We often think of time as passing us by. As we drove past fields of lavender and poppies, rows of grapevines and olive trees and wound up hills past Provençal villages, I wondered if maybe we were just looking at it wrong. Maybe instead of thinking of time as something that we lose, maybe we should think of it as something we collect. With every passing day, with every memory, with every birthday, we are gathering more time in our basket. We are collecting moments that will become a part of our patina. With every drive, every hike, every meal, every sunset and sunrise, every new face, every laugh, every cry we are collecting moments. Time goes by, but what a beautiful thing to collect such memories and build a life.
While we tend to think of home as a singular place, there are places we travel and people we meet that tend to feel like home. As we build our lives sometimes we find this sense of home not just in a street address, but in watching the sunset over a mountain range, in hearing the laugh of a dear friend, in a meal shared with new friends, in visiting a French market and taking in all the sights, sounds and smells, or in the quiet peace of a morning walk by a still lake. We carry and collect pieces of home in the places we've traveled and the memories we've made. And sometimes there's a place that from the moment you first set foot in it - it feels different, it feels special. It isn't just a bucket list destination or a trendy resort, it isn't just a girls' trip or an agenda heavy family vacation - it captures your heart and your mind and something deep inside beckons you to return again and again.
Maybe it was the ease of life, maybe it was the beauty of lavender rows as far as the eye could see and haystacks curated like painting against the countryside, maybe it was nuns you could hear singing in the afternoon in the mountainside chapel, maybe it was the turquoise blue waters of Lake Sainte-Croix, or maybe it was the friendliness of market vendors, whatever it was, this tiny Provencal town named Riez captured a sense of belonging that was more than just a trip, more than just memory making.
I have a rule of leaving large gaps in my agenda when traveling. I want to be able to ask locals once I am there what their favorite places are. I want to be able to turn down a road that looks particularly beautiful or make a pit stop for a photo or road side farmers market. I want to be open to whatever curiosity or happenstance the universe throws my way. And so when we first visited Riez in the Alpes-Haute-Provence region of France that's exactly what I did. We had four days with the only things on the agenda - check into our bed and breakfast and hike at some point. This flexible schedule ended up being the best decision, as the bed and breakfast owner, Geraldine, gave us her recommendations on where to eat, secret spots to enjoy the lake, and lavender fields not bustling with tourists. We also found out that market days in Riez were on Wednesday and Saturday, so we got to live like a local and peruse the freshest most beautiful produce and food the region had to offer. And after our few days in Riez, it was time to go, but something was different about this tiny treasure of a town and I knew I would be back. So the next year I returned for longer, and then again in 2022 and 2024.
The magic of Provence is hard to capture in words - you see it, you feel it, you live it. It’s in its scenery, its culture, its people, its daily life. People ask, “Why so much travel just to Provence?” I thought for a moment, “Because it settles my soul.”
Although it is the extraordinary that made me want to return to Provence, it is the ordinary that I fell in love with and keeps me coming back. It is the day to day moments - the moment I felt less like a tourist, the moment relaxing became just as satisfying as exploring, the moment a freshly baked baguette from my favorite boulangerie became just as delicious as a Michelin rated meal, the moment the nervousness and restlessness of being a stranger faded away and peacefulness set in. It is the simplicity of enjoying petit dejeuner (breakfast) in the garden of Hotel des Colonnes. A breakfast filled with some of my favorite things - fougasse, apricot juice, and white nectarines. A breakfast of freshly baked bread picked up that morning from the best boulangerie in town, locally made jams, local honey, and even goat cheese from a nearby farm - nothing imported, everything from the area. It is the simplicity, the sustainability, the natural beauty, the connection to the land and everything it produces, the way time seems to stand still, and the fellowship of the people that captures your heart.
Maybe there is a place you have traveled that feels more like home. Or maybe you are wondering how to make places feel less touristy and live more like a local?
Solo travel, even if it is only for a portion of the trip, makes a place feel more like home. I remember sitting at Hartsfield with my family as our flight to Huntsville kept getting delayed. Next to me, a woman from Johannesburg struck up a conversation. She became fascinated by my travels, in particular that I was willing to travel by myself for part of my time in Europe. She commented on how important solo travel is for women and she used a word that many have said to me before that I’m not entirely comfortable with, ‘You have courage to travel by yourself.’ So I looked up the definition of courage, ‘Courage is the willingness to confront pain, danger, uncertainty, or intimidation.’ Of course I do not think I am confronting pain or danger necessarily by solo traveling, but there is uncertainty, there is the unknown.
Solo travel allows you to look inside yourself to rely entirely on your instincts and ‘know-how’ when it comes to going to new places, seeing new sights, driving new roads, conversing with strangers. There is a commitment not just to doing new things but in trusting yourself enough to believe that you can do it, you can figure it out.
From the first time I traveled to Europe alone I found a tremendous sense of empowerment when I accomplished even the smallest of tasks - renting a car, going through toll booths in a foreign country, turning down an unfamiliar road to discover a beautiful vista. Not to mention the place that solo travel takes your brain - a place where creativity, solitude, self reliance, wonder and boredom all converge and swirl into a beautiful, (unattainable in normal situations), level of mental clarity, peacefulness, and awareness of your place and surroundings. And in that is the ultimate luxury of not answering to anyone but yourself - you eat what you want, you go to sleep when you want, you do what you want to do. In today’s world I cannot think of more needed respite than time to ourselves, true one-on-one with our soul.
There are moments of discomfort in being alone, but I’ve learned that every monumental time of growth has been preceded by discomfort, so I welcome it.
Another key to making travel feel more like home, not setting a strict agenda. Leave holes in your time to learn from locals, do unexpected things, and time to just simply be.
Have a daily routine. Go to a local coffee shop to people watch, read, and relax, visit the same boulangerie again and again, peruse a local bookstore, and get outdoors. Make hiking or a stroll through town a priority. Don't just hike, take time to stop and enjoy the view, pick flowers, take photos, and watch sunset.
On market days, actually shop. Buy food that looks delicious for a picnic or something you can take back and prepare at your place. Talk to the vendors, learn about the food they are selling, strike up conversations with locals on what their favorite market stops are.
Take a cooking class. There is no better way to learn about a location than learning about the food. With a cooking class you will have one-on-one attention from a local who has most likely lived in the area for a long time. They will have deep knowledge of the region's food, traditions, and customs.
Learn from the locals. It never ceases to amaze me how you can meet new people sitting at a table next to you at a restaurant or how willing a local boutique owner is to recommend the best restaurants or a secret place to explore that ends up being a favorite memory far beyond anything you will read in a travel book.
Make friends. Over the years I have made friendships that are so dear to my heart. My French friends are older and have so much wisdom and advice as well as a joy and zest for life that is infectious. I have been invited into their homes to cook, dine under a 400 year old chestnut tree, and swim in their spring fed pool. We have dined, danced and sung late into the night. Their friendships have deepened my love and sense of home in Provence more than anything.
Maybe instead of thinking of time as something that we lose, maybe we should think of it as something we collect.
It is the simplicity, the sustainability, the natural beauty, the connection to the land and everything it produces, the way time seems to stand still, and the fellowship of the people that captures your heart.