Above: An Iconic, Salade Niçoise, found everywhere on the French Riviera (this one in Cannes).
First, let me say that this post will be different, for its lack of photos. The internet in my hotel is uploading-challenged, unfortunately, such that I have been able to only add a couple of photos to my site. Otherwise, I’ve received error messages, or an image has taken 20 minutes or more to upload. So, this week, it’s only my Musings…when I have better internet service, I will resume the travelogue!
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Musings
After being in France for 2.5 weeks (seems much longer!), what do I think of my new life?
I do not aspire to be a nomad; I would like to have a home eventually. But I know that figuring out where that is to be is my project of the moment. From time to time, I think how nice it would be to truly have my own place to return to from my travels. However, that is not my lot…for now! I will say that every day is an adventure. Maybe the bus driver is gently chiding me, because I am buying tickets in bulk (4) on the bus, when I could be getting them cheaper at the machine. And then, each time I’m on the bus thereafter, he recognizes me (as the spendthrift, no doubt) and gives me the biggest smile. Or, perhaps it’s the woman sitting at the table next to me at lunch, who strikes up a conversation and proceeds to talk to me (in French – I catch some, but not all) about the absolute best place to live (Mandelieu); or it could be the Frenchman who goes out of his way to make sure I have a working bike at the hotel. I love the slower pace; people have incredible patience, way beyond what most Americans would tolerate. The French think nothing of standing in line and waiting…and waiting, whether it’s at the Pharmacy, or the market, or public transport. Life just seems more peaceful here. These mini-events and the people encountered are what make my days so interesting.
As for my itinerant existence, in the last week, I was in Antibes, then Cannes (for the fireworks) for the weekend, then Vence for a couple of days, where I stayed in my Airbnb, and then back to Antibes.
When in Vence this time, it felt more like “home,” even though it was just as unpleasantly warm. It’s nice to have a place where my things are, where I can spread out, and where a maid won’t be entering at any time. Funny, how quickly one can adapt to a concept like, “home.”
In walking around Vence, I newly appreciated its charms. If you were going to create a village, you would be hard pressed to do better. It’s gorgeous in its architecture, colors, and setting. Further, the people who live here seem to reflect the loveliness that the landscape suggests.
One of the days I was there, I had a couple of meaningful conversations by late afternoon. The first was at a store that sells clothing and other things made of linen. Xenia (born in the Soviet Union) and I ended up talking about French film, among other things, and she informed me that the actor Pierre Richard lives near the immersion school where I’ll be going to spend a week soon. He has a vineyard in Avignon, and she said that he signs bottles once a week. She made note of what a lovely man he is in person.
In the afternoon, I decided to escape the heat at the local Mediathèque. When I entered it initially, a librarian greeted me and asked if she could help. I explained that I was looking for a place to do some computer work. In English, in a soft voice, she described all the various rooms. Then she said, in French, “But you should go where it feels the best for you.” What a gentle, heartfelt welcome!
As I sat down at a table (with a view of the Mediterranean), the woman sitting nearby said something to me, and thus began a conversation. Anna, also born in the Soviet Union (when that’s what it was), coincidentally, was very interested in my nationality (she guessed American, because of my teeth; she referred, in fact, to this American obsession with straight, white teeth, as a cult). I thought that that was the answer to her question of where I came from when she asked. But she kept asking about my origins, so I said I was part Norwegian, Irish and Welsh. Ahh, she said, Northern European, and this satisfied her. I reflected on how little this matters to most Americans. I can’t remember ever asking a fellow American, “Yes, but where did your ancestors come from?” She talked about being a yacht broker (later she gave me her card, and she owns the company). She charters yachts for the richest people (mostly men) in the world, Forbes 500 types. By the way, for those wondering…demand this season has far outstripped supply. Dommage for those considering…there are simply no yachts available for charter.
As for how I’m feeling day to day…as to be expected…there are times of exhilaration at being in such a beautiful place, but also of loneliness. I miss the people in the U.S. who make/made life a joy. The times when I am happiest are when I have made a connection with someone, which simply points out the importance of people over surroundings. Of course, the ideal is to have both.