Climbing Mount Sainte Victoire
I dressed myself in a floral blue dress and wedges, unsure exactly how I was going to be spending my first weekend in Aix-en-Provence. I figured none the less that I would at least look nice after the rough weeks of switching homestays and switching classes and not being able to travel to Nice for the weekend because of said switching homestays. Looking at myself in the mirror, my phone was forever in its abroad position of being charged connected to the the character chord connected to the European adapter connected to the extension chord outlet. It beeped.
Opening it up to the only way to get a hold on of me on the Facebook messenger I never thought anyone used until now, my new friend Braden who also did not go to Nice was already typing a second message after the first hello.
"So, you want to climb a mountain today?"
I turned back to my reflection in the mirror in my pretty summer dress. I looked so damn pretty. With a groan I stripped down and redressed into black leggings and a slightly too loose pink tank top before I messaged back. While we set up a spot to meet before getting on the bus for the journey to the base of the mountain, I slipped on my trusty yellow Keds.
Because what else would you climb a mountain in?
Yes, I know. Probably actual sneakers, bus I was not too concerned. There would probably be a nice trail path and some shade as we hiked. It would be a nice fun day. So, appearing slightly homeless and very un-French as other women passed by in their cobblestone steady heels, I met up with Braden for a veggie filled brunch lunch at Toasty. Then it was time...to find the bus...to get off the bus almost at the wrong stop...to get off the bus at the correct stop...and to begin climbing Mt. Sainte Victoire.
I was pumped. I was ready. I was already sweating from the heat of 1 p.m. sunlight shining down on my shoulders as we began on the red and white trail. Another couple began the hike with us after getting off the bus at the same time.
She was from France.
He was from Columbia.
They were in love and talked all about the places they had been and other mountains they had climbed, both together and alone.
They talked, Braden and I-- ok, mostly I was trying to cover the fact that if I opened my mouth it would be to gasp for air. Cute French-Columbia couple were keeping a pace as we scaled the trails already hefty incline. They barely looked like they were breaking a sweat as we all paused to reapply sunscreen and then the next time for a little sip of water or two or three, and then the next time when they pretended not to see us stop as I collapsed to the rocky ground for another break as they kept hiking onward.
"I am not sure I am going to make it. I am dying."
Braden laughed, as I am not going to lie, I proclaim my death quite often. Then he saw my face. "Oh, seriously?"
I wasn't sure.
We sat there as I decided and drunk most of my water in the sliver of shade. I didn't even care as ants began to climb up my dirt covered Keds. I was not sure that I was going to make it. We could easily turn back right then, but then I took out my phone and took a photo of the trail before us. I took a photo of Braden's uneasy face that was now to be the face of determination as I stood up.
"Well, let's go."
"Yeah?"
I thought over my answer. I suddenly remembered the last time I went hiking almost two years ago in New Jersey on a camping trip with my first roommate, Allison. After watching a Yoga with Adriene video we adopted one of the mantras for that trip. I decided I needed to bring it back out.
"I accept."
We kept hiking. The trail got hotter and the path got smaller as we began to climb dirt and rocks smoothed over from many others doing this same climb. Soon I looked over the edge we stood walking on and could see nearly all of Provence it seemed like. With a laugh that sounded less and less like me gasping for air, I kept moving a new sort of spring in my step as we then saw the monastrary above us.
We were at least halfway there, if not more. We joked as we hiked and took moments to suck down the last bits of water we had as if we were in the desert. Before I knew it though, something happened all of a sudden.
I made it.
I climbed Mount Sainte Victoire.
So high I could almost touch the clouds, we sat on the edge of the cross where the couple was already there sitting and eating the bread they had somehow managed to lug.
"You made it!" They called.
Yeah, we made it.
I got to see the amazing view I'll never forget to prove it as Braden shared half of his peanut butter filled Clif bar that made our mouths dry from lack of water before heading back down each boulder and rock. We got lost on a separate trail on the way down and took the bus for an extra hour more than necessary, but the day we climbed Mt. Sainte Victoire was a day to be remembered.
To celebrate, for our first Aix meal out? Pasta and Provence Rose.
Amazing.
To be honest I may even climb that mountain again someday. Or maybe another. Is this am I a hiker now?
Maybe.
Someday.
Opening it up to the only way to get a hold on of me on the Facebook messenger I never thought anyone used until now, my new friend Braden who also did not go to Nice was already typing a second message after the first hello.
"So, you want to climb a mountain today?"
I turned back to my reflection in the mirror in my pretty summer dress. I looked so damn pretty. With a groan I stripped down and redressed into black leggings and a slightly too loose pink tank top before I messaged back. While we set up a spot to meet before getting on the bus for the journey to the base of the mountain, I slipped on my trusty yellow Keds.
Because what else would you climb a mountain in?
Yes, I know. Probably actual sneakers, bus I was not too concerned. There would probably be a nice trail path and some shade as we hiked. It would be a nice fun day. So, appearing slightly homeless and very un-French as other women passed by in their cobblestone steady heels, I met up with Braden for a veggie filled brunch lunch at Toasty. Then it was time...to find the bus...to get off the bus almost at the wrong stop...to get off the bus at the correct stop...and to begin climbing Mt. Sainte Victoire.
I was pumped. I was ready. I was already sweating from the heat of 1 p.m. sunlight shining down on my shoulders as we began on the red and white trail. Another couple began the hike with us after getting off the bus at the same time.
She was from France.
He was from Columbia.
They were in love and talked all about the places they had been and other mountains they had climbed, both together and alone.
They talked, Braden and I-- ok, mostly I was trying to cover the fact that if I opened my mouth it would be to gasp for air. Cute French-Columbia couple were keeping a pace as we scaled the trails already hefty incline. They barely looked like they were breaking a sweat as we all paused to reapply sunscreen and then the next time for a little sip of water or two or three, and then the next time when they pretended not to see us stop as I collapsed to the rocky ground for another break as they kept hiking onward.
"I am not sure I am going to make it. I am dying."
Braden laughed, as I am not going to lie, I proclaim my death quite often. Then he saw my face. "Oh, seriously?"
I wasn't sure.
We sat there as I decided and drunk most of my water in the sliver of shade. I didn't even care as ants began to climb up my dirt covered Keds. I was not sure that I was going to make it. We could easily turn back right then, but then I took out my phone and took a photo of the trail before us. I took a photo of Braden's uneasy face that was now to be the face of determination as I stood up.
"Well, let's go."
"Yeah?"
I thought over my answer. I suddenly remembered the last time I went hiking almost two years ago in New Jersey on a camping trip with my first roommate, Allison. After watching a Yoga with Adriene video we adopted one of the mantras for that trip. I decided I needed to bring it back out.
"I accept."
We kept hiking. The trail got hotter and the path got smaller as we began to climb dirt and rocks smoothed over from many others doing this same climb. Soon I looked over the edge we stood walking on and could see nearly all of Provence it seemed like. With a laugh that sounded less and less like me gasping for air, I kept moving a new sort of spring in my step as we then saw the monastrary above us.
We were at least halfway there, if not more. We joked as we hiked and took moments to suck down the last bits of water we had as if we were in the desert. Before I knew it though, something happened all of a sudden.
I made it.
I climbed Mount Sainte Victoire.
So high I could almost touch the clouds, we sat on the edge of the cross where the couple was already there sitting and eating the bread they had somehow managed to lug.
"You made it!" They called.
Yeah, we made it.
I got to see the amazing view I'll never forget to prove it as Braden shared half of his peanut butter filled Clif bar that made our mouths dry from lack of water before heading back down each boulder and rock. We got lost on a separate trail on the way down and took the bus for an extra hour more than necessary, but the day we climbed Mt. Sainte Victoire was a day to be remembered.
To celebrate, for our first Aix meal out? Pasta and Provence Rose.
Amazing.
To be honest I may even climb that mountain again someday. Or maybe another. Is this am I a hiker now?
Maybe.
Someday.
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