There is a rhythm to the life here, as old as the hills. — Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird
I live in a small town, with all of the stereotypical hallmarks of a small town. Everyone knows everyone else. Gossip travels fast. We have our fair share of quirky characters. People nod their head, smile, and mouth a polite “bonjour” every time we pass in the street. The weekly market is more than just a place to buy vegetables; it’s where those who live alone get the chance to tell their stories, where we ask the vendors about their kids or where they’re going on vacation this year. Old men (and young men and women) play pétanque in the park most afternoons.
An ancient stone royal fortress stands guard over my town from its impressive lookout perched atop the hill. Don’t all small French cities and towns have some crumbling historic landmark? The main square, stretching from the royal blue of Fabrice’s antique shop to the statue of our very own homegrown legend, François Rabelais, bustles with activity—voices, laughter, the rumble of cars, the screech of bicycle brakes, and the clinking of glasses and cutlery—from June through October, signs that it’s high season in our small but very touristy town. Yet we can always spot the locals sitting among the strangers at a tiny café table on this terrace or that kicking back a morning espresso or sipping a menthe à l’eau in the late afternoon, never missing out on French small-town life, observing the passersby and talking about how this season could be better than the last.
I couldn’t write about my life in Chinon without writing about life in Chinon, without trying to describe the folks who inhabit my world. I might not leave the hotel for days on end, but when I do, I invariably bump into one of our neighbors or someone who owns or runs one of the shops or restaurants in town. Corinne and Yves who always take a table on the edge of the terrace closest to the open door of their housewares shop, ready to nip back when they spot a potential client walk in; one of the couples, chef and wife, who own one of my 3 favorite restaurants in the old center, walking their dog or unloading coolers of fish or setting up the terrace tables for lunch service or just enjoying the breeze on the stoop of their restaurant, and I stop to share a few words; Raymonde as she scurries back from town or Clarisse who zips by on her gayly painted bike or shy little Mme. G or absentminded M. B….we’re all busy with our business but never too busy to stop and say a few words.