Atypical 60

Love Is In The Hair–A French Blow Out!

Posted on July 20, 2016 by Catherine

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

After yesterday’s drive up the road that shook the nerves, today is a completely lazy bum day of reading by the pool and not much else.

Bonaparte kindly suggested that since we are going to St. Tropez tomorrow to visit his dad that I just might want to make an appointment at a beauty salon and perhaps get my roots done and maybe get a blow out too.

Although I welcome this suggestion, I’m a bit hesitant because Adam, the stylist I go to and cannot live without, knows my hair; and he knows and understands about my hair loss issues. But after taking a look in the mirror of the hair that hasn’t been washed in two weeks, I think Bonaparte just may have a point.

And before hitting the pool, I grab my Toppik, and head to the car to drive to the salon.

On the way to Geant we pass my favorite house. The bubble house down the street. This isn’t the Pierre Cardin bubble house. It’s someone else’s…

We had to sneak up on the fence to snap these pics. Look–the bubbles look like titties. I’m so in love with these little glass nipples…

I want to caress these windows. Seriously. I love this house!

The galerie at Geant has a few hair salons, but I decided to make an appointment at Franck Provost. I’ve seen his chain of salons all over Paris and figured it was a safe bet.

How pathetic is this? OTHER bloggers take artsy pics. I take pics of hypermarches.

Ladies and men. If you are in the area of Theoule-sur-Mer, might I suggest a hair appointment at Franck Provost?

I don’t care how uneducated I may be in the French language, but when it comes to making a hair appointment, I miraculously became quite fluent.

Me: “Bonjour. Je voudrais prendre rendez-vous pour un teinture, shampooing, conditionné et séchés .” “Pouvez-vous blow dry mes cheveux d’une façon ondulée?” “Oh. Et je dois la perte de cheveux , mais je dois produit à déguiser .” “D’accord?” “A 17h30 ?” “S’il vous plait?”

Translation: Good Morning. I would like to make an appointment to have my hair colored, shampooed, conditioned and blow dried. Can you also blow my hair out in beachy waves?Oh. And I have hair loss but I have product to disguise. OK? At 5:30 PM? Please?

Frenchman at front desk: “Nom?”

Me: “Cat-reen” “Merci!”

Easy peasy. A bit of grocery shopping, back to the apartment to change and…

Let’s see. Fake sugar is always on my list. I have these in every purse!

Lest we not forget the importance of Cassis..

I know..This isn’t food porn. It is merely saucisson! Now you know why I love Geant!

…and I have no idea who is going to receive this little pop-up card but I HAD to get it!

..back at the pool. I gave “The Little Paris Bookshop” a final chance. I’m telling you. This book was almost as painful to read as “The Scarlet Letter” was.

Back at the pool to do nothing but sit on my fat ass and read and suffer from hypochondria!

I’m not going to give you “spoilers” but this was one of the worst books I’ve never finished reading. The characters were not endearing. The book was poorly written AND one of the characters had a disease!

The disease is what threw me over the edge. Look, I have nothing against tragedies. “Me Before You” was one of my favorite tragic books of all times—but it was about a tragic accident. It wasn’t about a disease.

Books that are about awful diseases should carry a warning on the front cover. You know-like “smoking is bad for your health”. These books should state the following:

Warning: This book contains a horrible disease. Hypochondriacs may become affected. They may also be prone to checking certain body parts multiple times a day and become stressed and anxious. Therefore if you or a loved one suffer from hypochondria, this book may be harmful to your health.

People at the pool started to stare at me because I sat in my chaise with a horrified look while checking my armpits for hours on end.

When we got back to the apartment, I placed the book on the shelf where I’ve left books in the past. Apparently the owner of the apartment gets a kick out of this practice of mine because books I’ve left have remained on the shelf since 2010.

These are the books that I’ve left over the years. Little Paris Bookshop was the only one I despised!

This was the only book that I left with a note inside about how much I disliked it. I even left my email address for anyone who does decide to read it to let me know what they think of the book.

Travel tip: If you like to read during your vacation’s or travel’s downtime, and finish a book or two, leave them behind or give them to someone. It’ll lighten your luggage on the way home and can give another visitor something to do during their downtime! Play it forward!

Thankfully, I remembered my hair appointment. It distracted me from checking my armpits.

While I got my hair done, Bonaparte drove into Cannes to pick up wine from Nicolas. I entered Franck Provost smiling and happy because, hopefully, the staff would make me look human again.

Irene was my stylist. She was an adorable pixie of a woman with a raspy voice and smelled of cigarettes and perfume. A scent I was familiar with due to Danièle’s penchant for Marlboro lights and L’Heure Bleu. The aroma actually made me feel quite comfortable. I took out my Toppik, pointed to the top of my head, winked, and told her “Apres color”. For some odd reason she understood me.

Oh. We were having a regular party here! By the time I was finished, the entire staff and I were just about dancing around the salon!

My experience at Franck Provost was remarkable.

This tiny little salon worked great big hair miracles!

My roots were completely covered and as I waited for the color to set in, I was able to observe the goings on at this tiny salon just feet from my beloved hypermarché. I watched a young girl with a gorgeous head of hair get her hair trimmed and blown out to tousled perfection. Older women with various shades of dyed hair entered for touch ups. Apparently women on the Cote d’Azur aren’t into the gray look! I fit right in!

The staff was incredibly friendly and kept coming up to me to see if everything was ok. I was in heaven!

With all due respect to American hair stylists, Irene shampooed my hair so gently that I almost fell asleep. Rather than a rough shampoo scrub, it was more like a gentle shampoo massage. In addition, it took my YEARS to find Adam–he knows how to blow dry coarse hair. I cannot begin to tell you how many USA stylists do NOT know how to give a great blow dry job!

The final cost for the shampoo, deep conditioner, color and blow out came to 75€. Tipping wasn’t allowed on the credit card and tipping is much different than here, I gave a 5€ tip—and it didn’t make me look cheap either.

Let’s do math. The 80 euros I spent in total for my hair came to the USD equivalent of $88.12. I normally pay $140.00 for the same services here in the States.

Does this hair not look fabulous? I hope Irene is back next summer! She’s my hair bestie!

Happy with my hair. I can’t wait to see Bonaparte’s dad Dany tomorrow. But now—it is aperitif time!

Here’s a cute song I found from The Hot Sardines: “French Fries and Champagne”!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Beauty, France, Humor, Travel | 44 Comments

The “Shore” de France. A Return to L’Estagnol. A Dangerous Road to Divinity

Posted on July 19, 2016 by Catherine

Monday, June 27, 2016

Clear skies. No humidity. And a bit of wind. Bonaparte is worried because he thinks the Mistral has made a visit. Overlooking the terrace before we depart for a second visit to L’Estagnol, he is concerned about the possibility of large mouton (the French word for whitecaps—I’m incredibly fluent, you know) in the little bay area off the sea.

I laugh and tell him it isn’t a big deal and we are off.

We passed the many hectares of vineyards and Olive tree orchards belonging to Leoube, a local company that produces wine and olive oil, and I explained to Bonaparte that I wanted to stop at the boutique for, as the Barefoot Contessa would say, good olive oil. He promised me that we would stop on the way home.

Back at L’Estagnol. The best thing about this sign is that I have no idea whatsoever the bathing information that is posted means!

The familiar drive seems quicker this time and we arrive to an almost empty beach. It may be windy to the French, but to me, it is merely a heavy but comfortable breeze. The water that was as smooth as glass last week is now fitted “wiz leetowle” waves. These waves are nothing like the Atlantic or Pacific!

See those “huge” waves? Yeah. Bonaparte and his mistral. Those waves were gone about two hours later!

The only mistral that took place was the song “Mistral Gagnant” on the car’s radio as we were driving here.

The sea is freezing but I don’t care. It’s refreshing. I shiver as little droplets of ice cold water fall on Bonaparte. It makes him stop complaining about the possibility of a noisy child next to us and, instead, he complains, in French, about the water I just sprinkled upon his gloriously tanned body!

A group of young school children arrive at the beach which nearly kills Bonaparte. I remind Bonaparte that he has a granddaughter the age of these kids. He says no more.

As a look up, one of the children greets me with a wave and a “Bonjour”. I smile, wave back and say “Bonjour” back to her. For Bonaparte’s sake, les enfants end up at the far end of the beach.

I spot the same photographer that I saw last week. He walks up and down the expanse of the beach snapping photos of the sun worshipers for a fee. He is professional. I call him over because I want to write about him in the blog.

The mysterious photographer passes by. I’m surprised he didn’t want to photograph Bonaparte’s tanned legs! Can you spot those giant waves in the water?

I’m intrigued by this photographer. Bonaparte is annoyed by this photographer. I ask Bonaparte why he is annoyed by what I’m intrigued by. He mumbles something in French and reads the paper.

I’m glad he made a sale!

Being typically French, the photographer is polite and cordial in his broken English. He explains that he is “under contract” with a company and declines to be “interviewed”. Bonaparte validates his decline. I snap a couple of photos of him and let it go. The photographer’s contract is certainly binding!

The ice cream girl walks by with her colorful little ice cream cart. I want so badly to eat everything she is selling but I refrain after looking down at my blubbery gut.

I wish I had gotten a better photo of the gloriously tanned ice cream girl but I was distracted by the word “Nutella”!

Her skin is the color of caramel. Her tan is perfect. She is a race unto her own. I regret not snapping more photos of her legs. I would have taken the photos with me to my next spray tan appointment.

The little boy next to us has dug a hole. And he keeps going down to the water with a bucket to collect water. He fills the hole with water and the sand soaks up the water. He doesn’t give up. This is pure entertainment for me.

I wanted to swim up and invite myself..

I never tire of this beach…

These fuzzy things had pine cones inside. I took some home to try to use as beauty blenders but they fell apart.

Ever the budding journalist, I made my way to Chez Richard to take some pics. I had the pleasure of meeting Monsieur Richard while he was working in the smaller kitchen. He was so pleasant and funny! He has a great staff and we enjoyed a second delicious lunch. And yes. I repeated my seiche!

Monsieur Richard hard at work…

…until I interrupt him and make him laugh..

..and I enjoy more seiche!

Back at the beach for a while before leaving….

We enjoyed the remainder of our time at L’Estagnol and made the stop at the Leoube Boutique.

This is the big-ass gate to the Chateau Leoube. I want to live here–I’ll take the servants quarters….

The back next to the boutique..

We bought a can of GOOD Olive oil and smuggled it back to the States..

The wines looked great too–but the sales help wanted us out of there…

I’m going to be real here. In all my years of traveling in France, we’ve only experienced one moment of rudeness. It was in Nimes and a waiter who served us was a real prick of misery. But—that was his personality.

Our visit to Leoube was our second experience with the art of rude. Perhaps it was because both of us looked like the monsters that came in from the beach. The blue chambray dress that I had worn on multiple occasions was looking a bit raggy. My face was as red as a tomato; my former “beachy” waves were now a mass of frizz that looked more like facial hair rather than wispy tendrils softening my face.

Bonaparte was wearing his bathing suit and an old Lacoste shirt that had a few tiny holes in it.

We were the French equivalent of Walmart shoppers. (Well, I was wearing my Walmart earrings!)

Was it my still-wet-from-swimming-and-clumps-of-sand dress? Was it my lobster red face? Was it my Walmart special hoop earrings that disgusted the sales woman at Leoube. WTF cares? I got my “Good” olive oil!

You would think we were a disease the way the sales assistant handed over the can of expensive olive oil to us. *SHRUG* You can’t win ’em all.

Travel tip: At one point or another, you WILL be confronted with rudeness or the act of someone being dismissive to you. Do NOT let this affect your feelings on an entire country or its people. Miserable people happen. They happen at home, during local travels and travels abroad. Let it roll off your shoulder. 99.9 percent of the people you meet will be incredibly cordial, helpful and downright nice!

We drove around and became slightly misguided (lost) as Bonaparte took a wrong turn. The wrong turn led us to Collobrières. We ended up making a strawberry purchase from a roadside stand and driving through this cute village.

Collobrieres..

..is the chestnut capital of France..

…lots of greenery here…

..and fig trees grow wild. I was so pissed off that the figs hadn’t reached ripeness yet. I would have CLIMBED this tree for that fruit. I love getting figgy with it….

..and it was even better to come across this strawberry stand..

..Now THIS is a strawberry. These were incredibly juicy, fresh, sweet and full of flavor. Why can’t we get strawberries like this at home?

As we drove around aimlessly, our conversation went something like this:

Me: “What’s a bastide?” (pronounced by me as bass-tide) “I’m seeing that word a lot”.

Bonaparte: “Eh?” “Wa ahr ou seee-eeng?” Plez spell eet”

Me: “B-A-S-T-I-D-E”

Bonaparte: “Ahh..Bassteed!” “Is a fortified town” “I mean a leetowle town surrounded by eh fort”.

Me: “Oh.” “I thought it was a bad Frenchman—you know, like, HEY you dirty bastide!!!!!”

A pause and a brainstorm by Bonaparte.

He decided that we should take a drive to the Chartreuse de la Verne, a monastery on top of a huge mountain in the Massif des Maures. Since we were at the Massif’s edge, he thought it would be a fun way to spend the remainder of the afternoon.

This is the monastery that we attempted to visit. The Chartreuse de la Verne. I did NOT take this photo. It is from Wiki..

It wasn’t.

This is basically what we were faced with. Our wide car, a winding road as narrow as a string of yarn, and a monastery close to heaven. Neither of us was ready to take THAT trip!

It turns out that the monastery was sitting on top of a massive mountain in the Massif des Maures—which, I renamed Massive de Mort. This is a road where you can literally fall off the edge of the earth and nobody would ever find you. And vultures would hover around your decaying body and eat you. And your bones would turn to powder and fertilize the trees. Thusly, Massive des Maures = Massive Mort. The road was winding and the drops were steeper than the Gorges de Verdun. I couldn’t even look out of the car window let along try to take a photo.

It was either my heart that was in my throat or it was the seiche from lunch swimming its way up my stomach to escape. I couldn’t even open my mouth anyway—I was that petrified. I don’t even think the competitors in the Tour de France would attempt this road!

Had we gone any further on that road, I’m afraid my fate would have turned me into Sainte Catherine!

Finally, Bonaparte found a little area where we were able to turn the car around and make our descent. He didn’t feel comfortable. This is not a drive we will attempt in the future.

We’ll find another monastery closer to ground level.

After reaching the bottom of this huge mountain, we saw directions to Ste. Maxime. It was great to see signs of civilization once again. It was even greater to drive along the coast on a road close to the earth.

Sainte Maxime is now my patron saint! I’m not kiddin’ either!

And when we arrived home, we had a few well-needed aperitifs!

A few rounds of this to soften the stress of that drive were sorely needed!

CAVEAT: Please let me know if these posts are boring you. I’m keeping it real with no smoke or mirrors and am hoping you are enjoying. I only have a few more posts about our trip so next week, I’ll be back to writing about other stuff. I’m hoping you are still enjoying!

Here’s Renaud with his mega-hit of 1985. Mistral Gagnant.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged #Humor, France, Travel | 52 Comments

The Apartment. Dinner With Family. I’m Feeling Rather Local Today.

Posted on July 17, 2016 by Catherine

Sunday, June 26^th 2016

Oops! I was so tired last night that I forgot to write more stuff.

On our way back from Menton, we decided to visit the Musée Matisse in Nice. As luck would have it, we arrived way too late to snag a parking spot. Parking is limited. There was no street parking due to a wedding at a nearby church. Whoever got married was pretty darn popular because guests were parked in every available space within a half mile!

Musée Matisse. This pic is from Wiki because I forgot to take a photo. We will visit NEXT time and will make sure to arrive early in the morning!

We decided to try our luck revisiting the Musée Marc Chagall. The parking situation was worse. It’s like being in Manhattan with the street parking. Rather than drive around wasting precious time, we drove home. Proof that timing is everything when touring. We need to arrive early.

I had to go into my photo archives on my Shutterfly account to get this photo I took a few years back. This is the exterior of the Musee Marc Chagall.

Another shot I took. We’ll revisit next time around!

It also proves that you take the good with the bad. We love having a car here because we can be in control—but, we can’t always be in control of parking.

I was in dreamland by 9:00 PM. I’m a regular barrel of fun on vacation.

We’re meeting Bonaparte’s niece, Nathalie, and her daughter, Elodie, for dinner this evening. They spent a couple of days in St. Tropez with Bonaparte’s dad, Dany, and are now on their way back to Paris via train.

We’ll meet them in St. Raphael.

Another beautiful morning here on the terrace overlooking the Mediterranean and we are witnessing some strange goings on. A yacht is anchored not too far from the shore. From Bonaparte’s binoculars, we can see the guests and crew standing on one of the decks looking down at the sea.

People on jet skis are circling the yacht. First close to the boat and with each lap, the jet skis move a bit farther away.

A helicopter is hovering over the large yacht. It circles closely at first then moves into larger circles.

Is someone lost? Is this a British Yacht seeking asylum from the Brexit? We both hope all is well.

Because we had such an active day yesterday, today we are bumming it back at the pool. And it is noticeably more crowded. The vacationers have arrived. I detect other accents among the French; German, Dutch, Russian, Australian, British, Italian, Spanish—but no American ones.

I stand alone. Or rather I laze alone. Under the umbrella.

My usual spot. Under the umbrella!

So I write instead. And today I’m writing about our apartment.

Bonaparte “found” this apartment through an extensive online search back in 2010. Previously, we stayed at his mother’s little home in Ensues. After her death, the house was sold.

What was Bonaparte looking for?

He wanted an apartment close to the sea. He also wanted a place in a convenient location. One that would lend itself well to our day trips and touring.

Bonaparte couldn’t have found an apartment with a better view. This beauty has been a regular sight for a couple of years now..

In addition, we needed parking since we would have a car.

Parking was great. As you can see from this Rolls that Bonaparte is obsessed with, nobody is too concerned with anyone breaking into their vehicles.

He found it all in the gated community of “Port la Galère” in Theoule-sur-Mer.

The apartment is perfect for us. It is a gated community; and in order to get into the community, a pass is needed.

Yes, my friends, I am THAT weirdo who collects our entrance passes from each year.

Steps leading up to “our” apartment (I love to say that because it sounds so pretentious. I can dream, can’t I?)

Our little keys to…

…the front door that leads to….

…the living space. Notice the little round table in the left-rear. In all the years we’ve been here, we have never eaten a meal indoors..it’s always…

…out on the terrace. Breakfast and dinner….

…and besides the sea view, we have lovely flowers to admire while enjoying the terrace…

..which leads to the bedroom on the opposite side of the living space. (I took this photo last year). Notice the doors are opened. In the years we’ve been staying here, this year was the only time we closed the doors while sleeping. It was one night and Bonaparte closed the doors because of noise from a party.

The little kitchen window. There are always plants to greet me while I’m cooking!

The community even has a basketball court and playground for the kiddies! Oh..and tennis courts too.

Port la Galère also houses a small club, complete with great hotel rooms and an excellent restaurant. (I sound like a commercial. Trust me, I’m not sponsored, but we just love this place so much and have been staying here for years!)

..a view of the club from our table at the restaurant…

During our stays, we have spent a couple of nights at the hotel. I’m telling you, the rooms are fantastic!

View of the restaurant area from the hotel room. I think this was taken the year before last.

View of the club’s pool from our table at the restaurant..

The club’s menu is brought to your table. I’m telling you, we’ve had some of our best meals at this restaurant over the years. The food is consistently excellent!

After a few hours at the pool we went back to the apartment to get ready for our dinner with Bonaparte’s niece.

A nice drive along the coastline brought us to our destination in St. Raphael.

We enjoyed a nice private dinner at La Factory. For me, it was fun to see Bonaparte leaving English behind and getting into the groove of his native tongue. It was also enjoyable to people watch while Bonaparte and Nathalie spoke of family matters.

Silly me. At first I thought the name of this place was “L.A.” Factory! I forgot we were in France–oh la La Factory!

My steak tartare and frites. I couldn’t finish because the portion was so huge. The tartare was excellent. The frites were very good but the dressing on that little salad was the best I’ve ever had. It was a light creamy lemon dressing. I didn’t get the recipe.

Bonaparte’s surprise was the many photos and photo albums that his niece, Nathalie gave him.

One of Bonaparte’s favorite photos is this one of his sister Isabelle (RIP). Is she praying for a great meal of seafood?

I”m kinda fond of THIS pic of Bonaparte and Isabelle taken at La Ponche. The hats. I love them!

Travel tip: Try not to be all “food snobby” when on vacation. We weren’t looking to have dinner at a fancy place. Nathalie and Elodie were in transit from St. Tropez back to Paris and were limited in time. We ended up at La Factory in a random moment and ended up having a really good and inexpensive meal.

Hugs, kisses on the cheeks, a wave goodbye and they were back on their way to Paris.

And we left St. Raphael by driving along the coast.

We drove along the coastline back to the apartment.

..stopping to snap a photo of boats on the bay..

And while driving, we both decided that tomorrow, we will return to L’Estagnol!

A nice, sweet great driving song for you on this Sunday. Le Métèque by Georges Moustaki. Thank you FreeNeverSaid for a great video!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Cote d'Azur, France, Humor, Travel | 22 Comments

Be Nice. All of Us.

Posted on July 15, 2016 by Catherine

I don’t know who created this lovely little painting. But it rings true. It is time to be Nice..

I’m sorry that I didn’t post yesterday but the news of the latest attack upon innocent people is incredibly upsetting.

To those who questioned my traveling to France because it isn’t safe. It IS safe. This incident of hate doesn’t make an entire country unsafe. It makes it stronger.

The incidents in Paris. Makes the French stronger.

Orlando, Columbine, Sandy Hook…all have made us stronger.

We need to find a way to destroy evil–but in the meantime. We all need to be Nice.

..and two weeks ago we drove along this area. And next year we will drive along it again.

Thank you…and remember our world is changing for the worst. We need to change it for the better.

Love and Hugs,

Cathe

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged France, Nice, Solidarity | 49 Comments

Did I “Menton” How Great France “Eze”?

Posted on July 13, 2016 by Catherine

Saturday, June 25, 2016

Note to self. Please stop drinking water from the tap whenever you travel. Your stomach gets “weird” whenever you are far away from home.

I mean it. My stomach was killing me last night. And when did I go from being incompetent to being incontinent? I’m continental dammit!

My OOTD–taken when we got back to our apartment. And perhaps after a few aperitifs. Note. This was the last time I used the selfie stick. It’s just too much work for me. I’m wearing a $9.99 skirt from Loft..it was so light and airy. A very light and strechy T from J. Crew and my old faithful Rondini Tropeziennes on my feet. The sandals were GREAT for walking around all day!

Saturday and I’m feeling much better. Bonaparte and I have an incredibly ambitious itinerary. We are going to Eze Village, Monaco and making a last stop in Menton. All in a day!

We certainly picked a great day to embark on our touring. Clouds are looming and the weather report is for clouds and sun.

For quite some time, I’ve wanted to visit Eze. I’ve read about how charming and story bookish the village is, and I’ve also read many reviews validating this. We tried to visit last year but we arrived late in the afternoon to no parking available whatsoever. So we left and figured that we would have to leave early in the morning to visit this enticing and magical village.

In addition, I’m a big fan of Jean Cocteau. The Musée Jean Cocteau is in Menton, a short drive from Eze and was on my “2016 to-do” list. Bonaparte wanted to make a visit back to Monaco so we decided to tackle all three places. In one day!

We took the “Bord de Mer” as far as we could to get to Eze. There are actually two roads that lead to the top village. One is a bit narrow and windy and kind of dizzying. The other is more –I guess you could say-direct and easy. We took the easy (or shall I say “Ez-ee”) road.

On the road to Eze. Up in the clouds…

Within minutes we arrived at the foot at one of the cutest villages I’ve ever been to

Directions posted just at the end of the municipal parking lot. (Note the word “Bastide”. This will be popping up in a future post)

Travel Tip: If you drive to Eze, by all means—plan to arrive early in the morning. I mean it. The earlier you arrive, the better your chances of a decent parking space. Spaces for locals are reserved on the street. For visitors—you need to pay. We learned through trial and error. We arrived in Eze at 10:30AM and the municipal lot was almost full! The tarif for parking at the municipal lot is 1€40 for the first hour. If you don’t go to the exotic Jardin at the top of the village or eat a meal, you CAN tour the village from 1 to 2 hours.

We arrived to lots of clouds. Trust me this was a great thing because it is so comfortable walking around when the sky is a bit overcast. The temperature lends itself well to exploring.

This was the beginning of our ascent to the top of the village. See how cloudy it is? It was great!

Travel Tip 2: There are tons of steps leading to the top of the village so wear shoes that won’t have you slipping and sliding. I cannot stress this enough. Especially if you have bad knees. For me, I have no depth perception so luckily, there were railings to hold onto while making our descent.

Eze is fairytale country. Had Rapunzel been throwing her hair out of one of the village’s towers, I wouldn’t be surprised. If I had spotted Snow White or Sleeping Beauty in the flower-filled cemetery near the church at the top, the sight would have been welcomed! I would have stayed until both Prince Charmings arrived!

Little stone steps in clusters..

..random little bouquets of flowers growing from the rocks. Damn. I just noticed those cigarette butts. That’s so disgusting. I wish I knew how to photo shop them out…

..little pathways. We were lucky to be here when the crowds hadn’t yet arrived.

Flowers and vines holding us in like bookends.

And more steps.

Our way up the village was slow and full of little discoveries.

A stop for a moment in a little square gave us a photo op and…

…a close up of this fountain. After last night’s result from tap water I wasn’t even going to attempt.

Closer…and..

…closer to the top.

In all my 61 years, I’ve finally give validation to all the people who told me that “my head is in the clouds”. Well–now it is!! Or rather–it EZE!

When we made it to the top, we stopped into the church that is dedicated to Our Lady of The Assumption. Another old and in a “state of disrepair” church, the interior was filled with the ethereal scent of mustiness combined with the remnants of frankincense. I lit a candle to St. Teresa the Little Flower and Bonaparte made a donation for the maintenance of this precious place of worship. The many churches in France are the best places for reflection—and you don’t have to be Catholic either! It’s like Levy’s Jewish Rye Bread—you don’t have to be Jewish to enjoy it!

The climb up to the church made it seem more like a pilgrimage.

Even though the interior was run down, the ceiling remained beautiful.

St. Teresa seemed a bit happier to see me than my friend St. Rita did!

A candle for my special intentions (me) and a donation rounded out our visit to the church.

We stopped at a memorial for War victims, made our way to a little cemetery and stopped on a bench under a shaded tree to watch people.

A memorial for all the residents from Eze who were murdered in wars. Let’s hope there are never any more names…

The tiny fairy tale cemetary. Close your eyes and envision Sleeping Beauty and Snow White waiting for their Prince Charmings…

Travel Tip 3: Another tip I cannot stress enough about. What to wear—freakin’ wear what makes you comfy when traveling. I’m beginning to take offense when I read about what slobs Americans are (and I’m even guilty of saying that). Tourists from MANY other countries dress down. Way down. Don’t be intimidated. Remember—you are a tourist. You are looking at sights and climbing up and down stairs. You are walking through dirt. Comfort comes first.

Yes. We are in France–but we aren’t in Paris. Touring for the day? Don’t worry about being the fashionable American. Trust me, NONE of these tourists were American. Can you spot the chic? I didn’t think so.

Since it was still rather cloudy and we had more to see, we passed on the exotic garden. The admission tariff was 6€ 50 per person. We agreed to come back next year on a day where the sun would be shining on the flora, fauna, and cacti!

Back in the car—and offering luck to another driver by freeing up a parking space, we were on our way to Monaco.

I honestly can’t remember whether this pic is on the way to Monaco or Menton. But hey, it is one or the other.

For some ungodly reason, we always get lost in Monaco. This is a strange phenomenon because the area is no bigger than NYC’s Central Park. But the streets are winding and it does become a bit confusing. I can’t even. This year was no different.

We’ve been to Monaco quite a few times. We didn’t go to Monte Carlo because, quite frankly, after walking around that area once years back—it was enough. Pragmatically speaking, we don’t travel above our means and MC is a wealthy jet-setter’s playground. We’ll be back when I win the lottery. Or when I discover that I really am an heiress who was abandoned many years ago by her unwed mother.

A quiet street in the Old Town section of Monaco. Can you believe how clean it is?

You never know what you will stumble upon. At first I thought this was how Monegasques dressed to check their iPhones. Then we discovered..

They were wedding guests! I wished we had been dressed better so we could blend in with the wedding! Isn’t this the perfect tourist timing moment?

Instead we revisited the Old Town area of Monaco. This area is wonderful for walking about, stopping to admire the buildings, making the way to the Grimaldi palace and some fantastic photo ops.

I’ll bet these windows are washed twice a day..

Why the crowd at the Grimaldi Palace? I’m sure they aren’t coming to see me!

Another regret. I should have taken a video of this guard marching up and down in front of the palace. He had fancy footwork and everything..

I wanted to slip him a note asking him how he got his whites so bright and if he wanted to meet my beautiful daughter. I think Oona would do well in Monaco!

By this time the sun was playing hide and seek every minute or so. Monaco is so densely populated–but with wealthy residents!

Another view–with sunny skies!

I couldn’t resist this little porch. Everything here is just so perfect.

They say that residents of Monaco can be cold at times. Well, THIS guy certainly proved it when I gave him a goodby kiss! He probably didn’t like my trashy Walmart earrings! Seriously. I really like Monaco. A lot!

You will be fascinated at how immaculately clean Monaco is. I swear Disneyworld is filthy compared to this pristine principality! If I dropped an ice cream cone top first, I would still manage to lick it because there would be no dirt upon it at all!

After walking and frolicking in Old Town, we were back in the car and headed to Menton.

Travel Tip 3: Back to parking. Like the parking garage at Marche Forville in Cannes, the parking garage which led us to Old Town in Monaco also offered a free first hour. Why can’t the garages in NYC do this? It’s a great way to bring in tourism—you actually get something for free!

Approaching Menton. A view from the car. I think. Maybe it was when we exited the car and walked toward the Musee Cocteau.

Visiting the Jean Cocteau museum was big for me. His film “La Belle a la Bette” (Beauty and the Beast) is one of my favorite films of all time. He turned this fairytale into a dream. He did. Add to that, one of my favorite French actors, Jean Marias, was Cocteau’s partner in a very tumultuous relationship.

View of the Courtyard in the front of the Musee Cocteau. That sculpture of the whale is really cool.

The collection Severin Wunderman was jaw-dropping incredible!

A poster of one of my favorite films!

Sketches by the talented Cocteau included his friends…

..and those he loved–such as Jean Marais

I’m so angry at myself for not taking a pic of this poster which was at the museum. I was so enamored with everything that I completely forgot to take more photos. I’m sorry. I’m sorry because there were posters such as this one by the great Alphonse Mucha . Although I didn’t take this photo, I have photos of his work from exhibitions on past visits to Paris. He’s the father of Art Noveau.

Jean Marais tidbit: Danèle knew Marais. She said that he was absolutely “adorable”. Bonaparte told me that to call someone adorable in the French language is a pretty high compliment. That made me love him even more!

Jean Cocteau was a true Renaissance man and was multi-talented. He was a writer, an artist and made some intense films. We need more Cocteau’s these days.

This photo pretty much sums up who Cocteau was. Writer, artist, editor, filmmaker–oh, and lover of cigarettes.

I could have spent all day in this incredible, fascinating building of wonder and treasures! A viewing of his film “Les Infants Terrible” was on screen. I needed a chair to sit my expanding rear upon but Bonaparte wouldn’t let me watch the film. We were on the meter. We parked on the street and only had a limited amount of time.

Another surprise was a showing of an 80-minute short of the film “Orpheus”. Danièle’s ex-husband, the actor Daniel Gelin was starring in it. This time I did manage to park my rear on a bench. And once again, Bonaparte reminded me we were on the meter.

I’m coming back here next summer! I need to take more photos of this wonderful place1

I have to. What I didn’t realize was that across the street, on the edge of the beach, was another small, older version of the Musée Jean Cocteau!

I have no idea what treasures are in store here, but I’ll find out in the future!

Speaking of beaches, Menton’s beaches and shoreline are quite different from that of L’Estagnol and some others along the Riviera. Menton’s beaches are pebbly and rocky.

This stretch of beach is directly across the Cocteau museum. If you like a rocky beach, and are visiting the museum, you may want to wear your bathing suit under your clothes and spend some time here.

Sunbathers and swimmers in Menton.

Another view of Menton

If you aren’t crazy about fine sand, such as my dad was, the Menton beach is a definite for you!

What’s great about the Cote d’Azur is that the shoreline gifts you with many different types of beaches—there’s one for everybody!

The Marche in Menton. Had we arrived earlier, we could have spent quality time here!

We took the scenic route back. I wish we had come to Menton earlier because the Marche, which was just about closed, looked like a great place to visit. Especially since I saw signs for Socca—a chickpea crepe that I’ve been wanting to try (I make chickpea pancakes and they are delicious!) Next year!

Our drive back also made me realize just how bad my sense of direction is. I had no idea that Nice airport was so close to the sea. When I mentioned this to Bonaparte, he almost jumped the car onto the median.

I end my journal entry for today here. I am getting my lazy on.

Jusqu’à demain!

Here’s another Laurent Voulzy song for a nice slow drive: “Belle-Ile-Mer: Marie Gallant”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ns4MQgUxEs8

NOTE: All photos, except where noted, were taken by either me or Bonaparte. If you want to use them, please shoot me an email! Thanks!

Posted in Eze | Tagged #Humor, Cote d'Azur, France, Monaco, Travel | 24 Comments

A Caprice in Cabris

Posted on July 11, 2016 by Catherine

Friday, June 24, 2016

Hi Journal. I’m sorry that I’ve been lacking in writing but I’m beginning to lose track of the days. I was thinking of journals past and I’ve written volumes. Now I’m afraid that I’m treating my journaling like a third child. You know—a million photos are taken of a first born; then a bit less with the second child. By the time the third child rolls around you have to search for the fewer photos you’ve taken.

I promise to write more next year.

Today we woke up to the news of the “Brexit”. The people of the United Kingdom voted to leave the European Union. This is bad. And I’m afraid it will affect voting in the USA. I don’t want Trump to be elected.

Wait! I’m not thinking about politics on this wonderful trip.

We’re going to laze by the pool today for a while. There was a notice that due to a wedding, the pool will be closing at 2:30 this afternoon. Can you imagine having your wedding here? I’m so pissed that I’m not wealthy. I want to have Oona’s wedding here one day.

I take my favorite place at the pool. Luckily I have hearing like a dog and can listen to the conversations of the wedding party. And pretend that my daughter, Oona, is going to have HER wedding here someday. I better start that diet now!

If only Oona knew what I was thinking she would beg Bonaparte to have me committed.

At the pool, wedding guests were bragging about the celebrations. I was eavesdropping on what the women were going to wear. I was also eavesdropping on where some guests were going after the wedding festivities. One couple was going to spend eight weeks touring throughout Europe. I’m jealous!

After soaking the sun under an umbrella, we up and left to change. We decided to take a drive to Cabris!

Outfit of the afternoon. It’s about time I put some real clothes on! I’m wearing this years-old shift from J. Crew. This white dress is perfect for the weather on the Cote d’Azur. It’s cotton and breathes!

Cabris holds a special place for Bonaparte because his daughter spent many summers with her grandparents there.

View from the village of Cabris. It’s located higher up in the mountains so the views never fail to please. Sorry about the date on the camera. I was messing around a bit and ..well–you know!

I’m mighty high here!

The lapsed bad Catholic girl in my loves visiting Cabris because every year I get to see the statue of Saint Rita and pray to her for money, a job, Botox, a winning Lottery ticket—things that nice girls shouldn’t even think of. But somehow old St. Rita takes my pleas with a grain of salt and pays me no mind.

St. Rita. Every year I visit her. Every year I ask more more and more. She’s not looking to happy with me…

..I also stop to pause for reflection by the altar at the little chapel and every year I take the same picture.

In the past, we’ve been to this charming little village when the heat index was supernatural. Hell was cooler.

This year, surprisingly, the weather was rather comfortable. Maybe around low 90’s with zero humidity. As usual the drive was pleasant, and even more pleasant was the fact that we got a parking space under the shade of trees. Actually parking in Cabris is always good.

Cabris is little village and one of those places that just seems to take a baby step back in time. The homes are cute and well-maintained. There isn’t a lot of hustle and bustle.

Houses are adorned with cute decorations..

..and the narrow streets, which are more like passageways, are lined with homes..

Trees with little oranges line the way..

…..people can keep stuff outside of their homes and it won’t get stolen..

…grab a seat and watch the world go by….

…or be like this cat and take a nap outside

Bonaparte said that it’s pretty much the same now as it was thirty years ago.

I love the cushioned bench.

..an old church that never seems to be open..

..a restaurant and auberge..

Another building..

We also took time out to visit an adorable little galerie that I had seen for a couple of years, but it was never opened when we passed by. I’m so happy that we were in Cabris when the galerie was opened.

Atelier Galerie Lulu.

We’ve passed by in previous years, but this was the year we finally entered the studio. Atelier LuLu is named for Lulu the artist’s cat!

…shhhhh. Lulu is sleeping. Or hiding from me.

Seriously. This galerie is the greatest little studio/galerie I’ve been in. The outside is inviting and there is a little bench with books that you can have. Well—just to have! The owner/operator/artist in residence is Olivier Buccellato. Olivier is quite the handsome Frenchman AND he is incredibly creative and talented.

Olivier Buccellato at work. I would like to introduce him to Oona!

The atelier is pretty much dedicated to his cat, Lulu!

How can you not love a studio that gives out free books??

I was glad that Olivier allowed me to take photos of the place. I wish Olivier the best of luck with his galerie because it is such fun, funky and pleasant. You know how you walk into a place and you get this vibe that it’s just a good, good place to be in? Yeah. That’s how Atelier Galerie Lulu is. If you ever get the chance to visit Cabris, definitely stop by the Galerie. You just may get to see Lulu too!

The inside of Atelier Lulu. This is the perfect place to curl up with a good book on a rainy day!

Maybe it rains books sometimes. Olivier said that he attaches books that he isn’t crazy about on the ceiling. That’s a good thing because I trash books I don’t like!

I’m really diggin’ Olivier’s work. Lulu!

A closer look.

More Lulu inspired artwork..

So glad we entered into this galerie!

Don’t forget to visit the galerie when you are in Cabris!

Cabris is always a pleasure to visit. It is always slightly sleepy and there is a certain sense of ease with the people who live and work there. My guess is that St. Rita likes to watch over them.

She’s glad that I’m gone for another year. She told that little statue so.

We enjoyed another long dinner on the terrace. Tonight we had one of the great little chickens that the French roast so well. The flavor packs a punch. A salad of tomato, mozzarella, drizzled with olive oil and seasoned with basil, salt and pepper was perfect for this hot summer evening.

Aperitifs on the terrace before…

…delicious, cold, roti chicken…and

Tomato and Mozzarella.

Nighty night! Tomorrow we have a rather ambitious schedule. Eze. Menton. And Monaco.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I leave you with one of my favorite songs by Michel Polnareff: La Poupee Qui Fait Non. It’s very Ye-ye!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EfuiJuKGp1k

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged #Humor, France, Travel | 36 Comments

Do You Know The Way To St. Tropez?

Posted on July 10, 2016 by Catherine

Thursday, June 23, 2016

6:15 AM and waking up to clear skies! Today we are going to St. Tropez. It will be the first of two visits. We’re going next week to visit Bonaparte’s dad but today we are going to St. Trop to run an important errand—my Rondini purchase.

I got hooked on these sandals a few years back. The sandals are custom fit and constructed in the little studio in the rear of the shop. As with great leather, the sandals conform to the shape of your foot with wear and become even more comfortable over the years. There is literally no “break in” time either.

And, for the price, it is a far better deal than you can get with the mass-produced sandals sold at retail stores in the States.

Hidden France–L’Estagnol. The Greatest Little Beach On Earth.

Posted on July 9, 2016 by Catherine

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

The alarm was set for 6:15 this morning and went off good and loud! I can’t waste time in bed. Today we are returning to the greatest beach in France! No. The greatest beach on earth—L’Estagnol!

The best beach ever!

The first time Bonaparte took me to this gem of fine sand and clear sea was when his mom had a home in Ensuès la Redonne—a little village outside of Marseille. L’Estagnol is also a beach where Bonaparte spent a great amount of time during the summers of his youth when his family visited Cabasson. In fact, Bonaparte reminds me quite often that his family discovered L’Estagnol (just like Christopher Columbus discovered America)!

Columbus had three ships when HE went to discover America. Bonaparte’s family had a Citroen when they discovered L’Estagnol!

Bonaparte’s stepfather, Jean Casadesus, explaining to the kids how they will go on to discover the greatest beach! I think Bonaparte is more interested in the food!

It is about an hour-and-a-half’s drive from the apartment in Théoule. And when leaving early in the morning, you beat the traffic and can enjoy the sights along the way.

Any, I did wake up a bit nauseous due to all the wine I’ve been drinking! Vacation means drinking during the weekdays. I just cannot handle that anymore. I’ll stick to cidre! A glass of Alka-Seltzer helped settle my stomach—thanks to Dr. Bonaparte, and we hit the road!

Actually another chocolat chaud at Mc Do was the real cure!

And listening to Nostalgie radio in the car, I discovered a new favorite song: “Bad Boys” by two of my favorite singers—Laurent Voulzy and Alain Souchon. I tell you, I’m still singing it in my head!

Once we exited the highway and started driving on the smaller roads, our route was full of charm and spectacular views.

Vineyards and Olive trees lined the way.

The views are so pretty….

We arrived at L’Estagnol around 9 AM. There is a 9€ charge for parking, making the beach a bit more private. And the grounds leading to the beach are shaded by the surrounding trees, making it a bit cooler and more “parked car” friendly.

There is a little area where children can take donkey and horse rides.

If you have children with you and want a break from the beach–have a ride on an ass. I don’t mean MINE silly!

Yet another form of life that ignores me and keeps on eating!

This guy took a look at my Scholl’s sandals and ran to me. Not to greet me but to munch on my footwear. Good thing I wasn’t wearing my Rondini’s–or I would have had him for dinner–and not as a guest!

And L’Estagnol holds a special place in my memory bank because it was the first time I swam without my top on! I’ll have to do that again when I lose weight!

The trees in the back end of the sandy shore remind me of the beaches I’ve been to in Australia—but without the waves!

The trees give shade when you’ve had enough of the sun!

There are no rocks on this beach either! This is an important little fact. Many of the beaches, east of Nice, along the Côte d’Azur are quite rocky and if you aren’t a fan of stepping into water with a bed of small and not-so-small rocks, L’Estagnol is your kind of beach!

Look how calm the water is!

The beach really is the true definition of pristine. The water is so crystal clear that the fish swimming by are in full and bright sight!

The water is so clear. I’m sorry I forgot to take a pic of the little fish!

The “waves” are so tiny. Like “leetle small boned French pipoule”. In fact, the water’s only motion is the little waves created by the gentle rocking of boats in the nearby distance!

The little waves are caused by the gentle rocking of boats..unless the Mistral decides to pay a visit!

Brice de Nice. The only man who has ever attempted surfing in these calm teeny-waved waters! (BTW, if you are looking for a hilarious French film, might I suggest Brice de Nice written by and starring Jean Dujardin!

1957. L’Estagnol. Bonaparte’s sister Agnes. Look how far out she is. What a pleasure!

2016. L’Estagnol. Look how far out these bathers are and the water is just barely to their knees!

You can walk out into the water forever, still see the bottom of the sea’s floor and still not go over your head—every woman’s hair dream!

And this early in the morning we finally heard the chant of cicadas. I do believe their chant was a welcome song and they were extremely happy to see us return!

A nice view from the rocky trails that Bonaparte snapped. Hey. I’m not walking over there–my clumsiness is too strong a force!

L’Estagnol. Tree in the water. 1954 (photo by Bonaparte’s family)

L’Estagnol. June 2016. An almost identical pic taken by Bonaparte!

The sound of a helicopter flying low for a nearby landing joins in the with the cicadas. Bonaparte tells me that Francois Hollande’s “summer” home is just over the group of trees to our left and the helicopter is most likely landing there. Is Hollande on strike too?

Or perhaps Hollande is trying to escape the headlines in the papers!

People start to arrive. Bonaparte tells me that mostly locals are here. He can tell by their accents. Just like in the States, the Southern accent is different from other areas of France. German and British accents also dot the coast. I don’t hear any other American voices.

More people arrive and enjoy the water. He may not be a surfer like Brice, but this guy was paddling all day!

The scent of flowers can be caught during one of the frequent breezes and it is sweet and pleasant and smells beautiful when it is mixed with the scent of salt water.

The water is freezing but so refreshing. Bonaparte won’t join me because he won’t swim in a freezing sea.

As I stand in the water I see young children who are fascinated by two large fish swimming by. I’m intrigued by the school of minnows circling my feet. To my right is an older man walking in the water for his morning exercise. THIS is my kind of gym! He is also reading the morning paper as he walks. Multitasking at its best.

Boats floating nearby, children enjoying the refreshing water. It’s a great place!

To my rear is a young mother running after her naked toddler. She is trying to slather sunscreen on him and he is having nothing of it. He just wants to frolic in the soft sand. It brings back memories of when my own kids were young!

Within an hour the little beach is full of life. Guys playing soccer are out of harms and bathers’ way.

People with their floating devices relax atop the water because they know large waves and a strong current will not bring them drifting out to sea.

A dad with his son enjoying the fun!

If we lived in a perfect world, all beaches would be like L’Estagnol!

Bonaparte walked up to a menu standing on a wooden cabinet by the steps leading down to the beach. He saw my favorite seafood “seiche” on the menu. (Cuddlefish). He surprised me by making reservations for lunch.

Our lunch was enjoyed here!

What more could I ask for on this perfect day?

Barefoot and on our way to a fun and delicious lunch!

My Seiche La Plancha. Grilled Seiche. I sucked every bit of this like a vacuum cleaner! The seiche was perfectly grilled. The gourgette and eggplant were the best I’ve ever had. Hell, I even wolfed down the salad!

Bonaparte enjoyed his Salade Nicoice!

Later on we made our way up the steps and into the restaurant, Chez Richard. The restaurant, rustic and homey, was a true beachy place for a delicious lunch of my beloved seiche. Bonaparte enjoyed a Salade Niçoise. My first reaction to my meal was the huge portion. Like a glutton, I ate the entire thing. *burp* And I enjoyed every. last. morsel!

And, eating lunch outdoors in my bathing suit was everything I dreamed of. The vibe is so casual that you don’t have to cover up if you don’t want to. Diners in swimsuits. Diners in cover ups. Diners dressed in ensembles. It’s all good!

After lunch, it’s back down to the beach for a bit of a lazy half sleep. How come the sound of the sea’s water hitting the shore’s edge is so relaxing, calming, and mesmerizing, but the sound of water dripping from a faucet is annoying and causes anxiety? I’m such a deep thinker.

Still life with my beach accessories! A ten-year old Vera Bradley beach towel that we take along to France every year. My raggy old Longchamp bag. Scholl’s sandals. My trusty Wythe Hotel tote and my three-buck sun hat from Walmart! I’m Cote d’Azur chic–in a beach bum way!

Back home to another dinner on the terrace, and while watching the news we find out that plastic bags will be banned in France starting July 1^st. The country is going back to a paper-bag only policy. I hope we do that in the States.

Bonne Nuit!

BTW. Here’s Laurent Voulzy and Alain Souchon with my new favorite song: “Bad Boys”. (Thank you YaDuMondeBalcon for a great video!)

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged France, French Beaches, L'Estagnol, Travel | 22 Comments

On The Abbaye Road…

Posted on July 8, 2016 by Catherine

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

I woke up at 6:30 AM today while Bonaparte slept soundly. Apparently between 6:30 and 7:00 AM is the only window of time where I can get Wi-Fi on my iPhone.

In addition, I received a phone call from a number in Long Island. My voicemail isn’t working either. So now I don’t know if someone died or got injured. Maybe it was a wrong number.

Remind me to make like ET and leave my “phone home” next summer.

Anway, it’s partly cloudy today. Since we’ve both been out in the sun or rather one of us who hasn’t been sitting under the umbrella and not in the sun for the past few days, we figured it would be a good idea to play tourist.

We’re going back to the Abbaye du Thoronet. The Abbaye, better known simply as “Thoronet”, was a home for the Cistercian monks back in the 12^th and 13^th centuries.

If you are thinking about visiting–here’s the lowdown on the tarifs!

Our Abbaye Road will be the ones along the coast to St. Raphaël and then we’ll switch over to the highway. Thoronet is such a peaceful and calm place to visit. The grounds are beautiful and we’ve both wanted to return.

We stopped for gas at Total and headed into the McDonald’s that is on-site. Or rather we headed into the Mc Do, as the French refer to this fast food bastion. Don’t judge either!

Yes. THIS is what breakfast at McDonald’s in France looks like..note the warning on the coffee and hot chocolate…

My other regret is that I didn’t purchase a “‘Eppy Meal”. I could have gotten some cute toys! Check out the baked goodies!!

Travel Tip: Don’t dismiss McDonald’s when you are in France. I’m not telling you to eat all your meals there. But for a quick breakfast when you are on the road and want a cup of coffee or a croissant, Mc Do delivers the goods. It’s a different animal than here in the States. Regulations must be followed strictly. The pastries are of very good quality and the chocolat chaud is superior. There is also free “wee-fee” available.

Just as I started washing my hands in the very clean and spotless ladies room, the water gushed out of the faucet and all over my dress. I keep forgetting that the water pressure in France is quite amazing and comes out full force! Remember that for future visits!

We are ready to get into the car and I spot the latest issue of Charlie Hebdo. Donald Trump is on the cover. Can’t I get away from this man’s face for at least two weeks? But in true Hebdo form, they are making fun of him. We buy the paper!

They could have made him a bit more l’orange! PS. What he is saying is not nice!

The return to Thoronet was a bit disappointing. The first time around we were able to go into the olive tree orchard and enter into little areas of quiet gardens. We were also able to go around to the back of the abbaye to take photos.

This time, gates were locked and visitor space was limited. Oh well, we were still able to take some nice photos. Warning–pic heavy!

Exterior view. Notice the lack of people–that’s what makes this a good place to visit. It’s a hidden gem of France!

Pretty steps..

..incredible to see that this ceiling still has remains of paintings from the 12th century..that’s some long-lasting paint..

…this statue of Mary and Jesus looks too modern to be that old. I’m wondering if this was added much later on. I’ll do some sleuthing.

View from a window out to the grounds

Another view

The courtyard from above. Isn’t this building beautiful?

The inside of the church. Even if you are not Catholic or a believer, THIS is a great place for quiet reflection and thought.

I felt like a monk in my sandals. Do you think the monks wore Rondini sandals? As an aside–if you DO visit this abbaye or any other attraction or place that has the slippery stones and tiles, by all means–wear shoes with strong soles. The leather soles on the bottom of these sandals were perfect because I didn’t slip or slide. You do not want to hurt yourself while enjoying the sights!

Another exterior view.

A little fountain…

..and another fountain. I’m sure this one got a ton of use from the monks many centuries ago.

Again–a naked face except for the eyes. It’s amazing how well a blow out lasts in dry weather. The hair still looks great!

OOTD. More like OOT Every D. This shift of seasons past from Banana Republic was a “go-to” on this trip. It also has bode well for my weight gain. My years-old, raggy Longchamp bag was also used every day.

A quiet passage. Look how bright and immaculate the stones are.

Among the historical ruins.

Escargot in training.

Stained glass window.

Another view of the courtyard.

And another pic..

Still, if you are in the Var or anywhere on the Cote d’Azur on vacation, by all means make it a point to see the remains of this once thriving abbey. There’s a chance we just returned on a bad day!

Bonaparte, ever the navigator, thought he knew a shortcut to somewhere when we left. I have no idea what somewhere he spoke of because his accent is now sooooo heavy that I’m begging him to just speak French. I can understand him better that way.

The “shortcut” ended up bringing us a great, great surprise.

We ended up in Draguignan. And in driving through the village center I noticed a sign. It was a sign for the American Cemetery. During WWII many soldiers landed in towns along the Cote d’Azur. Draguignan was one of them.

We followed the signs, got a parking space immediately and made our way to pay our respects.

Another hidden gem. Rhone American Cemetery in Draguignan

This little side trip that we stumbled upon was almost as emotional as our visit to Normandy Beach. The amount of soldiers buried was not a small one. And it broke my heart to read where so many of these young men were from.

We paid our respects in an impeccable setting.

It was nice to see that flowers are still being placed at these graves

We thank you Alfred Amann for giving up your life so selflessly.

It also broke my heart that they died thinking the atrocities during that war would never happen again. We, as humans, just don’t learn—do we? Look at our world today. So much hate and anger. Wars that are falsely declared by politicians who only want power. Men who try to lead on fear. It’s awful.

A memorial is also on the grounds. I’m telling you when I went into that building, I cried. I cried because during WWII men and women gave up their lives so selflessly. And to pay them back, we’ve regressed…

In the memorial. Solace.

One of the many illustrations and notes that local people and visitors left at the memorial. Never forget–but we did and continue to do so.

Thank you, France. Thank you for placing our soldiers in eternal rest in such a beautiful setting. Thank you for remembering them so fondly. Thank you American government for maintaining the grounds so impeccably. It is nice to see our tax dollars being put to very good use.

Our last stop on this now sunny day was a trip to FNAC in Cannes. There is an important need to add to my collection of French pop music. I got lucky!

I cannot stop listening. All CD’s have been uploaded to the computer and are now in my car. I’ll have memories of this trip every time I listen…

We also spotted a film starring Danièle and also starring Jean Gabin! It was like another sign from her that she was watching over us. We bought it because we don’t have it at home.

Danièle looks so serious! I think it is because she had to watch out for naughty Jean Gabin!

Gossipy French Movie Trivia: During one of my stays with Danièle, I mentioned that I loved Jean Gabin. Her eyes almost popped out of her head. She told me that when she was in a film with him, he wanted to sleep with her and she refused. The above is the film she spoke of! He got really angry at her. She also said he had bad breath. It was so funny. I did tell her that I still loved him as an actor!

Demain tout Commence!

Here’s a beautiful song by Florent Pagny “Le Soldat”….

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Fc5wJQv2dY

Posted in Abbaye du Thoronet, American Cemetery in France | Tagged Cote d'Azur, France, Humor, Travel in France | 27 Comments

Summer Has Arrived in France!

Posted on July 6, 2016 by Catherine

Monday, June 20, 2016.

Today is the first day of summer. I should be jumping for joy because the weather is gloriously beautiful. But after today, the days become shorter. And shorter.

Am I the only one out there who can turn summer’s welcome into misery??? Once again, Bonaparte is beaming with pride that I can manipulate what is quite possibly the happiest day of the year into the most depressing. He told me so. His words: “Ou ahr zee étoile of zee miserable”. (Translation. “You are the star of the miserable”!) He also said I’m now almost 100 percent French. In theory.

Personally, I see myself more as “Étoile de la mer” The star of the sea!

Come to think of it, I AM pretty much L’Etoile de mer. Our bodies are almost the same. She even wears bras!

I’m putting my bathing suit on and hoping that my gut isn’t sticking out too much! Oh wait. It is. I act so French as I tilt my head to the side and give a huge shrug to my reflection. At 61 years old, does it really matter if my gut sticks out or not? At least if a shark gets to me, he will have a nice chunk of meaty humanness!

What would Virginia, the girl who sells bathing suits at the pool, think of my cheapo bikini. The top was eight bucks from Target and the bottom was five bucks from Walmart. I’m a regular fashion plate!

Sorry to sound boring, but we’re going back to the pool. Despite my pleas of going to the beach, Bonaparte has explained to me that Monday is not a good beach day here on the Riviera because all the people who worked during the weekend are off on Monday and therefore the beaches will be crowded.

NOTE: This is a picture of L’estagnol beach that I snapped the following MONDAY. You call this a crowd? Just sayin’! ( I will be posting about this spectacular beach–stay tuned!)

It’s weird because Bonaparte’s accent is getting heavier and he’s starting to speak to me in French—as though I am fluent!! I’m fluent in ordering food and my shoe size and cursing in the French language. It’s cool though. I happen to like the way he is more relaxed and animated when we’re in France. He is definitely happier when he’s speaking in his native tongue!

Upon arriving at the pool we noticed there were little guests who must have smuggled themselves in for an early morning dip in the water.

Three little quackers to greet us!

Three little ducks! I hope they don’t leave any bodily functions behind. Better yet, they better hope the chef from the Club’s restaurant doesn’t see them. Duck confit could very well end up on the menu tonight!

And they seemed to be making themselves quite at home in this pool!

I need to make sure those sitting ducks leave this pool. After all, we Americans invaded Normandy and helped to save the French from the Nazis.

I was afraid that the middle one would drink all the pool water!

I invaded the pool and saved the visitors from being attacked by this dangerous army of ducks! They fled after I came at them with my camera! I’m not that kind of hunter little duckies!

It doesn’t take much time until more people show up. Families arrived last night. It’s nice to see the pool full of people rather than full of wild life!

Over by the diving board is a young girl who is having a panic attack because she won’t jump in the water. Her brother tries to encourage her. Ten minutes of this young girl standing on the diving board, twelve feet above the water and screaming in her adorable British accent that she can’t jump is starting to get on my last nerve. Where is this one’s parents? Are they deaf? Did they take this opportunity to start guzzling wine by the bottle?

The diving board where Tarzan’s daughter was attempting to jump is to the far left. The plank is hidden by the trees. Just imaging the screaming!

My reading is being greatly disturbed. I walk over to the pool and get into the water (Without getting my hair wet. Hey. I’m also putting my fake tan in danger!) I paddle over to the boy and tell him to tell his sister that he will “spot” her.

Out of fear that I’m some sort of crazed woman, the boy complies and tells l’il sis that he will spot her.

She continues screaming that she can’t jump. Why can’t this child Brexit the diving board?

I tell her brother to tell his sister that the water in the pool is salt water and there is so much salt that she will float back to the top as soon as she jumps. (It’s true. The water is heavily salted. So much so that even a swimmer as heavy as I am will float to the top).

With growing fear, he conveys this message to his sister.

She jumps. But I think she jumped from the fear of looking at the expression on my face!

And she keeps jumping the rest of the day. And she ends up having a blast!

My good deeds for the day are finished. I’m a regular saint. First I save the swimmers from the vicious wild ducks and then I save this girl from having to be taken to the doctor for anti-anxiety medication. I also save the entire population of sunbathers from having to listen to the high-pitched screams of this little girl.

Why couldn’t she be French for crying out loud? Had she been a little French girl, she would have just quietly shrugged, given up and gone back to her chaise and read Camus, Proust or Pagnol.

This is why French children are so well read. Have you ever read Pagnol? The man had a gift for telling a story!

Skinny lady is back. I tried to take a photo of her but she was so thin that her body didn’t photograph. Her tanned skin is the color of my brown Longchamp bag. She is as skinny as a q-tip. She walks slow laps around the pool and then stops to take a cigarette break. There is no rule about not smoking at the pool. It’s France!

She’s done this every year since we’ve been coming here. Her bobbed black hair is the heaviest part of her body. And in some strange and bizarre way, seeing her brings familiarity and a sense of comfort to me. I like seeing her.

And I can bet she refers to me as “Zee wolee-polee pale American beech“. I wonder if she likes seeing me as much as I do her?

Across the pool is the woman I’m calling “Helen Mirren” because she’s about my age and looks great in a bikini. I’m so intimidated! I suck my gut in and begin to read my next book, “The Little Paris Bookshop”. After reading the first chapter, I’m hoping this snoozefest of faux literature gets better. I have a strong suspicion that it won’t.

Helen Mirren would show up in great bikinis every day. She even bought one from Virginia the bathing suit girl! Who says older women cannot rock bikinis??

Après pool we take a drive into Grasse. It’s my annual trip to reload on my favorite summer scent of all time. “Fleur d’Oranger”. I got hooked on this scent the first time I traveled to the South of France about 8 years ago. Even though I still have half a refill at home, it’s good to have a backup.

Random flower pic. This was taken outside our apartment. So it is kind of on the way to Grasse–right?

The drive to Grasse is pleasant and the beautiful countryside never gets boring.

We arrive at Fragonard and make our way down to the boutique.

Did you know that Fragonard parfumerie is named after the great artist Jean-Honore Fragonard? Click to see his paintings but scroll down till you find them.

My 2016 version of the front of Fragonard. I take the same picture every year!

Copper vats at the parfumerie….

….Bottles of essential oils…

…and a Frenchman who isn’t on strike! What’s not to love about this place?

We are greeted by Eva. She’s so cute and bubbly. Are you reading this anyone who thinks the French are rude? Because they aren’t. I make Eva laugh when she suggests a different scent and I tell her it gives me a headache—and I give enough people headaches as it is without having one of my own.

My Fragonard BFF, Eva. Such a Jolie Blonde! We had lots of laughs together!

She then has me try out the new “Fleur d’Oranger Intense”. The scent is captivating. Seriously. It is. It’s so …intense. But, Fragonard doesn’t sell refills of this so I pass. I know I will regret not making the purchase later on.

Now that I’m home, I’m regretting not purchasing this. Had I been an heiress, I would be able to hop on my private jet and return to Grasse. Oh well….

We engage in some serious Franglish and before I know it, a nice big box containing my regular Fleur d’Oranger is in my hands!

I mistakenly cut the bottom of this photo off. But I think this is Louis Quatorze. Whoever it is, he must have smelled nice!

Travel Tip: Fragonard (as well as other perfumeries in the area) gives tours of their facility in Grasse. The tour is quick—about 20 minutes. But it’s fun and interesting. There is no charge for the tour.

If you want to shop at the boutique and forego the tour, you can. I’ve made a shop stop here every year. The soaps and creams make great gifts for friends and family!

On the way back home (I love referring to the apartment as “home”); we missed the same turn we miss every single year! We took the long way home and marveled at the beauty of the way the yellow and ochre buildings blends in so well with the bright blue sky.

Our daily stop at the market brought to fruition our only argument during our stay. I saw veal kidneys at the boucherie. I wanted them. Bonaparte wanted steak. He won. To sooth my bruised spirit, I headed over to the snack aisles and picked out a couple of items that I knew would feed into my self-pity!

I could have wiped the entire supply of this out. I had an “itch” for Pitch!

Peanut butter in a can?? This is epic greatness. I could open the can and just stick those little brioche-covered chocolate bars into this all day. That boy’s face is a bit scary though!

Dinner on this longest day of the year was fun. Bonaparte had his mega binoculars at the ready so he could zoom in on the behemoth cruise ships on the horizon.

Lots of activity on the Mediterranean tonight. An old-school fishing boat made me happy. We saw a snorkeler—thanks to the binoculars. A few yachts and smaller boats dotted the sea.

The swallows are flying high. Bonaparte said that’s very good for the weather. It means it’ll be dry and no rain.

Bonaparte may have used the binoculars to look at the boats, but I’m a voyeur. This is the old Pierre Cardin house just up the street–or rather “mountain” from our apartment. It’s the coolest!

As the sun begins to set, the sounds of the evening can be heard in the distance. The frogs are singing in their low cadence. The sea is hitting the rocks at a faster pace. It must be due to the many boats in the water. The motors on the small boats are humming and it all sounds so lovely and soothing.

Another day has passed. But it was the longest day of the year.

As I step from the terrace into our bedroom, I turn around to see that the moon has left a path of light on the sea as if to invite me to step out and take a walk over the Mediterranean.

Moonglow on the Mediterranean. Isn’t it pretty?

That would make a nice dream. Wouldn’t it?

Dreams make me think of this song by Mama Cass. Her voice was also very soothing.

Posted in fun in france | Tagged #Humor, Cote d'Azur, France, Travel | 40 Comments

Atypical 60

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