The Yellow Van

This is Alphonse (Fonsi, for short), the inspiration for the hashtag #yellowvanstories.
He is French and, therefore, a real bon-vivant. And it is about bloody time I properly introduced him:
I am probably the only guy in the world, who gave his car a male first name.
Why, you ask?
Because I wanted a car that would carry me around and patiently accept my occasional ignorance of its needs (I mean, really, a girl shouldn’t do that. I have very heavy bones).
So for six years, Fonsi, with his steady and humble attitude, has taken me to beautiful places, allowing me to fall asleep with a view of the stars, mediating encounters I would have never made, helping me to see life as an expression of opportunity and abundance.
Sometimes huffing and puffing, but always reliable in moments of need.
Like a good friend.
When I was living with my parents for some time beginning of the year, the neighbourhood was quite irritated, understandably, with a yellow van that took up a lot of scarce parking space and didn’t quite fit into the predominant suburban lifestyle.
One day, a neighbour approached me (bless him) and asked me how much longer this rust bucket would be parked there. I smiled, said something about beauty and the eye of the beholder, and looked at Fonsi.
I swear, he winked at me.
Now, months later, parked under a beautiful almeriki tree by the beach, I realise how Fonsi can be a rust bucket to some or a DHL van to others.
But to me, he is a world of possibilities, an enabler of experience, and the most beautiful car in the world. It is, as always, a matter of perspective.
Tonight, I’ll throw a round of premium Diesel for you, my friend (not that it has ever been the other way around).

Photo credit: Vicky Markolefa

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