It was the plan all along. Like all our vacations to places like this, it would just be natural to walk a lot living here. And as people in our sixties, walking five or ten or 15 miles a day is simply a good idea. But whereas an entire adulthood in Saint Minneapolis had walking as an ambition, exercise, or a thing to do, it already seems unimaginable here to say something like "Let's go for a walk." or even "Maybe we should take a walk and get a coffee?"
We say here "Let's go look at the water." or "I need some parmesean." or "We need a phillips head screwdriver." or "I want a better ice tray." or "I should get some purple artichokes." or "It's time for our appointment." or "We need chocolate." or even "Let's check out Monaco." And off we go.
With our feet.
We go down so many flights of stairs that one hopes one's mind wanders and one arrives at the ground floor only to think "Wow, here already?" instead of worrying about some pain in the knee the whole way down. And then it's out into the world. And we walk. Because everything we do is a walk, so it's not really of note.
And out in the world we walk and the light and air here, my god, and the life and the buildings, it's always a kind of shock and privelege in its loveliness. There is such a freedom to it. And then, invariably, one of us turns to the other and says "Watch out for that shit."
So happy you are posting these impressions of your new life in France. Thank you!
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