I began the day by taking the car out for a little spin. It wasn’t pretty. Not only is the car the biggest P.O.S. I’ve ever taken the wheel of, but I had no idea where I was going. As I tried to enjoy the views from all these narrow country roads, I was haunted with the fear that the car would break down at any moment – not to mention there was no gas in it! At one point I actually got stuck in the middle of the road doing a three-point-turn. It wasn’t pretty. I quickly approached the first car that I saw, looking cute and pitiful, speaking French so well I surprised myself. The man got out of the car, took one look at me and one look at my Peugot 309GR and said, “It’s stuck?” Trying not to sound too disappointed, I responded, “Oh. You speak English.” Haha, so much for practicing the language… But he and his wife and father-in-law were very kind, got the car working again, and chatted a bit about the area and the beaches and, of course, of home. As they were leaving, the man asked me where in the States I was from. I told him Boston, and asked him the same. “New York.”
“Oh…”
I mean, we may both be countrymen in a different land… but I am first and foremost – and forever will be – a Sox fan.
(We are crazy, huh?)
When I returned, I decided I’d open up this big bad house. Throwing open most of the green-shuddered windows and doors to reveal the amazing views behind them was an absolutely amazing experience. I am so happy here. This photo above is actually where I’ve wanted to be married since I was a little kid; I’d walk down the big, elegant staircase that leads right out the door to the front porch area, then have the ceremony at the table under the tree. Hhhhmmm… now I just gotta find me a man rich enough to support the after-party in St. Tropez! (Oh! And I finally found the explanation point on my French keyboard today! Yea!)
Took a nap then headed off to L’Esquinade – the gorgeous private beach at the bottom of the mountain from which you can see this house – to say hello and see some old family friends. Manuel was there, but not all that interested in chatting and certainly did not want to bother with my bad French. After speaking with me for a while, he suggested I try to work at Nikki Beach, the big American hot spot in the area. Just what I’ve always wanted: to move to the south of France and work in a Miami-styled resort. But I’m getting desperate for money… Pourquoi pas, I guess…
After speaking with Manuel, I ventured to St. Tropez and had many mis-adventures there. From the bank to the parking lot machine that ate my money to the various attendants there to help me but didn’t speak English and didn’t like my French, I left convinced the whole world really is conspiring against me. But life goes on. I ventured off to return home, got lost again, explored more back roads, and finally stopped at the little pétrole station owned by Z’s sister-in-law. Said hello, they understood my poor speaking skills (and recognized the car as belonging to the Michel family) and we had a nice little conversation.
I’m finally back chez Michel, settling in and relaxing. I just took my dinner at this beautiful (albeit slightly ghetto) outdoor table and am now sprawled out half naked in a chaise-lounge sipping some rosé and enjoying the scenery. My only complaint may be the exotically colored bugs harmlessly crawling all over my laptop cord. Life’s tough, huh?
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