Elvis Sighting by Sandy in the South of France

Last night I went to my first French wedding. We were honored by the bride and groom with a seat the at their table. I was seated across from the evening's entertainment, an Elvis impersonator. He was here because our hosts and many of their friends are huge Elvis fans. Luckily for me he spoke very good English. He explained that it was important for him to be able to speak English because he wanted to understand what he was singing. I have never been a big Elvis fan. I guess because he seemed like an old man to me when I was a young woman. I was 20 when he died at the age of 42 and let's face it - he should have stopped wearing those jumpsuits by then. I have to honestly say I had been even less impressed by the impersonators - at least until last night.

Manu, whose stage name is Melvis Bouvey changed my mind. At 41 years old he was physically fit and bore some resemblence to Elvis - as we say in America the "young Elvis". Born and growing up in France, Melvis was 8 years old when Elvis died yet he still had become an adoring fan. As he talked I realized he viewed our Elvis as one of our country's national tresasures. He dreams of going to Memphis - to Graceland of course. "Have you been" he asked. I felt a twinge of guilt when I had to admit that I hadn't been.

He spoke reverently about the King - he performs about 80 of the over 850 songs recorded by Elvis. He even performs a couple of the gospel songs - "Amazing Grace" and "How Great Thou Art" - of course he would not be performing these songs for this event. Tonight he says he is "wearing the leather". He talked about Springsteen being a big fan and that he had written a song he intended for Elvis to record and that Bruce had once "crashed the gates" at Graceland at trying to get in to meet him. He competes yearly in Blackpool, England with other impersonators for bragging rights about who is the closest to Elvis. This year at the January competition he made the semi-finals. He says he has of course watched many hours of Elvis - but doesn't try to duplicate his moves exactly - rather he has learned to feel like Elvis - the moves are now his own.

We must have talked for more than an hour over dinner and a few glasses of wine before it was time for his performance and by then I have to say I was looking forward to it. He wanted to know my favorite Elvis song, without hesitation I answered "Heartbreak Hotel". The time had come and he took the "stage" an area between the pool and the house. His jacket collar stood up, he was dressed head-to-toe in black leather. His first song: "Hearbreak Hotel". He had Elvis's swagger and for that time he had become the King. No wonder some say Elvis is still alive, last night I had dinner with him. Maybe next year I will go to Graceland

A link to a news article about the Blackpool Elvis competition: http://www.blackpoolgazette.co.uk/blackpoolnews/Elvis-impersonators-flock-to-Blackpool.5970779.jp

Fete de la Musique

29 years and counting. Every 21 June this "Feast of Music" is played out. Begun in France, it has become an integral part of the cultural fabric.
It is quite simply, a celebration of music, all kinds of music, all over France and now in over 90 countries worldwide. (www.fetedelamusique.culture.fr)
On the 21st of June small towns and big cities close off their streets and people by the thousands, all kinds of peoples, young and old, rich and poor, peoples of every ethnicity all turn out for the music and it makes for one big ole street party!
It is really quite a fantastic thing to behold. The universal beauty of music to inspire, unite and entertain.
The experience translates perfectly!
And, in our little village, it is all this with perhaps a twist or two. The entire old town around the harbor is closed to traffic, and, it would seem all 18,000 residents turn out for the party. Everywhere, the streets are packed with a sea of people.
Bands set-up willy-nilly all over the village. They play simultaneously, a calcophany of sounds surrounds me.
I loose count at 15 or so bands, but among the varied styles a Celtic/Peruvian band is most unexpected, a decent N'awlins Dixieland jazz band, but most of the bands favor 60's and 70's American/British pop. It's really a trip to hear French people singing English lyrics. Many times I'm sure they don't understand what their singing--- sometimes neither do I.
Imagine this, a rendition of "Sunshine of Your Love"-Cream, the theme from Rocky, two nearly simultaneous versions of "Smoke on the Water", one a bit better than the other and ending "merci beaucoup", then segued into "I Shot the Sheriff".
There is a DJ with no dancers, the requisite "Riders on the Storm", "Highway to Hell", and "Hotel California" and much, much more.
It was tres, tres surreal!
Perhaps, most "disturbing" was the line dancing troupe, accompanied by the worst "cryin' in your beer country music", rebel flags, US flags, fringed chaps, cowboy hats and unfortunately unlike previous years, without the green blow up cactus props. Huuummm?
It was a uniquely French Experience.
One where a few street toughs in leather and mohawks milled through the crowds chugging cheap bottles of rose wine. Sandy muses if one of the toughs might be the designated holder of the "waiters friend" needed to open all of those bottles of rose. No screw caps here!
And in true French style, it is a spontaneous spectacle with joyous outbreaks of dancing, bobbing and weaving, young and old alike mixing it up. A good time was had by all and, most importantly, everyone just seemed to be "in the moment".
Just another of the many things that I adore about this place.
And on that night, at the very same time the very same drama played out in villages, towns and cities, near and far, all across France.
Now, how cool is that?
A bientot,
Cousin Kevin & Sandy

The Dinner

OK, by now you can tell that the gathering of my food and the cooking of that food in my own kitchen is so central to my enjoyment of this place. Simultaneously sensuous and delicious.
We have for years wanted to invite our landlord and his wife-to-be to dinner. For me, to prepare a meal and to offer it to my guest at my table is my highest expression of admiration. They are to be married while we are here and this seemed a perfect time to pitch the offer.
Sandy's always a bit leary of these intercultural affairs, because, let's face it, we really don't speak French, and they really don't speak English. Don't worry, we'll manage. Offer is made- offer is accepted. Friday, vendredi at 8 PM, 20h. Oui! That was easy!
Right,, now,, the menu.
Think I'll do a nice cote du porc (thick pork chops on the bone) marinated in EVO, garlic, balsamic, herbes de provence and a pinch of fresh orange zest. Oh, and some of those little fingerling potatoes sauteed in EVO/butter with shallots, garlic and herbes de provence. A simple salade verte and a starter of onion tarte, a favorite of Sandy's back home- carmelized onions, lardons (bacon), garlic, minced black and green olives, herbes de provence, feta and shredded emmentahler, bake until golden brown, yuuuum!
And for dessert, I think the fraises (strawberries) in a parfait with chantilly creme.
First, a trip by bus to Bandol- stop by the cave au vins to pick up the wine. The rouge, a Domaine Bunan- Moulin des Coste 2004 and a Domaine Pibernon 2004. Both are blends of mouvedre, a rather ornery grape that has been sucessfully managed here with stellar results. Similar to the cotes-du-rhone, these two are spectacular with grilled meats. Also, a primo rose, the Domaine Tempier 2009. I have only read about it, highly anticipated for it is not available in the states. Bus back, about 1hr round trip, that was easy.
Friday morning, vendredi, market visit, oh boy! Won't bore you with the details of another market visit, but it was glorious!
Stop by the boucherie (butcher), C'osseline- for the cote du porc. This place is like a gallery for the meat, artfully presented and simply beautiful. my request made, je voudrais le cote du porc, sil-vous-plaits- cinq (5) piece, 2.5 cm tranches (I would like the pork chops please, 2.5 cm slices), he takes the rack of pork, cleaves it in great strokes (I look, he still has all his fingers, wow) and whittles the chops with a razor sharp knive, steeled before my eyes of course, into the appropriate form. Again, simply beautiful. 1.3 kg for 13e, 50- not bad.
Drop by the boulanger Suirrey on the way home for duo baguette, sil vou-plaits, and on to the house.
Ah, now, duo Pastis on the patio for Sandy and me, before long, time to start the cooking.
But first, a spot of lunch. I'm cooking tonight, so lunch is out. It can be an inexpensive way to enjoy a great resturant meal here. Little cafe by the harbor, boats bobbing out front, a big basket of fresh fish brought to the table for inspection. OOOh, fresh dorade (sea bream) grilled whole, we both jump on it.
Add a bottle of local rose from la Cadiere, oh yeah.
Ok, once again, , up the hill, a bit wobbly.
Time to cook!!
Chopping, chopping and more chopping. salade prepped- will build it later. let's see, sautee the aroamatics for the onion tarte-- build-- top with cheeses and, into our cantanqerous little oven to brown.
UUmmm, smells soooo good. Prep the marinade and combine with the chops in a zip loc bag, ready!
Ok, let's sautee those little fingerlings, eschallotes, garlic, herbes and yep, a big ole pat o' butter.
Open a bottle of Bunan and Pibernon- the attendant at the cave recommended opening a couple of hours prior to drinking, ok, done that!
Hummm! Where's the bottle of propane? I had asked monseiur if he could pick up a full one earlier in the week when the invitation had been made. Don't see one yet and I'm just a little concerned. Oh well,,, I'm sure he'll come thru.
Now,, oh yes, chop the fraises and set in the fridge.
AHHH, I'm in pretty good shape with time to spare.
Hummm, about 19h and the sky's not looking so good. And the gas, no sign of it, actually no sign of Monseiur or Madame either, hummm?
Oh well, press on. Things sometimes work a little strangely here. Table settings prepped, hold off a bit, see what the weather brings. Clear off our little dining table, just in case.
OK! Monseiur and Madam are in the house- good- it's about 15 till 8. How does this work? Do I go up and invite them down- will they just come on down? Oh, I'll just wing it! Sandy's not quite as freewheeling as I, by now she's showing just a bit of stress. Pas de probleme (no problem) I tell her.
I walk out onto the patio to greet Monseiur, he's dressed casually with a jacket and Madame, a casual frock, also with jacket-- awkward pause-- "Keveenn, I forgot to get the gas, I will get it for you now". Wheew! Yes!
After a couple of minutes of confusion over an empty tank, it becomes known that Madame had picked up the gas earlier in the week and told no one. Oh bonne! (good)
Monseiur leads me to the grille to instruct me on its usage-- no need,I did this last year. Oh good! it's beginning to sprinkle now--- shit!
'Bout to go back into the house for the meat and Monseiur and Madame begin to walk off in the direction of their car. HUHH? "Bye bye Keveen, enjoy your dinner".
Into the car, Monseiue, Madame and two of their boys.
I am slackjawed, what the.......?
I am the deer in the headlights as the family drives off and down the street.
I stumble, dazed, back into the house to find a puzzled Sandy standing in the kitchen. She want's to know what's goin' on-- I really don't know!
Things like this happen when you're the stranger in a foreign land
Did Monseiur:
1. Forget the dinner?
2. Misunderstand the invitation or the date?
3. Not want to have dinner?
At times like these it's difficult to figure, but I think definately not #3.
OK, so,,, we still have to eat and boy, we've got plenty of food!
Grab a couple of chops and out to the grille, and,,, yep it's raining. Merde!(shit)
Chops cook quickly, back to the house-- have candle--can't light--don't smoke--they do--aren't here. Oh well,, a delicious meal, and,oh yes, we enjoyed a whole bottle of the Pibernon as a consolation, it was tres tres bonne. A classic experience, not the first or last.
Next day, Sandy, only half jokingly, wonders if Monseiur somehow got the days mixed up, he does that sometimes. You see, it's a little tricky, when both parties don't speak one another's languages, it's easy to assume that the other party understands
what you are saying or even what they are saying to you. Communication is not necessarily occouring. I blow-off her ponderings and say something like, who knows or mysteries of the French.
Later in the day after having returned from the beach, we are leaving on our way to dinner at our favorite little Provencal Cafe, when we are met at the door by, you guessed it, Madame, dressed smartly. "Keveen, would you like to have dinner with us this evening"?
Oh shit! How do I work myself thru this hole? She speaks even less English than Monseiur.
Madame,,, cest une probleme! Le dinner pour vendredi. (there is a problem, the dinner was friday).Puzzled look in return,,, ajourdui, c'est samedei. Oui,,, more puzzled look. Oh God, this is awful! After five minutes or so of this awkwardness, I manage, or not, to reschedule dinner to diamanche (Sunday) 20h, 8pm. Following various repetitions and "agreement", I think we have and understanding.
deja vu--go to market--go to butcher--go to boulanger--chop, chop, prep, prep--tutto bien (everything's fine), orrrr..... Sandy's doing her pondering again, you don't suppose they think we've invited ourselves to dinner and that they too are fixing dinner?
Seriously,, at just about this time Monseiur comes up the drive , "bonjour--bonjour", and into the house with beacoups shopping bags.
Ohhh shiiit-- no way?
I do the only thing I know, I sit down and in my "best" French I write up a menu for this evenings dinner, my dinner that is. up the stairs and present this to Madame, who guides me into the kitchen. Just as I hand her the menu, I take notice of Monseiur out of the corner of my eye, he is,,, brushing a moutarde marinade on,,, yess,, noo,,, a big ole pile of cote du porc.
Shit!!!!
Madame, puzzled look again--me stupid look again--much awkward verbal groping.
Finally it hits-we both realize what's up- we are both cooking the same dinner.
Compromise--her taboule salade--me no potatoes--her tarte au pomme (apple pie)--me no fraises--both meat for the unknownst to me six friends and family who are also comming. But wait, one speaks english very well, or so I'm told. Yes,, well then,, all will be clear after this evening-- hummm?
Well I must say, dinner goes off wonderfully, despite an initial glitch with Monsieurs grille. Plenty of food and drink, and, yesss, the one guest did speak English, beautifully, actually all of them speak some.
We, are of course, a curiousity with much questioning. The French in these parts are intensely curious about America and Americans, and hey,,, we are the token Americans. Everyone is so charming, so welcoming and so quick to make us feel at ease.
Also, having the benefit of an introduction by one of their peers further eases us into the fold.
It was a wonderful time--many toast and pronouncements--the story of the "comedy of errors" being somewhat explained to all that evening--I only too willing to accept the blame for the misunderstandings--they--much to gracious to allow me to do so.
The party breaks up around 1am--much cheek kissing, bonne nuits, abientos.
It's been just great and we'll see them all again in two weeks for the upcoming wedding.
Bonne nuit,
Cousin

Antibes, France - I get it now

Antibes is a small city in the south of France with a population of about 75,000. It is a part of the famed French Riviera that the French refer to as the Cote d'Azur, which literally means blue coast referring to the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean sea. Pablo Picasso was probably Antibes most famous resident. He made it his home for a couple of years after WW II. During his time in Antibes he was living with his mistress Francoise Gilot, who was 40 years younger than he. The end of the war and his time with Francoise was a very happy time for Picasso. In Antibes he completed what is Kevin's most favorite Picasso painting called "Joie de Vivre". The painting expressed Pablo's "joy of life" and was inspired by Francoise Gilot. As an interesting aside - Picasso and Gilot split up after a few years and she later married Jonas Salk - the inventor of the polio vaccine. Hard to imagine a life where one of your love's is one of the most famous painters of modern times and the other eliminated polio in our time - must have been a incredible life for Francoise.

Twelve years ago, Kevin and I made our first trip to France - and I didn't get it. I had grown up a hound dog American kid that liked plain hamburgers (nothing on them at all), french fries and white bread toast with the crust cut off. Our first trip abroad had been two years ago and was to Great Britian - a safe English speaking country with regular looking meat and potatoes fare. France was truly different and it took me out of my comfort zone - big time - and I didn't get it. No matter how much English you spoke to them they just kept speaking French - whether you understood it or not. Then there is the food - this was a place where snails and ground up goose liver are considered delicacies. I didn't get it at all.

One of the places we went that first trip was to the seaside city of Antibes. It was France in full force. The beach wasn't sandy like I expected. The shops closed for a couple of hours in the afternoon. There wasn't a single convienence store with gas pumps out front where you could grab a pack of chips and a soft drink whenever you wanted it. The old town was just that - old - it needed paint everywhere and it had small cramped alley ways - nothing new and shiny like in the States. Then there were the restaraunts - each meal was a tense struggle to figure out what it all meant. To select a restaraunt we trolled the displayed menu boards looking desperately for something I could / would eat. And believe it or not - not a single restaraunt offered sweet iced tea - not even unsweet iced tea.

In the twelve years since I have been lucky enough to travel to Europe every year - mostly to Italy and France with some occasional Switzerland and Austria tossed in. Over the years it has seeped into me - becoming part of me and me part of it. It has changed my ideas about so many things. Seeing cultures that put people and family first in their day to day lives, not just as a part of their stated political creed, has made me realize we really don't need so many things to be content. Cultures where fresh local food and wine reign supreme and not a single chain restaraunt in sight. The "Mom and Pop" that serve your dinner will get to keep the money instead of it going to a faceless corporation.

Ok - so here it is 12 years later and I am back in Antibes. I look at the pebbly beach and it glistens in the bright, white sun with the turquoise fading to the cobalt blue of the Mediterranean sea. We go to the Picasso museum so Kevin can at last see "Joie de Vivre" (Joy of Life). The covered market place is a buzz with people, fresh scrumptuous fruit and vegetables, cheeses, olives, spices and colorful, fragrant bouquest of flowers. The charming old town has a patina wash from the hundreds of years of people living their lives there one day at a time. The narrow streets are now paths to be explored. Kevin and I go for a "menu licking" stroll, which involves reviewing all the menus to pick a spot for this evening's much anticipated meal. There are many starters to choose from usually one that includes chevre chaud (melted goat cheese) - yum! For the main course there is almost always an offering of Moules Frites (Mussells and french fries) and a selection of fresh fish - brought to the table on a platter as a part of the menu presentation to show the diner what is fresh and available today. Also, always the viandes (meats), beef steak with Roquefort or leg of lamb to name a few common offerings. Before we eat we have an apertif (to stimulate the appetite) - a pastis or maybe a Kir Royale. After we choose what we will eat we now must decide amoung the local wines to pick just the right one to accomany our meal.

One afternoon we put down in a cafe for a carafe (or two) of the local rose wine and a rich bubbly jambon and fromage (ham and cheese) crepe as a snack. It is the weekend and some drummers take the square and start pounding a rythm that silences everything else. After a few minutes of playing they begin a slow march down one of the narrow streets with throngs of people including me following behind. The drum beats are mesmerizing as the sounds richochet from the old buildings and into my chest. Warm from the wine, I feel Pablo's joy as I march behind the drummers. This time I get it - I so get it!!!

Cousin Sandy

1er, First Market Day

First market day and Sandy describes me as a bloodhound on the trail as I plow eagerly through our daily market. The sights, smells and sounds are pure bliss to me and I know now that I can gather it all up, take it home and cook it up and I will eat like a prince!
Oh the "joie d' vivre", I've walked the entire affair, reviewed my options, sniffed-not touched, bad manners that, well ok, maybe I did sneak a feel or two.
The market vendors who return here daily, they are passionate about their bounty, they recognize their "regulars", me included, I am a curosity as well. There is the social "transaction" that must occour before the financial and it is not to be rushed. My failings with the language, shame on me, do not seem to deter this tradition, for we speak with the common language of beautiful, good, fresh local food.
What could be more elemental?
OK, now, let's see, for the salade, luscious carrotte- fresh with green tops, a little earth still clinging (they love that touch here, me too), radis- long tubular pink and crisp, also with fresh green tops and dirt, poivre rouge like enormous red lanterns, the concombre- long thin and crisp, what we call English, the tomate and heirloom variety (not here) called couer de boeuf (beefsteak) I could smell them even before I picked them up, and of course the salade- whole floppy heads of leaf lettuce, various shades of green meant to be eaten ajourdui (today). Salade complete!
Ahhh' the cavillion melons are here and that perfume, you just know this little beauty is going to be great. A box of fraises (strawberries) from nearby Carpentras, red thru and thru, must be eaten promptly- hope they make it to breakfast, yuuummm!
And of course the olives! A vendor for that too- olives & spices- the ladies are so sweet. Picholine avec fenuille (local green in EVO with fennel seed/stems) Sandy's
favorite and for me the little nutty black Niceoise in EVO with herbes d' provence.
Cest tutto? No madame, le pinons (pine nuts),and non chinoise (chinese), she looks at me , no monseiur, only francais! Oui madame, 100 grammes sil vous plait.
Some cheese, bien sur! (of course) got two fromagers here today and the specialte d' jour, Gruyere d' Savoie, French and at 25e/kg not cheap, but can't resist, 250 g sil vous plait.
Finally on my blitz thru - couldn't miss the big locally caught crevettes (shrimp)
pink, bright with only a hint of the smell of the sea. Sauteed in EVO/butter and garlic, tonight's dinner! Une demi killo sil vous plait, 24 big plump shrimps counted out before my eyes, .489 kilos @ 5e, 60 you betcha. Whoops, back for some of those little fingerling potatoes, encrusted in earth, the smell fantastic, I'll sautee them with the crevettes. Oh yeaah!
Oops, forgot aoil (garlic) pink and rosy and I'll pick up one of the ubiquitous potted basil plants, it's the size of a small shrub, better transplant to bigger pot when I get home. Sandy looks at it, smiles and sees her favorite, salade caprese.
Can't carry much more, our Harris-Tetter cloth bags heavy with bounty, but wait, must stop by our boulanger (bakery,there are 5 in the village) for a fresh baguette on the way home.
Sandy says, stop, we 've got to go home, we can't carry any more! I have to agree.
God, I love this place!!
Back at the house- unpack all of this glorious fresh food and stow it away.
12h and all the shops are closing, time for the 2 hour lunch, how civilized is that.
First, however, 2 Pastis, 51 of course, and some of those anticipated olives out on the patio- now this is how to start a two hour lunch! Slices of that warm baguette dipped into the olive "broth"- oh God! Sufficently lubricated, time to prep the just sourced salade. Chopping, chopping and more chopping- finely- brought my own knives for this-build the salade layer by layer- top with tuna in oil from the initial grocery run- some toasted pine nuts and vinagrette. More sliced baguette, EVO from the market in Bormes les Mimosas yesterday and oh yes,, a cold Stella Artois. Lunch done perfect! AAhh, snooze by the pool with a glass of rose d' St Tropez, yes, this is the life! Slippin' deep into the blue now!
Tan, if not a little red, fresh and ready for a visit to "the cafe", deux Pastis sil vous plait. Staff always remembers us from year to year and we them, fondly. "My chair" is still there, best view in the whole harbor and still the best pours. Questions/ Cest va? Cest va bien- everyone's well. Do you like futbol? Yeah I guess I do. We gotta get you a Marseille t shirt- I'm actually anticipating that, a few folks back home will really "appreciate" it.
Did I say, God I love this place!!
Back at the maison, a cold Stella to wash down the arduous 5min. trek up the hill. Thoughts turn to dinner, dix neuf, 19h, 7pm. The locals eat a little earlier here. About those crevettes. Chop off the heads, they weird Sandy out- set aside. Slice the petite fingerlings toss into a pan of quivering EVO, sautee until gold, add a little sliced garlic, shallotes & herbes d' provence, finish with a generous pat of buerre. The smell is rapturous! OK, toss in the crevettes, bit more buerre and seasonings, et viola! Yep ther'e ready. Add baguette picked up on that arduous if not a little wobbly trek up hill, some of that EVO, a simple salade verte with a chopped cour de beouf and vinagrette, simply delicious.
Yes!!
This is what i've been waiting for. Pure joy!!
More of that rose, AAAAAHHHHHHH!
But wait!, there's more! Remember the little cavallion melon- I do. Thinnly sliced, aromatic as hell, it's gone.
Not quite bedtime, wander back down the hill to the port and "the cafe" for deux expresso, sil vous plait. Two petite little cups of mud, but taste like the most awesome coffee you've ever had. It taste glorious, the harbor lights, the lights streched out along the bay, yeeesss!
have I said, God!!! I love this place!!!
And the blue now washes over me!
A biento
Cousin

Up the Coast & "Into the Blue"

As I roll with the train from Camogli, northward along the Italian Riviera, my first brush with the seductive charms of Italy nearly 12 years ago, passing thru town after town, many of whom I have known, I ask myself, what is it from Ventigmilia on, that seperates this glorious stretch of coastline from that on the other side.
To the north of Genoa is the most similar to the Cote d' Azur, broad sandy to pebbley beaches, resort towns looking much as they did in the 60's and 70's, ever popular with Italian families, sleepy now, but all too popular in July and August. For an Italian, it would be unthinkable to bathe until at least July. There are gems to be found, San Remo, belle epoch lady with her La Pigna (pine cone) old center, Bordighera with it's Monet captured gardens, Imperia with the best EVO in Italia and Alssio with perhaps the finest sandy beaches in these parts. Unfortunately, some of these little purpose-built resorts now seem a bit worn and sometimes a little claustrophobic, especially where town encroaches upon sea.
South of Genoa, Liguria's answer to Marseille or Naples, the townscape can alternate wildly between lovely old belle epoch resorts-Santa Margherita, too cute harbors- Portofino, comfy fishing village/resort- Camogli, uninspired concrete bloc holiday resorts- Rapallo, Chiaviari, Lavagne & the like, on past to nearly vertical green coastline of the too cute and too popular Cinque Terre villages, ending somewhere between the lovely Portovenere and gritty La Spezia, everyones rail stop southward.
I realize that my my observations may seem less than effusive, however, I really do love Liguria, I just don't seem to be able to "slip into the blue" here and I puzzled, attempting to reconcile that.
Real Time!
Stop in Ventigmilia, change trains, westbound for France via Monte Carlo, best little city/state money can buy, and yes, you better have plenty of it here!
Destination, Menton-lemon town, warmest and sunniest spot on the Cote d' Azur due to a fortunate blessing of geography. Can't remember now why it failed to pass muster in '06, seems perfectly charming as we depart the gare and head for old town. Center Ville,(Old town) is lovely and compact, like a "mini Nice".
Italian is still common here, for this part of France has been France for only about 100 years, a delicious melange of French, Italian and Provencal colours, tastes smells and sounds. It's been a fine journey here, but now to relax, a cafe, a carafe of rose and the promenade. I feel myself ever-so little bit "slipping into the blue".
Find myself having trouble changing gears from my piccola l'Italliano to une petit peau Francais, but here is forgiving, they too mix and shift between.
It's a grilled fish night and back to the lovely promenade for a touristy dinner by the sea. Dorade and a carafe of rose for both of us. Very good, not excellent, and as you would expect for the location, a little overpriced.
We both reflect, nearly 3 weeks and counting and we both yearn for some home cooked food. Resturant meals, no matter how good, can become tiring after so long. Oh well- that too will soon be changing.
Jarred back to "the moment" we both now sense some of what discounted Menton in '06. In a word TRAFFIC.
The most welcoming towns have been those who are the most pedestrian friendly, old towns largely restricted to foot traffic, streets lined with alluring little cafes to wile away the afternoon, little shops and resturants to tempt you with their charms.
Now about that traffic. Also thru an accident of geography, Menton is squeezed between mountians and sea with the result not much room for the restless flow of traffic. The promenade on the sea side is narrowed, the road busy and the frontscape of the town all truncated into by necessity, a bit too compact a footprint.
Unfortunate- for this town is not short on charms. The old town, distinct and seperate from new town as is common along the Cote d' Azur and no small part of it's charm, is as lovely and alluring as any. The pebbley beaches stretch along the entire length of the town with ample chair/parasol cafe distractions. The harbor an equal to any with multitudinous multicolor boats and masts bobbing and swaying with the old town profile ascending the hill- as a backdrop.
A jewel in it's crown, the city marketplace, a covered permenant year around affair. A feast for the senses. Truly gorgeous and visited weekly by the travelling market (more on those later). God, I just want to buy it all and cook, simply perfect.
We lunched at a little backstreet crepery, two towering salads for both, mine a Niceoise of course, actually a Mentonaise variant (Niceoise by name varies wherever you eat it, the only constant, tuna) washed with a carafe of rose. Sat next to a charming mother/daughter- Mentonaise, we would soon learn after the daughter asked in Irish lilted english (studied in Ireland) if we would mind if her mother smoked. Imagine that! Wow, France has come a long way in 15 years.
She knew where we were from, she had studied arts management at the College of Charleston, Une Petit Monde, and was now the manager of a dance company in NYC, Alvin Ailey I belive, and was visiting her mother for two weeks. Momma, who spoke no english, was understandably proud of her daughter and only too happy to try and chat with us. Times like this my inability with the language really frustrates me.
Oh- this is a great time to mention the European seating tradition. Places are small with little two person cafe tables side-by-side. Intimate for the pair at the table but warm and communal with your table mates on either side. I can't tell you how many fascinating times we have shared over the years, truly one of my favorite aspects of European culture and, sadly missing back home.
Menton for me, is not a culinary destination, fresh seafood and now that I'm in France, more abundant vegetables. Here I can follow my nose and the locals. I eat good and spend less.
Home was the Hotel Moderne, two star, quite reasonable @ 78e and very comfortable, conviently located close to the gare and old town. Perfect!
Menton, nearly perfect but for it's mixed blessing of geography and the traffic.
That being said, I do feel that familiar "slip into the blue" beginning and I suspect as I journey westward over the next few days, it will begin to wash over me.
A bientot,
Cousin