Atypical 60

 Saturday, July 2, 2016

3:30 in the morning and the alarm went off but I didn’t even need it.  There is something remarkably annoying about having to wake up before dawn and get ready for your departure home from a wonderful trip.

You are so tired and running on adrenaline to get to the airport that you can’t focus on the great time you are leaving behind.

All my clothing is crammed into the Longchamp bag. All the other stuff  like towels and whatever isn’t clothing is in that big, fugly peachy/pink suitcase.  I’m delighted at how filthy that suitcase got while being handled by American Airlines. Nobody will ever steal anything from it. EVER!

This is so disgusting-but after a bath and not washing my makeup from last night off, I’m ready to get dressed for the flights home. My hair is piled atop my head like a bird’s nest and I’m going to wear shorts, a tee shirt and my old Rondini sandals.

Bonaparte and I are quiet because we are saddened and in no particular hurry to leave, but we need to be on time for the flight.

I take one last look around the apartment that has become our second home.  It is silent. The cicadas aren’t chanting. The frogs in their baritone voices aren’t harmonizing. Even the sea is silent. Could they be just as sad that we are leaving them?

Bonaparte closes the doors to the terrace ending our 2016 visit.

We walk to the car in the darkness of the early morning. A rush of emptiness fills my body because I am reminded of the last time we left France early and in darkness—the weekend of Danièle’s funeral.

This is how dark it was when we last left Paris in October. It was just as dark when we left Theoule.

The stress of departure is prevalent as we arrive to return the car to Hertz. A locked gate is stopping us from returning the automobile. I get out of the car to see a sign that reads nobody will be at the rental return before 6:00 in the morning.

It is 4:45 AM.  But all is not lost as I also see instructions to drive the car closer to the gate to activate the sensor that will open the mass of iron in order to allow us to return this vehicle.

Others who arrived before us and who didn’t see this sign are pulled over to the side. I’m sure they are now thrilled.

We unload the car, still in silence, drop the keys in a box and head off to the terminal.

This is why you get to the airport in plenty of time. We met with a mad crowd of students who were on their way to Spain. Hundreds of them.

By the time we checked in and passed through security it was about 6:30 AM. We were able to enjoy a bit of breakfast at the terminal and rest up for about 40 minutes before boarding our flight to Paris.

Daylight!  And we are awaiting our departure.

Off we go to head to Paris for a small layover before heading home.

Arriving in Paris was another story. CDG airport was a shit show. I’m not kidding, I cannot understand how an airport as heavily trafficked as this one was such a train wreck.  The place is so friggin’ disorganized that my blood pressure is rising as I’m typing this.

The good news is that our flight from Nice departed on time and landed in Paris a bit early.

The frustrating news is that we had to wait on a line to check in for over an hour. Then it took another hour to get through customs and another 30 minutes to get through security.

Crazy time at the airport. The crowds were completely stopped by security here. Ten minutes later we were on our way..

Hollande better start making sure that this airport not only hires more staff, but better make sure it happens soon.  Now that the UK is no longer part of the EU, the Brits are going to take up unwanted space at customs. And the lines will be longer!  I don’t like that!

…and more lines.  Ugh. It took forever. You wanna know what made the time fly by?  Take a look at the woman on the far left. What a head of hair. I was fascinated by her braid and the color of her hair. She had the GOOD gray! 

A bit later and a bit calmer, we were at the terminal in time for some duty-free shopping.  All I wanted to get was a refill of my winter scent: Guerlain’s La Petite Robe Noire. I did. And I also picked up a couple of food magazines. It’s fun to translate the recipes and incorporate them into our meals.

Sorry. I snapped this pic at home. I was too stressed to take any more photos at the airport. But I picked up La Petit Robe Noire for a great price. It’s funny but the first time I ever smelled that scent was at the airport–Orly on the way to Nice!

Simple pleasures for a simple woman. I LOVE buying these French food magazines and then translating them. Believe me, this is a great way to learn how to cook authentic French meals–right down to the measurements!

At the gate, which was more like a cattle ranch, we were advised of a gate change.  Once again, the disorganization was epic as the staff of American Airlines attempted to have us board the flight.

Although I took this photo years ago in Burgundy, American Airlines treated us just like cows on a ranch. Actually, these pretty girls were treated better…

Don’t even get me started on American Airlines.  Once again, we had to take a bus to the plane because the plane was NOT at the gate. I swear I need to write a letter to American Airlines because I want a refund of at least ten percent of our airfare for charging ridiculously expensive prices for air travel and then making us take a bus to the plane.

On our way back to Philly…

Can we turn around please???

And so as I become ensconced in my little area of the plane, I start to think about our trip and what I will miss. It’s the small and mundane I’ll miss the most.

I’ll miss that feeling of euphoria as we leave Nice airport and head to the apartment!

I will miss our breakfasts on the terrace and I miss drinking coffee from a bowl.

I had to reach into my shutterfly account for this pic. But I do miss these breakfasts at the start of the day. 

I’ll miss watching daylight turn into twilight as we begin our meal and I’ll miss twilight that has turned into darkness with a bit of moon glow as we end those lazy and long meals.

I miss our gluttonous meals that start with Kir Royals and Breton chips and pate’s……

That’s right. Our dinners go from daylight to this.

I will miss that comforting feeling of sleeping with the doors to the terrace wide open and being put to sleep by the symphony of frogs, cicadas, and the sounds of the rhythm of the sea’s little waves against the rocks.

I’ll miss these sounds combined with..

…the sound of the Mediterranean sea at night. Puts me right to sleep!

I’ll miss going to the pool in the morning and being greeted by Nathalie and Laurent,  the couple who run the little shop L’epicerie, at pool’s entrance.  Bonaparte stops there early each day for his croissant. We also get the local gossip which makes me feel as though I’m a part of the community!

Laurent and Nathalie are ALWAYS this happy and pleasant. I will miss them. A lot!

And here’s their little shop by…

the pool!!!!

I’ll miss our daily trips to Geant hypermarche. Oh yes I will. The simple act of picking out groceries in this wonderland of delightful packaging and epicurean surprises never ceases to amaze me.  The cheeses alone bring me into a state of euphoria.

Oh, those cheeses. And look at this homage to the cicadas. I’m SO angry at myself for NOT buying one of those ceramic cicadas.  Those cicadas are better than any designer bag! You push a button and the cicada makes sounds! I can’t even…

Friday at Geant. Hey. I’ll even miss those weird carts that are nearly impossible to steer!

I’ll miss the thrill that I get when we drive into Cannes, park the car in the lot at Marche Forville and finish our errands within the hour of gratuity.  I love that!

Look!  0,00 Euros!!  I LOVE THIS!  A free hour of parking. Makes me want to leave then come directly back and do it again! And again! And again!!!!!!

I’ll miss the view of the bay that we see every time we drive from Theoule down along the coast.

Boats in the bay..

..and closer views as we drive downhill toward the coastline.

I’ll miss the feeling of the cool water of the Mediterranean against my toes as I enter the water and I’ll miss being able to swim out what seems like forever and still not get my hair wet.

There is nothing like salt water and sand touching your feet and toes…

..another great view of the clear water.

One of my favorite boats that has been docked in Antibes for a couple of years. Who doesn’t love a boat christened with the name “Rehab”?  I didn’t see it this year. I’m guessing it checked into….

I’ll miss our trips into St. Tropez to have fun with Dany.

See how much fun I have with Dany!!

I’ll miss the way the salty, briny water hits my cheeks and nose while taking the Bateaux Verts from Ste. Maxime to St. Trop and back again.

On the Bateaux Verts

I’ll miss my daily dose of Nostalgie Radio—93.5 on the dial, and listening to my favorite French pop stars serenading to me as we drive throughout the Riviera.

93.5 on the dial and..

The familiar jingle. It never changes!

I’ll miss waking up to the greatest view.

Yup. Every day this is what greets us!

I’ll miss the smell of Rondini Atelier—the scent of leather is so strong and reminds me of an old-school shoe maker.

I can still smell the leather!

Perhaps next summer, I’ll purchase a tote instead of sandals!

I’ll miss the sights and sounds of the Marche Forville and all the activity and the organic beauty of the offerings.

My favorite marche..

…and the friendly Frenchmen selling olives and tapenade!

I’ll miss the way that our daily routine is ever-changing while remaining the same. Mornings at the pool and then lazily heading off to see whatever sights we feel like going to.

..one day and abbaye…

..the next day, a village. It’s all whatever you feel like doing!

I’ll miss the friendly locals.  I’ll miss the wonderful service we receive when we are at restaurants or boutiques.

Damn. I’ll just about miss everything!

I even miss beaches that are not L’estagnol!  I also love the beaches in Cannes!

That is, I’ll miss just about everything until next year!

PS. Right now, as I write this, I miss the fact Bonaparte is at work because I don’t know if the French title  of my is correct!

What do YOU miss when we leave your vacations? I want to know!

Here’s a song that I hear on Nostalgie that always puts me in a great mood! Phillippe LaFontaine’s “Coeur de Loup”. I have this song on a CD. I start car dancing in my seat when I hear it!

Friday, July 1, 2016

Wow. I can’t believe July is here already.  I also cannot believe that this is our last day in France for the summer of 2016. Bonaparte surprised me by telling me we are having dinner in Cannes tonight. I’ll need to take my new Rondini sandals out of my suitcase.

A last morning view of the sea from the terrace. I’m starting to get all misty-eyed now..

Bonaparte also reminded me that I should be as ‘eppy as he is that we will be returning to our little pup, Chippy.  Um. I’m not in that place yet so leave me alone. Monsieur B was incredibly upset that I didn’t have the same feelings as he did. I’m a regular Marie Antoinette!

OK. I’ll admit it. Chippy was not on my mind while I was away. But now that I’m home, my little buddyroo is by my side. I love this little guy!

I want to stay here for the rest of the summer. But reality is calling and so is my angst. And so we will spend our last day at the pool. Bonaparte sunbathing.  And me under the umbrella.

One of the best things about our little apartment is the washing machine.  During our stay here I did a few loads of laundry. Because there is no dryer, the clothes dry on a rack on the terrace and there is nothing like air-dried clothing.

That’s right!  I’ll never stop enjoying watching our clothing dry on the terrace either!

The one casualty was two burned fingers after I ironed.  What can I say?  My laziness makes me productive. When I unpack after we arrive home, all the clothes will be cleaned so I won’t have to spend time doing more and more laundry.

Our flight tomorrow from Nice to Paris is 7:30AM.  Ugh. I don’t want to think about it.

I’m going to the pool.

I’ll just drown my sorrows here. It’s much more fun!

You know how good things can randomly happen?  Well, instead of my last pool day being one of self-pity because we are leaving, it turned out to be a great fun day.

A few years back I met an American woman at the pool; Brenda. She has children and her husband is French.  They live in Boston but also have a home in this community of La Galère.  I never saw her again until today!  That feeling of knowing just one person in a place far away from home gives you a sense of familiarity.  It gives you comfort.  That was how I felt when I spotted her.

We reacquainted ourselves, had great conversation and spent a bit of time together talking about everything from food to politics. Luckily we are on the same page!

Honestly, I can’t begin to tell you how wonderful that made my last day.  It made me feel that La Galère is truly my second home. Kind of like “Oh yeah, I got friends here.”  “I know people!”

The pool’s salted water isn’t as cold as it was when we first arrived.  The air’s warmth has been a solar heater of sorts and the water is cold but not freezing. Bonaparte is in swimmer’s delight!

Virginia remains busy selling swimsuits and her tan is now bronze mixed with that envious caramel. She has no idea how lucky she is. She will never need a spray tan! She also tells me that I need to apply more sunscreen. Now I really feel at home knowing that she is watching out for me!

More children are playing in the pool and it’s nice to hear those happy voices laughing and splashing.  Not one is up on the diving board shaking with fear!

The lifeguard has begun his summer job and he disciplines the children that are running around the pool. They listen to him while ignoring their parents.

Helicopters and private planes are flying at a short distance over the coast. It’s the wealthy on their way to Nice airport.  I will never be one of them and I don’t care. Right now, I feel like a princess.

I’ll miss the happy feeling I have at this very moment of soaking this visual mural into my mind. This is the memory that’ll get me through the winter months.

Back from the pool, I realize now is not the time to wax sentimental. Instead, it is time to get ready to head into Cannes.

Bonaparte told me we would be having dinner at a restaurant overlooking the port at Cannes.  Au Mal Assis.  He knows of my love for seafood and wanted me to enjoy our last meal.

Somebody forgot to make reservations. It was not me! (I did not take this photo. I got it from TripadvisorUK)

Our plan was to drive into Cannes, walk around the port and then sit down at 7:00 PM for an early dinner since we had to wake up incredibly early to get to the airport.

We parked the car and we walked around the port.

Boats resting in the Port du Cannes..

..another view with the Ferris Bueller Wheel in the background..

I like the smaller boats–they have more character.

And I love the old boats. I want a ride on this one!

My new Rondini Bikini sandals are so happy walking around Cannes!

A nice vista of the port!

And when we arrived to the restaurant, we were not able to be seated. Bonaparte didn’t realize he needed to call for reservations. In Bonaparte’s world, he grew up with people to make reservations for him.  In my world, growing up, my family went to restaurants where reservations were never needed!

He could not get a table overlooking the port so we moved on.  I took this news with a laissez faire  train of thought because I wasn’t hungry yet. Had I been famished, my personality would have taken on a total petty bitch and monstrous one!

Our little walk up quai Saint-Pierre had us stopping in front of the iconic Gaston et Gastounette restaurant.

I snapped this pic after our dinner.  See the little table in the center that is empty? That was our table. Best table ever!

Bonaparte had enjoyed many wonderful meals here with his cousin, Xavier Gelin, in years past and always spoke highly about this restaurant. It holds a special place for him because Xavier and Bonaparte were extremely close.

Bonaparte’s cousin Xavier Gelin. They were more like brothers and enjoyed many meals together.

The funny thing is, in the years we’ve been staying here, we’ve never ventured into Cannes for dinner!  Our dinners at The Club at La Galère, along with our willingness to laze in hedonistic pleasure enjoying meals on our terrace were enough to stop us from venturing out of our little box!

Tonight would end our little routine.

As we stood outside reading the menu, the maître d’hôtel approached Bonaparte.  Both men started speaking in French while I nodded my head up and down quite seriously. You know, so that it appeared like I actually knew what the two men were talking about. I’m as phony as my tan.

The next thing I knew, we were being led to the best table in the house. Table 80. We were seated at a table overlooking the port and being in a position to see and be seen. Screw the Cannes Film Festival—I was enjoying my very own festival!

Table 80.  Remember this table if you are in Cannes and go to Gaston et Gastounette!

Bonaparte told me that we were lucky because we arrived a bit early as serious diners would be arriving later on. He also told me that we were dressed appropriately—he in a Lacoste shirt, khaki pants, and loafers; and me, in a Lilly Pulitzer shift, my hair still holding strong in my French “brushing” and my Rondini Bikini sandals.

Personally, I think Daniele’s spirit was just simply watching over us!

View from the table (with zoom lens).  Across the port…

Two young ladies strolling along..

..and another sample of French chic right in front of me. I LOVE her metallic basket and her ensemble and her cute little dog!

Our meal was freakin’ fantastic!

We started off with Kirs, naturally.  For starters, Bonaparte had the Moules and I had the Crab Wasabi.

Bonaparte’s starter of Moules was excellent…

Crabmeat and Wasabi. And the wasabi wasn’t “in your face”. It was a subtle blend and it was delicious and delightfully presented.

  Our main plats—Bonaparte, once again went with his usual Entrecôte of beef (steak) and I decided on the St. Pierre fish with ravioli and a cream sauce.  I later found out that St. Pierre is also known as John Dory—a fish I had been dying to try for many years. I can say that it is outstanding!

Entrecôte of beef au poivre. I’m getting hungry just looking at this..

Oh..and the veg that accompanied Bonaparte’s steak was great also. I know this. I ate most of it.

My St. Pierre fish (John Dory) with Ravioli, Asparagus and the best damned sauce I’ve ever tasted!

We drank a bottle of great wine. I have no idea what it was but it was really, really good!

I have no idea what the name of our dessert was because the amount of wine I consumed blocked my memory.  I do know it was one of the tastiest desserts I’ve ever had!

Whatever this was, it was incredible….

…and every. single. last. morsel. was consumed.

I also cannot say enough about the great service we received. Our glasses of wine were constantly refilled, we were so well attended to and were treated incredibly well. I LOVE this restaurant!

Wait staff is hard at work both indoors and outdoors

..and the staff is efficient…

..and knowledgeable and attentive. 

We had an epiphany after dinner. We would end all our future trips to Theoule with a dinner at Gaston et Gastounette from now on!

We ended our last supper with a drive around Cannes. Sorry for the fuzzy pic but I was a bit fuzzy myself!

The Carlton at night–ain’t nuthin’ like a couple of photos taken after too much wine!

Um..OK. This is a bit better!

Time to get back to the apartment and get a few hours’ worth of sleep. I set the alarm for 3:30 AM but I know sleep will be restless for me.

I felt like Daddy Cool during dinner. To prove it, here’s Boney M with Daddy Cool. This was a huge hit in Europe years ago and reminds me of the Cote d’Azur!  Get a load of Boney M’s dance moves!

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.

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!