Five summers ago my family and I took a fabulous trip to Provence, France, full of wine, relaxation, and the scent of fresh lavender. My mother, in her endless search for meaning and knowledge, had become hyper fixated on Mary Magdalene and the legends surrounding her. Naturally this meant we had to visit her secret grotto, La Sainte-Baume, where according to legend she fled persecution and lived for thirty years, sustained by angels.
We were promised a quick stop, just a 45 minute hike on our way to aperitif. In reality it turned into a seven hour climb up a mountain, circling endlessly as we tried to decipher clues leading to the cave. “Secret” truly meant secret: no signs, no maps, and definitely no logic. Also no water, no food, and no proper footwear. By hour five we were ready to give up, but at that point the family was unified and committed. We weren’t leaving until we saw a goddamn vagina shaped cave.
Relentless and lost, we found it at last — and it was grandiose.
Besitos A