How did they possess such wisdom in living, fully surrendering themselves to the fleeting moments? The murmur of voices, the dancing reflections on glass, they embraced it all without the need for a predetermined destination. I, on the other hand, always craved a plot, a motivation, a story to chase through the night. Perhaps this was my American nature, an inherent compulsion to conquer. The simple act of being in the world escaped me.
Over the next three nights, Chantal introduced me to the enchanting promenade and the lively parties that adorned the beach in tents. Yet, they all seemed indistinguishable, with their unpleasant, blaring music and subpar, diluted wine – as my diary recalls. Occasionally, we encountered drunken Americans, their tears-filled eyes boastfully discussing their hefty expense accounts, all of which seemed to revolve around one brand: “Heineken!” They shouted every word with intoxication. Meanwhile, I found solace in the company of the Swiss.
During one of these parties, the bouncer denied me entry for lacking an invitation. However, Mark, kindly tossed his invitation over the fence for me to use. As I made my way through the crowd to express gratitude, I witnessed a sudden shyness within him. I had initially dismissed him as a mere pretty face, not wholly devoted to any particular cause. Yet, by 4 a.m., the two of us were still engrossed in conversation, delving into the intricacies of the French political landscape (of which I knew nothing) and Switzerland’s steadfast neutrality policy. Perhaps, in that particular moment, I longed for a touch of less neutrality.
In the autumn, fate led me to the man who would become my husband. Never again did I experience such a profound feeling of being lost in a foreign city, engulfed in the small hours of the night, where time’s progression becomes uncertain. It’s now been as many years since those bewildering times as the years I had lived back then. This spring, while decluttering boxes, I stumbled upon this diary that reintroduced me to these individuals – people to whom I never properly expressed my gratitude and whom I never crossed paths with again.
I like to believe that I learned something invaluable from them. I discovered the art of embracing the present moment, savoring the lightness of wine on my palate, relishing in a simple and unpretentious meal, and resisting the ceaseless desire for more and more.
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