someone said something beautiful to me today

Toulon was not my favorite town yesterday, mostly because I spent most of yesterday getting lost in its labyrinthic (yes, that's a word now) depths. But today it certainly earned back its charm. I slept late (I know, what a surprise!) because I inadvertently stayed up late (another shocker!) and I felt pretty good when I awoke at 11. I decided to try my hand at navigating this city while not desperately jet-lagged, and it worked out much better that way.

I decided to find a bus stop near my hotel, memorize the name of the bus stop so I could get back, and just ride. I wanted to ride until I found a stop that looked interesting, with lots of stuff to do, or shops, or tourist attractions, or beaches, or whatever. I'd never done that before, not even while in a bigger city, because I'd always been worried about getting somewhere or being somewhere on time. It was fantastic to just ride, and today my bus driver was much nicer. There was nearly no one on the bus when I got on at 1130, so I sat behind her and we chatted some while she drove.

Finally, after about ten minutes, I found a stop that looked interesting and thanked her before getting off. I stood at the bus stop for a moment, found a Tabac (it's like a little convenience store that doesn't sell gas) and bought a bottle of water. Then I started walking.

There were a bunch of little shops that were about to close for lunch, but there were plenty of cafes and bars that would stay open. I stopped at a kebab stand and bought a steak-frites sandwich (check fb for delicious, delicious picture) and then wandered some more.

Then I got really excited. Because I found a mall. Not just a mall, but a "Centre." I wandered around the mall for maybe an hour before even finding a store I really wanted to go in. It was that big. Long story short I bought a movie I'd been wanting (and now that I have a region-free DVD player I can actually watch it, which is a plus) and three scarves, each more ridiculous than the last. Y'all know how I love my ridiculous scarves. Another plus? They were only 6 euro apiece.

Okay, you don't care about my shopping habits. I'll get to the title of this post. I stayed in the downtown area until around five and then took the bus back to my stop. I stopped at the beach for a bit and just sat and read, but I didn't want to get in the water because the wind was a little chilly for it. (That's right, you Americans: it's like 70 and sunny. hahahahahahaha). I finally ended up back at the hotel at around six. I sat outside again--because it was so nice I just couldn't help it--and took out my Stephen King. My hotel has a little garden out front, which is pretty much just a few tables and a bench swing. I sat at a table, put my book on the table, and started where I'd left off at the beach.

A man came out of the hotel and sat on the bench swing to my right, lighting a cigarette as he sat. I looked up and smiled at him. We said "Good evening" to each other, and then we got talking. He was maybe sixty or so, perhaps a bit older but it's kind of hard to tell with Europeans sometimes because they walk so friggen much. Meaning, they're usually in pretty good shape. He was no exception; so I'm guessing sixty, but I may be off. We talked for a bit about pretty much nothing, just the weather and whatnot, until he asked me where my husband was. (I was wearing Becky's Claddagh ring on my left ring-finger, so it was a fair question.) After telling him I wasn't married, he asked who I was traveling with. I said, "Oh, no one, it's just me."

He tilted his head and then asked something that I hadn't really even considered: "But don't you get lonely?" I thought about it for a moment and realized that, yeah, I was a little lonely. But not enough to even notice until asked, apparently. I answered honestly and said, "Well, sometimes, but then I come outside and talk to someone. Like now. After that it passes pretty quickly." He laughed a little and nodded. "You're a solitary soul," he said, "just like me."

I like how that sounds. "Solitary soul." I guess it fits me pretty well, and I said as much to him. He said he was traveling alone as well, coming from near Paris (he never said exactly where). I asked, half joking, "But don't you get lonely?" He laughed that same laugh again, took a drag from his cigarette, and said something beautiful: "Sure I do. But you and I, solitary souls, we'll just be lonely together."

Maybe that's not as profound as I thought it was at the moment; but at that moment--with the sun just beginning to fall, the wind shifting the leaves, smoke trailing from his mouth like it was trailing the words themselves--it seemed to me the most beautiful thing he possibly could have said.

It's strange how things hit you sometimes, and I think it hit him the same way it hit me. We didn't really say much after that, just some more chatting, and then he crushed the cigarette beneath his foot and stood. He leaned down and gave me bisous (a kiss on each cheek, just part of the French culture), which was sweet because you usually don't do it with strangers. But it occurred to me that maybe we weren't really *strangers*, per se: we were solitary souls, passing a beautiful evening, being lonely together.

After he went inside I realize I hadn't asked for his name, nor he mine; but I guess that didn't really matter. Names weren't important; neither were generational gaps, or nationality, or culture, or even language when it came right down to it. The moment, however, felt important. I don't really know why, or why I suddenly got so poetic in this post (and I apologize to those of you who aren't too fond of waxing poetic), but I know I'll remember that, and not just because I wrote it down.

I'll remember that it's okay to be a solitary soul, and that if I get lonely, I can simply find someone who'll be lonely with me.

bisous!