My Photo Album of Ramatuelle

Sometimes I wish I could share my memories like pictures in a photo album. When I was in Paris, I was always armed with my camera, capturing whatever image caught my eye. Here I still keep my Canon in my purse but I tend to use it less. Maybe these precious moments are more fleeting so I do not have the opportunity to freeze them in time, or maybe they are too common that if I wanted to capture any, I could never put my camera aside. I can only explain it by writing the soundtrack to the slideshow in my mind. John Mayer:

Today
I finally overcame trying to fit the world inside a picture frame.
s t r a n g e
how clouds that look like mountains in the sky
are next to mountains anyway
- didn’t have a camera by my side this time -
hoping I would see the world through both my eyes
maybe I will tell you all about it when I am in the mood to use my way with words
you should have seen that sunrise with your own eyes
it brought me back to life



Regardless, I have these fantastic images burning on the back of my eyelids that I need to show to someone else. To me, they create a mosaic of the Côte d’Azur, of my life here in Cap Camarat. Though my expressions here can never do them justice, I will do my best to paint them in your mind, I invite you to flip through the pages of the photo album of my brain:

Cap Camarat. Just after dawn, the sun still not at its greatest strength. In the morning light the trees are tinted a faded olive green, the usually bright sky dulled to a soft smoky blue, the worn pavement of the Route du Phare bland as mud, snaking its way down the mountain. We are in the car, driving to the market, and as I stare out the window I catch a fleeting glimpse I hope to keep forever. Perched precariously on the side of the road rests a nondescript white utility-van angle so that the huge back doors open overlooking the ocean and islands below – what I’m sure was a magnificent view to awake to. But the real beauty is clear for anyone driving by to see; lined up carefully on the hood of the car are two pairs of shoes, men’s work-boots and tiny women’s flip-flops, the heels leaned gently against the windshield. That’s this place: simply, spontaneous, carefree romance.

The Market. Always beautiful, full of life and colors and the music of people’s voices, a composition of all languages, sexes and ages. It is still early, light radiating through the leafy trees in thick beams of dust and sand. Francis, a tanned man with a heart of a child electric blue eyes, and I, tanned to a deep golden brown and dressed appropriately in white linen and pastels, stand in one of the crowded market rows, unwilling brushing shoulders with the mob of strangers, laughing hysterically as we try on overly-huge (and overly-priced) women’s straw hats in the most outrageous colors. That’s this place: being silly, laughing, mocking the unfathomable spending habits and tastes of the wealthy.

The Crique. Ludo, tall and helplessly skinny, sporting naught but a silver speedo and a white cowboy hat, teases his beautiful wife endlessly. She fakes kickboxing to beat him up, looking quite ridiculous herself in her thick white sunglasses, simple white sneakers, skin tight white tennis tank & shorts, and her floppy multi-colored hat. It’s good to see them play, they’ve both been stressed and overworked, the problems of life always seem to get in the way. But then there’s the real magic – Ludo embraces her flailing arms and legs, brings her body close to his, and kisses her passionately on her skinny little lips. Francis and I exchanged looks of “awww.” This is love. And this is where you remember what it’s like to be in love.

The Beach. It’s sunset now. The soft white sand is almost completely void of people, the clear green sea crashes gently upon the shore. And there I am, with my most faithful companion, running through the shallow water without a care in the world. I am still wearing all of my clothes yet don’t hesitate as the salty water splashes as high as my face, creating a graze of droplets on my tangled nest of golden curls. My white linen skirt blows whimsically in the breeze and my big white dog chases it, the look on her puppy face pure joy. She’s laughing. So am I. I am living the moment to the fullest, forgetting my stresses and obstacles in life, simply having fun by existing. This place is freedom. And happiness.

And I will leave you with some real pictures of beauty from today also, pictures that I actually could manage with my camera: