postcard from bordeaux #4: about sunday traditions and why you should befriend elderly people

I don’t know about you, but Sunday is my favorite day of the week. Everything slows down a bit and gets quieter. It’s the day for favorite things – and favorite things only. Sunday means reading in bed, pancakes and prosecco, sushi and movie nights, a stroll through the city and people close to my heart. Sunday is the day of traditions.

In Bordeaux, these Sunday traditions are hitting the flea market in Saint Michel and afterwards – as I read in a Google review – having champagne and oysters at one of the cafés around the square. I obviously wasn’t going to miss out on that. So I made my way there, across Pont de Pierre – which, by the way, is the main bridge connecting the city center to the main square on the other side of the river and is, most importantly, reserved to pedestrians, bikes and buses – no cars – which makes it a really pleasant walk into town and back every day – and through the little charming streets lined with the classic Parisian style houses. As the Bordelaise tradition requires, I did browse the market for a little bit – but pretty much jumped right to the café part. Randomly picked the best café/bistrot on the square and started my observation session with a coffee.

How I know it was the best café there, you ask? I was the only tourist there. Other than me, most of the guests clearly were regulars. The table behind me kept getting fuller and fuller with people joining who obviously met there every week. They discussed deep life topics like marriage, relationships and having children – mind you, all of them were definitely 60+ – and the waitress, who was always greeted the newbies always greeted with a couple of cheek kisses, came back regularly with yet another round of espressi.

The same also happened on a table ahead of me – although I couldn’t hear what they were talking about. But they were fun to watch. Four elderly men, I’m guessing also in their sixties sitting on a high table that was made of a wine barrel – what else, we’re in Bordeaux, after all – indulging in a very confusing mix of espressi and beer. They couldn’t have been more different from each other, one wearing jeans, sneakers and a T-Shirt, the guy across from him wearing black pants and a white, short sleeved button down that bore his glasses in its breast pocket. But somehow, they made sense together, as they watched the happenings on the market closely and discussed something particularly interesting every now and again. And then there was this guy who was so messily dressed that it just screamed “I’m an artist” was walking around with a picture in his hands and greeting everybody at different tables.

Long story short – it was pure bliss watching this clearly tight-knit community interact with each other. And then I learned that it just wasn’t that hard to become part of it, when an older, French couple joined me at my table. Turns out they had been living in Germany and the US for quite some years and the guy – Alain – was actually fluent in German and English. Our only communication problem being that he couldn’t hear very well anymore. His wife – Maryse – on the other hand, didn’t have any problems hearing – but speaking German and English. She didn’t mind though, just trying and trying until pieces of German and English came back to her. I threw in a couple of words of French every now and again and we were good to go. That Sunday, I learned first hand how kind, welcoming and community-driven this city really is. We ended up staying for hours, having lunch together and then moving on to coffee and cake, all while conversing in three languages at the same time. At the end of our afternoon, Maryse kept saying “what a great afternoon we had together” – in a mix of German and English, with a French accent. I salute that women. And then she told me to write down her phone number and call her the day after, so we could get coffee again.

You guys, I was so nervous calling her that next day. What if we didn’t understand each other on the phone, in our weird language mix? But I did call her and we did understand each other – barely, but we did manage – and we met again several times over the course of the week. I don’t know why I always befriend old people first in a new living situation, but I do. They’re just easy to talk to and so full of wisdom and life stories. It’s the best to just listen, learn and get inspired. I should probably do a roundup of everything I learned from my elderly friends because, let me tell you, they really dropped some gems.

In any case, every time I met the two of them – or Maryse by herself – I learned something new about this spitfire of a woman. When we met last Sunday, Alain was mostly talking about how his job led them to live in Haiti, Washington DC and several German cities. “Ok”, I thought, “Maryse was probably a housewife, then.” I never did find out what she was doing while they were abroad, but what I know for sure is that, ever since they came back to France, she is a realtor and runs her own company. The next time I met them, they told me she was a florist and owned her own shop in Paris back when they met, 50 years ago. Alain kept buying flowers there, which is how they met. “Ok”, I thought, “A florist turned housewife turned realtor”. The last time we met, I asked her if she had a lot of work at the moment. She said yes, but that today, she was painting and working on her art. I was mind blown by this woman who just went through life doing so many different things, living so many different lives and all of that with a smile on her face, being kind to others and making friends with anybody who crossed her way – this became apparent in every single one of the cafés we went to together. Of course, I don’t know much about their life but the parts I do know about are an inspiration. She told me about some things that were hard for her when she grew up – but also said that, hey, in the end, they don’t matter. That she doesn’t care anymore, because she has her own life.

If there’s one thing I’m taking away from meeting that woman, it’s that we’ve all still got many different lives to live. And that the only judgement that counts in the end is your own. So go after your wildest dreams. Think of all the things that scare you. Then go do them. Think of all the versions of yourself that you’d like to be. And then go be them. We’ve spent too much time worrying about if we’re really capable already. Let’s just try, make the most of it – and then move on if we think it’s time. Life moves in mysterious ways and we are allowed to change our mind. Nothing is lost if we do.

Writing this, I realize that I needed to hear Maryse’s story. Maybe that’s why I ended up in Bordeaux, who knows. Take this as a reminder that you, too, can change your mind. That there is so much in you still left to be explored. And that you should make some elderly friends on your next trip. Mostly that last bit. Okay, bye now.