live in a city with a north wind

Madelyn 2022-03-07 08:01:20

Mountain days in Provence

"Summer in Provence" tells a common family story. An old man who has lived in a mountain village for a long time suddenly received the entrustment of his daughter, who has been away from home for 18 years, to take care of her children from Paris to spend the summer vacation in the Provence countryside. The estranged relationship and the gully of living habits are slowly running in in the family love. The old man used his method to stubbornly and difficultly guard his grandchildren, his family and his hometown, and finally obtained the icebreaker of the family and the children. 's love. The film is said to have been shot in the small village of Eygalières, in the Chaine d'alpilles. From 2011 to 2013, I studied arts management in Arles, a small town in the Provence region. Honestly, the first impression of Provence is not sunshine and lavender, but wind. This gust of wind exists in the hair that is no longer obedient just after getting off the train, in the voice of the announcer urging passengers to get on the train, in the church bell tolling on the hour, in the wild flowers with their claws and claws, in an almost savage gesture sworn sovereignty. Later, I learned from the landlord's mouth that this wind is called Mistral. After living for a long time, when Mistral blew up, in addition to scolding Merde habitually, there was even more peace of mind at home. There are cats, wine, and a warm stove at home. If Paris is a mobile feast, Nanfa is the song of the siren, as long as there is wind, it can be spread.

At the beginning of 2013 I moved to Paris for work, and my days began to turn into a 45-minute drive every day, like a can of fish. Only when the whole city is full of all kinds of coquettish bitches who flock to fashion week, I will react, spring or autumn, as Paul in the movie said when facing the invitation of his grandson Adrian :

People in Paris say 'this city is amazing, I can't see how time goes by'. But here, I can see the time change, I can see how time passes, in the morning, the morning light is blue; at noon, the sky is like silk. In Paris, eat in the morning, sleep at night, and live a life of being fooled.

In June of the same year, I returned to Arles to defend. When the TGV train pulled into the Aix-en-Provence station, a feeling of nostalgia and timidity came to my face. The low house I once lived in, the street I walked through, All flowed in front of the eyes along the veins of memory. I can't believe I moved out of here. It seems that everything that happened after 2013 was a dream during a nap, and I will wake up in the next second to the sound of Mistral and continue typing that unfinished paper. Leaving the rainy Paris and returning to the bright Provence, the sun is urgent and the north wind is blowing. Going to the market to buy cherries, watermelons and oysters is a welcome ceremony. Get up in the morning light, drink a cup of coffee made by the Italian landlord, and listen to her talk about the days when I was away: the hyacinth entrusted to her before leaving was transplanted to the balcony on the third floor, the running of the bulls in May was crowded, and the roar of Mistral at night Waking up with the sound, Charlotte, the black cat at her feet, was sleeping soundly. Those lively days seemed to be frozen in deep and shallow oil paintings, and life was still the same. In the two years of living in Provence, I had a lot of boring dreams, took a lot of film and saved up, and watched hundreds of gorgeous sunsets by myself on the windowsill. Different from the euphemism and gentleness of Paris, the sunshine here is struggling A final touch of color splashed in the sky. It was the quietest moment of the day. When the last trace of red slowly melted into the dark ink of the night, and the lights gradually came on, I reluctantly returned to my room and slowly cooked a meal, read, and wrote in the sunset. Finish the day. The days in the photo have large swathes of olive trees, blue to the pervasive sky, oleanders and bougainvilleas growing in the sun. This place gives me freedom and imagination to polish off the inherent sharpness day after day. It’s just that I didn’t understand at the time that the same brilliant sunset every day was about the eternity and the moment of life, but the eternity of hundreds of times was left in the photos after all. Think about it, because that's a home you can never go back to.

The gorgeous sunset seen from the window day after day

The oleander growing in the sun is the first photo taken in Provence

I often have friends who ask me to recommend travel routes in Provence, and I once wrote a travel guide that only exists in the draft box. Because I've never been a tourist here. I have seen the lavender in the mountains, but I only love the flamingos in Camargue; I have classes in a school full of tourists who come to see Van Gogh from thousands of miles away. Provence to me, not just lavender and coastline, but every moment beyond that, every class in the museum, fresh fruits and vegetables every Tuesday every Saturday morning, and a southern accent, yes The smelly streets and colorful young people during the Running of the Bulls are the slender shadows of a person returning home after group work. Today, four years later, I have long forgotten the words I wrote and the tears I shed, but I still remember the girl who danced with the street band, the way I walked with my friends to support and accompany me, and I remember the Mistral The whole city swayed.

Espace Van Gogh is where my school is located

Really realized that I left Provence, but also because of the wind. In 2014 I went to Canada to continue my studies, then moved back to Paris and never returned to Provence. The whistling in his ears stopped abruptly, and he would never wake up again in the middle of the night. Like Paul in the film, I have long been unable to go through the madness of the hippies when I was young and traveled the world on a motorcycle, or choose to live in a remote mountain village, abandon the glitz and convenience of the city, and spend my days with my olive trees. Choice is a cruel thing because you never know right or wrong. Do those who choose the peaceful and quiet life in mountain villages occasionally regret the prosperity they missed? And those who have left their hometowns and worked hard in big cities, will they reminisce about the estranged family because they are tired of chasing success and fame and fortune? However, no matter where you are, life is not easy. Only by working hard to integrate, adapt, and ensure peace of mind can you not be dragged by cares and regrets. Paul's choice to live in seclusion in a Provence mountain village may be impulsive or deliberate, but for whatever reason, persistence after hunting is particularly precious. Escaping the hustle and bustle of the city and seeking spiritual cleansing are just an excuse to escape. Only life is so real that one cannot hesitate. Towards the end of the film, Paul and his young buddies on motorcycles gather around a campfire and sing Bob Dylan's "Forever Young":

May God bless you, may your dreams come true, may you help others selflessly, and accept gifts from others; may you build ladders to the stars, step by step, may you be forever young, forever young, may you be forever young. May you grow up to be an upright person, may you remain sincere, may you be insightful in the world, and do not abandon the light; may you move forward bravely, stand tall and not be afraid of risks, may you always be young, always young, may you always be young. May your hands always be full, may your steps always be brisk, may you be steady and strong, even if things are impermanent; may your heart be full of joy, and your songs can be sung forever, may you always be young, forever young, may you always be young.

That was Paul's most affectionate recollection of this long and short life. The young man who chose to stay in Provence and be a happy farmer all his life, finally, at this moment, in the company of his children, grandchildren and old friends, the time was frozen. Provence I don't think I can take it with me. If you can't take her away, then move her here, that's what I thought. I believe that there is a play button in memory, as long as I press the play button again, the wind will sound, blowing me all the way from the city to the coast, and it will mess up my hair again, wrinkle my facial features, and lift the corners of my skirt. The music in the headphones started intermittently until the wind turned into poetry, Stay forever young.

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