Above the Fruited Plains

I was all up in those amber waves of grain today in Auvers-sur-Oiese, a tiny hamlet physically just north of Paris, but metaphorically many miles away. Van Gogh must have been pretty depressed to spend 10 weeks in Auvers and then still commit suicide. Temporary getaway for Van Gogh, Pissaro, Cézanne, and others, this sleeply town, filled with slopping side streets and climbing rose vines, markets itself as the "cradle of impressionism."

Thomas Kincade wasn't making this stuff up.

Even with all the obvious self-promotion (most local signs are labelled in a brush stroke-y font), the town doesn't feel like just one giant tourist trap. Perhaps this is because I caught the earliest train* possible to avoid the loathsome other tourists. Worked like a charm (even though I arrived before the tourist office was even open), and I had all the wheat fields to myself. I was so alone, in fact, that I didn't even have to sneakily snap a MySpace-style photo. I left my finger lingering on the camera button for as long as I liked.

Wow, it's not blurry!

I understood immediately the draw of Paris's surrounding countryside on the impressionists; these fields were like softly swaying beds of gold. For men obsessed with capturing the subtle nuances of light and color, the fields provided an obvious opportunity: the wind rides over the rows in waves, each new breeze revealing tawny, sea foam, lavender.

I was so in love with Auvers that I didn't even mind the foul smell emitting from my andouille sausage-filled (aka tripe chitterlings) crepe. But perhaps that's just the absinthe talking, sipped at the world-renowned Absinthe Museum* (just kidding, they don't give out free samples. I asked).

And even though I was the only one in the museum, the fields, and the cemetery (!), I never got that chilling "Oh God, I'm completely alone ... or am I?" feeling. Not even when I saw this:

Because Children of Korn and Jeepers Creepers haven't already covered the whole

"you're gonna die in a rural farm setting" thing.

Guess these fields really do have a medicinal effect, as Van Gogh claimed.

*A note on today's transportation:

When I jumped on a random train for my return trip from the Auvers station, did I know what line the train was on?

No.

Did I know where the train was going?

No.

Did I even have the right type of train ticket?

No.

Did I get home safe and sound?

Yes.

Am I invincible?

Guess so.

*True story: one of the museum's prized absinthe spoons made a cameo in Francis Ford Cappola's Dracula.