Aix en Provence

After Bordeaux, on Thursday I drove 5 hours on the Autoroute (130 Killomoters an hour!!) to Aix-en-Provence - just north of Marsaille. Over the hill - and WHAM - Mt Saint Victiore staring me in the face in welcome. Cezanne lived here, and painted that mountain often.

What is it about this country, France, that continues to draw me to it and continues to inspire me? My roots are Norway/Poland, New York/South Dakota to Midwest USA. No parlez-ing of Francais in that past. (Although it could go: Adam/Eve - African Chipanzies - French Cavemen - Scandanavia/Eastern Europe - USA!!! Viola!

Actually, the draw to Aix is this: In 1971 my parents did a very courageous thing - taking a half year sabbatical from teaching ( at half salary) in 1971, took a leap of faith in packing the family up - five children - to go to live in France for 7 months without a place to stay lined up, schools for us kids, and did I mention: half salary? A huge on the edge kind of venture. For most of us kids it was a wonderful experience - especially for me at the very impressionable age of 14. Aix-en-Provence is where we lived. I've been back several times but I keep wanting to re-touch this city and re-ignite those memories.

It really was here that "David Cherwien the organist" began. My father hooked me up with a fantastic teacher - who took a special interest in me - including moving to two lessons per week. Dad took me to the lessons until I could get more comfortable with the language, and I practiced hours a day in this tiny (by their standards) chapel in the middle of a block, on what I thought was a tiny organ. I later learned that this organ was very likely one of the famous builder of the 19th c Caivaille Coll. He built all the organs that are famous in Paris. The house, the school, this chapel, the "Cours Mirabau" (Aix's Champs Elyzees), the fountains of Aix - all are romantically set into my memory. When I see them, I'm reminded of the great commencement that the time we lived there was for me - one like no other to follow.

I walked and walked and walked. I found our the small house mom and dad found to rent - still there, although added on to and built around. I found the place where my brother Paul and I went to practice in a marching band we joined while there, I found the French school we attended.

I remember when starting out wondering how long it would take before I would have a clue what was going on. I wanted to scream: "I'm not stupid - I just speak a different language!" I also remember one day in "technologie" class the professor looking at me and saying "David, I think you're understanding me now aren't you?" "Of course!" I said not immediately realizing the significance of that. I had indeed learned to speak and understand French in 4 or 5 months. All by ear.

I did find the chapel where I practiced and had my lessons. It was locked up and very quiet. I rang the bell, but no one answered. Oh well. I had dinner at the resteraunt my parents would take us to when they wanted to splurge - "La Rotonde." - in the center of town where the biggest and most beautiful fountain is. We used to love to watch the almost tuxedo-dressed waiters zip through the room with plates of artistically placed food all the way up their arms without disturbing any of it. I remembered the very traditional white table-cloths and silver. It' been remodeled and is now very modern. My meal there was an emotional dinner nevertheless (although expensive!) I told the waitress my story, and she said "a lot has changed - except the chandeleer - that is from the old place!" Couldn't say I remembered it.

I'll probably return again. I love this place - even if the city is growing in an out-of-control way. The center of the historic town is the same, and Aix is an important part of my personal roots.