…Though Your Heart Is Breaking

I like to believe I’m getting used to the emotional cycles that I’ve realised are part and parcel of my Strasbourg experience. Hmm. Well yes and no.  True, they no longer take me by surprise and the onset of depression that stalked me last year doesn’t feel as intense. Then again, I didn’t expect the indigo mood to necessarily recur as often as it has.  The workplace misery doesn’t help. And so, to keep myself sane I will count my blessings and focus on my happy places.

Like a visit from long-time acquaintance and former Catch-a-Vibe editor, Alice one Friday afternoon at the end of May. Now based in Switzerland, she spends a day in Strasbourg with her sister who’s visiting her from the Netherlands. Their encouragement about my French is a much-needed psychological boost. I express myself with more fluidity. I wish I could speak this well consistently. 

It’s their first time in Strasbourg. They’re understandably enchanted by the City’s aesthetic. Say what I like about Alsace, it’s a beautiful region; I can’t deny. The hospitality…not so much.  That’s normal, Alice and sis reassure. They should know. Born and raised in Francophone West Africa and having lived in various European cities, they are true Citoyennes Mondiales. It’s always a bit lonesome when you move to a new city, they assure. It could very well be a Nordic trait too.  Both of them have found it hard to connect with the natives in their respective adopted homes. It’s easier making friends with fellow expats. One thing’s for sure though. None of us is in a rush to return to the UK in its current state.

On a lighter note, They’re sufficiently tickled about my incredulity as I regale them with tales of romantic overtures from the French.

You’re just not used to it.

Choir rehearsals continue to be an oasis of joy, especially if I’ve had a tough week.  We’re preparing for a couple of gigs in June, including a wedding.  Church is another haven. I feel better connected having been able to attend the weekly house groups on a more regular basis since September.

The Monday after Pentecost Sunday is a public holiday.  One of the few drawbacks of having the first working day of the week off (apart from the annoying Alsatian tradition of most establishments being closed) is that there’s no novelty when it coincides with a national holiday.  To stave off the boredom, I plan a trip by bus to the convent on Mount St. Odile as recommended by a colleague. Outside of the height of summer, the bus route is very limited; public holidays being a somewhat ironic exception.

Mount St. Odile Convent, Alsace.

It’s a miserable early summer day but I’m determined. I even pack a lunch in case I decide to solo picnic. My mood is as glum as the weather. (Pathetic fallacy, anyone?) Yet, despite the grey skies and grey feelings, the stunning landscape takes me out of myself. It really is as much about the journey as the destination.

The best is yet to come. The view from the Convent is breath-taking; intimidatingly so.  I am reminded of observations made by Edmund Burke and Emmanuel Kant about the sublime; how the things that inspire awe are a mix of beauty and dread. The very word ‘awesome’ has been debased by its overuse, particularly by our American chums. Nevertheless, the view from Mount St. Odile is worthy of the word; even on a wet and overcast day.

I make the most of where I am and secrete off to sacred spaces, as is my habit. When I eventually manage to distance myself from the huddles of tourists, I find a virtually deserted chapel in plain view. Some solitude, finally. I try my best to commune with the Almighty in silence.

With buses back to Strasbourg running only every four hours, I decide to bring my trip to an early finish. I am determined however, to come back during sunnier climes; ideally with a guest. Mum would love it here.

The journey back down Mount Odile is delightful. The driver blasts 70s, 80s and 90s pop and soul hits (MJ, EWF, George Benson, Oliver Cheetham etc…) with a couple of guilty pleasures in the mix. I sing at the top of my voice whilst grooving in my seat. That’s not as anti-social as it might sound. For a brief but enjoyable moment, I’m the only passenger. I become a little more cautious once others straggle on board. I turn around to apologise to the man behind me and offer to move. He’s very accommodating. Perhaps a little too much. He is keen to keep me conversing. I’m pleased for the French practice but when I can’t immediately shake him on arriving at Strasbourg, I bluntly take my leave.

Music festival season starts early in Strasbourg. I unintentionally have missed out on some events so plan to make amends. Aisha, a former classmate from my evening Portuguese lessons, invites me to watch her Brazilian percussion band the following Sunday. I’m rarely in the mood for pure drum sets but I don't regret making the exception for this lively bunch. You wouldn’t know it from the crowd's typically staid Alsatian response. I can only admire the mettle of the featured dancers, whose enthusiasm isn’t dampened by the relative inertia of their audience. I try to make up for it by shaking my stuff. Aisha later shows her appreciation for my efforts.

I’m not sure if and when our paths will next cross. She’ll soon be heading to Sao Tomé & Principe to join her fiancé for an extended sojourn. She shares the news that she’s a few month's pregnant. Her belly is still flat. With Aisha’s French-Algerian heritage and her fiancé’s Afro-Portuguese mulatto roots, that’s going to be one international baby.

There are more happy reunions when I finally catch-up with Roisin, who made an impression a few months ago at a Meet-Up event. I didn’t have the presence of mind to take her details at the time but manage to track her down. It’s a relief to meet someone who talks as much as I do. It makes me less self-conscious.  Although she’s playing with the idea of extending her study stay in France, she’s found it similarly difficult to integrate into Strasbourg life. C’est la même ritournelle. It seems this is the experience of almost everyone I’ve met coming from outside of Alsace. No matter how many times I hear it, I feel perversely reassured. If someone as personable and outgoing as Roisin can struggle-even with, as she explains, pre-existing links to the City-I know it’s not just me.

Freiburg - View from Schlossberg Castle Tower

That Monday I head across the German border to Freiburg to while away another day in the splendid company of Coral. Tasty savoury pastries (courtesy of Coral) and delicious iced desserts also help. I’ve been experiencing a bit of a relapse of late in regard to my one-time infatuation.  Coral knows that refrain pretty well herself. Some of her wisdom echoes with what sis has shared during recent Skype conversations.

It's a blistering hot day. I notice a number of Freiburgers walking around barefoot. Coral explains that's normal around these parts. It's a boho city, she says. 

She takes me to a vantage point; the ruins of a hilltop castle.  From there we have a panoramic view of Freiburg, the peripheries of the Black Forest and a glimpse of France.

Six hours between coach rides evaporates when talking about everything under the sun. 

Soundtrack:  12 Little Spells by Esperanza Spalding, By Fire by Kneebody. Memoirs by Rox.