As vacation wraps up...

Nothing terribly exciting happens anymore. No new adventures take over my life, no new stories fill my head as I aimlessly carry myself in and out of each lazy day. I feel very boring – not that I’m bored in any way shape or form – I just have nothing much to relate. I was offered a job at a restaurant, but I returned too late from dinner to work. I just won a blind-man’s-bluff tourney with my father and brother. We have nothing exciting planned for today, tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. Nowadays vacationing in the French Riviera means spending a lot of time in the nappy chairs. Or if we’re feeling really ambitious, we may venture off to the beach.

Yesterday we were ambitious, more ambitious than just lying on the beach. We occupied ourselves by becoming connoisseurs and buying wine – lots of wine – for Becca to take home. We stopped at the vineyards and the liquor stores, we read books and researched magazines, we sampled some and drank some more. We were after the best. In the end we sent Becca home with a full box of wine… and kept a box or two for ourselves…



The real highlight of yesterday was dinner in St. Tropez. After our wine-buying escapades, we spent hours prepping to strut our stuff along the port, rubbing elbows with the most fabulously rich-if-not-famous. The water shortage seemed far less important than proper, long showers and we tore each of our closets apart, trying to piece together the finest outfit possible. All three ladies yearned to fit in with St. Tropez’s dress code of stylishly skimpy; the men even wore their nicest pants and shoes.

Really, there’s nothing like eating in St. Tropez. I don’t say that to mean it’s the best experience in this area, but it certainly is a unique experience none-the-less. The strong breeze lifts the soothing scents of the port water to your nostrils, carefully brushing your sticky, sweaty hair away from your face, providing a brief but refreshing coolness from the hot summer heat. Night falls slowly, transforming the sky into a painting of watercolors, complete with an oceanic scene of orange-tinted sails and kissing rowboats. When darkness finally does take over, the city comes alive, transforming into a stage lit up by street lamps and buzzing with self-centered, fashion-conscience characters. It is terribly amusing to watch people along the port. In the restaurants, everyone is pompous and full of pretenses. Even the waiters are ostentatious; during your meal you will end up feeling rude for inconveniencing them rather than angry for the poor service. But no matter what, the food is excellent. Fresh seafood and talent chefs, who will cook your meal the right way at the right time – as long as that means when and how they feel like it. As one friend once told me, “if you ask a truly French chef to cook you dinner, he will respond ‘Of course, as soon as I’ve finished mine!’”

Afterward dinner we sat outside the house to sip yet another bottle of wine and enjoy our final evening together. And wow – the stars. It was so clear, so beautiful. The Milky Way glowed like an inviting path across it’s domed navy backdrop, clearly visible to the naked eye. Shooting stars and satellite dancing among the infinite number of twinkling stars, convincing us we could probably see the entire universe from our nappy chairs on top of the mountain. We seemed to be transported to a heavenly place simply by gazing upwards, brought back to Earth only by the occasional glare radiating from the lighthouse next door.