The Magic of Experiences in Life’s Journey

Where your choices lead you

I believe most of life’s choices are neither right nor wrong. They are there to lead you to a different set of experiences and learnings. We need to pass through them one way or another. It’s those experiences that make life magic and that leave a lasting impression on us.

Tonight I’m writing from the village of Saint Rémy de Provence, in France. I am staying in a simple hotel with a driveway entrance that leads to the front door of my room. It’s perfect when you are toting a dog, luggage, and a bicycle. The parking lot is abandoned, and I think I’m the only guest here. Above me is a second floor, and I think that’s where the hotel manager lives. Other than the light from her room, the hotel is dark.

The hotel resembles one of those budget motels one might find along the highways of America. Instead of an all-night diner, surrounding this hotel are olive trees and vineyards. The vines of Grenache, Mourvèdre, and Syrah are just beginning to sprout leaves in preparation for spring’s arrival. The olive trees have flower buds forming.

I’m not sure what about this evening makes me think about choices. It’s the middle of March, just a few weeks after the 7th anniversary of my arrival in Europe. It’s a few days before the 8th anniversary of Darin’s death, and soon after that my mother’s birthday. She would have been 83. It’s a condensed period of time with a lot of memories. Some good ones, some bad ones, but all important. I’m thinking about chances taken, opportunities explored, and the experiences gathered along the way.

Searching for something to experience

The last time I was in Saint Rémy de Provence was in 2015. It was the summer I chose to leave my former employer and give up the daily predictable grind. It was also the summer when I started to dream about a life in Europe. Things were changing.

We decided to celebrate all of those new adventures waiting for us by spending a month in Europe. Darin and I spent two weeks in Copenhagen and Amsterdam before flying to France. There we met up with our friends Maurine and Linda. Our itinerary was one week in Provence and another week on the Amalfi Coast of Italy.

After our first late night of reminiscing and lots of rosé, we drove into Saint Remy de Provence. We planned a late lunch and arrived in town just in time to be turned away from every possible restaurant. After that lesson, we learned very quickly that in France, if you show up for lunch after 2:00 pm, you’re likely going to go hungry.

My 45th birthday was also that week. I spotted a beautiful old cemetery in the town of Eygalières, France, where we rented a house for the week. That was where I decided I wanted to experience my 45th birthday. I wanted to lunch in the cemetery for my birthday.

We spread out a blanket in one of the few empty plots of grass. On the blanket were cheeses, relishes, baguettes, fruit, and more rosé — you’re getting the French rosé all day theme, right?

We found ourselves surrounded by headstones that dated back hundreds of years and a few curious French cemetery visitors. Nobody seemed particularly bothered by our presence. The French love their picnics, so perhaps my choice wasn’t that unusual for celebrating a birthday.

That day will always be special for me, because I learned that sometimes it’s best to celebrate without the pomp and festivity, and instead choose simplicity and beauty, with the backdrop of our own mortality. For my birthday, I had found my strange, but beautiful, place in the sun with people I loved.

Sometimes it’s good to go back, even if you can’t really go back.

This trip I am staying in Saint Rémy for two nights. As I was looking at the Google map indications for places of interest, I saw an ancient Roman road built in the second century that was now a bicycle path directly behind my hotel. It wound its way around the vineyards and olive orchards, and passed directly in front of the cemetery where we lunched 11 years ago.

“What a brilliant afternoon outing”, I thought.

I decided to go back to the cemetery on my bicycle. Not because I believe it had changed much, but because it was one of the few things in a changing world that wouldn’t have changed much. I wanted to revisit our lunch spot again and pay my memories a visit.

Cemeteries are like that, full of old memories that are locked there forever. They are sort of one-way in and no way out places, if you know what I mean.

The next morning, energized with my plans, I jumped on my bike early and set off towards Eygalières. My plan was to arrive in time for lunch. I had no intentions of missing the window. The journey would take about 45 minutes to an hour depending on how much I used the battery on my e-bike.

I pedaled in the cool and cloudy weather through vineyards and farms and imagined what it must have been like when that Roman road was occupied. I rode around water and mud-filled gullies and cobbled pathways. It was a nice journey which allowed me to take in everything around me and reflect on everything I have done since I last visited this area of France.

There were beautiful stone chateaus and grand maisons along the way attached to various wine and olive oil producers, many shuttered for the season or hidden just out of sight behind walls of cypress trees.

The rain from the night before created various hazards on that old Roman road, but I managed to maneuver around some very large flooded sections and over makeshift bridges where culverts flowed swiftly underneath.

The wonderful thing about our experiences, and also the part that stings the most, is that a good memory can never be recreated. It’s a moment to be recognized as it happens. After that, it disappears forever. Just like that 2,000-year-old Roman road that winds through Provence. Those that have walked it and the stories they told are relics of the past.

I arrived in Eygalières after about 45 minutes, and set about finding that cemetery. It wasn’t too difficult, because the town is relatively small, and the signs directing one to the cemetery were easily recognizable.

What wasn’t so recognizable was the town. I was surprised by the changes in the last 11 years. I was even more surprised at how it was bustling for being off season in Provence, as I pedaled past several restaurants full of patrons. Each restaurant displayed their chef’s plat du jour for passersby.

I also noticed that the hours hadn’t changed. If I wanted to have lunch, I would need to select a restaurant and arrive no later than 1:00, or else I would face the same fate we had 11 years ago. I had enough time to pedal to the cemetery and make my rounds before returning for lunch.

The ride to the cemetery was quick, and I had enough time before lunch, so I decided to tour the town a bit on the bicycle to see what else had changed.

Like it or not, the future is unstoppable

Clearly, suburbia has arrived to this little gem of a Provençal village. Master-planned developments surrounded the original historical city center. Beige stucco homes and townhomes with clay tile roofs seemed to have sprouted up everywhere. It reminded me of the thousands of subdivisions one would see in Southern California. 

I took some pictures and videos of the old town, but realized even that had changed. There were Airbnbs and small boutique hotels and shops that had filled in the former abandoned and dilapidated buildings that were present in the past.

When I started pedaling to the cemetery, I noticed that even that had changed. It was no longer off in the distance in an open field. Most of the open field had been developed, and it was no longer visible from far away as it was in the photos I posted above. If you wanted to get to the cemetery, you’d have to pedal through a few of the housing developments and public buildings to reach it.

I can’t say I wasn’t a bit disappointed and deflated. I had hoped to see it for what it was 11 years ago, but even my cemetery where I lunched on my 45th birthday was affected by progress. It no longer had the distant gothic grandness in the field. It appeared to be hidden amongst the development as if it had to relinquish its place in the sunds and change with the times.

I glanced over to the cemetery and then looked back at the town and realized it had moved on since my last visit. The truth was, I had moved on after my last visit. And so, perhaps there was mutual agreement that our place in the sun had changed, and now we must search for a new place to catch that same glow on our face. It would never again be what it was, and I would have to be satisfied with all that it was on that day in September, 2015.

Thanks for following along. If you haven’t subscribed, please feel free to enter your email below. I never send spam, just my regular writings at The Spaghetti Diaries. If you would like to know more about Saint Rémy de Provence, here’s a useful site for your reference. Just two hours from my home in Italy, Provence is one of the most beautiful places in the world. I hope you get the chance to experience it for yourself.