FrenchPressJourneys: Where did everyone go?

I am reminded of my beautiful dog Maggy sitting in the backyard alone after all the guests left Michael and Erin's engagement party. Looking lost, Maggy was squarely positioned in the middle of the yard. I am feeling kind of lost too. I arrived in Monflanquin, Saturday, 5 days ago. For the past month, I traveled throughout France with a dear friend. We stayed in separate rooms, but she was always there waiting in the morning. When she left Paris to return to Portland, I checked into a hotel in the city and spent the next six days sight seeing. The grand finale was hearing my friend from Jazzercise sing with her choir at the Eglise La Madeleine. Although I was indeed on my own in Paris, I did not feel alone. In the hotel, the other guests made happy noises from their rooms. In the hotel's breakfast, room, I observed tourists from all over the world eating croissants and drinking coffee. On the streets of Paris, people and more people crammed the streets.

On my own in Monflanquin, it is very quiet. I can do what I want. I can eat what I want. I set my own schedule. Two things can be true: I like and don't like this situation. It used to be more fun to be alone here years ago. I am not sure what changed. Maybe it's getting older, feeling more vulnerable. There are many women living on their own in the village. It actually feels like a club. We look out for each other, especially the women with whom I hike. The pouring rain most of this week does not help my adjustment. Thursday market, usually a lively open air event, the place to see and be seen barely resembled itself. Half the vendors chose to stay home. The English and Dutch tourists stayed home. Only the loyal French showed up to buy their fresh produce and tangy cheese.

Outside the house, people do like to talk to me, maybe too much. They feel safe telling me, a non permanent resident, about very personal problems and traumas. On Tuesday, inexplicably, almost everyone I met overwhelmed me with painful stories. Yesterday, I drove to a different village. The anonymity dispersed my heavy mood. I returned to Monflanquin, but instead of going out, I crawled into bed and read and read and read. I think I needed that self imposed curtain between the liveliness of tourist traveling and the small town culture of village life.

It may take a few more days to complete my adjustment to village life. Better weather is predicted for next week.