Rainy Day Friends

Why did we decide to settle in Aix-en-Provence?

One huge reason is the climate, and Provence, with its summers drenched in sunlight and its piercingly blue sky has been enthralling visitors and artists for centuries. Winters are mild, and the current November temperatures hover around 20C (68F). Rainfall is low, averaging about 587 mm (about 23 inches) per year. While we love England, memories of spending countless weekends watching the rain streaming down the window panes and gurgling down the gutters convinced us that we would prefer to spend our golden years somewhere, well, more golden!

But nature is not always predictable, and the past week has seen torrential rains and flooding in many areas of southern France, including our department of les Bouches-du-Rhône. Nothing daunted, we go as usual to our Saturday morning conversation group in a local cafe. The rain is still pouring down as we emerge, so we accept with pleasure an invitation by friends to join them for a pre-lunch drink.

Dodging the rain as far as possible, we duck into the front area of a local cafe on the famous Cours Mirabeau. In summer these are the pavement cafes where locals and tourists alike settle in for a session of people-watching and setting the world to rights over a glass of wine or a cup of coffee. In winter, a canvas surround and heaters ensure a cozy atmosphere. So drinks merge into lunch, then coffee, as we watch the rain fall and the world go by outside, with a waiter sallying forth occasionally, armed with a broom, to tip the water from the roof. We talk and eat, eat and talk as we while away the wettest day so far. But what a wonderful way to spend a wet Saturday!

The evening brings us down to earth with a bang, literally! It is late, the metal shutters are all securely closed against the intemperate weather, and we are doing a final clear-up before bed. I switch on the kitchen light, there’s a loud popping noise, and we find ourselves in pitch darkness, with not even a tiny ray of light from outside making its way through the tightly-closed shutters.

By the glow of a cellphone, we find a flashlight, and locate the junction box above the front door. Balanced on a chair and holding the flashlight, Trevor resets the offending circuit-breaker. Nothing happens. We look around, locate a second box in the kitchen, this time at floor level, and reset everything. Still total darkness. By now it is 11 at night and we are not sure who to call. So I listen tentatively at my neighbor's door across the landing of the apartment building. Hearing the television, I cross my fingers that he is still awake, and ring his doorbell. He appears immediately, reaches out to shake hands, asks us how we are, and goes through all those courtesies for which the French are deservedly famous. He behaves as if he is genuinely pleased to see us, with never a reproach for disturbing his peaceful Saturday evening. We describe our problem, and he explains to us that there is yet another circuit-breaker, this time in the meter closet in the common stairwell. For this, we need a special key from EDF, Électricité de France.  So that's the purpose of the key hanging on a hook just inside the front door! We open the closet, identify our meter, push the magic button and voila! We have light.

A neighbor who extends a helping hand in a tight fix, new friends with whom we can spend four hours on a wet afternoon and still have more to talk about. It may still be pouring, but we are counting our blessings. Rainy day friends really are the best type to have. And we still have the promise of the return of those glorious, clear blue skies of Provence!

© 2011 Text and Images Trevor and Valerie White