sunshine in Provence

You forget that when in Nice you are actually in Provence. (Nice is part of the Provence-Alpes-Cote d'Azur region of France.) I suppose a light bulb flashes if you enter souvenir shops where lavender goods abound. But honestly, Nice is more about the sea than about lavender fields. Palm trees rather than olive groves and Mediterranean forests. It would be a shame to be here and not venture a little deeper into the hills that gently (and not so gently!) descend into the city. We need to explore a little off coast. In picking a hill town to visit, I was of course going to pay attention to distance and ease of transportation. I thought Eze, with its Medieval fortifications and structures might fit the bill: just a 15 minute train ride toward Monaco and Italy, it's easy to get to. At least to get to the station of Eze. From there you have to either drive or hike up the hill to the old town. Good enough!

And it is one beautiful sunny day again. Perfect for an outing.

Breakfast first.

 

A digestive pause, and then we walk to the train station. 

 (it gives me great joy to see so many very old people with dogs here)

 

 (do note the attire of the woman above and of Snowdrop below)

 

I tell her to consider taking a jacket. If it's to be a high of 61F/16C in Eze, the climb up may be breezy. She listens indulgently, skips the long pants, forgoes the jacket. Me, I take mine. And let me say straight away that she was right and I was so wrong. I wore my jacket only the last 5 minutes of our day-long trip. In the remaining hours, I sweated, even though we both had short sleeves.

 

Here's the thing about Eze: I'd never been there. A bit surprising, considering how much time I've spent on the coast here, but really, there are so many interesting towns that beg for a visit that somehow I passed this one by. In my pretrip research though, it seemed perfect. Even the walk up to the cliff-top village from the train station (estimated to take 1 hour) seemed like a clever idea for an outing with an 11 year old. (I forgot about the part where she is accompanied by an almost 73-year old.)

Trains to Eze are frequent. It's one of the stops en route to the much visited Monaco. I would guess that in the high season the trip can be crowded and unpleasant. But today? Perfection itself. Few people, gorgeous weather.

(oh, but would my farmette bougainvillea grow this dense with flowers!)

 

 

You dont have to do the one hour trek up to the old village. A bus can zip you up in no time,  and indeed, very few people climb up. Some take the bus up and do the walk down. An entirely reasonable approach. But I'd read somewhere online the account of a woman with reasonably young kids doing the hike. I think now that she was showing off. 

Looking up, I knew this would be a challenge. And it was.

The views were splendid! The vegetation -- lovely. But the climb up was steep, rocky and never-ending. 

(not even a tenth of the way up yet...)

The air was still, the sun seemed hot. I'd taken only one small bottle of water which we had to ration for the duration. My walking shoes were much too slick for stones that were worn down to a smooth surface. I didn't have my poles. So, not the best prep for this kind of a hike! The girl cheered me on -- come on, gogs! you can do this! I wistfully thought back to my last mountain hike with her nearly 4 years ago, near Lago d'Orta: she was 7 then and unsure of herself. Now? Well, let's just say she had to pause a bunch to allow me to catch up.

But, ah the satisfaction of reaching the top! Of finding a booth with cold water for sale! Of doing it all on this most beautiful day! 

It was nearly 1 p.m. and we were both hungry. I'd not done a lot of reading about this village, but I knew they had gardens worth visiting and views that would leave you gasping. But first, lunch -- which had us walking around the narrow streets in search of a place to sit down and find comfort in food.

We were lucky: we came across Le Nid d'Aigle (the Eagle's Nest), with its outdoor tables stuck in various available corners of a widening cobbled street. She ordered fish and fries, I ordered a mushroom omelette. I added to it a "mimosa prosecco," just because the occasion called for it.

I dont know how to describe that feeling of pure contentment that comes after an exertion, when you are finally resting, awaiting food, when the sun dapples you with its warmth, when your hiking companion is pleased as punch with our accomplishments. I heard words from her like chill and boss, but I do not think that they do this justice. It was one of those perfect moments. One to remember. 

From there, it was a short stroll (up, of course) to the lookout point and to the Jardins Exotiques. 

And what gardens they were! Cacti, blooming. Succulents, and flowers that seemed artificial in their neon brightness. 

 

 

And the views! Oh, the views! Down toward Cap Ferrat, toward Nice airport and beyond, but more importantly, toward those azure waters of the Mediterranean. Calm, smiling almost, with that self satisfied air of realizing its own beauty.

I no longer buy souvenirs from my trips. What for, when I often dont remember where they came from or what prompted me to buy the item. Carting back more stuff is the last thing I want to do. And yet, here in Eze, I succumbed. It was a small shop with some dishes and ceramics by Gien. I often visit the Gien shop in Paris, just to admire its beautiful china, but I'd never seen the stuff I am now seeing up here in Eze. Including tiny serving plates portraying the colors and flowers of Nice, of Eze. This trip was important. It deserved a few items, including yes, a mini pillow for the couch! (Me and my pillows!)

Madame at the store was ever so helpful as I asked her about one item or another, comparing, considering each beautiful piece. As she packed away my two items, she asked -- are you a professor of French? It was the greatest compliment that I'd ever received for my conversations here! Just for that, I threw in another small pillow! It's worth it, all of it! The travel back with two plates and two pillows. The very exhausting flights to get here. The years of trying to improve my French skills. The hike up, for this moment in the store, where the shop keeper makes me feel like I'd arrived at some point of affirmation. I can do this: climb mountains, travel with my grandchild, speak French. And feel so grateful for it all.

 

I ask Snowdrop if she wants to take the bus down. She doesn't! She wants to hike! Well, my smooth shoes aren't going to make this easy, but then, why go for the easy when a challenge can give you so many rewards!

(almost there!)

We take the train back to Nice.

And dinner tonight? After not liking my choice for last night, I decided to scratch off my idea for tonight. Some reviewers had liked it, but now I see many reviews are not so hot. I'm not wanting another meh dish of food. I turn to the hotel for help and they point me to the Nespo. 

It's more expensive than my own selections, so there's that. Or maybe it's that we both ordered appetizers and main courses so it seemed that way. But I have to say, the hotel was spot on: the menu had what is a Nice favorite: fried zucchini flowers. Of course we both wanted that! Chomped down in a flash!

Then her favorite fish (sea bass), nicely filleted, with baby tomatoes, olives, and shrads of artichoke. We shared broccolini and she added fries to her meal.

All absolutely excellent. Not a drop of food left on either plate.

We don't order desserts at dinnertime. Saves money and time and besides, nothing makes her happier than a walk over to Amorino's for their ice cream.

I've had so much solo travel in my life! Much of it was great, wonderful, memorable. Some -- well, perhaps less so. In thinking back to this day, to this trip actually, I have to admit that not much of it would have been great, wonderful, memorable without the enthusiastic, cheerful presence of Snowdrop. There are some adventures that just beg to be shared. Zucchini flowers that wont be enjoyed alone. Hikes up a mountain that are hard to delight in when no one cares if you make it to the top. It remains the case that I love nearly all the trips I've taken, because loneliness can have its comforting glow as well. You are with yourself. You observe, rather than participate in the tumult around you. This can be quite rewarding. Pleasant even. But today? It was made good by the two of us scrambling up that rocky incline. All those steps, one in front of the other.

with so much love... 

to Paris

I slept well. You know how when you are mega tired, it often takes longer to unwind and your sleep is then interrupted? I think in the last couple of days, I wound myself up so much that I went beyond tired. I was out by midnight and didn't wake up until after 8. Amazing. (Or, is it that I skipped my lunch coffee, only because there was no place or time for it? One can never be sure as to the causes and effects of these things.)

Looking outside a side window, I see it again -- that St Paul de Vance skyline. 

Looking toward the front big window, I can just catch a strip of the Mediterranean.

Breakfast -- simple but near perfect. (Missing: fresh fruit. An apple would have put it at 100% for me.)

I've met the two dashing gentlemen who seem to run the place. Or at least assist Ann who may well own the Villa and be their mother. I can't figure it out and I'm here for such a short time that I wont try. In any case, they were all lovely and sympathetic, not charging me for the missed night. They all remind me of the characters in the art in my room, which I'll show you because it's so appropriate for my stay -- the rain! The umbrellas!

And now to Paris. It is strange, I know, to be flying there. I always take the train. Why wouldn't I -- it's fast reliable comfortable and it bypasses the whole airport scene. But this time I went with the free for me flight (gotta use up those miles!). It's also a question of time. I'd have to backtrack to Marseille and change there. To arrive in Paris at a decent hour, I'd have to leave early. Too early. 

So I catch a ride to the airport. And then my flight to Paris.

In all these movements by cab, encounters with various French people along the way, you may wonder if anything has changed in their attitude toward Americans. My sample is so small right now that I hate to pass judgment, but I'll tell you this much: for me, it feels like things have changed. In my past visits here this year, people were eager to engage. To voice their opinion. To question American support for our current administration. This time I am met with avoidance and silence. Politeness supreme, but there is also that refusal to talk about it. As if doing so would be too painful, both from the economics of it and the emotional charge. To me, it feels like they've given up on trying to understand, because after the last escapades, there's nothing more to say. We know what's at play. Best not to put it into words. I'll let you know if perhaps I just stumbled on the wrong sample of people. Paris may be different. 

 

The flight is on time and easy. I take the train to the city and walk past the Jardin Luxembourg down to Le Baume.

And oh, am I glad to be at this hotel, in what I love to think of as "my room." 

I have gone through so many residential changes in these years, with more to come, and yet, here in Paris, Le Baume has been my home for more than twenty years. The stability, the feeling of familiarity and kindness of the staff, knowing every detail here and liking it all -- this is exactly what I need right now. I have no desire for adventure in Paris. I just want to take each day at a time and run with it as the mood dictates. I can do that here like nowhere else. I am immensely happy to be back.

Immediately I head out to the park. Why? Because Paris is sunny today. It may well be the only sunshine I'll get on my trip. I want its glow and uplifting brilliance. Too, in January and especially on the weekend, the park really does belong to Parisians. (Not exclusively -- there will always be visitors here, even in late January.) If I want to feel myself to be here, in this city, then walking the boulevards of le Jardin Luxembourg is the way to do it.

It is so crowded with seemingly content people that I have to smile. Even at the height of the tourist season, it's never this packed. Of course it's full of strolling people, wouldn't you go out on a warmer, sunny day, after a blast of winter? (Paris had snow last week. Today it's 48F/9C.) Not a single chair is empty. No problem, people find ways to relax and face the sun.)

 

 

 

 

  

 

I've skipped lunch again, deliberately this time. My hotel is next to a shop selling teas. I buy packets of hibiscus-red fruits, including strawberry. At le Baume, I pick up a warm almond croissant -- they put these out for you in the late afternoon. Delicious!

 

 

I unpack. Here for four nights (with a brief trip after to the country, to another familiar place, for a forest walk). Tonight, I'll do nothing unusual. (Perhaps all the time I'm here I'll do nothing unusual.) Indeed, I even go to the restaurant that I've adopted as the easiest and most comfortable meal for me -- at Seulement Sea. So yes, seafood once again. And then home. You have no idea how good it feels to be returning late in the evening to Le Baume.

Later still,  I sort through the puzzle of my return. Just to make things more complicated, I want to see if I can come back a day earlier. There are technical reasons for it. Of course, given the storms pushing through the US, everything for this coming week is booked solid. And still, I make the effort, giving up only late into the night. I write about this because I have long understood that in travel, nothing is set. You can move things around some of the time. And I always try, if it strikes me that a change may be for the best, though as tonight demonstrates, sometimes you just cannot do it. Still, I think you should try and not rest with something you think may not work as well as you had hoped.

 

with so much love... 

records set, explanations offered

So much to take in! Let it not be said that January of this year is a slow month for me. These days are setting records. Bitter cold temperatures (back home), wet skies (south of France), and chaos in my head. January 21st will be a day I wont quickly forget. In the thick of travel, running on absolutely no sleep, jumping from one country to the next, flying great distances and ending up in the wrong place, and in all this, I am putting in place life changes. I do this in moments when I have access to my phone or laptop -- while stuck in traffic in taxis (with a grumbling driver once he discovers I am from the US), swaying on airport buses, and while waiting to disembark a stranded in Marseille airplane, with email systems crashing, cancellations mounting, documents needing to be signed floating in the Internet universe and, like my plane, not landing where they should -- oh, I'd say I had my fill of craziness yesterday.

But I got through it. At dizzying speeds, I got through it and kept all details straight in my head. So no, I'm not fading yet at 72.

And now here I am, waking up to a not too awful looking morning in Marseille. (It's still raining in Nice.)

Marseille. It was a city I'd considered for many repeat trips a few years back. I liked it, I wanted to come back more than once. To a small bed and breakfast, where I made friends with the owner, Odile. (Her b&b has been closed for a while now. Who knows if she is still even there -- she was older.) The tumult of Marseille appealed to me. And then, in what seems to be my style in life, I cut the cord and came back no more. At some point, possibly coinciding with the time I moved to the farmhouse (so maybe a dozen plus years ago), visiting big cities was no longer very attractive to me. I missed nature. The quiet. [Paris is the one place I never abandoned, possibly because I stay in a hotel that is quiet (Le Baume) and it is next to nature (Jardin Luxembourg).]

And yet, here I am, in Marseille again.

Breakfast at the Sofitel is fine. Buffet style, with standout croissants. Fruits, yogurt, an egg, some cake piece. With milky coffee.

Maybe I should hit pause for a while (in my rapid fire decision making) and think about what I just put in place. I was telling one of my daughters a few days back that I've made most major decisions in my life very quickly and though some of them had consequences that were profound, and not always without issue, I've regretted none of them. It all worked out somehow. I've said this before -- I was born under an unlucky star (very sick, living away from my parents, in rather primitive conditions), but very quickly my luck changed. Medical emergencies never put me into a grave, for one thing! I was loved and loved right back. I saw places, did things and stayed afloat financially, despite turbulence and work crises. My grandma, my young families, my friends -- they have been my rocks, my anchors, joined by Ed. So on balance my speedy twists and turns served me well.

Henry was a speedy choice. I fell in love with my daughter's rescue dog and decided I could help a rescue as well. 

Henry turned out to be not an easy dog. In the important domains, he is magnificent. He loves his people deeply and completely.  ("His people" are those whom he has sniffed out approvingly.) His eyes are on me, his heart is big and only growing bigger. His loyalty is 110%. He is smart, routine driven, lap dog affectionate.

But, the word they use to describe many rescues -- "shy" -- isn't what you'd think it is. When you meet a shy person, you think -- they aren't effusive, loud. They don't seek out others. Rather, they need to be sought out. A shy rescue on the other hand, one who isn't comfortable with people he doesn't know, is a dog that has been traumatized and strangers scare him. Strangers scare Henry and the closer he gets to me, the more strangers scare him. His behavior at the Edge has not only not improved, it's gotten worse. The professional advice has been to remove the source of fear -- in his case, elevators, empty hallways that suddenly have people popping out of their apartments, sometimes right outside my door. I cannot do that at the Edge. And when he barks and pulls hard to sniff out these folks, they retreat in terror. It's a vicious cycle that is reinforced each time the elevator opens and there are people on the other side of the door. 

I dont want him (or me!) to have to deal with this. Henry needs to be elsewhere. His best place to learn to relax is not in an apartment building, with long corridors, opening doors, elevators. 

In a couple of weeks, I'll be moving out. To a house. Not Steffi's House -- that one isn't available yet. But there is an empty house waiting for renters just a few steps down from it. Call it the Suelo House (because that's the name of the street it's on). I can have it until Steffi's becomes available this summer.  

I arranged it all in transit yesterday --  a move-in date, a new lease, negotiated as to date and price, movers, help with packing, an ad to find subletters for the Edge (at a discount, so if you know anyone!) -- all of it. 

There's more: I'm getting a second dog. Whereas the move will surely have the benefits I seek, this decision raises some concern among at least some of my beloveds. Even my vet speculated about this: might things get worse? Henry could get jealous. The next rescue can have unanticipated problems. And she can learn from Henry to be on guard (rather than have him learn from her to be calm).

I understand the concerns and I admit that it carries some risk. Nonetheless, a better part of me is convinced that this will help my boy. I am selecting a rescue very very carefully. She must have a verified (through foster care) calmness and friendliness about her. She needs to be older than Henry -- past the feisty and challenging teen years (meaning past 2 in people years). And she can't be black because I like diversity and it's hard enough to photograph these two black dogs (Henry and Goose) anyway.

Henry just loves to play with dogs. Whatever reserve he has had with strangers, he has no shyness with pooches. He has impeccable manners with them and most importantly, they help relax him. At the training, where there are both dogs and strangers, he has no desire to bark and pull. At his Camp right now, I'm getting reports of continued shyness toward people, but complete abandon and joy when he is with his canine friends. I am convinced he will love his new sib.

I do have one in mind, again from Texas, coming up here in mid February. A day after my move! Things will be interesting then! (I have still to do a long interview with the caretakers of this new one, so there is a chance that my twenty questions about her wont yield a great result, but I think I'm solid here.)

Frankly, the biggest puzzler that I have is how to walk two dogs, given my age and given their size (the second one, while smaller than Henry, is still considered medium which, in dog parlance appears to mean nearly 50 pounds, so no petite fille there. But, the new house is close to the dog park and I think we'll spend a lot of time exercising there. 

So here I am in France, writing and thinking about dogs and moves and the details of each of those huge categories! Enough of that! Let's get back to my travels

 

I booked a train to Antibes for just before noon. Antibes is one of those posh Riviera communities and it is a preferable point of departure for my final destination, St Paul de Vance. Nice (the city where I was to fly to) is too big, too full of traffic. My Villa people said get off at Antibes, just before Nice.

Okay, but how is it looking out there in Marseille? Not bad, albeit the big rains are coming, spreading the length of the Mediterranean coast.

After breakfast, I do go out for a short stroll, even though my heart isn't in it. 

(so many sailboats along the coast here!) 

Marseille doesn't lend itself to that kind of inspection. It requires a lot of walking and the distances aren't short and the stuff you pass can get on the gritty side of things. The one thing it did for me today is bring back the past. Thoughts of how much has changed since I was here last in  2015. (It rained then as well, by the way.)

And then I got on my train for Antibes.

And finally, from there, I Uber over to the Villa St Maxime.

(my once encounter with the sea, from the car window: oh, that azure color!)

 

That was one long trip from Madison! 

(the Villa)

 

(view from the garden: the Mediterranean coast has beautiful mimosa bushes in full yellow bloom, from January until March)

 

I do walk over immediately to the Fondation Maeght. This is where you'll find one of the largest collections of 20th century Modern Art in Europe. Bonnard, Chagall, Giacometti, Kadinsky, Leger, Miro -- they're all here, in abundance. (MIro -- in great abundance, sculptures and paintings.)  Here's a link if you want more information. As usual, all you get from me are a couple of favorites. 

The museum was almost empty of course. I'm surprised they keep it open every single day in the winter. A few French people were studying a few pieces very carefully, otherwise it was just me.

Yes, there is a fabulous, enormous sculpture garden. 

What can I say -- there's a lot of wealth in this collection.

I should note that I a little bit enjoyed the moody weather. The drizzle. The dark forest with greens on branches, year round. 

A dog came to greet me. I think he belonged to the caretaker, but I don't really know. I thought about how a couple of years ago France introduced a mandatory subject into its school curriculum: kindness and respect for pets. France may love its coddled dogs, but they too have an "abandoned dogs" problem. The Guardian reports that there were 100 000 dogs dumped and left to fend for themselves in 2023. Perhaps the curriculum is a response to that? In the U.S. the problem is even larger though. In Texas alone, 560 000 dogs and cats entered shelters last year. There are few animal welfare laws and of course the climate allows them to survive. Too, there is the culture of "do what I want." That spills over to control over animals.

From there, I walk to the center of the medieval St Paul de Vance. 

 

 

 

My little hotel (or is it a bed and breakfast maybe? I'm the only guest today..), lovely as it is, has the flaw that it is just outside of town. Normally I would enjoy the hilly walk, but for about 500 meters, there is no sidewalk and the road is very narrow and it curves. Cars come at you and stepping to the side is nearly impossible. There is no side. A fatal flaw that I hope is not really a fatal flaw! If I published this, then I survived the second walk into town for dinner. But I am now glad I came today and not yesterday. It would not have been fun doing it after that long trip, in the rain, dead tired.

Too, I have mixed views of St Paul de Vance. The little hamlet has 50 art galleries, all with big pieces of high quality art. 

For me, they sort of destroy the character of the town. Medieval villages did not have high brow stuff for sale. They were dirty dark and dismal. Of course, that wouldn't draw anyone today and these hilltop villages survive on tourism, but having these extremely expensive shops throughout is a little odd, I think.

I did stop at the perfume store -- the Fragonard Boutique. Out of sentiment for the brand. I'd been to Grasse where their perfumes are made and I do love the scents here, in Provence. And I bought something! A diffuser for my new home! I have never used a diffuser and my daughter tells me you can't smell a thing with them, but that's good, because Ed claims he has issues with scents anyway. (I dont believe him, but I wont push this and when he comes for a visit, I'll hide the bottle.)

 

Dinner? Back to town...

 

 

 

... At Le Moulin de Saint Paul.  It calls itself a bistro (though in my view it does not look like a bistro!)...

 

 

... and it comes recommended by my Villa. It has a talented chef and I was happy as anything with my smoked trout on a veggie blini...

 

 

... my scallops, and my dessert of lavender creme brulee. There, I had a very Provencal meal. And yes, there's that glass of wine. They hand you a list of wines and beverages and I scan the pages, looking for zero alcohol choices and there are non. At least here they pour a reasonable amount. Delta Airlines fills their tumbler-sized glasses to the top.

 

Evening. I'm still signing documents and working out the details of the next month. But I also do feel (finally!) that I am away, in France. And it does feel good to be here again. 

Tomorrow, I go up north, to Paris.

with so much love... 

from La Napoule to Marseille

On my last morning in La Napoule, I am up before sunrise. [Today the sun breaks over the horizon just after 6. Tomorrow, Europe moves into Daylight Savings Time and so it will be just after 7. I think it's quite unfair that I have to lose an hour twice this year, having already "sprung forward" once in early March!]

I walk along the coastal path toward  Theoule-sur-Mer. To the east, the sky is a burning red. I see the tip of the Cannes peninsula and, too, Sainte Marguerite island.






Behind me now are La Napoule's harbor, the castle and of course, the Alps.






The sea is calm. A ripple of a wave, the noise of a gull, nothing else. I reach a higher point on the trail and I pause to watch.

No matter how many times I witness a sunrise, it never ceases to thrill me.






Time to turn back.

As the sun moves quickly, seemingly gaining speed on its ascent, the town of La Napoule wakens. A fisherman stands at the pier, another boat sets out toward the sea.






Yes, I'll have a beautiful day on the coast of the Mediterranean.

But I'm leaving La Napoule. I tidy the apartment, finish packing and catch the 9:47 to Cannes.

I need to go back to Cannes to catch the speed demon from there to Marseille. I have a bit of a layover in Cannes and I use it to find a breakfast. This isn't hard: the Cannes station, unlike for example the one in Nice or really in any other city, is not remote to pleasant strolling neighborhoods. Within a block I find Da Laura's (the same place I had an espresso yesterday), where the waiters speak (some would say sing) French and Italian interchangeably and the atmosphere is both funky and very pleasant. It helps, too, that many of the tables are in full sun.

Oddly enough, this will be my only breakfast of the trip in a cafe (all others are included in the price of the room except, of course in La Napoule and we know how happy I was not to seek out any place there other than my balcony for my morning meal).






But there is something pleasant about joining humanity for the morning send off and I quite enjoy my cappuccino and my pain au chocolat in Cannes.






I check my phone clock frequently. I don't want to miss my train to Marseille.

I'll be in Marseille only one night. Honestly, I'm stopping there only because I want to visit Odile, the inn keeper at Les Acanthes. Sometimes, in the course of a stay, you just get close enough to the host that you wouldn't think of passing through the area without a return. That surely is the case with Odile.

We have a pizza date for this evening, but in the afternoon, I use my few hours here to go down to the Marseille port. I had not seen the new museum recently opened at the water's edge - the MuCEM, focusing on European and Mediterranean civilizations. And so after checking in and greeting Odile...



(Les Acanthes)





(blue room this time)


...I once again go down to the sea. Same sea, same sun, different port!

But, too, different weather patterns! This is the part of Provence that is occasionally buffeted by the furious wind that runs down the Rhone River valley -- the mistral -- and Marseille is this week experiencing such an event. I had left my jacket behind, noting it was in the mid sixties. Not so the populace of Marseille! They know better, as they zip up their winter coats (you'll notice this in the photos).

(Here's a photo of a girl on a rather wild looking horse of the merry-go-round. I imagine he's fighting the Provence winds!)






The Old Harbor is abuzz with people. Musicians playing, families, couples, friends -- out for a Saturday stroll.


















I don't pause. I have a lot of ground to cover in my one afternoon here. I head straight to the old fort that juts out to the sea. It has been incorporated into the MuCEM complex and this whole area of Marseille is now stunning in its presentation (it's an architectural masterpiece combinging the old fort, the latticed in steel new structure, gardens walkways and platforms -- all of it just opened in 2013 and it is possibly the most beautiful museum complex I have ever seen). Between the wind tossing me about and chilling me just enough to want to keep moving and my inability to take in the whole from any one vantage point, you'll not see great photos. Here are some, giving just a hint of an impression of the place.













(new pants!)


I climb the old fort tower to look down to the Old Port (which right now is filled with sailboats, as opposed to the new port further down the coast which is filled with cargo ships and the occasional cruise vessel).






But I don't have photos from inside the museum. The exposition is a fascinating interactive display, depicting agricultural and scientific developments of the Mediterranean basin and, too, tracing the three religions that dominated and viewed Jerusalem as their holy city. There is no point in photographing any of it, though I spend an hour catching bits and pieces of the stories articulated through words, films, canvases, old relics and sculpture here.

Outside again, I am close to the open waters and here, the wind gusts really play havoc with you.  Here's a trilogy of a girl, running to her dad as the wind picks up. The first photo is a funny one, as I could not keep my hair out of the camera's lens! By the third photo, the gust had come and gone.

















(Here's another way to photograph the wind:)






I walk then into the old town itself. My pain au chocolate from Cannes is wearing thin -- I want some refreshment, preferably of a warm kind. I walk to the square with the numerous cafes and restaurants, but nothing seems right (I have already rejected the dozens of places that spill out onto the Old Port. I can get really fussy about these things.)






I walk on and then, in an indifferent set of blocks, I come across this place -- you'll see, too, that it looks very ordinary on the outside.






It's a cafe tea shop and I want to remember it for the future because it is just really delightful. Tiny inside -- only four tables, so hope for a vacant one or go on a warm day!

I have a wonderful pot of tea and a small cookie and the world looks good again!






And again I walk, past the port and into the commercial center of Marseille. I wont repeat what I already once wrote about this city, just this basic fact: it's France's second largest city, by far the most diverse and diversity here has both served it well and has not presented the same issues faced elsewhere in France. But Marseille is also the poorest by far of French cities and every time I am here, some older, wizened type comes up to me and reminds me to watch my purse and camera. The snatching of property here is very very common.

But I like my walk through it. And I tell myself I should remember it as fondly as I always remember Nice. And especially in the immediate years while Odile is still running the guest house in her mother's former home. Because as Odile tells it -- she herself is getting old. In another few years, Les Acanthes will move on to new owners and that wont be the same for me.

It's nearly evening when I return to the neighborhood of Les Acanthes. I pick up a bouquet of flowers for Odile in a beautiful local flower shop (the florist is putting on the finishing touches)...






... and I join Odile and her friend Pierre for an evening of very animated conversation (I worry about this each time I am with them, as they are quite impassioned and I'm always afraid of getting lost in all that rapid fire French -- they make no allowances for my slower ear!). At the end, I come out knowing just a little bit more about where the French anxieties lie about their country, their leadership, their future.

A simple dinner of vegetable soup, pizza, liquorish ice cream.






A couple of photos of Odile and her dogs: she has three, plus a cat and they all completely love each other.



(count the three pooches)








We lose that hour tonight and so it feels especially late when I finally give in to sleep. Such a beautiful, windy, fascinating, lively and very long day!