A snapshot of life in 2024 (from Vernet-les-Bains, Pyrenees, France).
On this terrace in Vernet-les-Bains (Pyrenees, France), next to the Saturday market, people gather for their morning coffee. It’s mid-November 2024, and the crisp mountain air carries the quiet hum of voices. Conversations flow easily, meandering between the personal and the political, the local and the global.
Some discuss the daily challenges of life: the relentless rise in the cost of living, the strain of making ends meet, or the recent health struggles of a friend or family member. Others delve into broader concerns, sharing stories of the torrential rains that battered Valencia, leaving behind tales of destruction and worry. Climate change looms over their words like a shadow, its presence undeniable and unnerving.
Inevitably, talk turns to the ongoing wars—Ukraine, Gaza—conflicts that feel both distant and uncomfortably close. How, some wonder aloud, can such violence persist in a world that seems to have learned so little from history? There's a sense of helplessness in their questions, mingled with frustration at leaders who seem disconnected from the struggles of ordinary people. Also the topic “President Macron” comes by. He was once a figure of promise for some, but is now met with shrugs and sharp critiques; his policies, many feel, have left rural communities like theirs behind.
Yet, amidst these weighty topics, a lighter subject emerges, offering a sense of relief. Someone suggests heading into the mountains next Saturday to hunt wild boars. The idea sparks smiles and nods, a collective agreement to momentarily escape the complexities of modern life. The thought of trekking through the cool, pine-scented forests, rifles slung over shoulders, feels grounding. It’s a return to a simpler, more primal connection with nature—and perhaps, to each other.
Here, on this terrace in Vernet-les-Bains, the world’s troubles blend with its small joys, creating a snapshot of life in 2024: full of worry, but not without hope.
