Two days in Paris have been incredible!

This is a quick post before we board our plane home. We've been in Paris for a little less than 48 hours and have packed much into our stay. It's a first for the both of us in this extraordinary city. Here are some things we've done. Each of these were the direct advice of friends ...

Yesterday we visited the Sainte-Chapelle cathedral and understood immediately why our friend said it was a "must-see." Incredible! This photo shows some of its amazing stained glass.



We also walked down the Seine, and crossed several of its famous bridges on foot (here again is a sample photo). We went even further and took a sightseeing boat down the river last night.

Everyone said we needed to visit the Eiffel Tower. This last shot is a view from it's second level:

Now it's time for me to start packing. We hope to have lunch before heading to the airport, at our favorite local bistro. It's appropriate that our last act in Paris -- and indeed in France -- will be eating and drinking. The food and wine have certainly been another highlight!

Farewell, Provence. For this visit, at least!

Yesterday we saw our guests off at the Toulon train station. But the day before we had one final adventure. Our last foray with our friends was into Hyeres, which is deceptively close. Why deceptive? Although only a 20-minute drive from our villa, the city is a world of difference from our high-altitude perch and the sleepy La Londe at its base.

We had traveled there with three goals. First, we wanted to see if its marshy bird sancuary was worth the visit. We also wanted to see if our guests could get train schedules, so they could plan their long trek back to Alba. And finally, we wanted one last bistro or tavern experience together – preferably one by the water. It would be a place to toast the conclusion of our wonderful, lazy week.

A lesson we’ve learned about Provence is there is an uncanny “wish fulfillment magic” in the air. It seems we simply make a determination of how we’d like to spend a particular afternoon, point our car in the proper direction with a modicum of planning, and Viola! Our desires materialize. This Monday in Hyeres was no exception.

We pulled into the city at about 2 PM. It was surprisingly large, and humming with mid-day activity. First was a stop at the Hyeres tourism bureau.

We left with a couple of city maps and some answers in broken English. For instance, we learned we could walk 10 minutes to get the train timetables we needed. We also got across to the earnest woman behind the desk that we were looking for a nature preserve. That wasn’t so easy, given the language barrier.

“Preserve” and “sancuary” got us nowhere. “Park” improved things, but “birds!” was the word that finally did the trick. She drew a bull’s eye on one of our maps, indicating a nearby peninsula.

But before driving there, we set out for the train timetables. This took us deeper into a clean, well-run business district. Beautiful, well-kept buildings from other centuries stood astride glass and chrome structures, both put to use for offices and apartments. Along a picturesque pedestrian-only street were rows of high-fashion clothing and shoe stores, interspersed with restaurants, news stands, bakeries and bars. And the train office.

Not only did Joe and Michele get the schedules they needed, they went ahead and bought the tickets, departing the next morning. Now it was certain. This day would be our farewell adventure together.

It turned out that the wetlands – and the promise of birds! (Julie and I are big bird geeks) – were an interesting drive but not much more. We were distanced from the tropical birds by a road that cruised efficiently down the peninsula, with no obvious place to stop and sightsee. This was mildly disappointing, but as if to comfort us, the road deposited us at Fulfilled Wish #3. We found the outdoor bar and restaurant we’d imagined. It faced a dock where ferries would transport people to a couple of the islands we had seen in our travels, and in fact, from the deck of our villa. These islands are part of the Iles d’Hyeres, each a destination unto itself.

There had been some deliberation in the morning about taking one of those ferries and having an “island day,” but we had decided against it, and at the bar, we were glad we had no schedules to keep. We lingered over wine, taking in the glorious views and fresh saltwater-scented air. Then we set out on foot (only 50 meters or so) to investigate the ancient, abandoned fortress on the craggy tip of the peninsula. Here are a few photos of it:






That was two days ago, a crowning end to our wanderings with Joe and Michele. Yesterday Julie and I, on our way back from dropping them off at Toulon, stopped back at Hyeres for a lunch at a completely different type of bistro – this one on a sunny corner near the city’s urban hub.

Just this afternoon, the two of us had a beach day, at yet another open-air restaurant. We had driven east, past Le Lavandou, and stopped where the beach looked most inviting. Here's a shot of the beach, from out table:



Here is a view looking "in," from our table. Julie loved the festive colors.



Our lunch was wonderfully relaxed, and as we were driving back, Julie made the observation that adequately summarizes our time here in Provence.

We’ve explored the rustic and the cosmpolitan. We’ve driven through forests and vineyards. We’ve dined on the beach, in the city, and overlooking breathtaking vistas. The wine and the food was always good – perhaps the only constant with all of this variety. We’ll be leaving for Paris by train tomorrow, with memories, a bit of cheese, and our last bottle of wine.

St. Tropez on a Saturday afternoon

Okay, let me get a couple of things out of the way right off the bat. First, during our day in St. Tropez, we saw no celebrities. Zero. And second, we saw no topless sunbathers. Which of course means we saw no topless celebrities. The St. Tropez Office de Tourisme has some serious explaining to do.

Nonetheless we had an incredible adventure. Based on the advice of our host, Ian, we drove there via the northern route. I was warned that the initial distance would be extremely winding, but that the twists and turns would be worth it. They certainly were!

On the left, breathtaking fields of grape vines, and beyond them, steep, tree-covered hills and jagged, craggy cliff faces. To our right, hugging the road’s shoulder, similar sheets of winding, clay-colored rock. Then, after a time, we leveled out and the rock formations to our right were replaced with rows of olive trees, or sometimes cork tree forests.

What beautiful symetry! On one side: miles of vineyards. On another: the trees whose bark is turned into wine bottle corks! And because drinking wine on an empty stomach is unwise, there are, later in our trip, miles after miles of olives -- green and black.

As we got closer to the beaches, traffic became more congested. It was understandable. This was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and who wouldn’t want to head to some of the best places in France for sun, beaches and the gentle Mediterranean breezes?

Once we arrived, the two highlights were the Saturday Market and the Citadel.

The market there was naturally much large than La Londe’s, and offered a dizzying assortment of clothing, artwork and small household items ... and especially food. Here are two photos of the market. The second shot is of a display of garlic:




When we arrived we took a very brief review of the booths, but then headed to an ancient, shady tavern / restaurant facing the marketplace. There, we had beer and wine while we people-watched. This bar had towering ceilings, and was ornate in an old, not-quite-decrepit way. It oozed charm.

As the photo below conveys, this was a pleasant break from the signtseeing. In fact, it was a highlight.


Later we walked back to a booth selling wood-fired pizzas. We ordered one we could share, and waited 10 minutes for it to come out of the squat, chrome oven. Also, Michele bought ratatouille. She had remembered to bring some spoons in her backback, so we could eat this cold, eggplant-based dish on the steps of a bank, closed for the noon break. Joe and Michele are marvelous cooks, and they have treated us to some extraordinary meals, aided by the villa’s modern and well-equipped kitchen. Nonetheless, we all agreed this welcome meal was one of our best of the vacation so far.

St. Tropez was a key port city at one time. Having a strong navy and well-defended fort was important for survival. The Citadel was an amazing structure, surprisingly well-preserved. It conjured up all sorts of images of the French Foreign Legion movies I’ve seen over the years. Except this wasn’t in a desert. It was at the top of a steep hill overlooking the port. I was told by the villa's "Welcome Book" that the Citadel was the best place in St. Tropez for snapping photos. The snapshots presented here show you why.




Although we have no photos to document this, the Citadel was used to present an extraordinary modern art exhibit. The contrast between the historical and the avant garde made the experience all the more exciting.

The drive back was just as gratifying.

Again, following Ian’s recommendations, we drove south from St. Tropez, and then west, to head back to our villa along the coastline. It was gorgeous, and tomorrow Julie and I plan to retrace this route as far as La Croix for a lunch at a beachside bistro. Here's a sample of our view:


Overall, what was most striking about this excursion is the contrast between the rustic countryside and the sophistication of St. Tropez.

We also got an exciting surprise. Part of our visit involved Julie, Michele and I cooling our heels while Joe went off to investigate docking the sailboat for the winter in this paradise. (The boat is currently in port in Alba, Italy). He came back with unexpected news, considering the posh neighborhood. Wintering here is within their budget!

How exciting to imagine our good friends spending months here! If this were to come to pass, Julie and I would be able to experience this highlight of our vacation well into the cold Milwaukee winter, at least vicariously.

When the comforts of home are most appreciated

I'm writing this very early on Monday morning -- awake because I've caught the virus that Joe has been suffering from this past week. It's a disappointment, but I'm hoping the zinc tablets that I'd remembered to pack will help reduce the symptoms and the duration of this cold.

I shouldn't feel poorly enough to curtail many of my plans for the rest of the two-week vacation, although I may find it unwise to swim laps in the villa's gorgeous swimming pool. I guess going for a run today would also not be the smartest thing to do. Rats.

The cold had only been at the stage where I had a scratchy throat, but I was awakened a few minutes ago with a cough. Oh well. I'm going to stay awake while the Cold-Eze dissolves under my tongue, and see if the zinc is able to prevent the cold from taking hold in my sinuses. I will say that waking up in this home-away-from-home is wonderful, even when I'm not feeling 100 percent.

First, it is easy for me, with three levels of villa to rattle around in, to keep out of earshot of my wife or our guests by sticking to the lounge / kitchen level. Second, I've been able to do activities here that are diverting but not physically taxing. For instance, last night Joe and I resumed our ongoing snooker match. Snooker is an odd game played on a huge table with far more balls than billiards.

The table is incredible, though. The cushions are "alive" and the felt is in great shape. I've played billiards regularly for years, and Joe is also a good pool player, so applying "English" to control the cue ball has been fun. We could only do that with an exceptional billiards / snooker table!

While Joe and I were on the lounge level, listening to the snooker room's amazing stereo system, our "better halves" were downstairs watching a DVD on the wide-screen TV.

Let me amend what I said about this being a home-away-from-home. My home is a somewhat cramped apartment, and Joe and Michele's is a sailboat. This is far better than home in many wonderful regards!

Okay, the Cold-Eze is nearly dissolved, and it's time to see if I can get more sleep. Wish me well in fighting this cold. And don't hate me for vacationing in the lap of luxury.

If I'm feeling up to it, I'll be finishing and posting a fairly lengthy account later today of our incredible adventures on Saturday in St. Tropez.

Three things I have learned while food shopping in Provence

1. Baguettes are best eaten the same day. A travel book tells me that the average Provencial family eats their bread four hours out of the oven. When they are fresh, baguettes are heavenly. Crisp on the outside, moist on the inside, they work well on their own, and wonderfully dipped in virgin olive oil or under a slice of aged, unpasturized cheese.
2. Some of the best banter from merchants can be heard under the tents at the ubiquitous Provence street markets. (Every town has a morning of the week where key streets are cordoned off and come alive with clothing, food and trinket merchants). The very best are from cheese vendors. This may be because the cheese sellers have a high-priced product that sells itself only once you taste it. I imagine a charm offensive is often required to seduce prospective customers into a sample. We bought a cheese this morning that was so good I nearly cried when I tried it. The vendor simply smiled.
3. You can buy a bottle of passable red wine in a grocery store here for 2.30 Euros (roughly $3.00 U.S.). A bottle of similar-quality, locally-produced rose costs at least twice that. A bottle of good rose, however, is worth this so-called “premium,” at least in this exquisite summery weather. Rose is served chilled, and its taste accompanies a warm, sunny Provence day the way a good bread enhances fine, aged cheese.

Here are a couple of photos from the La Londe Sunday market:

Mimosas on the rocks

Yesterday we visited Bormes les Mimosas, which has nothing to do with the combination of orange juice and sparking wine (as wonderful as that drink is), but has everything to do with other, headier delights. The village, roughly 20 minutes from our villa, begins casting its spell before you even see it. You must reach it via a lush, narrow, winding road, assending into the rocky hillside. Every corner of the drive revealed another bank of flowering bushes and picturesque homes and businesses.

We were told by our guidebook (and the brief mention on our villa site, Your Taste of Provence) that Bormes les Mimosas has Medieval roots. It stands to reason that a community would spring up and thrive in terrain easily defended against invaders. What is surprising is how it continues to thrive, both as a tourist destination and a haven for artists and artisans. Their wares are on display in dozens of cramped shops, arrayed along winding, sharply angled streets.

A botanical garden is another prize we discovered, as we made the considerable effort of scaling miles of hillside walks and stairs. This last photo shows a view from the top of the garden. In the distance are the rooftops of much of Bormes les Mimosas.

One benefit of exploring Provence at this time of year – after high season but still on the cusp of summery weather – is the dearth of other foreign tourists. That’s not to say this village was quiet. No, it was swarming with other sightseers. But they were mostly vacationing nationals. These French tourists were almost all far older than us, and it was impressive to see how well they scaled the city, albeit slowly.

Although are still struggling to make out even the simplest French sentences, I am fairly sure that on the whole, we were more vocal than our French elders about the work-out provided by this charming, centuries-old Stairmaster!

Today we go to San Tropez. What a wonderful way to spend a Saturday abroad!

The photo a passing wagonful of grapes took

Yesterday we went into the nearby La Londe. This is an old, modest village the likes of which the term quaint was coined. Given that this time of year is just after the high season, the four of us seemed to be the only tourists in town. I had wondered how we would be regarded. I need not have worried. We were invisible to them.

One of the reasons for going into town was to get groceries, at the Casino Supermarche. There we would buy practical, as well as the fanciful, provisions (the French version of quick oats, the cheapest beer we could find, two varieties of marinated olives and three of aged cheeses).

But pleasure before business!

First, we would walk the length of the main street, and along the way stop at a combination bar and ice cream parlor, with plenty of requisite outdoor seating. It seemed an odd combination – ice cream for the kiddies and booze for the parents. But we learned from Joe and Michele, our travel companions, that providing family fare was important in the bars and cafes of most of Europe.

As we sat sipping our beverages, we saw as many families around us as tables of exclusively adults (also, plenty of dogs sprinkled throughout). Clearly, cigarettes and alcohol aren’t considered substances that children should be overtly protected from, although it was reassuring to see on the labels of French beer a small and subtle, but nonetheless clear, warning. It was the silhouette of a pregnant woman bringing a beverage to her lips, with a circle and diagonal line arrayed to make the universal symbol of “Don’t.”

This reminds me of the naturalness I have read about, and now witnessed, with human sexuality in this part of Europe. It seems odd that although the U.S. culture seems to profess to be beyond Victorian thinking, I still cannot imagine a beer company placing such a silhouette on their product sold in my home country.

Every culture is defined by what scares them. Victorians were known to drape elaborate cloth coverings over the side tables and piano benches in “respectable homes,” lest the exposed wooden table legs inflame the lust of Victorian men. I believe some of that residue persists in "typical" Americans today, more in what they forbid than in what they cover up.

Here's what I mean: While many U.S. women continue their years of struggle to get public places to allow mothers to freely breastfeed, one of the first images greeting me in my brief layover in Paris was of a woman nonchalantly nursing her baby as she waited for a train. If I had found this sight erotic, I can tell you that it was deeply subconscious. Perhaps I'm just in denial. Come to think of it, I'm surrounded as I write this by the bare legs of many side- and coffee tables of the villa's lounge. It's almost too much for a mortal to bear. ;-)

Grapes in a wagon? Get our camera!

While we were chatting and people-watching at the bar of the Pelican Hotel, traffic slowly passed in front of us, on the main thoroughfare of town. Suddenly, an old, beat-up truck pulling a wagon brimming with grapes came to a stop in front of us! I asked Julie for the camera, but alas, we had left it behind.

“I have mine!” announced Michele. But by the time she had pulled it out of its case, turned it on and pointed it, the truck had driven off.

“That’s okay,” said Joe. “I can use the timer to take a picture of the four of us.” And so he did. We may not be as picturesque as the wagonful of grapes, but I think our expressions show the look of people who have encountered that, and other, pleasant surprises.