Cause The Living's Easy

“So why do you do it”?
Well... you see. As you become, as they say, “a man of that certain age”, your memories of what you wish to remember, they become memories of what you think you remember. So I commit them  to type in hope that they will remain true a while longer.
And... if I should choose to share these memories with a few friends, and... if even a few should find them amusing, then... we all profit as the French would say.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.”
“I meant, why do you go back to the same place each year?”
“What’s so special about it?”
"What do you do there?"

Do you remember an old  Blues tune,  “Summertime and the Living’s Easy”?
Well the living’s easy here, very easy.
Everything’s easy about living here.

After eight years, each time you return, et voila! Without effort, you slip back into the rhythm of life
You “slip into azur blue”.

“Yeah, yeah”. “Lotta words, but what’s all that really mean”?

First of all, the village is just way cute. No, no... it’s certainly not the little fishing village any longer, (although there are still a few fishermen here) but the old town has managed to retain much of it’s past charm. Narrow streets criss-cross, rows of  old houses “leaning over you” as you pass.
First level, shops, many of them tourists fare. Some not. But a vibrancy of life in any case.
No “museum village” this. Above the shops, apartments. Places where people live. Daily life plays out.
Some vintage, some renewed, some new. But none “tarted up”.  Authenticity  appreciated, no doubt legislated.

A pedestrian place.
Yes, yes. Of course we have cars here. Too many sometimes.
But, the village elders have sought to create a balance. One recognizing the role walking plays in the quality of life. Cars do not rule. They are separate. Parking is strategic. You enter, you park, you walk.
In our old town, there is no place, nothing which you cannot easily reach by foot.
The market, groceries, wines, drugstores, bakers, butchers, hardware, cafes & restaurants, banks, doctors & dentists, post office, bus & train, and on and on...
Again, nothing which you cannot easily reach by foot.
You only have to walk but a short distance, and any of your needs can be met. Really!
And...you see them all around, the older folks, retired, some way beyond that. Walking, going about their business, an independence not often realized. It is, I sense,  a gentle place in which to grow old.

Now in all fairness I must add, this all presumes that you don’t work, or at a minimum, that you  don’t work outside of the village. I have had more than one lively discussion regarding this fact. Because... if you do have to commute into or outside the village, then you are more than likely dependent on a car. And... it’s no easier to navigate here than most anywhere else. Perhaps, even a bit more difficult. You see, there’s just not been as much thought given the “auto-centric” , or  suburban lifestyle, as perhaps in many areas of modern America,  though that has not seemingly made so much of a difference there either. It all has just evolved, and in many cases, somewhat higgelty-piggelty at best.
So, Madame M.-A. and Madame G., I will concede that argument.
But, if you don’t have to commute for some reason, it really is just so easy.
If you want, you need something. It’s no big deal. Assuming it’s not between 12 and 2 when most everything’s closed for lunch, you just walk down the street and that’s it. No car, no driving there, no traffic lights, no gas station, no waiting, no find a parking space. You just do it.
It’s very, very  liberating really.

No doubt, in part because of the pedestrian lifestyle here in the village.. life, or at least,  the complexity of life, slows measurably. Walking to the bank? You pass an acquaintance. Bonjour, ca-va? Kiss-kiss.
You enter a stall at the market, bonjour-bonjour. Ca-va? A little chit-chat with your produce.  Enter the butcher’s shop, everyone in the shop greets you, bonjour-bonjour. Chit-chat all around. Everyone bids an au revoir upon your departure, the butcher adds a merci, (thank you). Walking, you pass a sidewalk café. Lovely. Grab a table. Bonjour-bonjour, ca-va?  Have a little cup of coffee. Watch the world, this world anyway, walking by.
It’s just so easy!

I love good food. I love to cook good food. And, I love to eat good food.
I’ve said it before, but, there’s just an “embarrassment of food” here.
Yes, the French have a long tradition of fine food and gourmet tastes.
That’s not really even what I’m talking about though.  It’s not about the cuisine, rather I’m talking about the richness of products available. Provence is arguably the richest area of production for fresh fruit and vegetables in all of France, perhaps Europe. All of that within a 50 mile radius of here.
The freshest, and highest quality (they wouldn’t have it any other way) fruits, vegetables, wines, oils, cheeses, seafood, meats. And... it’s all local. It’s in the market or in the shop within a day or so.
Chef I’m not, good cook perhaps, but given the best of ingredients, the role of anyone who prepares good food is to shepherd it to the table with a minimum of interference. Let the food speak for itself.
It’s just so easy!

Central to this quality of life, good health and the ability to eat all of that fine food is an active lifestyle.
It all starts with the walking.  Walking to the market, shops, cafes. But, walk to another of the village neighborhoods, along the coast perhaps, and you can quickly add up to  4 miles or so of walking bliss. A walk to the beach, 15 minutes or so, and it doesn’t get any better. Take a towel, maybe a parasol, add a sandwich and wine for a picnic, swim and sun, ogle the girls. Perfection!
Hop on the velo (bicycle) 20 minutes along a sleepy coastal road and you end at the causeway to a little island park Isle de Gaou. Picnic, water & sun, sometimes all alone. On the return, stop at a little harbor side café in le Brusc for a cold pression (draught beer) , maybe another when I return to the village, we’ll see.
It’s just so easy!

You know, when you get down to it, it’s all about the small stuff really.
I like to say that life often gets in the way of living.
It’s hard to enjoy life when so many things get in our way, things so many times out of our control.
Too often, however, that’s just how it is.

But... not here.

So why do I do it?

Cause the living’s easy.  

The Livin's easy

Walking toward the harbor.

Walking back to the apartment

One of the cute little squares  

Quality "cafe time"

Classic market scene

A view along our daily walk

Sweet time on the beach looking back at the village

The velos

Beautiful afternoon on Isle de Gaou

Local bounty, melon & proscuitto

More local bounty, tomato mozzarella & basil

The sweet life, just me & UFO and some awesome pork chops

Playing Petanque with my landlord, a great way to wile away the hours 

To See le Tour de France

We have both been great fans of le Tour de France for some years now. Truth be told, probably about the time Lance began winning le Tour. Part sport, part travelogue and always a spectacle, we look forward to each year in July when le Tour begins. I recently read that behind the Olympics and the Coupe de Monde, le Tour de France is the third most watched sporting event in the world. Despite all the persistent scandal and Lance’s recent fall from grace, we still love it!


So..... this year with le Tour coming to within 30 minutes of our little village, we both decided way back in April, we just had to do this. Lots and lots of research on the route for stage 5 of le Tour beginning in April failed to turn up the towns that le Tour would be passing through, or for that matter exactly which roads. I mean... you can’t just drive out to the general vicinity and hope to be at the right place at the right time. May... little more in the way of information. I had a tour operator for le Tour explain to me that logistically, le Tour is a planning nightmare. Roads have to be scoped out in advance, possible hazards noted and either routed around or possibly even redesigned. Spectators must be accommodated as well the whole of le Tour’s apparatus. It’s really mind boggling when you think about it. So, it becomes clearer, the mystery about the exact route of Stage 5. By late June, the information is more forthcoming. The official le Tour de France website begins to post more and more accurate information. Armed with this new information and my newly acquired highly detailed maps (I love maps) for the area, I plot our destination for viewing le Tour.

Friday, via the internet, I book us an itsy-bitsy little car with Europecar, for if you can believe it, US$57.32 for three days. I wonder, how is that possible? Tuesday, the day before Stage 5, pick up the little car in Bandol and off and up into the mountains of the Var. I want to scope out the route from the small town of Signe to Roquebourne de Bedoule, about 25 kilometers in all.
I’m interested in access, safety of the viewing site and the probability of a great view with good photo opportunities. We settle on a small carre four (crossroads) of the D2 & the N8 in the little, really little hamlet of le Camp Castellet, near Paul Ricard’s mega racetrack facility.

Wednesday morning, both our tummies are a flutter. We’re not really sure how all this works. When will they close the roads? How soon will people show up? So... down to our bakery, and pick -up a freshly made buttered ham baguette sandwich (they’re unbelievable) pack some chips, cold drinks, fresh fruit, et voila! A picnic in the French tradition for a thoroughly French event.
Oh... and pack the umbrellas. Yes, it’s decided to piddle on us this morning of all mornings. First time in weeks. Merde!

Wind our way up the twisting mountain roads, and in a few minutes, we’re there. Still piddling however. We’re early. Real early by my estimates. It’s about 11:30 but people are definitely showing up, the roads becoming lined with cars. Le Tour probably won’t be coming through until about 4:00 or 4:30 this afternoon.
The rain stops just before lunch and we walk down to the carre four. Along the way ,we get to see tailgaiting, French style. One group had a table with china, a roti chicken, roasted potatoes, a baguette and, of course, a chilled bottle of Rose. I  would later see this table being interviewed by French TV.
A little Auberge/restaurant sits on the corner and it’s obvious that they plan to cash-in on today’s event. OK, grab a little curbside table and, deux pressions sil-vous-plait. Aaah... a cold beer hits the spot. Decide to hang here for a while, break out the sandwich and chips, you can do this in most cafes if you buy something to drink.... so, une carafe du Rose sil-vous-plait.

The longer I sit here, staring back at the carre four, I become convinced, this is a perfect viewing area with potentially a fantastic photo op. Our only concern is that as the afternoon passes, will the crowds by the road grow to the point where , mind you,Sandy who is five foot tall, they might block our views. I decide that a little aggressive staking out of a spot is in order. So as I suspected, the crowd thickens, I resolutely stand my ground at the front of the line with Sandy watching my backside.

2:00 and I’m already tiring of my vigil, but... needs must. You can feel the excitement building around you. The gendarmes (police) have showed up, and the preparations for closing the roads is underway. The crowds continue to swell, well relatively speaking, remember this is a really tiny place. I nervously check, recheck and check again my sight-line to the corner. Focus... pull out... no closer... wow, I think I’m gonna’ get some great shots. Roads are now closed, Gendarmes are zooming to and fro, making sure all the preparations have been made. Crowds are being pushed back along the edges of the roads. Advance vehicles have began to appear, official le Tour vehicles. There is a buzz in the air. About 3:00, the Caravane arrives. Part carnival but mostly advertisement, the sponsors floats, some quite outrageous, zoom around the corner and by the waving, cheering crowds, tossing out little freebies as they pass. I caught an Antartigaz hat for Sandy and a bag of Madelines (yummy little butter cakes). It’s great fun and it just serves to whip up the crowds even more. We know that the Caravane is typically about an hour ahead of le Tour , so.. About an hour to go before the real excitement begins. A long hour. Very little happens. Gendarmes scooting all over, occasionally an official car, or a team support car zooms, and I mean zooms by. Everybody is restless. Nudge nudge, must protect my space at the front. Getting harder and harder... little old ladies are the worst to push in front. I’m not feeling generous at the moment. Sandy continues to watch my back, trying to make sure I don’t get squeezed out. It’s our plan, at the last moment, to install her in front of me and I’ll shoot over her. We’ll see.

About 4:15, after a disappointing lull that seemed to last for ever, the police and support staff seem more nervous, cellphones at the ear, looking down the D2 , adjusting the barricades.

Word is they’re on the way, helicopters have began to circle and pass by... just minutes now.

Check the sight-line... focus long.... focus short....breath out, right.. I’m ready.

It’s just before 4:30, helicopters are hovering just up the D2 now, I think I can hear crowds cheering.... and.... two Gendarmes on motorcycles, side by side, they lean hard to the right as they round the curve. And.... as if almost on top of the Gendarmes, bicycles... the breakaway no doubt.

Stand my ground, sight-line... focus click, click pan pan, click click, they whiz past in a blur, followed closely by the team support cars. Wow! Couldn’t have been more than 15 seconds. Wow!! My hearts actually racing.

How long? How long now before the peloton arrives? The crowd’s really whipped up by now. The excitement is definitely here. Waiting.... 1 minute.... 2 minutes...5 minutes.... and.......here they are!!! Gendarmes again at the front, first riders appear. Crowd’s roaring and yelling at the riders Quick... focus.. Click, click, click... I just stay focused and shoot nonstop. There’s a buzzing in my head. I can feel the wind as the pelaton passes.... wooosh, wooosh, man that was close. I hope I’m not too far out. Click, click, click wooosh......and.... they’re gone. All that remains are the team support cars chasing after the pelaton.

Breathe, just breathe..... I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. My fingers are still clenching the camera. Relax Kevin... just relax. Big grins and smiles all around.

All of the research and planning. 4 maybe 5 hours of waiting.... and in about 60 seconds it’s all over. But wow! What a high.

And.... just as it began... but in reverse...the crowds mill away from the carre four, the police and the support begin clearing the barricades, directing what I’m willing to bet was a massive traffic jam, for this little spot at least.

It’s all over.

By the time we, in our itsy-bitsy little Toyota, make it through the carre four and on our way back down the D26 on our way to Bandol, you’d hardly know that anything had happened.



Later that evening, we pulled the video up onto the PC for Stage 5 and began to relive the moments. There they pass through Signe, where we’d began two days ago.... hey... I think I recognize that stretch of road. I think they’re getting’ close now.. Hey.... yeah... I think that’s the carre four up ahead. Yes... it is. Motorcycle cameraman’s following the 4 man breakaway.... into the curve and.... wait... I think.... yeah I think I see me . Yellow shirt, cargo shorts... camera in hand. Shootin’ for all I’m worth. Yes... I think so... back up, slow motion. Yep pretty sure.

About 5 minutes later, motorcycle cameraman imbedded in the peloton... sweeping into the curve... better picture this time.... and yes, yes I see me. It is me and I’m shootin’ my ass off.



Wow!! I would so do this all again!

The Caravane begins!

Peleton rounding the corner.

Swoosh! Wow that was close!

Todays Winner!

Swallowed up in a sea of bicycles!

It's all over except for the team cars

Les Joutes Provencales

I am always a sucker for anything that might fall under the heading of “local color”.

Here on the Southern Coast of France, there exist a rather unusual sport known as les Joutes Provencale. Now, I have known of this activity for some years now, but have never witnessed an actual competition, just the practice “laps” here in the harbor.

The competition dating back to Greco-Roman times, takes place on colorfully painted wooden boats of Phoenician origins, a common fishing vessel in these parts. The Joutes boats, however, are somewhat distinctive and immediately recognizable by the odd-looking extension at the rear.

The English translation for joutes would be joust, and yes, these joust take place on the water.

The two teams boats face off against one another, each jouster stands atop a plateau located at the end of that odd looking extension on the rear of the joutes boats, known as the teinteine. Each holds a long wooden lance in their right hand, the goal being to knock their opponent off the teinteine and into the water by striking them with this lance. Each is protected by a padded wooden breastplate and holds a little wooden box on their left hand to prevent them from grabbing the lance of their opponent.

I am positively not making this up!

From May-September, all along this coast, the villages sponsor joutes teams who meet for competitions. This morning, while heading out for our morning walk, Sandy and I happened across just such a competition down in the harbor. Big crowd yelling and cheering on their respective teams, judges in a tent, the joutes boats approaching with jousters at the ready. And... splash!  Damn!  Don’t have my camera. Sandy volunteers to run back to the apartment for the camera.

Now, you might expect that this would be a man’s sport, but... young men/ boys, even young women/girls are here to compete. By the time Sandy returns with the camera, the adult men’s competition has concluded. My photos capture the younger male and female competitors. Perhaps, not quite as sure of themselves, but it is exciting to watch young jousters face-off. Les joutes Provencales will , as it has for centuries, live on for yet another generation.

The video is courtesy of Sandy:

The teams salute at the beginning of competition

The engagement

Knocked-off

Les Canadairs

If you spend anytime at all along the Cote d’Azur of Southern France you are bound to see the famous yellow fire-fighting aircraft, swooping down into the azur blue water and lifting-off with their full belly-load,  then, banking sharply, off into the distance toward the blazing fire.


These are known in these parts as the “les Canadairs”, a Canadian built aircraft especially designed for the purpose of fighting forest-fires.

In this part of France , well known for it’s 200+ sunny days a year, the hot Provencal sun... much like Southern California, makes it very prone to dry, scrub covered hillsides, here known as the garrigue. The herbs and shrubs that comprise the garrigue, may be quite aromatic under the Provencal sun, but... they are a tinderbox, a fire waiting to happen.

Being an ardent walker, and... being quite fond of walking among the callanques of Cassis, or the hills of Provence, I am aware that during certain periods of dryness, particularly in July and August, you are often  prohibited from walking in these areas for fear that the walkers may start forest-fires.

And yet, the fires do happen, fueled by the dry garrigue and the ubiquitous winds, often spreading across hundreds, sometimes, thousands of acres. It is a big problem, one often complicated by the rough terrain of the coast.

Et voila! Enter the les Canadairs, the local heroes. These planes will be quickly dispatched to a raging fire. They will circle one of the closest bays, swoop down and “swallow a bellyful” of water, then fly off to the fire to drop their precious load of water strategically onto the burning hill-sides. They have a most distinctive drone, perceptible from far off. When you hear it, you just know... les Canadairs! You can’t help it, whatever you are doing, you just stop, and... look for les Canadairs. You, and everybody else. It’s a bit of a local obsession. Everybody stops to watch the glorious performance of les Canadairs.

Just after lunch on our terrace today. We heard them first... then, there they were, five of them heading from the sea directly toward the village. It was really exciting, the approaching roar, the big yellow planes banking sharply over the village, and one after another, swooping down into our bay. As they lifted off the surface one by one, they released their loads in great showers.  Aaah... just a practice run... that’s good.

It was just spectacular!!!

Vivre les Canadairs!!! The local heroes.





A’ bientot
Cousin

The First Couple Days....

Several of you have repeatedly asked me... “how can you stay just there that long” or “what do you do there every day” ?
I guess I’ve never really thought about it much, you know, I just do it.
But, OK, let’s give it a go. I’ll try and describe for you a bit of what it’s like for us here.
No...no, I’m not going to do a day by day diary sort of thing, don’t think I’m up to that, and anyway... you’d be bored to tears. No, I’d be. Maybe just some of the more interesting bits.

Let’s see... arrived a couple of days ago, Friday, 7AM Charles de Gaulle Airport... “yawn”, immediately hopped on the 8:30AM TGV, the high speed train, bound to Marseille. Bombing along at about 200mph, Marseille was only about 3.5 hours to the south. What a great and, effortless way to travel. Even managed to catch a nap along the way. Yawn.... Arrive Marseille station about lunchtime, change trains to the slower “milk-run” between Marseille and Toulon. It’s just so easy... really! About 30 minutes, and viola! We’re there. Our tres-sympa (charming) landlord comes to the station to meet and collect us. How nice is that?

Arrive at the apartment, and..... bonjour, bonjour. Kiss-kisses (bisous) on both cheeks. Everybody is excited to see everybody. Monsieur and Madam Landlord, Sandy and myself. Almost like family.. A bit of catching up, settling in, and.... god, I’ve gotta crash. I’m pretty wiped out.
My prescription for jet-lag... a couple of hours nap and a warm shower afterwards. Yeah... much better. At least I feel alive again.

Now... I don’t try to set the world on fire just after my arrival. You know... unpack and settle the contents into there now familiar places. Bring some of our personal possessions out of Winter storage and put them too into their now familiar places. In other words... we settle in.
Once again, with ease, I begin to feel that I am a part of this place and it me. Aaaaaah. C’est bonne!
I don’t try and stock the kitchen today. Momentarily revived, I realize that this feeling won’t last. No, a nice simple meal out this evening. Comfort food. So... about 7:30, my default here, “La Provencal” a small family run affair with simple, well prepared food of the area. And.... tonight... special of the day (le plat de jour) is a grilled dorade, a local fish grilled with olive oil and local herbs. Accompanied by a lovely bit of rice, oven roasted fresh carrots and a petite green salad. Add a ½ litre carafe of local rose wine... just about perfect.
Totter-off back home, and... around 9:30PM, drift off into about the sweetest, deepest sleep you can imagine. Wake up around 9AM the following morning, yeah... you heard that right, and... I’m as good as new.
Well now. That was all very exciting wasn’t it?

Saturday
Today... feeling fresh... and here.... and at the “crack o’ nine”, time to get about the business.
So... nothing much in the old kitchen this morning... not a problem.! A quick stop by Suirrery’s bakery and, “deux croissant sil-vous-plait”. Couple of doors down the street to La Bar Marine, and... bonjour, bonjour... ca va?... ca va! Once again, everybody’s glad to see everybody.
I have to say, the familiarity of it all here... it’s just, you know.... so nice!
“Deux café-au-laits, sil-vous-plait”. Out come two awesome cups of warm milk with a pinch of espresso... devine! And.. Suirrery’s croissants.... oh my! And, no.... the bar doesn’t care if you bring your own, even though they do sell them. How cool is that?

So...first, a market visit, of course! Now I won’t re-hash the first market visit story, see my earlier post if you wish, but suffice to say, it is a time of great excitement for me. I’m “really here” now. First day or so, I load us up with lotsa fresh green salads. Easy to do when the lettuce comes from less than 5 miles away, and the carrots and the radishes. Add some wonderful Provencal tomatoes and cucumbers. And... how about some French Gruyere-style cheese from Savoie, and some thinly sliced smoked French ham. Meanwhile, Sandy pick’s up some flowers to plant, red and  purple verbena, some orange and fuschia rose-moss, and... a gorgeous hot pink new guinea Impatiens. We both love flowers and the color they bring to life. I think These allow her to express herself, perhaps they help build a sense of place..
Oh yeah... that’ll do. Now, pick up a fresh, still warm baguette from Suirrery’s bakery...
Better stop by my butchers for some meat, he’s closed on Mondays and I would like to grill dinner Monday night. Sandy waits outside. Bonjour, bonjour monsieur. Really, it’s just so great to be recognized. A bit of a wait, maybe 3, 4 people in front of me . Oui monseiur, deux cote-du-porc (pork chops) sil-vous-plait. Chop-chop, wrap-wrap, c’est-tu? No monsieur, deaux saussicon (pork sausages) sil-vous-plait. C’est-tu? Oui monsieur. All neatly wrapped and presented to his lovely wife who carries the package over to the cash register. She recognizes me too. Oui, ce-va, ce-va? 8 euro 50 in just 20 minutes.
Oh... and.... almost forgot.  A stop by the Agricultural Co-operative. I want a bottle of local olive oil. A young man here, who, speaks wonderful English, suggest an organic unfiltered oil. It is cloudy with a bright green color. Excellant!!
Whoa, almost too much stuff.... back to the house. Stash the perishables in the fridge... whew!

A few years back I hit upon the idea of an “Initial Shopping List” to stock my pantry. Without this, I found that I just “twirled around”, often forgetting many essential items. So now, with my list, and with my rolling Victorinox travel suitcase to act as a shopping cart, looking perhaps a bit odd, off and down the hill to the nearby (really nearby), Casino Grocery. All the essentials.... milk, butter, eggs, Pastis, beer, coke.....etc. About an hour later, and about 85 euros later... all packed into my rolling bag and, one Harris-Teeter cloth grocery bag... off and... up the hill we go. Top of the hill and... huff-puff, back down the “plongee” the plunge of our little street. I’m still not sure why I have to go up to go down... but hey... the price for the view. Whew... that’s about enough of that. Again, everything gets put away and ... time for lunch... well perhaps a cold Stella first
Oh... and some of those fennel or nicoise olives and the yummy black olive tapanede we got at the market this morning and... don’t forget the still warm baguette from Suirrery’s.. And well... Stella’s all gone... maybe the first Pastis of the season. Oh yeah....
After a while.... to the cuisine., I mean kitchen! Chop-chop-chop. Build the salads.
Encore... another Stella, more Suirrery’s baguette and my masterpiece of a salad. Out on the patio... with the view! The village and the bay spreading out before me. Munch, munch.... oh yeah!
Perfect!!
Some fresh local sweet cherries for dessert. C’est bonne!
Nap time. Yep! The concept of the siesta is well known in these parts. Good idea that! One which we quickly adopt.

Later..... pull the rest of the stuff from storage (a note here, our landlord’s have been great about letting us keep some stuff here from year to year), and put it away.
Pull out the velos, bicycles, clean and oil them up, oh...and... pump up the tires. Lotta fun with one of those little clip-on bicycle pumps. Whew!!
While I play at bicycle mechanic, Sandy busies herself potting her new charges. They look just lovely.
And....
3PM... Victorinox trailing behind, two empty 3 litre “barrels” inside... off, and down the hill (of course) to the Cave, the local Wine Coooperative (closed from 1-3 daily) where the local farmers bring their grapes to be turned into wine. “Gas pump“ wine, about 1.90 euros per litre (cheaper than gasoline) and really not that bad a rose wine, is pumped into my “barrels”. This will be our “house wine” . A few extra bottles of “the good stuff” and Kevin’s little wine cellar is nearly stocked for the season. Well.. for a little while at least.
Back home...now... about that wine..... pour-off about a litre and... well.... have a sip, or two....
Awakening from yet another nap.... wow, didn’t realize how tired I really was... or perhaps it was the rose....
8PM... I’m hungry again. Another favorite... Chez Mico, been here for decades but still referred to as Sicilian (the grandparents who started it were Sicilian). Well known as a one of the best pizzarias in town, they also have an extensive menu, sorry that’s la carte here. Not really in a pizza mood, thought I’d try something off the menu, sorry,   la carte, this evening. I love kabobs, so... brochettes Mico sounded just about right. Thin strips of pork loin wrapped around a piece of Gruyere cheese and flame grilled. Served with Lebanese rice, a wonderfully seasoned pilaf with toasted pine nuts, roasted red peppers and what I believe were prunes. Washed down with a demi-bottle of rose from less than 10 miles away. Oh yeah... Kevin’s happy!  But.... Sicilian, Provencal... no, I would expect these kabobs in, maybe, Alsace or Switzerland. And the Lebanese rice? And we (I) thought this odd sort of thing only went on in the States.
Totter-off on back home, and.... by now not so wacked... how about a movie? When I’m home in Carolina and the Winter’s crap... I record movies onto a little hard-drive which I take with us and we can then watch on the computer whenever we want. It’s nice because it’s in English and , well, again, we watch what we want when we want. Perhaps I should add here... that there’s an awesome little Art-Deco movie theater here in town, but guess what, the movies are usually in French and no they don’t have English subtitles. Can you imagine that?
I’m gettin’ on local time now... movies ended, check e-mail, Facebook and...off to bed about 11:30 .
Cool evenings, about 55-60, we sleep like babies.

Sunday
Ah... Sunday morning. Market visit... market’s a bit weak on Mondays, so I'll go today,  and... well, as you may have heard, yes we do go to the market every day or two here.. Need some fresh veg to go with the lovely cote-du-porc (pork chops), I picked up yesterday at my butchers. Maybe some squash, onions and fennel to go with that sausage. Some more local strawberries and cherries. Et voila!!
Today, one... no two of the vendors at the market recognize me. It was very busy yesterday, too many tourist!  But...bonjour “caroline du nord”, my blonde market-seller calls out. She always seems to be happy to greet me at the beginning of the season.
Bonjour madam, ca-va? Ca-va. I love it!!
Sundays here are special. They almost always seem to be beautiful, sunny days.... really!
Like many around here, Kevin gives himself a day-off from the kitchen on Sundays. Sunday for us can only mean one thing... Quai 16, a lovely little outdoor café restaurant right on the harbor, ancient fishing boats bobbing out front and quite possibly the best Sunday lunch going anywhere. Again, bonjour-bonjour, ca-va, ca-va.
Aaah. Fresh loup, (whole sea bass), grilled simply and served with a pesto sauce, some petite fresh potatoes dressed with olive oil , a halved and stuffed-grilled tomato, and... of course, a bit of fresh salad. Accompany that with a carafe of local rose and it’s just this side of paradise! Great food, well prepared, awesome views and the nicest people you could meet. There’s just no way to improve upon this experience. C’est Bonne monseiur?.... Oui...c’est tres bonne!
Totter off up the hill again and...........

A’bientot

"Fill-er Up" Gas pump Wine at the Cave

"Alooo caroline du nord"

Sunday Dinner at Quai 16

The Beautiful View from Quai 16

Our "Dining Room" With a View

Our Velos

A Rainy Day In Paris

Sound’s almost oxymoronic, doesn’t it?

The return.
Leaving a life I love for the life I live.
The rain..... seems somehow apropos to my mood at the moment.
Enough!
This is, after all, seductive Paris. She who draws me back again and again.
But... the rain... the mood. Sometimes you just have to make your own sunshine.

Yes, I’ve been here many times. Done all the cliches, the Louvre, Notre Dame, The Orsay, The Eiffel, The Champs, Montmartre, the Latin Quarter. I’ve done them all. Will do them again.
But here, on this rainy day, in Paris, what to do? I need light, levity, mindless distraction.
I love movies with Paris as the star. I love, no I’m obsessed with the movie,   Ronin.  Couldn’t tell you how many times we’ve seen it.  And the movies Before Sunrise  &  Before Sunset , we both could watch them at any time.
And Montmartre. The fabric district. Well Sandy can lose herself (quite literally) in it’s twisting winding warrens. Or, a sidewalk café in the Latin Quarter
And... I’m gettin’ a glimpse of the sunshine.

I’ve always yearned to track-down some of these icons of “our” pop culture , but always... hey ... this is Paris. Something bigger, better, faster always comes up.
This time. This time I’ll just indulge myself.
It’s a far jaunt from the seventh where we’re staying to the 18th and the environs of Montmartre. Rain and subways. As they say with food and wine, what a perfect pairing. Subways, or the Metro as it is known, make Paris manageable, almost intimate, almost.
Pop-up and out of the Art-Deco Abbesses Metro entrance near the funicular, and.... grey skies.... but no rain!
Now, I remind you that in Montmartre you will find Paris’s fabric district. Literally hundreds of shops, little and large, with fabrics and notions. Street after street winding around the base of Montmartre with the Sacre Cour atop.
Now, Sandy like’s, but maybe doesn’t share my obsession for Ronin and “scouting” the Ronin sites. Bear in mind, this is not the first time. I have also done this in old Niceville, Arles and Le Turbie.
The fabric quarter, however, now there’s an obsession for her.
Standing in front of the Sacre Cour funicular, we decide to split-up for an hour and meet back here.
Right! I’m excited..... off to find the bar, the steps. You know. The opening scene, Sam (Robert DeNiro) walks down the “endless” steps (rue Drevet) and peers into the shabby old bar. Now, I have to confess. Last year I might have tried to do this and failed. This year, however, I come armed with the resources of   http://www.imdb.com/  and  www.movie-locations.com  , so, voila! Should be a cinch.
Or..... I’m usually quite good with directions and maps... but... damn, am I ever confused. Montmartre seems to do this to me. Well, yeah it is a twisting turning maze, with Sacre Cour standing above it all, and... I have a map... but, I’m floundering. I’m sure I was quite a sight. Frantically circum-navigating Sacre Cour, looking for the elusive rue des Trois Freres and a make believe bar.
Asking in my best/worst French for directions, no-one seemed to know.
And........ There it was! The steps! The “bar”! Well the building at least.
Actually, there’s no bar, it was all staged for the movie. Now, it’s just a derelict old building, looking as if at any moment it might just fall down.
My heart pounding. Excitement or the circum-navigation?
Time? What time is it? Glasses... look at cellphone. 20 minutes! Wow, seemed like much more time had passed. I’m tired. I’m thirsty. Oh... and I better scope-out our lunch spot, don’t want more circum-navigation with Sandy in tow. Happened across this little place last year, during the previous failed search. It was perfect! Okay, no more floundering. Facing steps to church, go down stairs to my left on the corner of the plaza, and..... voila! There it is. L’Ete en Pente Douce, and just as inviting as I had remembered it.
Now, if I also remember correctly... yep, down some more stairs (always with the stairs around here) to the right of the bistro and .... yes... yes it is! Last year I came across this little neighborhood bar, it too could be from the opening scene of Ronin. But here. Here is the “real McCoy”. A vintage Montmartre bar now called, I do not make this up, “NO PROBLEMO”. I don’t remember that name from last year, but anyway, you enter through an old-timey glass storefront, and... you enter into a place of the past. The patina of nicotine surrounds. A burly oaken bar all along your right, zinc top of course, with the requisite brass beer taps looking something like a fire plug. A mirror behind the bar with an amazing “library” of booze on display. To describe this experience as a time-warp would fall far short.
Behind the bar, bonjour madame, bonjour monseiur. She would no doubt be called Flo, back in the States that is.
Stools lined the bar, little tables, eight maybe ten littered the room. Chalkboards at every turn. Plat de jour, red wine menu, white wine menu, specialties of the house. And... the floor, the patina of 100 years of use.
Myself an actor here, I play my role. Biere sil-vous-plait. Flo with upturned glass, presses it down on the wash device (I’ve never seen these outside of France). Glass freshly sanitized and filled with a cold Heineken. Yeah, no kidding. It was the house beer. Merci madame, pay and leave a small tip for Flo.
Last year... almost to the day... same time, same place... somewhat... well it’s hard to explain. I mean, I’m not a bar person, but... here I was, and it was somehow comforting. I know that makes no sense, but...
I sipped my beer, I looked about me, trying to take it all in. This too I remember from last time.
Flo smiles, I smile back. People, normal people pass by the storefront. This could be any time....
Time! Uh-Oh... Sandy.
Last sip... merci-avior madame.
Let’s see... I think this way, left. Two blocks and ... to my right, the funicular. Well then. That was too easy.
Couple of free minutes, I’ll snap a picture or two. The steps I think, not that I fancy myself Brassai or anything.

There she is, several bags on her arm.
I relay my seemingly endless hours experience, sans perhaps, the getting lost part... wouldn’t do.
It’s about 12 noon, but neither of us are in a hurry for lunch. And I do know where it is... right?
Suggest a pression with my budds at the “NOPROBLEMO”. Sure why not.
I think she just about got the Ronin connection.
Definitely got the time-warp Montmartre connection.
But I still think the “NO PROBLEMO” caught her a little off guard.
I mean we walked through the door and straight ahead, a table of local, really local ladies, sitting and talking with Flo, one openly breast-feeding her “lil-one”.
Bonjour, bonjour, nod, nod.  Flo now recognizing me, already as a regular.
Deux pressions, sil-vous-plait.
I watched Sandy. I sensed her attempting to process it all. No, not alarmed... but I mean it’s not often we “time travel”, and well, it takes a bit of gettin’ used to. I think she saw many, yes many of the same things I saw. And... more no doubt!
This could not have come from any movie set. And... the beer, it was cold and it was wonderful.
Now, sadly, I have no photos of the interior to support my mental imagery. Seemed , you know, somehow disrespectful, voyeuristic in a way.
But I can see, smell and feel it a clearly now as if I were there.

So, can you find the little bistro?
Yeah... I can. It’s just up these stairs and voila! There it was. L’Ete en Pente Douce. Just as we remembered it. Warm, cozy, perfect for the moment. Home cooking. Menu of the day. Perfect!
Normally, I, the foodie, could tell you in minute detail about the meal. I can only blame some form of bizarre euphoria for my sparse memory. I remember a French version of Shepherd’s Pie for me, Lamb shanks for Sandy and a carafe of hearty red from somewhere in the Dordogne, I believe.
I can tell you this much. It was perfect! Both of us blissful. A ray of sun peaking through the clouds. Well... metaphorically speaking that is.

Now, my “reason d’etre” (reason for being here). The stairs, the bar, well sort of. As I said it was a crumbling wreck, no bar at all.
Triumphantly I walked directly to the location of the bar, no floundering this time.
Definitely That’s it!
We both agree, but again it's a bit disappointing.
And now, for a few pictures. Some damn fool’s parked a tradesman’s van out front, no bother. It is what it is. Pictures of your’s truly on the stairs, coming down a-la DeNiro, going up a-la Jean Reno.
Sweet!
Interestingly enough, no pictures of Sandy, going up or down the stairs. As I said, my obsession.

Well then.... now what? Deferring now more to another of my girl’s milder obsessions, perhaps an homage to Before Sunset the movie with Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy. I’ve always wanted to visit the Promenade Plantee, a linear park built on an abandoned elevated rail line. It’s sorta similar to the rails to trails back in the States. It is beautifully landscaped and offers wonderful views of that area of Paris. And... it figures prominently in Before Sunset.
So... another easy metro journey and, voila! There we were!
And... it’s misting. My misting Sandy calls rain. But, no bother, I’m here so let’s do it!
It really was lovely, “mist” and all. And we weren’t the only “mist” ignoring walkers on the Plantee. It’s quite popular. Pictures snapped. I really don’t know why. There’s just something cool about it, you know, “hey, I’ve seen that in the movie”, or I know where that’s at!
Weird, I know, but fun all the same.
I don’t mind saying, by the time we were nearing the end, I was beginning to tire, what with all that frantic floundering around Montmartre this morning. What we both wanted about now was a little sidewalk café in the Latin Quarter, near the Seine, preferably, no “mist”. Yeah, that’d be great. But... it’s still misting and were still on the Plantee, and, I’m not exactly sure of the closest Metro stop. And... it’s maybe, misting harder now.

Well, with minor difficulty, stop located and in minutes, voila! We were there!
Just pop up and out of the Metro at St Michel, and... it’s misting really really hard now. Matter of fact I may say it’s raining.
So... looking around me... ah, Café Saint-Severin, that look’s good! If not a bit crowded, not a unique idea, I think. Wiggle into impossibly crowded little tables and chairs, under an awning of course.
Yes... this will do nicely.
Oui monsieur, deux pressions, sil-vous-plait. Grande!
And so was the next hour, hour and a half.
Paris, a sidewalk café. People all around. Sip a cold beer or two?
And... a ray of sunshine peaking through the clouds. Metaphorically speaking.

Actually, the rain/mist... well by this time it had tapered-off to nothing really, and, feeling a bit refurbished by the beer(s), I had one last indulgence before returning to the seventh.
Shakespeare and Company   http://www.shakespeareandcompany.com/  venerable old English language bookstore, a Paris icon, and another setting for the movie Before Sunset. I am ashamed to admit that, me, a “bookworm” has not been to Shakespeare and Company. Two blocks away on rue de la Bucherie. And, another perfect antidote to a dreary, rainy day in Paris. I will not dwell on the details, I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves and if you’re interested check out their website and, maybe read the book Time Was Soft There, Jeremy Mercer, it’s a great read about this unbelievable old place. I mean just look at it, you could get lost in it’s many rooms. People do, I imagine.

Back to Metro stop St Michel and on to Ecole Militaire stop. Home in Paris, on the rue Cler.
It’s about dinner time by now. Where did the day go, this morning seemed as though it would be so long, and yet where did it go?
Looking forward to what I know will be an outstanding dinner, Le Bistro du 7eme does not disappoint.
And it did not.

A fine day it was.
Sometimes you just have to make your own sunshine.

"Sam" wearily walks down to the bar 



"Vincent"  "no questions, no answers"



The  "Bar"

Abbesses Metro Stop



Channeling Brassai



Walking the Promenade Plantee

The bar NO PROBLEMO
http://www.yelp.fr/biz/no-problemo-paris

L'Ete en Pente Douce
http://www.yelp.com/biz/l-et%C3%A9-en-pente-douce-paris-2





Cafe Saint-Severin at the St Michel Stop
A bit less crowded when this picture was taken.



Typical room inside Shakespeare and Company
Vintage!



Shakespeare and Company
I look as though I'm standing guard. What's up with that?

Always above it all, Sacre Cour









The Weekly Provencal Market

                 

                                                Part 3 of a 3 Part Series                                        

Sometime around seven, maybe a little before, they arrive. Depending on the time of the year, it could still be dark. They arrive in all manner of vehicles, each prepared in their own way to open their little “storefront” in today's market.

Some arrive in elaborate mini motor-home like affairs, specially built, the sides open up to expose the wares, often spilling out onto tables placed in front. Others may have a towed trailer, from short and compact to long and skinny. They’re often rather complicated fold-out affairs, ingeniously designed for the purpose with pop-up awnings and umbrellas. Some will arrive in vans, large and small, and set-up a dizzying array of tables, rod and curtain walls, awnings and umbrellas. Some even arrive with their wares in the back of their cars, set-up a little table, an umbrella and spread out their wares.

It’s really quite amazing... the diversity, the ingenuity, the complexity, and the amount of plain old hard work involved in setting-up ones stall. And yet... sometime around 8, maybe 8:30 most of the stalls are ready and the crowds begin to trickle in. (The locals know this as the time to go to the market)

I often imagined that this was a highly corregraphed affair, you know, with a grand plan and someone from the town there to carefully administer it. Nope! Don’t think so. The whole thing really has a bit of a laissez faire approach. Yes, the spaces are numbered and marked. And yes, they’re assigned to the vendors who pay the town for the rental and for any electricity. And yes, the local police block-off or close-down certain streets and redirect the traffic flow, all of which is or rather should be known to those who live or work here. So... I guess in a sense there is something of a grand plan, just sorta ad hoc, if you know what I mean.
This incredible assemblage of over 200 vendors just happens. And... it happens with a minimum of confusion. Everybody gets to their spaces, somehow, sets-up, puts their vehicle away somewhere if necessary, puts-out an enormous amount of merchandise and all in about an hour to an hour and a half. It is one of those things that seems to work in spite of itself , controlled chaos if you will.
And for the next 4 hours or so, the market takes over the town. Like a great serpent “snaking” it’s way along the harbor and into the distance for maybe a quarter of a mile, swallowing the stalls of the daily market in it’s path.
And people, lotsa people. Thousands in fact. Cars and people come pouring into this little village from all directions. Yes, this is a big deal. As I said, for about 4 hours, this market assumes control of the village. The “serpent”, an undulating mass of people milling through the “gauntlet” of stalls.
And, about those stalls. There’s just an unimaginable variety of “stuff” out here for sale. Let me try and describe some of what I can remember:

Foods and produce:

There are many, seemingly too many, produce stalls, large and small, each often with a specialty or touting their freshness, localness or service in an effort to woo the buyers. Some are small local producers, many more are what I deem retailers, buying their produce for resale. In addition to those arriving here weekly, there is the entire daily market crowd as well.
There were some examples of great specialization such as a stall selling only fresh garlic, local figs, honey (2), local apples (2), olives (4-5), olive oil (1), spices (2), local muscat table grapes(1), local vineyards selling their wines (2), vanilla beans (1)
Cheeses- couldn’t say just how many people were selling cheeses, some were local producers, great goat cheeses, some were retailers, musta been at least a dozen.
Several butchers- probably 8 including the daily market crowd. Lotsa specialization here, fresh meats, cured meats, sausages only, Corsican style sausages, even a Bucherie Chevaline (horse meat) quite popular if you judge by his long que.
Baked goods- had to see at least 8-10 stalls selling baked goods. Local rustic style breads, some with cookies or pastries, some regional and a couple selling candies and nuts.
Prepared foods- Two, not one but two stalls selling paella, and not one big 3 foot diameter pan, but three types! One was the traditional seafood and rice, one pulpo (octopus) and one with baby squid. Two vendors were selling rotisserie chickens and roasted meats. I even saw a Chinese take-away truck.

The next biggest category of merchandise would probably be clothing:

Ladie's outerwear- dresses, blouses, swim wear etc, couldn’t say how many, lost count.
Ladie's lingerie- at least 3-4 of these. Saw one lady getting fitting recommendations from the man in the stall.
Men's outerwear- shirts, tee shirts, sports jerseys, pants & shorts, swim wear. I again lost track of how many.
Shoes- I think 2 maybe 3
Hats-1-2
Ladie's scarves 1
Hair piece extensions- yes there was one of these.
Fingernail polish and make-up (2-3)
Ladies jewelry and watches, I saw at least 3-4
Children’s wear- at least 2-3
Sunglasses or reading glasses- at least 3-4

Other “Stuff”:
Leather goods- bags, belts and handbags
Woven market bags (1)
Pet supplies- included beds and outfits (1)
Original painters and prints (4-6)
Pottery- (3) local and mass produced
Mattresses- yes, mattresses, two of them
Knives, pots & pans, kitchen supplies (3)
Toys (2)
Pruning shears (1) sold nothing else.
Home decor- tablecloths, linens (2-3)
Fabric and sewing supplies- (2-3)
Artisanal soaps (2)
Flowers (3)
And, what I call people demonstrating kitchen widgets and people demo-ing cookware, choppers, Remember it slices, it dices, etc., well it was here along with demos of cleaning products and micro fiber cloths.
Oh, and I almost forgot, a stall selling vinyl windows.

And, bring cash, most don’t take plastic.
As I’m sure you can now imagine, it’s all really a bit overwhelming. There’s just so much stuff!
In addition, there were a couple of wandering minstrels in medieval garb playing music for tips.
And... people and more people. It can get a little dizzying. Sometimes you just have to pop-out to an alley or side street to catch your breath. The locals know, come early. And to avoid the crowds and get around the congestion, use these alleys and back streets. I’m learning.
And.... around lunch time, the crowds begin to thin, and the cafes and restaurants begin to fill. You begin to notice the sellers, packing away their wares, disassembling their stalls, the morning in reverse.

About one, maybe two o’clock, they’re largely gone. The people, the cars also largely gone. The streets, the traffic returns to normal. The town’s sanitation crews have moved into clear the detritus of the market. By 3 maybe 4, normal life has returned to the village. No sign that this big unruly “serpent” was ever here.

 

The promenade

                                                

The promenade with the weekly Provencal Market 

                            

                                         
 

Ladies dresses



Paella, will that be regular, octopus or baby squid?



A rainbow of shoes

It slices, it dices, I'll even bet it makes juliene frites

I've seen this guy laying on one of these before

Get your horse meat here



These guys were great, added a certain ambiance to the market 



A honey stall

This ladies pottery was just beautiful

These are the best grapes I've ever eaten!

Let's make pomme au four, baked apples

Hey,  a French woman can't have too many scarves

And you just gotta have a market bag, now don't ya?