She is beautiful. She is sensual, seductive. She is amazing, awe-inspiring. She is fun, she is peaceful, she is soothing, she is comforting. And she loves wine.
Everyone falls in love with her the moment they first lay eyes on her. When you fall in love with Camarat, you think you are the only one who has loved so truly, so deeply, so passionately, so intensely, so fully – as with any other kind of love. Other people “claim” they love Camarat as much as you do, but you don’t believe them. You know that you are the only one whose heart is so filled with this place. You know you are the only one who loves it like you do. You know that no one else has the capacity to love it like you do, and while the rest think they love it, you know it's only because they have no idea how much you love it.
Trouble is, everyone who knows Camarat “knows” these things. Everyone “knows” they are the only one who loves it most, the only one who has earned it most.
My guess is this has been the case since the beginning. I imagine Mouny loving this house. I imagine the Coutrots also adoring the cap, which is probably why – so many years later – hostilities arose when deeming who the property ultimately belonged to. (Maybe they think they loved it more than the Michels, and therefore deserve it more than the Michels.) I know my grandfather adores this place. I’m sure his siblings did, and I see how much his children – and their wives and children – love it too. I know the French family does. I know every guest who stays here does.
But, as with all the Michels who love this place, I know I love it most.
; )
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