[From here on, I shall try to make a blog entry a week, as I did earlier this year.]
Not to put too fine a point on it, but the last few days have been spent mainly in survival mode. I arrived in Vence, by taxi, last Tuesday, on one of those 90+ degree days. The Airbnb is right smack in the middle of Old Town, with restaurants and shops all around it. I had arranged to meet the owner in front of the main fountain at 1:00 pm. She emerged from the building promptly and escorted me inside. The door made me think of those in Disneyland that are hidden (sometimes in plain sight)…until they’re not. My door is between a bakery and a restaurant, with people usually seated at tables on either side. I always feel special that I get to go through the secret, green door, while they can only wonder what it is like inside (as I have done countless times similarly).
Up three flights of spiralling stairs we went, with my uneasy feeling at the lack of air conditioning awaiting me, growing with each step. The windows were open, with, of course, no screens, as is normal. I loved the view of the fountain and restaurants below, as well as the sundial on the wall of the building opposite that would be easy to miss from the ground. However, the air was incredibly close. The owner asked if I would like a fan, causing me to wonder who would answer this in the negative. She promised to bring one by late afternoon.
Meanwhile, I exerted as little effort as possible, which still made me sweat profusely, and unpacked my things, in an attempt to settle in. The owner is experienced at Airbnbs and has stocked the one-bedroom place with pretty much anything one would need for a long stay; so I was pleased with that aspect as I surveyed the place.
To back up, in order to obtain my French visa, I had been told I needed to show three months’ worth of accommodations, thus my commitment to an apartment. The owner actually has another apartment, which I preferred, but it was already spoken for, in March, when I made the reservation. So, I reserved six weeks in the first apartment, and six weeks in the second one, which, importantly, HAS A/C. However, it’s a long time until September, when the other rental begins.
My first night in my new lodgings was, shall we say, Hades on earth. The fan was only marginally helpful, as it basically just blew the hot air around. It was only after taking a sleeping aid (Better Living Through Chemistry) that I was able to fall asleep around 3 am. Needless to say, I felt awful the next day. The thing about an Airbnb is that you have to go and forage if you want to eat. What is not stocked is the fridge. I was too fried to think of grocery shopping (which would involve a new store and speaking French), so found a café in the morning, and a restaurant later on. It was too hot to stay in the apartment during the day, so I went to a museum for a while, and then simply found stores to browse in or shade to hang out in.
Night Two was no better. By my third day of dealing with the above-90 degree heat, I was a zombie, and not thinking clearly. I knew I had to leave, and researched hotels in the area with A/C, not a given. I found one, a 15-minute walk down a steep hill, and made a three-night reservation.
The hotel (Mas de Vence) can use some freshening up; however, it was the Ritz to me! I put together a backpack with minimal things and headed there, arriving bedraggled from my lack of sleep and 15-minute walk in the intense sun. The very nice woman at the desk asked if I would like to look at two different rooms. NO, I wanted to shout! I don’t care: just give me a room, any room, as long as it has A/C! But she was so nice, I said, “Sure,” and proceeded to follow her to the first room, which was tiny. I looked at it and then said I was ready to see the second. The second was larger and my choice. She left me, and I cranked up the air conditioning. I then fell into bed, exhausted, and stayed there for an hour and a half, recovering. That night I slept wonderfully, as I have since. The hotel even has a pool, which I have delighted in each late afternoon. In spite of the crumbling plaster and need for paint, I have very much enjoyed this place of refuge; the entire staff is extremely professional, kind and friendly, indulging me, even, in my desire to speak French.
It now feels like I have a place in the country and a place in town. I walk up to my “town home” in the morning and have some melon, or something else from my fridge (I finally managed to get to a market). I then might do some laundry or make a list to go shopping. Maybe I’ll go downstairs to a local café for breakfast. In the afternoon, I return to my air-conditioned splendor of the Mas for a swim, after which I clean up and eat dinner in the hotel restaurant, which is never busy. Plus the server is always a charming man with penetrating blue eyes, who is very sweet to me. I had just sat down last night at a table on the patio, when a man a few feet away started smoking. The smoke blew exactly in my direction. So, I quietly said to my server, “I don’t care for the smoke, so I will need to move.” After all, the rules are that one can smoke on patios (unfortunately). My protector walked coolly over to the smoker’s table and quietly said something to him. That was the last of the smoking.
Out of survival mode, I have been able to focus on exploring Vence, as you will see from the photos.
I have concluded that I cannot return to that apartment until it cools down, which is quite the open question as to when that will be. Therefore, I have decided to take a bus to Antibes on Monday, where I can stay in an air-conditioned hotel and swim in the Mediterranean. The weather will be only a bit cooler there, but I think that sea breezes will produce a cooling effect. We shall see.
This was a truly enjoyable concert, which took place in the cathedral (the smallest one in France). I think the pan pipe player has to be the best in the world, or close to it. What a talent! The whole ensemble, though, was superb. I was not thrilled, I admit, when I saw “Bolero” on the program, but upon hearing it, and seeing it played, I found myself mesmerized. To see the woman drumming right in front of me that same set of motifs all the way through, and then, at the end, coordinate the spectacular ending with another player…well, it was breathtaking.
At the moment, the English Library is only open on Saturday mornings. I happened by at exactly the right time and ended up talking to the English woman volunteer for almost an hour, and in fact, buying an annual membership (15 Euros), so I can borrow books from an impressive collection!
