I feel like I’ve been gone for an eternity. So long, in fact, that I feel like a guest in my own home.
Nothing in this once-so-familiar place looks the same. NOTHING. All the rooms are freshly decorated, some repainted, newly arranged. The forks look bizarre. Foreign. The plates are huge and the wine glasses look like crystal I’ve never set eyes on before in my life. Cleaning up the kitchen surprised me; all the appliances are so sleek, clean, modern. The inside of the dishwasher shines. Since when do kitchen appliances shine? Weird.
Even the family dog looks like something completely new. Her features are so sharp and I swear she shrunk. I can fit her whole face in my hand. Obviously this is because I’m so used to my giant and have not seen Cloey since May. But I fed them both last night and swore I was going crazy – over exhausted from the trip maybe. The coquettes – called dry dog food here – were miniscule. Even the canned dog food was bizarre – itty bitty slices of meat. I burst out laughing. I just couldn’t help it… this is weird.
It was weirder going shopping today. I walked through the aisles formulating the questions I needed answered in French, forgetting that the employees here speak English. You get the point. It’s difficult for me to adjust back here, which is odd considering this is home. This should be the place I slide so easily back into. Honestly, it was easier for me to adjust to France than its been to adjust back to here…
Friday, October 14, 2005
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Just because it's funny:
Homeland Security? What?
I decided I've lost faith in the system. Seriously - taking Tequila home was ridiculously easy... even in the States.
No one asked to see a single piece of paper for Tequila. No one cared about whether she had a rabies shot or not. No one bothered to ask if she was stuffed with drugs or anything. Mostly people just peeked in the cage to see what beast was crying so loudly. And as I wheeled her away from the baggage claim I just thought to myself: "Why the hell did I bother stressing so much and paying so much money to get all that paperwork and physicals and vaccinations she clearly didn't need?"
The customs man did stop me, pull me aside as I was leaving, but not because of the dog. No one xrayed any of my belongings. But I had checked "I brought back food" on my customs form and they were terrified it was meat or cheese or fruit. When I told them by "food" I meant chocolate, madelines, wine, olive oil and herbs - he laughed. Seriously - the man laughed at me. "That's not food!" and he took a big black marker, crossed off my little "yes" and said, "Did you bring home any meat?" I had chekced "yes" for that because "meat" was in the same category as "animals" and - oh yea - I had a dog. When I explained that to him, he just shook his head again and - without even a glance at Tequila - dismissed me.
Ridiculous.
I decided I've lost faith in the system. Seriously - taking Tequila home was ridiculously easy... even in the States.
No one asked to see a single piece of paper for Tequila. No one cared about whether she had a rabies shot or not. No one bothered to ask if she was stuffed with drugs or anything. Mostly people just peeked in the cage to see what beast was crying so loudly. And as I wheeled her away from the baggage claim I just thought to myself: "Why the hell did I bother stressing so much and paying so much money to get all that paperwork and physicals and vaccinations she clearly didn't need?"
The customs man did stop me, pull me aside as I was leaving, but not because of the dog. No one xrayed any of my belongings. But I had checked "I brought back food" on my customs form and they were terrified it was meat or cheese or fruit. When I told them by "food" I meant chocolate, madelines, wine, olive oil and herbs - he laughed. Seriously - the man laughed at me. "That's not food!" and he took a big black marker, crossed off my little "yes" and said, "Did you bring home any meat?" I had chekced "yes" for that because "meat" was in the same category as "animals" and - oh yea - I had a dog. When I explained that to him, he just shook his head again and - without even a glance at Tequila - dismissed me.
Ridiculous.
Rentre - v. to return (to one’s home)
I can’t believe how easy that was.
I’m now on the plane, watching the vast, open, flat land of Canada stretch to the horizon. I’m too overwhelmed with relief - and too shocked that it's over - to be excited. Tequila and I are safe; sooner rather than later I’ll be in the loving care of family.
Honestly –it’s all blur. An adventure that passed too quickly for my mind to keep up. Last thing I knew, I was awoken in the middle of the night at Tony’s house. Before I knew it, I was at the check-in counter in Nice. Somehow I ended up in Paris and by the time I realized how to get from Terminal 2F Arrivals to Terminal 2A Departures, I was on a plane home, my beautiful dog anxiously awaiting in the belly of that metal beast.
I just want to say one thing: the movie is Fever Pitch. What better way to prepare for Boston than to watch such a fun film, based in that fantastic down, focusing on my fanatic baseball team! Haha
Next time I write… I’ll be home.
I’m now on the plane, watching the vast, open, flat land of Canada stretch to the horizon. I’m too overwhelmed with relief - and too shocked that it's over - to be excited. Tequila and I are safe; sooner rather than later I’ll be in the loving care of family.
Honestly –it’s all blur. An adventure that passed too quickly for my mind to keep up. Last thing I knew, I was awoken in the middle of the night at Tony’s house. Before I knew it, I was at the check-in counter in Nice. Somehow I ended up in Paris and by the time I realized how to get from Terminal 2F Arrivals to Terminal 2A Departures, I was on a plane home, my beautiful dog anxiously awaiting in the belly of that metal beast.
I just want to say one thing: the movie is Fever Pitch. What better way to prepare for Boston than to watch such a fun film, based in that fantastic down, focusing on my fanatic baseball team! Haha
Next time I write… I’ll be home.
Revenir - v. to come back
The city was still sleeping when we descended from the sky. The lights of Paris sparkled amongst the blankness of early morning, much like the starts in the night sky. All I could think about was Tequila… wonder if she’s crying in her cage below.
We were early. Circling the city in preparation for landing, the blazing red sun began to rise on Earth, lighting up the city. Paris is beautiful. I have such fond feelings for Paris – especially know that I really know my family who lives there. I smiled thinking of my memories made there last May… how long ago that feels. Admiring the ancient bridges crossing the Seine, I thought about my old friend and boss, Chef Pino. He told me Paris was disgusting – an awful city. I remember getting so angry at him for that; looking down, I remember always loving Paris. But now that I think about it, I think I’ve just always loved France… and all of it.
It’s odd to be back here and have so many people I’d love to see so close, yet know that I can’t see them. Tequila and I are hiding in the back corner of McDonalds. She’s precious and doing remarkably well – still sniffing out stray fries despite the drugs. I’ve met some really sweet people here who have actually taken the time to help; don’t be silly, none of these people worked for Air France.
I feel terribly for her, though. Tequila looks like shit. Her eyes are drooping so low I fear that her bloodshot eyeballs may fall out. I nearly cry every time she’s due for a pill. But she’s sweet, lying here like a good dog, cuddled up against my feet. She’s mostly stopped crying in her cage, probably gotten used to it. Either that or she’s realized that when she shuts up I feed her saucison…
I arrived at the check-in desk four hours early like they told me when I called both times. Guess what the lady told me as I showed her my ticket? “You know, you’re really too early.”
Thanks.
But she took my bags and Tequila’s cage and now we’re stretching our legs, getting some fresh air. Only two hours to kill…
I just checked the weather in the Côte d’Azur. It’s raining in St. Tropez, my little city is crying because I’ve gone…
We were early. Circling the city in preparation for landing, the blazing red sun began to rise on Earth, lighting up the city. Paris is beautiful. I have such fond feelings for Paris – especially know that I really know my family who lives there. I smiled thinking of my memories made there last May… how long ago that feels. Admiring the ancient bridges crossing the Seine, I thought about my old friend and boss, Chef Pino. He told me Paris was disgusting – an awful city. I remember getting so angry at him for that; looking down, I remember always loving Paris. But now that I think about it, I think I’ve just always loved France… and all of it.
It’s odd to be back here and have so many people I’d love to see so close, yet know that I can’t see them. Tequila and I are hiding in the back corner of McDonalds. She’s precious and doing remarkably well – still sniffing out stray fries despite the drugs. I’ve met some really sweet people here who have actually taken the time to help; don’t be silly, none of these people worked for Air France.
I feel terribly for her, though. Tequila looks like shit. Her eyes are drooping so low I fear that her bloodshot eyeballs may fall out. I nearly cry every time she’s due for a pill. But she’s sweet, lying here like a good dog, cuddled up against my feet. She’s mostly stopped crying in her cage, probably gotten used to it. Either that or she’s realized that when she shuts up I feed her saucison…
I arrived at the check-in desk four hours early like they told me when I called both times. Guess what the lady told me as I showed her my ticket? “You know, you’re really too early.”
Thanks.
But she took my bags and Tequila’s cage and now we’re stretching our legs, getting some fresh air. Only two hours to kill…
I just checked the weather in the Côte d’Azur. It’s raining in St. Tropez, my little city is crying because I’ve gone…
Retourner - v. to return
For not traveling by plane at all since my arrival last spring, Nice Airport is an awfully familiar place. But returning to NCE this time was different; instead of dropping someone off, I was the one being dropped off.
Thank God for Tony. I know I’ve said it a million times, but he has been an amazing help to me and a great friend. At 3:30 in the morning we were in the van and driving the empty dark roads to Nice. 5am, he’s got me a trolly and parked the car, pushing the dog and one bag while I drag another. 5:15, he’s telling me that all the people in the airport don’t hate me just because my dog is whining and barking consistently at the top of her lungs. She hated the drugs. 5:30 we’re at the counter, I’m safe, and he’s saying goodbye. “See you in Boston!”
I was thrilled to have such a nice man check me in. He was friendly, laughing, complimenting my French but still willing to speak English when I panicked. “Relax!” he told me; even though Tequila had stopped being noisy, I was still a mess. This is stressful, man. (Not to mention the people checking in beside me had a perfectly well behaved dog curled up in his crate, not making a sound…) My friend behind the counter checked me in and even promised to put all my bags through to Boston. “That would be incredible!” I beamed, so excited I was tempted to jump the counter and kiss him.
“I’ll even put the dog all the way through, too” and he printed out a big green sticker that read the oh-so-familiar & comforting BOS.
“Oh no you won’t,” she said. I looked to my left where an awfully stern looking blond sat down. She went along doing her business, working with an English client, chastising my friend in French. She talked about us – myself and the woman in front of her – like we weren’t even there. Probably assumed we didn’t speak French.
I didn’t love her, but I wasn’t ready to hate her… yet. I could handle having my bags checked through and only dealing with Tequila in Paris. That was, in fact, how I preferred it.
I moved on, sitting with Tequila and giving her lots of loving (and water, and one more drug). “Time to go,” another man told me in French. “You can’t miss your plane!” I looked at my watch. 6:05am; I’d be boarding soon.
I gave her one last kiss goodbye (“No crying!” he said “From either of you!”) and rushed off to scan my bags. It went smoothly; I was so happy to have some burdon lifted that I radiated joy – making all the security guards laugh at my crazy, whimsical antics. I found my gate, sat down, and called Tony to thank him properly.
“I’m so relieved. I only have to deal with Tequila in Paris… and then I’m home!”
No sooner had I hung up the phone, expressing my relief, did the overhead speaker come on. “Could passenger Catherine Michel please come to the AirFrance counter?” I had no idea how bizarre it felt to have you name called over one of those things… especially when it’s in a foreign language.
A very serious woman frowned at me. Turns out the stern lady beside the guy who checked me in had ratted on us (bitch); now I had to run back outside, go to the ticket agency to pay yet ANOTHER 80€ charge, recheck my luggage, and go through security again – all before my plane stopped boarding at 6:30. No f---in way.
I hate Air France. This is the stuff that they make you do. Even though I had called to make sure I didn’t have to do all this stuff.
But alas, I survived – somehow. I was near tears the whole time, chatting in French and begging anyone & everyone for help. I’m not a crier, but something about traveling… it always seems to bring me to tears. Regardless, I am here on a plane heading to Paris. Again.
I’ve never taken off during le reveille du soleil before. To rise with the sun - it’s like being caught in a giant rainbow, a dome of colors. Where the sea of dark gray clouds meets the horizon, molten red melts into bright orange, which quickly fades into a sunflower yellow. Above this, surrounding the airplane in the dome of the sky, is a lime green that disappears into an azure blue, which becomes aqua, which is finally swallowed by the navy hanging above. It’s beautiful. Figures, the first time I don’t have a camera.
Before we breached the clouds, I watched the tiny lights of my beloved Côte d’Azur disappear into the darkness. The lighthouse of Antibes flickered methodically; I thought of all the nights sitting at the view, admiring the skies, seeing that lighthouse. Then a thought struck me: maybe, if I’m so close to Antibes, I can sneak one last glimpse of home – of Chez Michel. I searched the pitch black of early morning for my lighthouse, my beacon of home, the signal I used all summer as a comfort that le Chêne en Croix was never far away… But the plane rose to quickly and we lost ourselves in this beautiful morning.
I’ll tell you the one good thing about Air France, though: the food sure is better. LOVE this petit pain au chocolat…
Thank God for Tony. I know I’ve said it a million times, but he has been an amazing help to me and a great friend. At 3:30 in the morning we were in the van and driving the empty dark roads to Nice. 5am, he’s got me a trolly and parked the car, pushing the dog and one bag while I drag another. 5:15, he’s telling me that all the people in the airport don’t hate me just because my dog is whining and barking consistently at the top of her lungs. She hated the drugs. 5:30 we’re at the counter, I’m safe, and he’s saying goodbye. “See you in Boston!”
I was thrilled to have such a nice man check me in. He was friendly, laughing, complimenting my French but still willing to speak English when I panicked. “Relax!” he told me; even though Tequila had stopped being noisy, I was still a mess. This is stressful, man. (Not to mention the people checking in beside me had a perfectly well behaved dog curled up in his crate, not making a sound…) My friend behind the counter checked me in and even promised to put all my bags through to Boston. “That would be incredible!” I beamed, so excited I was tempted to jump the counter and kiss him.
“I’ll even put the dog all the way through, too” and he printed out a big green sticker that read the oh-so-familiar & comforting BOS.
“Oh no you won’t,” she said. I looked to my left where an awfully stern looking blond sat down. She went along doing her business, working with an English client, chastising my friend in French. She talked about us – myself and the woman in front of her – like we weren’t even there. Probably assumed we didn’t speak French.
I didn’t love her, but I wasn’t ready to hate her… yet. I could handle having my bags checked through and only dealing with Tequila in Paris. That was, in fact, how I preferred it.
I moved on, sitting with Tequila and giving her lots of loving (and water, and one more drug). “Time to go,” another man told me in French. “You can’t miss your plane!” I looked at my watch. 6:05am; I’d be boarding soon.
I gave her one last kiss goodbye (“No crying!” he said “From either of you!”) and rushed off to scan my bags. It went smoothly; I was so happy to have some burdon lifted that I radiated joy – making all the security guards laugh at my crazy, whimsical antics. I found my gate, sat down, and called Tony to thank him properly.
“I’m so relieved. I only have to deal with Tequila in Paris… and then I’m home!”
No sooner had I hung up the phone, expressing my relief, did the overhead speaker come on. “Could passenger Catherine Michel please come to the AirFrance counter?” I had no idea how bizarre it felt to have you name called over one of those things… especially when it’s in a foreign language.
A very serious woman frowned at me. Turns out the stern lady beside the guy who checked me in had ratted on us (bitch); now I had to run back outside, go to the ticket agency to pay yet ANOTHER 80€ charge, recheck my luggage, and go through security again – all before my plane stopped boarding at 6:30. No f---in way.
I hate Air France. This is the stuff that they make you do. Even though I had called to make sure I didn’t have to do all this stuff.
But alas, I survived – somehow. I was near tears the whole time, chatting in French and begging anyone & everyone for help. I’m not a crier, but something about traveling… it always seems to bring me to tears. Regardless, I am here on a plane heading to Paris. Again.
I’ve never taken off during le reveille du soleil before. To rise with the sun - it’s like being caught in a giant rainbow, a dome of colors. Where the sea of dark gray clouds meets the horizon, molten red melts into bright orange, which quickly fades into a sunflower yellow. Above this, surrounding the airplane in the dome of the sky, is a lime green that disappears into an azure blue, which becomes aqua, which is finally swallowed by the navy hanging above. It’s beautiful. Figures, the first time I don’t have a camera.
Before we breached the clouds, I watched the tiny lights of my beloved Côte d’Azur disappear into the darkness. The lighthouse of Antibes flickered methodically; I thought of all the nights sitting at the view, admiring the skies, seeing that lighthouse. Then a thought struck me: maybe, if I’m so close to Antibes, I can sneak one last glimpse of home – of Chez Michel. I searched the pitch black of early morning for my lighthouse, my beacon of home, the signal I used all summer as a comfort that le Chêne en Croix was never far away… But the plane rose to quickly and we lost ourselves in this beautiful morning.
I’ll tell you the one good thing about Air France, though: the food sure is better. LOVE this petit pain au chocolat…
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Sortir - v. to go out
Run run run! It’s been an evening of socializing after a busy day of chores. I adore the Combas, and to see them, have some wine, say goodbye – it was wonderful. I’ll miss them. It may seem odd seeing how little I know them, but they were like my family here – in that they where the guiding, consistent, responsible presences in my life – when my own family was so far away. I always knew they were there if I needed them and whenever I was in trouble or needed help – they were the first I’d call. Always.
Went down to L’Esquinade too, just as the last of them were leaving for the day. I had to return the scale I borrowed – the one that relieved so much anxiety when it read that each bag was in fact under 20 kilos. Peace out, beach.
I rushed home just in time to greet Tony. He helped me finish my household chores, pack the van, lock up. Down the windy road we went – the route du phare that I could now, in fact, drive with my eyes closed, for I know it like the back of my hand! ;-) We took the background to Ramatuelle, which slept so early, silent in the off season. I chatted with some old French townies sitting in the middle of the village, waved at some of my regulars from Ptit Club. And then we had one of the worst dinners I’ve had in a while… but who cares – leaving the restaurant and walking up those cobblestone streets towards the quaint little church – I just love it. Tony put it perfectly; Ramatuelle is sweet.
Now Tequila and I are back in a familiar place, though not our home. Sitting in Tony’s living room, it may as well me our week spent here in July… just cooler. We’re all curled up, finishing off a McDonald’s flurry, watching rubbish on TV. It’s just after 10 and we’re all exhausted. Bedtime is in the not-so-distant future.
I don’t believe it’s my last night. I can’t imagine sleeping in Mendon tomorrow. I cannot wait to see my friends & family.
Went down to L’Esquinade too, just as the last of them were leaving for the day. I had to return the scale I borrowed – the one that relieved so much anxiety when it read that each bag was in fact under 20 kilos. Peace out, beach.
I rushed home just in time to greet Tony. He helped me finish my household chores, pack the van, lock up. Down the windy road we went – the route du phare that I could now, in fact, drive with my eyes closed, for I know it like the back of my hand! ;-) We took the background to Ramatuelle, which slept so early, silent in the off season. I chatted with some old French townies sitting in the middle of the village, waved at some of my regulars from Ptit Club. And then we had one of the worst dinners I’ve had in a while… but who cares – leaving the restaurant and walking up those cobblestone streets towards the quaint little church – I just love it. Tony put it perfectly; Ramatuelle is sweet.
Now Tequila and I are back in a familiar place, though not our home. Sitting in Tony’s living room, it may as well me our week spent here in July… just cooler. We’re all curled up, finishing off a McDonald’s flurry, watching rubbish on TV. It’s just after 10 and we’re all exhausted. Bedtime is in the not-so-distant future.
I don’t believe it’s my last night. I can’t imagine sleeping in Mendon tomorrow. I cannot wait to see my friends & family.
Partir - v. to leave
Today is my last day in paradise.
After a whirlwind of a weekend, that’s actually ok. I’m happy; I’ve done most of the things I wanted to. I will finish up, enjoy today.
Today is Tuesday. The market’s in St. Tropez. I love the market.
Tony offered to go with me, but I politely declined. To go to the market by oneself allows you to be totally absorbed by the sights, smells, and sounds; completely engulfed by the bright, colorful, Provencal air. With my hands dangling lightly by my sides, I walked up and down the aisles, letting my fingers graze across cashmere, silk, jewelry… I spent much of the morning roaming to all corners of the market, pausing at each table to examine its goods – even though I searched for nothing in particular. Honestly, I don’t even think I brought any cash. I just love the market.
As I emerged from the whirlpool of oranges, yellows, and blues; from the cloud of Provencal French and meat/candy/lavender/soap perfumed air; I thought about how much I love this place. I walked the narrow streets of St. Tropez, unsuccessfully finishing last-minute errands, admiring the pastel painted buildings and the enormous sailboats still docked in the port, their masts disappearing in the fluffy white clouds above. I will miss off-season Tuesdays in town.
Tony and I had paninis and rose on the back of the boat, looking across the water to the harbor front. I thought of all the things I have to do (fight parking tickets, see the vet, go to the bank), all the people I still have to say goodbye to (Z & Alberte, the folks at L’Esquinade), all the things that will make tomorrow suck (departing Nice at 6am on Air France, arriving in Paris and claiming both my disgustingly heavy suitcaseS as well as my dog, checking them all promptly back in at American Air and then - sigh - on a plane for home).
This was an experience of the lifetime. I know I had fantasized about doing this, but I never actually believe it would – or it could – come true. These past few months have been a dream. But look at me: I did it. I survived, I made a life, I (almost) learned French. I passed several fantastic vacations with my family. I’m thrilled I made this decision, that I put off growing up, getting a real job, beginning the rest of my life. This was great. I’ve grown as a person in more ways than I knew I could. I know now that this is the advice I’d give every college grad: before you start working – go out and play!
I've got to get cleaning. Tequila needs a brush, the sheets need to be hung on the line. Tonight, after drinks with the Combas, I'm taking Tony to Au Fil de la Pâte for a thank you gift - he's the one getting out of bed at 3:30 tomorrow morning to drag me to Nice.
This is the last entry from le Chêne en Croix... for now...
After a whirlwind of a weekend, that’s actually ok. I’m happy; I’ve done most of the things I wanted to. I will finish up, enjoy today.
Today is Tuesday. The market’s in St. Tropez. I love the market.
Tony offered to go with me, but I politely declined. To go to the market by oneself allows you to be totally absorbed by the sights, smells, and sounds; completely engulfed by the bright, colorful, Provencal air. With my hands dangling lightly by my sides, I walked up and down the aisles, letting my fingers graze across cashmere, silk, jewelry… I spent much of the morning roaming to all corners of the market, pausing at each table to examine its goods – even though I searched for nothing in particular. Honestly, I don’t even think I brought any cash. I just love the market.
As I emerged from the whirlpool of oranges, yellows, and blues; from the cloud of Provencal French and meat/candy/lavender/soap perfumed air; I thought about how much I love this place. I walked the narrow streets of St. Tropez, unsuccessfully finishing last-minute errands, admiring the pastel painted buildings and the enormous sailboats still docked in the port, their masts disappearing in the fluffy white clouds above. I will miss off-season Tuesdays in town.
Tony and I had paninis and rose on the back of the boat, looking across the water to the harbor front. I thought of all the things I have to do (fight parking tickets, see the vet, go to the bank), all the people I still have to say goodbye to (Z & Alberte, the folks at L’Esquinade), all the things that will make tomorrow suck (departing Nice at 6am on Air France, arriving in Paris and claiming both my disgustingly heavy suitcaseS as well as my dog, checking them all promptly back in at American Air and then - sigh - on a plane for home).
This was an experience of the lifetime. I know I had fantasized about doing this, but I never actually believe it would – or it could – come true. These past few months have been a dream. But look at me: I did it. I survived, I made a life, I (almost) learned French. I passed several fantastic vacations with my family. I’m thrilled I made this decision, that I put off growing up, getting a real job, beginning the rest of my life. This was great. I’ve grown as a person in more ways than I knew I could. I know now that this is the advice I’d give every college grad: before you start working – go out and play!
I've got to get cleaning. Tequila needs a brush, the sheets need to be hung on the line. Tonight, after drinks with the Combas, I'm taking Tony to Au Fil de la Pâte for a thank you gift - he's the one getting out of bed at 3:30 tomorrow morning to drag me to Nice.
This is the last entry from le Chêne en Croix... for now...
Monday, October 10, 2005
Finir - v. to finish
I'm sitting in the giant, open eating room of Chez Michel. Azanor is singing in the background, Tequila is curled up one of the two large doors, her paws pushing against the green, wooden shudders. I love the colors of this place, the way the stairs wind upward, the black metal banister inviting to climb each orange, ceramic step, the impressive piece of Mouni's everyone who visits compliments. The front door is open, the antique looking keys dangling from the lot. Sitting in this old-fashioned chair, I can see the twinkling light of billions of stars high above this mountain. Camarat is beautiful. I'm drinking a glass of red wine, eating a slice of tarte tropezian. A moth is frantically trying to find the night air again. But something's not right. The focus of the room is not on its long, mahogany table or the charred white fireplace. It's not on the flow of the room, or the myriad of antiques. The presence of my suitcases cannot be ignored.
There they are, three enormous black and red bags, bulging at the seams. I can't imagine I won't be charged for excess luggage. My laptop bag and bag pack are full, waiting to be carried on. Tequila's cage looms at the bottom of the stairs, giving her a heart attack as well as taking her favorite napping spot.
At the finish of the CD, the house is eerily silence. It’s my last night sleeping here; this place I have come to call home. Like usual, I’m scared shitless. Tequila’s not allowed out; the sanglier are back in full force. I just killed another hairy beast of a spider – seriously, the size of my hand – by throwing a shoe at it from across the room. I’ve certainly adapted to life here…
I love this place.
There they are, three enormous black and red bags, bulging at the seams. I can't imagine I won't be charged for excess luggage. My laptop bag and bag pack are full, waiting to be carried on. Tequila's cage looms at the bottom of the stairs, giving her a heart attack as well as taking her favorite napping spot.
At the finish of the CD, the house is eerily silence. It’s my last night sleeping here; this place I have come to call home. Like usual, I’m scared shitless. Tequila’s not allowed out; the sanglier are back in full force. I just killed another hairy beast of a spider – seriously, the size of my hand – by throwing a shoe at it from across the room. I’ve certainly adapted to life here…
I love this place.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
The Boat Race
AOL Instant Messenger:
Aunt Sarah (8:51:41): how are you?
Me (8:51:49): great… i'm getting ready to go sailing now
Aunt Sarah (8:52:10): how’s the weather?
Me (8:52:29): it's nice, it'll be prefect for racing with them
Aunt Sarah (8:52:38): wait… you’re going on a boat that is racing?
Me (8:52:42): haha... yep!
Aunt Sarah (8:52:43): YEE HAH!
I couldn’t have put it better myself…
* * *
St. Tropez is a city that sleeps in. Throughout town, hardly anyone stirs earlier than 10. Yes, the fishermen go out at the crack of dawn. Sure, some people will visit the market early two days a week. But, as so many other early days, when I drove through the cobblestone streets of St. Tropez at 9:30 this morning, it felt as though I was the only one awake.
I met Fred for a coffee along the port and he clued me in. Turns out – as usual – much of my information was incorrect. The boat I’d be racing on is Joyant, a 59-foot classic sailing boat. She is owned by Robert McNeil, a wealthy business man with a passion for sailing. She’s a Herreshoff design, which meant nothing to me prior to today, but what it basically means is that this is a famous boat – museum worthy even – in the same design as Mariette, the large, blue Google boat. The sheer extent of this extraordinary opportunity became clear to me as we chatted over espresso. This is what little boys dream of – as well as grown men in boat building or the nautical industry at all. Tony was going to hate me.
Regardless, we met up with the rest of the crew – owner Bob McNeil included - and took a tender all the way to Cogolin where Joyant was docked. I, being nearly entirely ignorant about boats, didn’t know how to thank them. So I brought them two bottles of Club Edna champagne. (They were thrilled – but left if off the boat to keep weight down. We’ll drink it tomorrow night when these guys come over for dinner!) Joyant was restored exactly according to the 1912 plans, so there is no engine within its tiny hull. We were instead towed out to the starting line where the men put the boat together, heaving sails and uncoiling ropes. It was fascinating to watch, curled up on the edge of the wooden classic, bare feet nearly dipping toes in the water. Then, in the faint distance, a gun shot, smoke.
It was a tight race. I slid like a seal across the hull, ducking the ridiculously low bow, trying not to get in the way as we tacked. I shifted my weight accordingly to balance the boat and make the most of the ever-changing wind. It was fantastic, exhilarating. Merilee, who has come in second behind Joyant every other race this week, was only real our competition. (Isn’t it awesome that not only do I get to see the races from the water, not only do I get to even participate in them, but I even get to be on the winning boat? Haha!) We had a rough start – confusion, fumbling, delayed. Things went wrong; the jib didn’t go up as smoothly as hoped, a sail fell in the water and was caught underneath the boat. Just behind Merilee, we watched her carefully, strategically planning how to take her lead. And we did. (When I say “we” I’d like to emphasize that I was doing by duty by hiding underneath the boat at this point… But don’t worry – it didn’t last long. I was actually on the tiny deck rolling around with the crew for most of the race!) Joyant’s crew is far better at coming about, working as a team to switch sails and gain speed. We had a fairly solid lead until the end of Pamplonne (which is where, incidentally, I looked up from the deck and saw Chez Michel glistening orange by the lighthouse, behind the boats with whom we raced!) when she suddenly caught a breeze we could not find. There she was, right on our tail, switching from side to side trying to take her lead back. But we wouldn’t relent.
At the end we took a gamble. Unfortunately, Merilee caught the better side of that risk and one the race by less than 2 boats lengths. It was disappointing, but the crew still won every other day and therefore the overall prize. Yea guys!
We joked that we lost because I was on board and it’s bad luck to bring women on board (haven’t you seen Pirates of the Caribbean?). And actually – women were the theme of the day. Joyant has been followed all week by a very sweet film crew determined to make a new and improved documentary on Herreshoff designs. The question of the day, asked to each member of the crew, was “In your opinion, why are boats so often compared to women? They’re always called “she” and looked after like a lady.” The crews’ answers – albeit hilarious at times – were simply not what Terry (the director) was looking for. “Ok,” she whispered to her camera man while I coiled some rope (do you even know how hard & heavy it is to coil rope?!), “let’s ask her.” Being the only other female around, I knew who was going to face the camera next. But as Terry placed her long, cold fingers on my shoulder and introduced herself, I was caught completely by surprise. The camera was already on me, rolling and – voila. I knew I got my B.S. in BS for a reason: I’m damn good at it.
When I finished my line (you’ll have to keep surfing the History & Discovery channels to see it yourself) she was speechless. I looked into the lens of the camera and laughed. “You did it!” Not that I had any idea how or what I did, but I knew it was good from the hug she gave me. She hollered to the boys, “Catherine gave the best answer! She gets the prize for the day!” Unfortunately, she was speaking metaphorically and there was no price. Haha, I tease!
I loved that they had me do things to. I was terrified at first; I didn’t want to be the reason they lose. But they had me hold ropes, help take down and tie up sails, squirm into the tiny spots where the old men couldn’t make it! Haha, it was great. And they all said – sincerely – that I did a really great job.
The sights I saw out there were amazing. My house, this lovely statue of a woman on the rocks that you can see from Chez Michel, the myriad of sailboats, St. Tropez as the backdrop of a fantastic regatta. I turned to Adam, a (very handsome sailor – college graduate and basically assistant curator of the Herreshoff Museum who sails simply for fun – and travel) and said, “Honestly, I think this is the coolest thing I’ve ever done.” And then, of course, I laughed at how stupid that sounds.
But he laughed with me. Pulled tighter on the rope he was gripping, adjusting the sails about us. “You know Catherine,” he smiled, “I think this is the coolest thing I’ve ever done.” He’s been on boats all his life – but this was his first Voile de St. Tropez. As the crew would describe this week later – it was extravagant. Glorious. Unreal.
All I can say is thank God I have a friend like Tony who – aside from being a genuinely sweet guy – has taught me enough about boats this summer that I could keep up with conversation. And combined with my experience today; hell, I’m practically a pro! ; ) hahahha
We had such a great day that they invited me to the awards ceremony and then out to dinner. It was fantastic. These guys – everything from lawyers to investment bankers to book editors – are just a bunch of Republicans who love to sail and have an intense passion for true boats. Like Joyant, Bob’s “toy.” We chatted about politics and philosophy, regattas and work. They’re the kind of people I love to be around. Not to mention most of them are from Rhode Island and Boston so to hear their accents, accents that are so familiar to me, so far from home… it was just lovely. So I invited them over to dinner tomorrow (Sunday) night. Don’t ask me what I’m going to cook. There’s nothing in the house. Hopefully the grocery store will be open…
I realize that no matter how much I write, I can’t do this experience justice. All I can say is that there is no better way to end this six-month adventure. It really was amazing.
And, like yesterday, I am the personification of excitement and happiness. This, like yesterday, was a perfect day.
Now I am going to cuddle upstairs with my floppy white puppy and sweetly dream about going home… something I’m suddenly very ready to do.
Aunt Sarah (8:51:41): how are you?
Me (8:51:49): great… i'm getting ready to go sailing now
Aunt Sarah (8:52:10): how’s the weather?
Me (8:52:29): it's nice, it'll be prefect for racing with them
Aunt Sarah (8:52:38): wait… you’re going on a boat that is racing?
Me (8:52:42): haha... yep!
Aunt Sarah (8:52:43): YEE HAH!
I couldn’t have put it better myself…
* * *
St. Tropez is a city that sleeps in. Throughout town, hardly anyone stirs earlier than 10. Yes, the fishermen go out at the crack of dawn. Sure, some people will visit the market early two days a week. But, as so many other early days, when I drove through the cobblestone streets of St. Tropez at 9:30 this morning, it felt as though I was the only one awake.
I met Fred for a coffee along the port and he clued me in. Turns out – as usual – much of my information was incorrect. The boat I’d be racing on is Joyant, a 59-foot classic sailing boat. She is owned by Robert McNeil, a wealthy business man with a passion for sailing. She’s a Herreshoff design, which meant nothing to me prior to today, but what it basically means is that this is a famous boat – museum worthy even – in the same design as Mariette, the large, blue Google boat. The sheer extent of this extraordinary opportunity became clear to me as we chatted over espresso. This is what little boys dream of – as well as grown men in boat building or the nautical industry at all. Tony was going to hate me.
Regardless, we met up with the rest of the crew – owner Bob McNeil included - and took a tender all the way to Cogolin where Joyant was docked. I, being nearly entirely ignorant about boats, didn’t know how to thank them. So I brought them two bottles of Club Edna champagne. (They were thrilled – but left if off the boat to keep weight down. We’ll drink it tomorrow night when these guys come over for dinner!) Joyant was restored exactly according to the 1912 plans, so there is no engine within its tiny hull. We were instead towed out to the starting line where the men put the boat together, heaving sails and uncoiling ropes. It was fascinating to watch, curled up on the edge of the wooden classic, bare feet nearly dipping toes in the water. Then, in the faint distance, a gun shot, smoke.
It was a tight race. I slid like a seal across the hull, ducking the ridiculously low bow, trying not to get in the way as we tacked. I shifted my weight accordingly to balance the boat and make the most of the ever-changing wind. It was fantastic, exhilarating. Merilee, who has come in second behind Joyant every other race this week, was only real our competition. (Isn’t it awesome that not only do I get to see the races from the water, not only do I get to even participate in them, but I even get to be on the winning boat? Haha!) We had a rough start – confusion, fumbling, delayed. Things went wrong; the jib didn’t go up as smoothly as hoped, a sail fell in the water and was caught underneath the boat. Just behind Merilee, we watched her carefully, strategically planning how to take her lead. And we did. (When I say “we” I’d like to emphasize that I was doing by duty by hiding underneath the boat at this point… But don’t worry – it didn’t last long. I was actually on the tiny deck rolling around with the crew for most of the race!) Joyant’s crew is far better at coming about, working as a team to switch sails and gain speed. We had a fairly solid lead until the end of Pamplonne (which is where, incidentally, I looked up from the deck and saw Chez Michel glistening orange by the lighthouse, behind the boats with whom we raced!) when she suddenly caught a breeze we could not find. There she was, right on our tail, switching from side to side trying to take her lead back. But we wouldn’t relent.
At the end we took a gamble. Unfortunately, Merilee caught the better side of that risk and one the race by less than 2 boats lengths. It was disappointing, but the crew still won every other day and therefore the overall prize. Yea guys!
We joked that we lost because I was on board and it’s bad luck to bring women on board (haven’t you seen Pirates of the Caribbean?). And actually – women were the theme of the day. Joyant has been followed all week by a very sweet film crew determined to make a new and improved documentary on Herreshoff designs. The question of the day, asked to each member of the crew, was “In your opinion, why are boats so often compared to women? They’re always called “she” and looked after like a lady.” The crews’ answers – albeit hilarious at times – were simply not what Terry (the director) was looking for. “Ok,” she whispered to her camera man while I coiled some rope (do you even know how hard & heavy it is to coil rope?!), “let’s ask her.” Being the only other female around, I knew who was going to face the camera next. But as Terry placed her long, cold fingers on my shoulder and introduced herself, I was caught completely by surprise. The camera was already on me, rolling and – voila. I knew I got my B.S. in BS for a reason: I’m damn good at it.
When I finished my line (you’ll have to keep surfing the History & Discovery channels to see it yourself) she was speechless. I looked into the lens of the camera and laughed. “You did it!” Not that I had any idea how or what I did, but I knew it was good from the hug she gave me. She hollered to the boys, “Catherine gave the best answer! She gets the prize for the day!” Unfortunately, she was speaking metaphorically and there was no price. Haha, I tease!
I loved that they had me do things to. I was terrified at first; I didn’t want to be the reason they lose. But they had me hold ropes, help take down and tie up sails, squirm into the tiny spots where the old men couldn’t make it! Haha, it was great. And they all said – sincerely – that I did a really great job.
The sights I saw out there were amazing. My house, this lovely statue of a woman on the rocks that you can see from Chez Michel, the myriad of sailboats, St. Tropez as the backdrop of a fantastic regatta. I turned to Adam, a (very handsome sailor – college graduate and basically assistant curator of the Herreshoff Museum who sails simply for fun – and travel) and said, “Honestly, I think this is the coolest thing I’ve ever done.” And then, of course, I laughed at how stupid that sounds.
But he laughed with me. Pulled tighter on the rope he was gripping, adjusting the sails about us. “You know Catherine,” he smiled, “I think this is the coolest thing I’ve ever done.” He’s been on boats all his life – but this was his first Voile de St. Tropez. As the crew would describe this week later – it was extravagant. Glorious. Unreal.
All I can say is thank God I have a friend like Tony who – aside from being a genuinely sweet guy – has taught me enough about boats this summer that I could keep up with conversation. And combined with my experience today; hell, I’m practically a pro! ; ) hahahha
We had such a great day that they invited me to the awards ceremony and then out to dinner. It was fantastic. These guys – everything from lawyers to investment bankers to book editors – are just a bunch of Republicans who love to sail and have an intense passion for true boats. Like Joyant, Bob’s “toy.” We chatted about politics and philosophy, regattas and work. They’re the kind of people I love to be around. Not to mention most of them are from Rhode Island and Boston so to hear their accents, accents that are so familiar to me, so far from home… it was just lovely. So I invited them over to dinner tomorrow (Sunday) night. Don’t ask me what I’m going to cook. There’s nothing in the house. Hopefully the grocery store will be open…
I realize that no matter how much I write, I can’t do this experience justice. All I can say is that there is no better way to end this six-month adventure. It really was amazing.
And, like yesterday, I am the personification of excitement and happiness. This, like yesterday, was a perfect day.
Now I am going to cuddle upstairs with my floppy white puppy and sweetly dream about going home… something I’m suddenly very ready to do.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Living the Good Life
Today was AWESOME. I LOVE my life.
I’m going to start this with a brief introduction:
It’s Tuesday night. The air is cool, but warmer that it has been; the stars twinkling in the sky despite the light show below. Tony and I are walking along the port, admiring the boats. “These are beautiful,” I say, admiring the classic yachts, their magnificent sails tucked away for the evening. He laughed, continuing to explain intricate details about each one. He knows everything about boats, can recognize each one by name from far away whereas I am completely ignorant and they all look the same to me.
We stop in front of the Sube. I look to the packed balcony, not ready to go up. “This is Mariette,” Tony says, bringing my attention to the big blue boat he’s staring at in obvious amazement. “One of the Google guys owns her – Perkins is the name. She was built in 1915, New England, redone and all that. An amazing ship, Catherine.” And then we walked on, he taught me about another boat, and the name and story he just told me slipped out of my head just as easily as it had slipped in. It meant nothing to me. (But it amazed me how brilliant he was in the way of boats.)
I should have made the connection Wednesday while working as the receptionist in the evening, handing keys back and forth to the Americans in the room under the name of PERKINS. Silly me.
But that wouldn’t be the end of it.
It was my last day at work and a crazy one at that. We served free breakfast for all the crew of La Voile; the tiny bar and terrace were packed with people, a constant hum of numerous languages. Even better than working hard (which I do love to do) was that I actually had help today – and not just any help, but my cute Montreal boy who has a North American work ethic… in that he actually works. (Did I mention I have a date tomorrow night, too?) Considering how many people were there, the morning meal went rather smoothly.
At breakfast, I made a point to take good care of my favorite Sube guests, a group of Americans (you gotta love your countrymen!), despite the crowd.
“Have you seen this from the water yet?” one asked me – the one from Boston.
“No,” and I sighed, hearing the same question so many have asked me all week. “Everyone told me I ought to, but I don’t have a boat.”
He smiled. “We do.”
I looked around at these people who I worked hard for all week. “We’ll see what we can do. Will you be around this afternoon?”
I said yes, and continued to chat in between serving others. We chatted about the places they’re from; San Francisco, Newport, Boston. We chatted about their boats. “This one right out front, the guy we work for owns that one too,” they said to me. “It’s beautiful, has a blue hull, great boat. Mariette’s the name.”
Then something clicked.
“Wait a second,” and I thought long and hard where I’d heard all this information before. “It was built in New England, kind of famous or something?”
They laughed at me. I apologized for my boating ignorance. “Yea, they had a History Channel special on her. But we work for his other boat – a smaller one, an classic sailing boat built in 1910.”
I gave them my number, but didn’t think it’d actually work out. Finished breakfast and left.
Everyone at the Sube (including the guests, all of whom have become good acquaintances this week as I served them in the morning as a waitress, afternoon as a bartender, and in the evening as the receptionist) is wonderful; very sweet, kind, and fun. It was a bit sad to say goodbye, but it just doesn’t pay enough for me to be the only one who works amongst a bunch of lazy Algerian women. Marie, who has always been a tough boss but wonderful woman, gave me a hug and bisous and – most importantly – a big fat pay check. “Please, if you come back again, you can work legally for three months,” and she looked me in the eye, “You can start in April.” That’s great to know.
I strolled down those lovely marble stairs for the last time and promptly headed to the port where La Voile tent is set up. I want a tee shirt that fits as much as I do appreciate the overly large one Marie saved for me. There were none left, but on the way I met my dear friend Tony and we chatted. It was great to see him. Walking back to the Sube, where I was to meet my grandparents’ friends the Von Drehle’s, I ran into my other good friend Marlon. It was great, just to walk the streets and see people I know and care about.
Lunch was wonderful, too. The Von Drehle’s are lovely people, kind and generous, sweet and interesting. We chatted for ours with our toes nearly touching the wet sand, watching the boats pass by. I am thrilled to have been introduced to such kind people. As Jilly pointed out to me, “You’ve met a lot of terrific people this summer.” Certainly – I thought of the Combas, the people at Ptit Club, my good friends. I thought of all the business cards I collected from people in San Francisco and Paris – people who asked me to look them up for networking or if I just wanted a drink. I thought of my family. And I looked at the two of them. “You’re right,” I responded, smiling. “I have met a lot of terrific people.”
The also mentioned that Trans Atlantic flights permit more luggage weight, alleviating some of my travel stress. No way I was going to be able to keep even on of my bags under the domestic limit of 20 kilos!
They dropped me off at the Place des Lices and I paused to watch the old French men play boules. It’s great to see. One man sat on the bench beside his dog (yes, the dog was on the bench too), both completely absorbed by the intense competition playing out in front of them. I laughed and walked on.
I finished my errands. I got my check from the insurance company – all the people there teased me and said a genuine goodbye. I actually think they might miss me. It was sweet. I bought Tequila a name tag with my numbers on it as the vet recommended. I went to the bank to deposit my moula. I shopped around for a bit of art to take home, but found none. And then I returned to my car for the best news of the day – no ticket! I had parked on the street without paying a cent because the 11€ ticket is cheaper than parking in the port all day. But I got away with it for free! Yea!
Driving home, I admired the collars of this area, the lighthouse I can see from so far away – my beacon of hope, my marker of home. It’s beautiful here. The weather has been odd all week long; rainy and cold in the morning but nearly beach weather by afternoon. Except for tomorrow. Tomorrow it’s going to be beautiful.
My phone rang; a number I didn’t recognize.
“ ‘Allo?”
“Catherine?” A voice I hardly recognized. “It’s Fred from the Sube. Well, from Boston, I mean.”
“Oh hi!”
“Well I was wondering if you felt like going sailing tomorrow with us. Because you can.”
Twist my arm.
I can’t even explain my excitement. I get to see the final race of La Voile de St. Tropez, the famous Nioulargue, from a 1910 classic sailing boat out in the harbor. Fate loves me.
Although I fear saying that, for maybe fate will hear me and give me less next time. ; ) (Allusion to the Alchemist, guys!)
I’m gonna take my big fuzzy dog to the beach now for a run around… I think I might need it more than she does.
BISOUS!!!
I’m going to start this with a brief introduction:
It’s Tuesday night. The air is cool, but warmer that it has been; the stars twinkling in the sky despite the light show below. Tony and I are walking along the port, admiring the boats. “These are beautiful,” I say, admiring the classic yachts, their magnificent sails tucked away for the evening. He laughed, continuing to explain intricate details about each one. He knows everything about boats, can recognize each one by name from far away whereas I am completely ignorant and they all look the same to me.
We stop in front of the Sube. I look to the packed balcony, not ready to go up. “This is Mariette,” Tony says, bringing my attention to the big blue boat he’s staring at in obvious amazement. “One of the Google guys owns her – Perkins is the name. She was built in 1915, New England, redone and all that. An amazing ship, Catherine.” And then we walked on, he taught me about another boat, and the name and story he just told me slipped out of my head just as easily as it had slipped in. It meant nothing to me. (But it amazed me how brilliant he was in the way of boats.)
I should have made the connection Wednesday while working as the receptionist in the evening, handing keys back and forth to the Americans in the room under the name of PERKINS. Silly me.
But that wouldn’t be the end of it.
It was my last day at work and a crazy one at that. We served free breakfast for all the crew of La Voile; the tiny bar and terrace were packed with people, a constant hum of numerous languages. Even better than working hard (which I do love to do) was that I actually had help today – and not just any help, but my cute Montreal boy who has a North American work ethic… in that he actually works. (Did I mention I have a date tomorrow night, too?) Considering how many people were there, the morning meal went rather smoothly.
At breakfast, I made a point to take good care of my favorite Sube guests, a group of Americans (you gotta love your countrymen!), despite the crowd.
“Have you seen this from the water yet?” one asked me – the one from Boston.
“No,” and I sighed, hearing the same question so many have asked me all week. “Everyone told me I ought to, but I don’t have a boat.”
He smiled. “We do.”
I looked around at these people who I worked hard for all week. “We’ll see what we can do. Will you be around this afternoon?”
I said yes, and continued to chat in between serving others. We chatted about the places they’re from; San Francisco, Newport, Boston. We chatted about their boats. “This one right out front, the guy we work for owns that one too,” they said to me. “It’s beautiful, has a blue hull, great boat. Mariette’s the name.”
Then something clicked.
“Wait a second,” and I thought long and hard where I’d heard all this information before. “It was built in New England, kind of famous or something?”
They laughed at me. I apologized for my boating ignorance. “Yea, they had a History Channel special on her. But we work for his other boat – a smaller one, an classic sailing boat built in 1910.”
I gave them my number, but didn’t think it’d actually work out. Finished breakfast and left.
Everyone at the Sube (including the guests, all of whom have become good acquaintances this week as I served them in the morning as a waitress, afternoon as a bartender, and in the evening as the receptionist) is wonderful; very sweet, kind, and fun. It was a bit sad to say goodbye, but it just doesn’t pay enough for me to be the only one who works amongst a bunch of lazy Algerian women. Marie, who has always been a tough boss but wonderful woman, gave me a hug and bisous and – most importantly – a big fat pay check. “Please, if you come back again, you can work legally for three months,” and she looked me in the eye, “You can start in April.” That’s great to know.
I strolled down those lovely marble stairs for the last time and promptly headed to the port where La Voile tent is set up. I want a tee shirt that fits as much as I do appreciate the overly large one Marie saved for me. There were none left, but on the way I met my dear friend Tony and we chatted. It was great to see him. Walking back to the Sube, where I was to meet my grandparents’ friends the Von Drehle’s, I ran into my other good friend Marlon. It was great, just to walk the streets and see people I know and care about.
Lunch was wonderful, too. The Von Drehle’s are lovely people, kind and generous, sweet and interesting. We chatted for ours with our toes nearly touching the wet sand, watching the boats pass by. I am thrilled to have been introduced to such kind people. As Jilly pointed out to me, “You’ve met a lot of terrific people this summer.” Certainly – I thought of the Combas, the people at Ptit Club, my good friends. I thought of all the business cards I collected from people in San Francisco and Paris – people who asked me to look them up for networking or if I just wanted a drink. I thought of my family. And I looked at the two of them. “You’re right,” I responded, smiling. “I have met a lot of terrific people.”
The also mentioned that Trans Atlantic flights permit more luggage weight, alleviating some of my travel stress. No way I was going to be able to keep even on of my bags under the domestic limit of 20 kilos!
They dropped me off at the Place des Lices and I paused to watch the old French men play boules. It’s great to see. One man sat on the bench beside his dog (yes, the dog was on the bench too), both completely absorbed by the intense competition playing out in front of them. I laughed and walked on.
I finished my errands. I got my check from the insurance company – all the people there teased me and said a genuine goodbye. I actually think they might miss me. It was sweet. I bought Tequila a name tag with my numbers on it as the vet recommended. I went to the bank to deposit my moula. I shopped around for a bit of art to take home, but found none. And then I returned to my car for the best news of the day – no ticket! I had parked on the street without paying a cent because the 11€ ticket is cheaper than parking in the port all day. But I got away with it for free! Yea!
Driving home, I admired the collars of this area, the lighthouse I can see from so far away – my beacon of hope, my marker of home. It’s beautiful here. The weather has been odd all week long; rainy and cold in the morning but nearly beach weather by afternoon. Except for tomorrow. Tomorrow it’s going to be beautiful.
My phone rang; a number I didn’t recognize.
“ ‘Allo?”
“Catherine?” A voice I hardly recognized. “It’s Fred from the Sube. Well, from Boston, I mean.”
“Oh hi!”
“Well I was wondering if you felt like going sailing tomorrow with us. Because you can.”
Twist my arm.
I can’t even explain my excitement. I get to see the final race of La Voile de St. Tropez, the famous Nioulargue, from a 1910 classic sailing boat out in the harbor. Fate loves me.
Although I fear saying that, for maybe fate will hear me and give me less next time. ; ) (Allusion to the Alchemist, guys!)
I’m gonna take my big fuzzy dog to the beach now for a run around… I think I might need it more than she does.
BISOUS!!!
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
J'aime naviguer!
La Voile de St. Tropez, formerly known as the Nioulargue, is an annual boat race held the first week of October.
It is considered the last great race of the greatest season - the Mediterranean's - and people come from all over to participate in the festivities which are - trust me - certainly not limited to the sea.
The port is lined by innovative, glimmering brand new sailboats and renovated, whimsical classic yachts. They race. The Frenchies have boules tournaments. Each night the Sube is PACKED (so much that you cannot move) and people party until breakfast; dancing along the port, screaming at local bars, hiding from the drizzles of rain under the "La Voile 2005" tent set up in the Parking du Port.
It's a fantastic atmosphere promoting alcoholism, where everybody buys everyone else drinks in a group effort to get drunk. Then the day comes, they drag themselves out of bed far too early for St. Tropez (8 - 10am), scarf down some croissants, take the sailboats out for a race, and faire le fête all over again.
It's really amazing.
When I first decided to stay for this week it wasn't so much to see this big party or even really to work an extra week. Both were just good excuses to stay in paradise a little longer. Now, having seen this, having been a part of this atmosphere, I am so happy I did. This is fun.
Have you ever seen so many sailboats?
When I say they fill the ocean as far as the eye can see, I'm not exaggerating!
Monday, October 03, 2005
Bievenue à: the ridiculous life of ME!
During my last overnight shift some nights ago, I spoke with my brother. He asked me how I was going to end my blog because I’m leaving France soon and it will no longer be an adventure story. Who was he kidding? Ever day in my life seems to me an adventure.
Take today, for example:
Woke up to the bitter autumn chill. The colors hanging over the bay were impeccable; pastels that rivaled even the softest Monet. (Ok, I know nothing about art but that sounded good.) Took a shower, fed the dog, did the morning thing… locked the front door and went to climb into the pathetic but endearing Peugeot. “Merde,” I grunted, looking at the driver’s side window, still rolled all the way down, anticipating fresh air and strong breeze. How was I supposed to know it was going to rain last night when yesterday was so beautiful?
I unlocked the front door and Tequila came charging down the stairs (no doubt after already making herself at home on my bed) to say hello. “Sorry pup,” I scratched her head, searching for some towels, “false alarm.” Locked back up, put the towels on the puddle of a seat, climbed in, turned the key and – nothing. Not a noise, not a trickle, naughta.
I tried playing with it for a while, but what do I know about cars? I was probably doing more damage than good. Meanwhile, the thoughts going through my head were something like, “Oh my God, this isn’t even my car. My family’s going to kill me. What could I have done different? Nothing. All the lights are off. Should have shut the window. I’m not going to make it to work. They’re going to be so pissed at me. I need the money, too. And Marie told me that if I arrived early enough maybe I could get a free tee-shirt!” (That’s another thing about me: I LOVE free tee shirts. All the time I worked at P’tit Club I didn’t get paid but I did leave with a free shirt and that made me happy. I don’t know why, but I get really excited about them. Especially when they’re unique, for employees only. Makes me feel important. And the shirt Marie promised me said “STAFF” on it – what could be better than that?)
I unlocked the door and my clumsy golden retriever slipped and slid and franticly bellowed down the stairs to greet me. You can always count on her for a smile. I called the Sube and explained that the car was broken and I sold the scooter… so I didn’t know if or when I’d be at work.
Then what? I felt terrible calling a friend to drag my pathetic ass from the peak of this mountain all the way to St. Tropez. And I had no idea how to fix a car. I hope it was just the battery and could be jumped but 1.) There wasn’t another car to jump it with and 2.) How do you explain that in French? I thought about calling Aunt Sarah for guidance – it’s only 11:30pm in LA. But she has a four-year-old and other things to worry about. Do I dare call crying to the parents? As much comfort as that would bring me, it wasn’t going to do much to improve my situation. So I called the only other two people I know I can count on day in and day out, who tolerate me only as family could.
I called Z & Alberte.
Alberte answered and tried desperately to find someone to help me out. Long story long, Z showed up some time later all smiles. We talked about the problem, moved the car down the hill, played with it a bit. Maybe it’s the battery, but probably something far more serious. “In the meantime,” he said, “I’ll take you to work.”
Gotta love the Combas.
For My Family: I am back at le Chêne en Croix safe & sound, after going to L'Esquinade for lunch to make myself feel better. Fix-anything Man Z – with help from Gabby – fixed the car and it seems to be running fine. Turns out it was just the battery and it’s been replaced by a new one. I don’t know if it could have been jumped but I had no idea how to explain that, nor was I here when they were. Good thing this happened just before it sits all winter, huh? (Not…)
Take today, for example:
Woke up to the bitter autumn chill. The colors hanging over the bay were impeccable; pastels that rivaled even the softest Monet. (Ok, I know nothing about art but that sounded good.) Took a shower, fed the dog, did the morning thing… locked the front door and went to climb into the pathetic but endearing Peugeot. “Merde,” I grunted, looking at the driver’s side window, still rolled all the way down, anticipating fresh air and strong breeze. How was I supposed to know it was going to rain last night when yesterday was so beautiful?
I unlocked the front door and Tequila came charging down the stairs (no doubt after already making herself at home on my bed) to say hello. “Sorry pup,” I scratched her head, searching for some towels, “false alarm.” Locked back up, put the towels on the puddle of a seat, climbed in, turned the key and – nothing. Not a noise, not a trickle, naughta.
I tried playing with it for a while, but what do I know about cars? I was probably doing more damage than good. Meanwhile, the thoughts going through my head were something like, “Oh my God, this isn’t even my car. My family’s going to kill me. What could I have done different? Nothing. All the lights are off. Should have shut the window. I’m not going to make it to work. They’re going to be so pissed at me. I need the money, too. And Marie told me that if I arrived early enough maybe I could get a free tee-shirt!” (That’s another thing about me: I LOVE free tee shirts. All the time I worked at P’tit Club I didn’t get paid but I did leave with a free shirt and that made me happy. I don’t know why, but I get really excited about them. Especially when they’re unique, for employees only. Makes me feel important. And the shirt Marie promised me said “STAFF” on it – what could be better than that?)
I unlocked the door and my clumsy golden retriever slipped and slid and franticly bellowed down the stairs to greet me. You can always count on her for a smile. I called the Sube and explained that the car was broken and I sold the scooter… so I didn’t know if or when I’d be at work.
Then what? I felt terrible calling a friend to drag my pathetic ass from the peak of this mountain all the way to St. Tropez. And I had no idea how to fix a car. I hope it was just the battery and could be jumped but 1.) There wasn’t another car to jump it with and 2.) How do you explain that in French? I thought about calling Aunt Sarah for guidance – it’s only 11:30pm in LA. But she has a four-year-old and other things to worry about. Do I dare call crying to the parents? As much comfort as that would bring me, it wasn’t going to do much to improve my situation. So I called the only other two people I know I can count on day in and day out, who tolerate me only as family could.
I called Z & Alberte.
Alberte answered and tried desperately to find someone to help me out. Long story long, Z showed up some time later all smiles. We talked about the problem, moved the car down the hill, played with it a bit. Maybe it’s the battery, but probably something far more serious. “In the meantime,” he said, “I’ll take you to work.”
Gotta love the Combas.
For My Family: I am back at le Chêne en Croix safe & sound, after going to L'Esquinade for lunch to make myself feel better. Fix-anything Man Z – with help from Gabby – fixed the car and it seems to be running fine. Turns out it was just the battery and it’s been replaced by a new one. I don’t know if it could have been jumped but I had no idea how to explain that, nor was I here when they were. Good thing this happened just before it sits all winter, huh? (Not…)
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Lovely
Today is one of those days when the ocean is a bold, sapphire blue. It shimmers under the golden sun – for which the côte d’azur is famous – like a jewel, broken only by the whimsical pearl-white sail of the classic boats gathering in St. Tropez for La Voile. The trees and vineyards are a potent dark green contrasted by the bright orange houses scattered throughout the vegetation. Though cool, the air is crystal clear, light and refreshing. The sky is the same happy blue Shannon and I painted our room freshman year. Turning inland, I feel as if I could look on forever, until the earth met the sky, if not for the monsterous mountains blocking my sight. I can see one, two, three rows of mountains perfectly – all with jagged, orange rocks protruding from their tree-covered surface. Only one cloud is visible in the whole world today, hanging playfully on top of one mountain peak, catching magnificent colors in its puffy crevices. It’s a beautiful day.
Work was busy, crowded, stressful – but left me with a sense of accomplishment. I get along so well with all the people there; it feels good to have friends (especially when one is a strikingly handsome Frenchman who learned perfect English in Canada). I’m triple booked for tonight – friends from the Sube, friends from Papagayo, friends from around. Tequila is a floppy puppy full of love to give. It’s a beautiful life.
I donwanna go home!
I donwanna grow up; get a real job!
I wanna stay here forever, doing nothing, bathing in these colors, laying out on the beach, eating good food, drinking rosé, wasting my life in the playground of the rich & famous!
I wanna live this fantasy, free of responsibilities forever!
Hahah, ok ok, I'll stop with the whiney voice. It's just God, that sea is amazing.
bisous!
Work was busy, crowded, stressful – but left me with a sense of accomplishment. I get along so well with all the people there; it feels good to have friends (especially when one is a strikingly handsome Frenchman who learned perfect English in Canada). I’m triple booked for tonight – friends from the Sube, friends from Papagayo, friends from around. Tequila is a floppy puppy full of love to give. It’s a beautiful life.
I donwanna go home!
I donwanna grow up; get a real job!
I wanna stay here forever, doing nothing, bathing in these colors, laying out on the beach, eating good food, drinking rosé, wasting my life in the playground of the rich & famous!
I wanna live this fantasy, free of responsibilities forever!
Hahah, ok ok, I'll stop with the whiney voice. It's just God, that sea is amazing.
bisous!
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