what I did during my winter depression

I know what you’re thinking…how dare I be depressed in the South of France?    But honestly, winter depression is like my annual birthday stiff neck; it’s a tradition I can take with me anywhere.    Then there’s the little fact that I never got around to getting a French prescription for Prozac and have been anti-depressant-free for months, but that’s a whole other post.

The point is, while I did spend a good deal of time lying in the fetal position, weeping and watching “Real Housewives” reruns (thus exacerbating my self-loathing, but at least not to Kardashian levels) I did manage to unfurl myself on occassion, and go some places and try new things.   I just didn’t have the energy to write much about them.   The fog of woe dimmed both my experiences and consequently, my memories of them.

Now that I’m starting to feel better, I’ve gone back over my photos, my research and the scant notes I scribbled at the time to reconstruct the experiences in order to provide the following brief travelogue.

AIGUES-MORTES

Facts:   An ancient fortified village on the coastal salt marches in the Languedoc-Roussillon region of France.  The foundation of Aigues-Mortes was said be built in 102BC, but the first known mention of the place was in the 10th century AD.   Was a safe haven to protestants in the 1600′s.   Today it’s a charming walled village with boutique hotels, shops and many cafes and restaurants.

My notes:   This place would be really romantic if I was with somebody who loved me.   Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.

PONT DU GARD

Facts:  A Roman Aqueduct in the Languedoc Roussillon region.   Built approximately 2000 years ago to transport water to the Roman city of Nimes from a lake about 25 kilometers north.  The UNESCO World Heritage Foundation calls it a feat of engineering and artistic genius.

My notes:  Okay..so this thing is thousands of years older than me and it looks sooooo much better than I do.

UZES

Facts:  Uzes was what they call an admistrative village back when the Pont du Gard was being built.  10 minutes from the Pont du Gard, it’s charming with tiny medieval streets and a beautiful square.   As an added attraction, the Haribo factory and museum is nearby.

My notes:   See that homeless person by the bakery?   That’ll be me in a couple of years.

VIENNA

Vienna is a beautiful city in Austria, filled with amazing art, architecture, history, palaces and pastry.   I went for the Christmas markets.   Nobody does Christmas markets better than people with harsh Germanic accents.

My notes:   This wurst is probably the closest thing to sex I’ll have for the rest of my life.

CAMARGUE

Facts:  The Camargue is basically a huge wetlands in the South of France between Marseille and Montpelier.   It’s preserved, untamed and a little like the wild, wild west.    Due to the location, climate and salt deposits,  It’s home to a lot of rare species like white horses, a certain breed of black bull (Taurau, which is also a dining staple) and flamant rose (pink flamingos).

My notes:    Even the flamingos hate me.

ARLES

Facts:   Technically Arles is a part of Provence, but it’s also considered the capital of the Camargue.   It served as a Roman Center and port for centuries, but is perhaps best known as the city where Van Gogh lived from 1888 – 1889.   In Arles he created over 300 works of art.   This is also where he cut off his ear and sent it to the prostitute he was in love with (as some legends have it).

My notes:  Nobody will ever love me enough to cut off their ear for me.

AVIGNON

Facts:   Built on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Rhone, Avignon is a walled city in the Vaucluse department of Provence.   Its main claim to fame is its history as the home of the papacy during the short time in the 1300′s when they weren’t in Rome (the Palais des Papes).   Avignon is combination of medieval spendor, Provencal charm and all the modern ammenities a spoiled American could want.

My notes:   I’m pretty sure that bridge is a metaphor for my life.

LES BAUX AND ST REMY

Facts:  Two charming villages in Les Alpilles, a small but dramatic Provencal mountain range.  Les Baux is perched atop a rocky spur and signs of habitation from 6,000BC have been unearthed here!   St. Remy lies on the flatlands just north of the Alpilles and was both Van Gogh’s home when he was institutionalized in 1889, as well as the birthplace of Nostradamus.

My notes:   GODDAMNSONOFABITCH I FORGOT TO BRING MY RECHARGER!.   FUCK ME!

VENICE

Facts:  Arguably one of the most romantic cities in the world.   A gulag of 118 islands separated by canals and connected by bridges and boats.   It’s like stepping back into the middle ages with remarkable architecture palaces many with a hint of eastern influence.   Venice was once a major trading port, but now it’s mostly a tourist trap.   A beautiful, picturesque tourist trap.

My notes:   I’ll probably catch some hideous pigeon related disease, die a slow wasting death and nobody will care.

GOURDON

Facts:  A tiny inland feudal village perched above the cliffs overlooking the Cote d’Azur.   Named one of the most beautiful villages in France.

My notes: If I were to drive off the edge of a cliff on my way back and die a fiery death mangled in that ravine, nobody would give a shit.  Except the car rental company.

VALBONNE

Facts:   A village just a few kilometers inland from Antibes.   I guess you could say it’s an ancient suburb of France’s Silicon Valley, Sophia Antiopolis, which despite its antique moniker, is a tech center in France

My notes:   I’m archaic and uselss in the modern world.   I’m going to die alone and forgotten.

TOURETTES SUR LOUP

Facts:   Another ancient hilltop village a few kilometers North of the Cote d’Azur.   Home to lots of small artisan shops and is often preferred to nearby, more heavily touristed St. Paul de Vence.

My notes:   Another place I can scratch off my bucket list.   I guess that means I took a significant step towards death today.

AN OSTEOPATH

Facts:  An osteopath is a medical professional that deals with issues of alignment, musculature and joints.   Sadly, as I learned when I got there, osteopaths do not prescribe.

My notes:   These needles in my back are probably the closest thing I’ll have to sex for the rest of my life.

That’s about it.    Looking back, I’ve gotta say, this has been one of the best winter depressions I’ve ever had!

late summer light shows on the cote d’azur

I’m telling you, the sky is positively ablaze!    These were all taken within a 24 hour time period.

This is either sunrise, or sunset.   I can’t remember which.

 Last I counted there are about 9 million firework displays a week on the Cote d’Azur in the summer.   There are some nights where I can see three going on simultaneously from my balcony.

Do you know how hard it is to take a picture of lightening on an iPhone?   At any rate, I spent three hours snapping away until I got this shot.  My iPhone’s memory is now officially full.

Look closely…it’s actually a double rainbow.   OMG, double rainbow.   What does it mean?

here’s to you mrs. robinson

When I meet a cute guy under thirty, my first thought is to check him out…for my nieces.   So when an attractive, very likable 24 year old American who  just moved to Antibes asks me out for a drink I figure he just wants the company and likes my sparkling personality.   So I go.   For my nieces.

He spent the past year or so at University in Paris and now works at a big tech company in Sophia Antipolis (the Silicon Valley of France). He’s smart, funny, open, interesting, interested, ambitious, and seems pretty worldly for a 24 year old American.

He passes the niece test with the only caveat being he might be a little young for the two of dating age (if he likes younger girls, he’ll have to wait for my niece Charlotte who is currently 11).   I begin to think it might be fun to have someone my emotional age to hang out with (as long as nobody mistakes me for his mother).

Then he goes and shatters my whole scenario.   He tells me he’s thinks I’m very attractive.   I preen a little, figuring he means it in an attractive in a well-preserved antique sort of way.   Then he tells me in so many words, that he’s ready willing and able if I am.

I’m floored.  My first words in response are:   Hammena hammena hammena… you’re kidding, right?

He isn’t.   As it begins to sink in, I’m torn between terror and doing the happy dance.

We discuss it a bit, and I can certainly see he has some valid points as to why this is the greatest idea ever, but still…I’m totally unprepared in every sense of the word (meaning I haven’t shaved my legs in weeks). I honestly wasn’t expecting to have sex again in my lifetime.  But now that he mentions it…

I need some time to stew on this (probably not a good idea at my age– wrinkles).

Here are some of the thoughts I’ve had so far:

• Quick, do it NOW before his vision returns!
• Quick, do it NOW before my ass falls.
• What if I break my hip when we’re doing it?
• Is there some kind of way we can do it without him seeing or touching my body, which would probably be disgusting to a 24 year old?Note to self:  look into that whole Mormons doing it through a sheet thing.
• Hey, if he finds me attractive, maybe someone more age appropriate will.   Yeah, right.   Men my age all want 24 year olds.
• He probably just wants to use me for my air conditioning.
• What if he dumps me for an older woman?
• This must be one of those guys on the French Riviera who scams old women out of their life savings I’ve heard about.   A Riviera grifter, as my friend Al calls it.
• I could use the exercise.
• I have a rule that I won’t get involved in a man who is younger than some of my bras.   I check my underwear drawer and I’m pleased to say we’re okay on that front.
• Dude, how good must I look to have a 24 year old attracted to me?   Like Demi Moore good…only better because she’s had plastic surgery and I’m a 100% natural…okay, 98%, my hair color is fake.   More preening.
• If I do it, does that make me a terrible aunt?
• Good Lord, this is a bad Lifetime movie in the making. It would probably star Heather Locklear and Zac Efron.
• Good Lord, this is a bad Comedy Central movie in the making.    It would probably star Betty White and Zach Galifianakis and involve a road trip.
• Does this fall into the category of a sweet May-December affair or statutory rape?
• If I don’t do it will it be just like the second helping of fried chicken I declined at the first grade class picnic, which I still regret to this day?
• This seems like it could only happen in France.   (I know it’s not necessarily true, but bear with me here).   If I were not to take advantage of this unique opportunity wouldn’t I be missing out on some of the rich experience of being here?
• This is kind of the equivalent of someone offering me an Hermes bag. I certainly never thought that owning one was within the realm of possibility.   I’m not sure what I’d do with one if I had it.  But hell, it’s a damn fine bag and I’d be a fool not to take it.  Right?   In fact now that I think about it, my life will be empty and meaningless without that bag.
• What if despite our best intentions one or both of us falls in love with the other? And what if when he publically humiliates me by cheating with several younger women I fall off the deep end and wind up getting excessive plastic surgery and ODing on whippets and Red Bull?
• It’s not like I haven’t been involved with younger men.   In fact,  I’ve been involved with a 24 year old before.   When I was 30.
• I know it’s perfectly acceptable to be a cougar nowadays.   Even hot.  But it’s a fine line between being a cougar and being a dingo stealing someone’s baby.
• I mentally play a bunch of math games, with questions like “Where will we be when he’s my age?” (answer:  he’ll be running a big successful company and traveling the world. I could well be dead).

I can’t help remembering a similar storyline playing out in The Graduate (on the other hand, it could be more like American Pie, and I’m the pie).

I re-watch The Graduate, feeling mildly queasy when I inadvertently muse that the last time I saw it was probably before he was born.

I realize now that Mrs. Robinson and I have virtually nothing in common.   I feel much more like Benjamin in this scenario.   I’d never have the balls to try to seduce a man young enough to be my … nephew.   Nor am I some sexual predator brazenly luring young men into bed for my own personal satisfaction with no thought of the consequences.

But isn’t it something to aspire to?

 

looking down on the masses

“Mur des amoureux” by Raymond Peynet

I’ve been wanting to visit Le Cannet for awhile now, but have put it off because it’s not directly on the train line.  It’s a small artists’ village in the hills above Cannes.   Its selling points as far as I’m concerned are the Peynet painting on the side of a building I’ve seen in pictures, a vieux ville (an old town), the Musee Bonnard and the fact that it isn’t Cannes.

It’s a simple 10 minute bus ride up the hill from the Cannes train station (#1 Le Cannet bus).  I get off at the Town Hall/Musee Bonnard stop.   It’s not the old town, but I suspect this is the closest the bus can get.

The quiet up here is a little disquieting   Nobody is brushing against me.   I don’t have to maneuver walking down the street.  It’s practically deserted.   Maybe the rapture happened on the bus ride up and all the good Christians were up here in Le Cannet.    I’m feeling positively light-headed and I don’t think it’s the altitude.   It’s probably some form of culture shock from having just been in the frenzy of Cannes 10 minutes ago.  Well, either that or I’m hungry.

Fortunately, there’s no shortage of food options.  There are several cafes and restaurants with varying degrees of expensiveness.   But before I eat, I have to scope out the village and make myself so hungry I don’t have to choose which restaurant to dine at, but rather eat at the one whose entrance  I pass out in front of.

How can nobody be here?   Granted, there’s not a preponderance of little shops.   There are some storefronts where artists show and sell their work, but I’m a little afraid of them.   I can’t imagine anything is in my price range and don’t want to insult some up and coming artist.   Or break something.   I feel the same way I used to feel about designer stores on Madison Avenue (which I got over, but it cost me dearly).   But I digress.

The village is lovely.   The Peynet “mur des amoureux” (lovers’ wall) is all I dreamed it would be.   And there’s a funky tiny ancient church restored by Theo Tobiasse with the theme life is a party (an interesting choice for a church).  The musee Bonnard is..pleasant, kind of like Bonnard’s work.   I like it, would probably put one or two on my wall, but nothing screams “genius”.

Now I’ve passed from light headed to shaky and vicious.

Fortunately, I collapse in front of a small restaurant called Arts & Assiettes which is low on the price scale with a simple menu that doesn’t muddle my little brain with options.   It’s not really a menu…it’s a plat du jour which today is a combination of daurade (some kind of fish), ratatouille, smashed blue (actually a vibrant violet that the photograph doesn’t capture) potatoes with persillade (a parsley pesto popular in these parts — the green and purple together are stunning! and a couple of cheese raviolis.   Despite the fact that something on the menu lead me to believe I was getting veal, it’s pretty damn good and the colors are beautiful — a vision in Fauve.  It’s all fresh, organic and grown locally.    I just wish the daurade wasn’t staring up at me while I devour it, but I’m going to have to get over that.   The French clearly don’t mind looking their food in the eye.

In all, I got a little culture and had a delicious typical provencal lunch in a quiet, charming medieval village overlooking the Mediterranean for a mere 12 Euro.  If I were among the masses down the hill in Cannes, I probably would have paid 40 Euro for the same lunch (sans culture).

Suckers!

congratulations, you’re in Cannes! how to get the hell out.

It’s that time of year again.   Advertising people will soon gather in Cannes for the most prestigious, coveted award show in the whole wide world (if you win, otherwise it’s just a sucky award show judged by hacks).

Just going to Cannes proves you’re somebody in the biz or will soon be.   The croisette will be jammed with attractive people in designer eye-wear craning their necks to catch a glimpse of advertising icons and superstars (whose names escape me) while navigating the vomit=lined sidewalks in impossibly trendy shoes/flip flops.

Now, I’m not a huge Cannes fan the rest of the year, but every time I’ve been to Cannes during the advertising festival, my first reaction (and all reactions subsequent) has been to flee (to be fair, I kind of felt the same way about advertising).   Granted, if I’m in the market for a $700 pair of shoes or sequin shorts, there’s no better place in the South of France.

Say you’re one of the lucky few whose agency sent you to Cannes, but you haven’t figured out how to expense $700 shoes and you don’t have a limo and driver at your service.  Maybe you want to escape the advertising fishbowl for a little while.   Not so long that you’ll miss some career-making party, but long enough to chill a bit and get a taste of the real South of France (Cannes is NOT France, it might as well be Cabo with a French accent.)

I know the thought is scary.   If your career is anything like mine was, you may not have actually seen the light of day in ages, except from your cubicle.    Going out in the real world and dealing with non-advertising people, especially in a foreign language, is terrifying.     Which is why I’m keeping it really simple.   These are places that are less than an hour away and easily accessible by train or boat.   Getting to these places is practically idiot proof.

For the very timid

Cannes  

Suquet district

You can leave Cannes without actually leaving Cannes.   There are two morning Provencal markets every day, a small one with gorgeous produce, flowers and clothes about three blocks east of the train station a block or two north of Rue d’Antibes, at  Place Gambetta.   The Forville market in the Suquet district  is huge, but only carries food and flowers (also gorgeous).   Since you’re probably dining out in lavish restaurants, you’ll probably prefer the smaller market with the clothes.   But I recommend wandering through the Suquet district (west of the Palais), up the hill.   It’s quieter, medieval-er and feels more like a French village.   Go down the hill and head east and you’ll find free beaches and fewer people you know in case you don’t want anyone you work with to see you in a bathing suit.

15 MINUTES FROM CANNES:

The Lerin Islands  

View from St. Marguerite

Less than a mile from Cannes, but it feels like light years away.

• Ile St. Marguerite A pretty little island on which the man in the iron mask was held prisoner.   It’s very rustic and charming, with few cars, a naval museum, unspoiled beaches a couple of snack stands and two restaurants with stunning views where a lentil salad will cost you E23 (for those of you on an expense accounts).   Warning:   there are no little shops on this island, so forget about getting any cute souvenirs here.
• Ile St. Honorat A monastery and refuge.   The boat to this Island, (like everything else on the Island) is run by monks.    Again, the island is totally unspoiled, with no cars, beautiful beaches and woods and best of all, there is a little shop whereyou can buy wines and jams and other things made by monks on the island.

The boats to each island are run separately, but you can buy tickets and board in the same place, in the South Port.   They run hourly, so you won’t be stranded and miss your seminar “Facebook marketing: how to win friends and influence people” .

Boat info:   St. Marguerite,  St. Honorat

Juan les Pins  A resort town on the west side of the Cap d’Antibes.  Unlike many of the towns here, there is no old town.   Juan les Pins is a product of the early 1900′s when the region was rediscovered by luxury travelers.   It’s got nice sandy beaches, trendy shops, restaurants and night clubs.  It’s the home of the famous Antibes-Juan les Pins jazz festival and is where Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald used to get really, really drunk.   Easy 10 minute train ride.

Antibes

View of old town Antibes from ramparts

Nothing to see here, move along.

Biot

A pretty corner of Biot

A beautiful little hilltop village one train stop east of Antibes.   It’s famous for its handblown glassware.  But it’s got several boutiques, restaurants and cafes as well.   The only problem is, you have to take the bus from the train station to get to the actual village, and nobody you know has ever heard of it so they won’t be jealous when you tell them you were there, so never mind.

1/2 HOUR FROM CANNES

Haut de Cagnes

 A wonderful medieval village with a castle and small museum.   The hill is a bit steep, but manageable.   It’s not heavily touristed and has some nice restaurants with lovely outlooks.   Even a couple of shops!!!   It’s about a 20 minute train ride, get off at the Cagnes sur Mer stop and head west when you leave the train station.  You can also catch the 400 bus from here to St. Paul de Vence and Vence, if you’re really bold.

Nice

View of old Nice

I love Nice.   It’s totally underrated.   You can head north into the hills to the Matisse and Chagall Museums, Roman ruins, and monastary (really pretty gardens and views), head South to the old town, Castle, Promenade, Provencal Market (awesome antique market on Mondays) and the Mediterranean.   There’s amazing architecture and art all kinds of shops and stores from high end designer to funky little crafts, restaurants, cafes and ice cream flavors that will blow your mind at Fenocchio’s.   It’s got everything, but it’s not overwhelming.

Grasse

Grasse

If you’re into the whole perfume thing, this is a great place to go.   It’s a pretty big village built into the hills, with several perfume factories, a perfume museum and lots of shops and restaurants.   About 20 minute train ride from Cannes, but unless you’re a mountain goat, you’ll probably want to take the bus up to the village from the train station.

45 MINUTES FROM CANNES

Villefranche sur mer

Villefranche sur mer

A lovely little village on the sea.   Lots of little shops and restaurants.     Keith Richards has a villa here.   About a 40 minute train ride from Cannes.

Eze 

View from the exotic plant garden of Eze

A hilltop village atop cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean.   Probably the most spectacular views I’ve ever seen and the village is pretty damn sweet too (but very touristed).   The only problem is, you have to take a 10 minute, pulse pounding bus ride to get to the village from the bus stop, but it just might be worth it.

Monaco  Ugh.   It’s not really even France.   But it does have more billionaires per capita than anyplace in the world.   Sadly, many of those billionaires acquired their wealth in nefarious ways.   Who knows, you may bump into Martin Sorrell.  About a 50 minute train ride from Cannes.

Train schedule information

MISCELLANEOUS TIPS:

Do not drive.   It’s very stressful.   The only way I can deal with driving in France is if I’m very, very drunk, which isn’t a good idea.   It’s illegal here too.

Do not rent a motor scooter, unless you want to experience the French healthcare system first hand.

If you have to go to San Tropez because it sounds so glamorous, do not take a car, even if you have car service.   Traffic sucks this time of year.   Take the boat.   Go on Tuesday or Saturday which are the market days.  Boat info

lonely planet, I have a bone to pick with you

According to Lonely Planet, with the exception of Renoir’s house/museum, Cagnes sur mer is “nothing to write home about.”   This is exactly why I hate travel guides– If  a tourist went by Lonely Planet, they’d go to the Renoir Museum, find that it’s closed for renovations head off to St. Paul de Vence, or Monaco or wherever and miss the perfectly lovely, untouristed old village on the hill.

I’ve got to question whether the writers of this particular volume have spent any time in the South of France and if they did, were they blindfolded.  Any sighted person  passing Cagnes sur mer on the train or driving on the A8 can see there’s a tumble of ancient stone houses on a hill leading up to an ancient castle.   The first time I saw it, I assumed it was St. Paul de Vence, since that’s the main hilltop village I’d heard mentioned ad nauseum in the guidebooks.

It didn’t take much time or research to realize that St. Paul de Vence is actually about 20 minutes further inland and the cool hilltop village I’d been eyeing is called Haut de Cagnes, part of the larger town of Cagnes sur mer.   The castle is one of the many Grimaldi chateaux (now I understand why Princess Grace married into the family).

It’s a quick 15 minute train ride from Antibes.  When I first get off at the Cagnes sur mer train station and walk out onto the rue, I wonder where the hell is it?   There’s supposed to be a bus that takes you up there, but I don’t know where the stop is and I want to get going.   From what I’ve seen, it doesn’t look like a terrible climb…once I find the damn hill.

I follow the signs into Cagnes proper (not Cros de Cagnes which is closer to the mer) and there’ still no sign of it..   Fortunately, the “Bourg medieval” sign points me in the right direction and soon, I see signs of medieval-ness.   I wonder how the hell a bus can get up here (answer:   tiny buses).

It’s pretty much a straight shot up the hill, but it’s steep.   When I get tired, I turn around and look at the view, which gets more spectacular the higher I go.   The “main drag” and side streets also become cuter.

Finally, I see the  church and chateau.   Past that, a really nice square overlooking the hills. There’s a boules court and several restaurants where you can dine on the square.

The Chateau houses a pretty cool little museum (which is incidentally where you’ll find the contents of the Renoir museum while it’s being restored).   On display are a lot of paintings of Haut de Cagnes by famous and semi famous artists over the years (sometimes centuries), still totally recognizable.

My favorite exhibit is a room full of paintings of a woman I’ve never heard of, Suzy Solidor. I’m sure I would have hated the woman in real life (narcissistic bitch who was probably a total slut).  She had been a model, singer and muse here in the early to mid 1900s and donated the collection to the town in 1973.   They’re all done by different artists, including Raoul Dufy and Jean Cocteau and it’s fun to see them all in one place.

There’s also a stairway to the roof of the chateau (more climbing) with amazing 360 views over the Mediteranean and Var Valley.

The village has a couple of nice artisan shops, one tabac shop that also sells postcards beverages and snacks type things, a souvenir store (not your average tourist crap, though) and a couple of shady squares with lovely outlooks to enjoy an ice cream cone and watch the local kids and cats play.

What it doesn’t have:    Chain stores, tour buses or the cachet of St. Paul de Vence (where I counted 9 tour buses in a 2 hour period).     Thank goodness.

The truth is, after I visited Haut de Cagnes, I did write home about it.   Which makes me wonder.   Is Lonely Planet inept?   Or are they just trying to keep the place for themselves?

More pictures of Haut de Cagnes

damn you, snooty antique dealers!

Every April there’s a big antiques fair in at Port Vauban (about a 5 minute walk from my apartment).   Over 120 antiques dealers are here from all over Europe and you’ve got to pay 9E just to look at some of their stuff.

It’s one of those changeable weather days, threatening to rain, so I wander on down to the port after a flower run at the Marche Provencal.   I pay my 9E, enter and immediately feel intimidated.   I may be under a big tent, but it feels like a museum in here.   Instead of the locals selling their wares, chatting with the regulars and having their breakfast at the weekly Saturday market in the old town square, these guys are in suits (black) and they’re all on their cellphone or texting very important things.  I’d say it’s the antique/art version of the Cannes Film Festival.

Despite the fact that a lot of the items shown here are a little fussy for my tastes, many are beautiful and I want them.   Like the Asian portraits of the man and woman (see extremely blurry photo on right).   The man in this picture –the human, not the painting–yelled at me for not asking to take the picture.  Since he was scolding me in French and I understood every word, I was inappropriately cheerful (but desole) which seemed to make him want to scold me more.  But why should he give a crap if I take a picture?   Maybe his wares have actually been stolen from some museum and he’s afraid of being exposed.  He’ll be pleased to know the picture turned out like crap.    However,  I won’t be buying his awesome Asian art (which I was totally going to do, sir) because he’s a total dill weed (that would be “connard” in French).

I also want this book with butterflies coming out of it.

And one of the garden gnomes (below right) for my balcony would amuse and please me every time I looked at it.    But I’m afraid to ask how much anything costs.

One woman who has some of the most beautiful Asian art and antiques I’ve ever seen glances at my 3E posies from the marche provencal and says something rude.    Well, I’m pretty sure it’s rude, she’s talking pretty fast.   I storm off in a huff.

My synapses are starting to go crazy.   I don’t know where to look. Too much stuff.  Things that would look amazing in the living room of my new apartment.  Things that would look good in the dining room.   Things that would look good in the bedroom.    Things that make me gasp in awe at their beauty in much the same way I do when I see the alps on a clear day.   I’m starting to get lightheaded from all this gasping and the horrible realization that my life won’t be complete until I can afford to buy these items, which I’m pretty sure will be never.

Must.  Get.  Out.    If I can find the exit.   I’ve tried two doors with little running person icons pointing towards them only to be stopped by security.   I’m lost in a maze of really expensive stuff and clearly, the only way out is to buy everything in my way.   I feel like I’m back in NYC.   Dear lord help me!   I find the exit right before I’m forced to ask the price of the inlaid desk, credit card clutched in my hand at the ready.

I walk home quickly, trying to shake off the tentacles of consumer desire tightening in my gut.  When I get there, I step on the balcony and gasp again.

While I was out, the wind blew off the cloud cover and I can see the alps clearly.   I know there’s a message in this.   Something like:   “Ha, you rude purveyors of gross materialism!   Who needs all your probably ridiculously expensive, too awesome to be photographed stuff?   I’ve got my view of the alps,the blue sky and the Mediterranean practically  at my doorstep.    What the hell more could I want?”

Damn, one of those garden gnomes sure would be great up here.

snow in the south of france!

Okay, so there wasn’t a ton of snow in Antibes.  But today, all the hills surrounding Antibes have a light dusting of it.   And the alps are a lot whiter.

 

According to the news, the cold weather is due to a Siberian cold front and has caused schools to close and flights to be cancelled.   The  freezing temperatures are expected to continue for another week or so.   The Antibes weather forecast calls for another tablespoon of snow to fall on Saturday.   Maybe I’ll make a really tiny snowman.

the nomad and me

I’ve been admiring him from afar for quite a while now.   Today we met, up close and personal.

He’s known as “La Nomade d’Antibes.”  But I just call him Nomad.

He is even more attractive than I imagined and he really doesn’t have a bad angle.   He’s 8 meters high–that’s over 26 feet.  I’m a sucker for a tall man.

He’s composed of random white stainless steel letters and occupies a prime piece of real estate, overlooking the Baie des Anges over to Nice, Cap Ferrat and beyond.  He probably has one of the best views in Antibes. His view to the right is the old town of Antibes and Cap d’Antibes;  his view to the left is Fort Carre and the alps (if he could turn his head).    I can’t keep my eyes off him.   But I’ve always had a thing for men of letters.

He hasn’t been in Antibes much longer than I have, so we’re both newcomers.  He was erected in 2010, when Jaume Plensa, a Catalan artist, was commissioned to create a monumental sculpture that would grace the recently renewed Bastion Sainte Jaume (which has been around since the Greeks parked their boats here).  It’s just a coincidence that the bastion and the artist share the same name.

Nomad is a controversial character.   From the moment he was commissioned, he’s been a source of controversy and rage.   It’s the typical anger you’d expect in a bad economy, when people are unemployed and having problems putting food on their tables.   The naysayers considered the $500,000 price tag trop cher.   But like the Transamerica building and the Eiffel tower, which also met with great resistance originally, Nomad is now an important part of the Antibes skyline and a tourist attraction.   He’s here to stay.   I think he looks quite dashing with the ancient town as a back drop.

I’ve always considered myself a bit of a nomad, so I kind of feel like we’re soulmates.   It’s kind of romantic when you think about it:   two nomads meet in the South of France and settle down together in Antibes.

 

the dark side of living in the south of france

Reading over past posts, it occurs to me that it may seem that I’m all content and blissful now that I’m living in the South of France.  I tend to talk about the wonderful food, the beautiful views, the charming villages.   That has got to stop!    I was raised to believe that the moment I appear to be happy, vengeful gods (and humans) will become envious and smite me.

So, in case any of those mean old dieties/people are reading my blog, here are a few things that make  it impossible for me to live free from the shadow of rage/helplessness/hopelessness/misery hanging over me and will prevent me from ever having a day of peace.

• Waiting in lines.  French people will chat away with the cashier/postal worker/butcher/baker/candlestick maker with absolutely no concept of how many people are waiting behind them.   I’ve seen lines outside bakeries here that resembled apple stores on iPad2 launch day.
• Lots of loud motorbikes.  Don’t know why, they’re louder here.   Why would anyone want to drive something that loud?   They should be banished.   I’m certain that the drivers of these audio monstrosities are compensating for something.   Maybe they have tiny voices or something.
• So many people here have no grasp of the English language.   To be fair, I found the same problem in California.
• The guy at the Marche Provencal who sells roses.   NO I DON”T WANT TO BUY YOUR DAMN ROSES!!!!!   IF I DO I’LL LET YOU KNOW.  STOP BUGGING ME!!!!
• Speaking of being bugged, they have telemarketers over here too and they call every bit as often (about 5 calls a day).   The good news is, I just say “je ne comprends pas” and hang up.   I guess I could have done that in the US too.   Live and learn.
• There’s dust here.   It’s like every time I dust, five minutes later, there’s new dust.
• I just spent 10 Euro on a lightbulb only to discover the lamp doesn’t work.
• I just spent 10 Euro on a lightbulb.
• I forgot to buy milk at the grocery store.
• my cat just threw up on the clean sheets.