenly on a bad NYblock, keep my head down and keep walking. Someone yells something out to me and I don't respond in true NY fashion. Continue in search of super cute and quieter Maison Nani. Still closed. Damn. Muster up my courage and go back to Tapalocas. Walk in. Look around. Effectively engage no one. Finally shout, Bon Soir! to a waiter and point to the upstairs where I could have a bird's eye view of the bustling bar from a safe distance. "No - it's full, do you want to eat?" Disappointed and relieved that I don't have to speak French, he directs me to the one small table in the back. All others are family sized. With head down I order "House Red" and turn to look at the menu written on a chalk/sandwich board...strangely enough, it's all in French...fuck...why didn't I learn French?...with several days between Ori's lesson at the market and this menu, I'm completely stumped..."uh...I don't knoooow yet." He leaves, I feverishly try to decipher the words and by the time I recognize Moules (mussels! I know how to read mussels in French!) on the large board he has returned. So I pick that and foie? (Oh, good, yes, like foie gras) Brochettes of foie and...coeur? which milliseconds later I realize are cubes of liver and heart - not the succulent duck (canard) that i was anticipating...no problem. I'm Southern. I've tried it all. But I should have a green thing...artchaut...that's artichokes!! Yes! Bring me artichokes. Perfect. A feast.
Heart. Not like I remember, but, of course, it was fried the last time I had it...and probably chicken and I don't know what kind of...moving on...I eat it...the thinner pieces are more palatable. The liver. Woof. Can't eat liver fried, baked, roasted, grilled, none of it...too mushy. Raw? Perfect. Who woulda thunk it? I finish eating. I'm not sated. So then out of nowhere, the fear creeps in...and the shame. Oh the shame. Be bold! Ask this! Question that! Order something else! So I do. When the server returns I meekly point to my wine glass. But later I decide I want a dessert, so I order Fraiselle a miel. Ok, something with honey. Excellent! I begin our exchange:
Fra-sel?
The white cheese?
With honey?
Yes
Fra-sel, is that how you say it?
The white cheese?
FRA-SEL, is that how you say it?!?!
...Fri-sel
THANK YOU
Then the tears come.
He brings the dessert. Then notices the tears. Then turns away. I eat. Get tissues because, as I search for my pen I realize that I've lost the damn thing in the internet cafe. Dammit. That would help with the crying. For some reason, it helps stop the crying. I'll ask for a pen. But he doesn't have one in his apron. Try to hide. No luck. He keeps his back to me. Then finally approaches as I've finished the the cheese...
is that ricotta? almonds and honey. It was delicious
Really you like that?
Yeah, I mean, yes, I mean it was...a little weird, but delicious. Seriously, thank you...That's all.
You don't want anything else to eat?
No, thank you.
Would you like a cafe?
Oh yes, Please! (by all means lets prolong this agony)
He returns, asks me to smile and says the cafe is a gift. Naturally, more crying as he walks away. I finish. He does not return for an extended period of time and keep in mind, this is a lively bar. I decide I am the only person on this lonely planet who would go to the most populated place in an entire town and sit in the corner and cry. Meet no one. AND I can even hear people speaking English in the bar....King's English to be precise...cute rugby players, but I sit and sniffle and wait to ask for my check. Finally he returns and I say "la decision" - a phrase from me which is once again met with "the bill?" (even coupled with the universal symbol for check my statements just get strange looks) Then he asks when I'm leaving Avignon. I let him know that I will be out of his way soon enough and onto Marseille to bother them with my ignorance. After another eternity he returns with "the bill", says something I don't understand and leaves. I turn the bill over and find a note:
Too bad you have to go to Marseille and don't stay a while here.
It would have been a pleasure taking a drink with you.
Nikolas
Uncontrollable crying now. There is no golden light and I can't lift that rock.
Just get it together and pay the bill, Thigpen.
He comes over and asks why I keep crying and I tell him I'm so (sniffle) ashamed (huff) I don't know the language...and I don't know (sob) anyone and I don't know what I'm doing...He shakes his head and says, Just try.
I return to Le Cid. Site of "All You Want is to Free Your Mind" Order a double bourbon. Notice the Gay Friendly flag proudly displayed and the furry white and pink balls hanging from the ceiling and for the first time today, I am comforted. Recognize the bartender from last night, give a wave, and that comforts me. Wonder if I'm really gay and if that's why I'm comfortable then realize, it's more likely that I'm simply the reincarnation of Tennessee Williams and that's why this place feels familiar. Then snap out of it and realize...it feels familiar because it is. Have some bourbon. Feel bold. Ask for a pen. Meet Anna Sophia. She gives me a pen. She asks if I'm a writer. I tell her I try. She gets excited when I tell her that I am from NY. She plans to go there in April. Avignon is so boring. She has been to San Fran because "I am gay and so, that is for me...my kind of place, no? But I worry, how is NY, do you think that is for me? Do you think it will be ok?"
Oui.
Give it a try.
