The magic in Bugarach, a former neighbour and Zephyr’s encyclopaedic knowledge

Sometimes I feel like the main protagonist of a Truman show remake, with producers running out of extras and, as a last resort, calling upon previous supporting characters thinking I won’t notice. I do!

And that’s how, I came forth to a lady I was drawn to at Carnon’s library with a hesitant “We know each other, don’t we?”

I had hesitated for a while because, no matter how insistent my stalking her across the aisles, absorbed as she was by the books picked from the shelves she kept turning her back to me and I could not clearly see her face or make her notice me. However, I could feel something, like a faint bond that connected us. On alert after hearing her son speak English to her, I wonder if I would have spotted her otherwise, but there I was, adamant I could recognize her energy, or as I’ve coined it, her energetic signature, despite a foreign farmer-like attire with gumboots and all that didn’t fit the bill. So, I went ahead, decided not to miss an opportunity to strengthen human ties, and approached this potential stranger in front of puzzled librarians.

She replied mischievously, with an almost imperceptible eastern european accent, and I knew then that I was not mistaken, “Maybe, it depends, from where?” and as soon as I mentioned New Zealand, her face lit up, and she now placed me, her former neighbour from St Heliers, ten years back, when our two boys, my eldest and her youngest, were still toddlers. Of Croatian decent, married to a Swede, she had spent those ten years slowly making her way back to Europe with her family, spending some years volunteering in Tonga, Vanuatu, Mayotte, Croatia, before settling back in Montpellier. It reminded me how she held a special place in my mythology as the epitome of spontaneity, along with my long-time friend Elise, who recently confided in me “spontaneity is the only way to go”. We speed-chatted and had tea at home. The coincidences didn’t stop there as not long ago she had stayed on a boat turned Air B&B in Barcares, had just watched an Obelix movie the night before, and her 19-year-old daughter was now studying in Paris, in the school where Thomas and I met. Needless to say, we’re due for a proper catch-up soon to honor the alignment of stars and the series of fortunate events which triggered this encounter, that chance alone can hardly explain.

This coincidence surely tops one nearly missed two weeks ago, when during an entire evening of frolicking to the scrumptious music by King Selewa & friends (a colorful Caribbean reggae quartet with double-bass, clarinet/sax, guitarist and a charismatic singer), I have unknowingly shared the dance floor with my tango teacher’s mum. Of course, I had my suspicions about this tall, slim and swarthy-skinned sixty-something woman, but the information I had then was contradictory and insufficient to establish with certainty her identity, which was only confirmed to me the following Monday, at my tango lesson, on sharing that we had spent the week-end in Bugarach, a news met with disbelief by Erna whose grand-parents and other relatives indeed still live there and explained the presence of her mum at the village Chestnut Festival.

And since good things come in threes, I must tell you about my unlikely conversation with the very personable and talkative Montpellier Danse box office clerk I met a few days ago. After a long discussion on the colours used in its venue layout software, he was capturing my details to issue loyalty cards along with tickets for Mourad Merzouki’s show “Zéphyr” next February (which we could obviously not miss) when he indiscreetly asked if I had visited the Opera Comédie during the European Heritage weekend. I was taken aback that he knew this detail because despite being a good physiognomist, his face didn’t mean anything to me. And he carried on explaining that he had a friend who had mentioned a young boy named Zephyr met while he was working as a guide at the Opera. Apparently, his friend had been so impressed by my son’s extensive knowledge of Greco-Roman mythology and the relevance of his questions that he had recounted the anecdote on several occasions. What’s more, my ticket office clerk buddy was due to see his friend that very night to play music with him. I bet I haven’t been the only one since to tell that serendipity story with glee to anyone who would listen.

But frankly, what are the odds of meeting so many related human beings in a relatively new place and such a short timeframe?