With the chill of the fall setting in, I’m preparing to set out. I love this part of the world, my own personal paradise, my heaven. But I’m realizing that in reality, I want more. When it rains, there’s nothing to do. Civilization as I’m used to it is so far away. Friends whose company I want to keep day after day are far and few between. As my grandmother put it, the people who live here all year are, well, “…duh.” Amazingly sweet, content with a simple life. It’s a wonderful life that I admire very much; food, wine and siestas are the most essential aspects of every day. They work hard – with their hands – for half the year, then do a lot of relaxing for the rest. It’s great. But I need people with more… ambition, I guess. I need to talk politics and philosophy every once in awhile, even if most of my days revolve around living the good, simple life.
Walking through the market, admiring the goods of the locals, speaking French to whomever would listen, I grew depressed because I love living here, I love this summer, I would change very little – if anything. And I’ll never be able to do this again.
First, after this summer, I’ll have responsibilities. If I do come back to spend a long time here, it will be full of work as I will be a stewardess or something – not a beach bum worried only about which wine to drink this afternoon. I’ll never be able to live in this house like this again; it’s a family house and not even mine. I will not inherit it.
But I refuse to believe that after this summer I will never have a place in Ramatuelle – or even Camarat – to call home. Because I’ve always had a dream…
For as long as I can remember, I was deeply intrigued by the ruins halfway down the mountain. I was under the impression the house once belonged to an artist and an old friend of my great-grandmothers, but I’ve been told since that this is untrue. Regardless, I will always think of it as “the artist’s house,” the house I will one day own.
By the time my generation comes to won this house, there will be too many of us to enjoy it as leisurely and completely as we do now. We’ll each want to come alone with out own family and friends, not share the Chêne en Croix with cousins and maybe not even with siblings. So I dreamt that I would by this fallen land, complete with its own view and walking paths, and make it my own. I’d visit the house in which I currently live for dinners with the family… but I’d have my own place that I could pass to my children without fear of overcrowding.
It is, of course, an unrealistic dream… but so are so many of my adventures. The appeal of buying this property, these ruins, is that it is illegal to build new houses on the conversation land that is Cap Camarat. You cannot even expand most buildings, but you can build up – build up from foundations, like this one.
And, it’s a romantic spot. Full of mystery and beauty, its appeal is not lost on only myself. People frequently pull over to have a picnic on the abandoned property, despite the signs warning trespassers away. One of my most beautiful memories of this land was a man sitting outside the house playing a cello, filling the mountain air with beautiful music that carried upon the gentle summer breeze all the way to my bedroom window by the lighthouse.
I don’t know if I will ever own enough money to buy the land and build my dream house. But it will forever be another one of my amazing fantasies…
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