For this trip, I had prepared one reliable word: bonjour. It was supposed to open conversations, doors and perhaps a few smiles. What I would say afterwards, I left to circumstances. It was a language kit impressively light on luggage.
An imagined story inspired by original Travel2City photographs. The four scenes bring together separate stops, rather than a one-day itinerary. The character, conversations and lighting are an artistic interpretation.
In Antibes, the sea had a frame of its own. A tall arched window divided it into a patch of blue sky and even bluer water. I rested my palm on the stone sill and quietly tried, “Bonjour.” The sea took no offence. Tiny sails went about their business, and sunlight crossed my cheek. It was an ideal first conversation: nobody corrected me, and the reply required no dictionary. I repeated the greeting a little more boldly. Then I smiled at myself. Sometimes, when travelling, you need to start by saying hello to a window.
In Vence, the houses stacked themselves one above another, as though every one of them wanted to be in the picture. Palms rose between the roofs, and looking up, I completely forgot to check whether anyone could hear me. “Bonjour,” I said, simply for the pleasure of it. From somewhere out of sight came a reply: “Bonjour, madame!” I turned my head but found nobody. The greeting lingered between the houses. I didn't know who it belonged to, yet for a moment it was mine. Suddenly, I no longer felt like a visitor standing apart from the whole town.
At a café in Hyères, I delivered my bonjour so confidently that a whole rapid sentence followed it. Only then did I discover the weakness in my system. I knew how to open a conversation, but I hadn't yet acquired the instructions for continuing one. I laughed, pointed to the coffee and tried politely asking for a slower pace. The answering smile told me everything was fine. Soon, a small cup stood before me. My French hadn't grown very much. My courage, however, had just pulled up a chair of its own.
“I managed the coffee. We managed the conversation together.”
Near Saint-Tropez, a small fishing boat crossed the blue water. A thin red stripe ran along its white hull, and a pale wake trailed behind. Someone on deck raised a hand. Perhaps they were greeting somebody behind me. I glanced back, just to check, but nobody was there. So I raised mine. The second greeting was unmistakable, and I laughed. I didn't need to say a single word. The boat moved on; the smile stayed. My carefully prepared bonjour had taken me all the way to a conversation that didn't need it after all.
“This greeting needed no translation.”
From notebook to book
The Map with No Last Page
The world of Travel2City continues between the covers of a book. Discover The Map with No Last Page and more illustrated journeys.
