Tuesday in la Napoule

How quickly weather here can change! They'd been predicting this wet front coming in mid week, but how much and when exactly and for how long -- those are mysteries that apparently only time can solve.

One thing's for sure: the start of the day is to be nicer than the end of it. And so I am happy to repeat yesterday's breakfast: outside, on the balcony, by the flowering rosemary, looking out toward the boats.

Though not a total repeat. The best bakery -- one just around the corner from me -- the one that had been closed on Sunday and Monday, reopened today and so I had my first introduction to their better than best baguettes and, too my chosen extravagance -- an almond chocolate croissant. (But it was a tough choice. These were in close competition: )






The breakfast, by the rosemary bush:






There is enough sunshine to make it a pleasant experience, but I'm wearing a jacket. It's a bit windy today. Maybe not mistral winds windy, but certainly gusty.

And sure enough, a hazy cloud cover comes in and I know I must hurry with my walk today because the weather will not last.

But you know how it is -- you get lost in email, you catch up on stuff, you polish your post from the previous day... Noon. It's noon when I finally leave the apartment.

According to the guidebook of nearby hikes (gratis Tourist Office), there is one that starts right across the street from me, weaves its way along the coast, then goes up into the hills and down again -- all in an estimated  two hours of trekking. (It takes me 2.5; I drift off course more than once, mostly deliberately.) It starts right here, on the little beach across the street:






I almost don't go much further. The very first 100 meters poses a challenge: the waves are really picking up now, sending sprays of water over the path. I do not want to get drenched! A jogger comes running toward me. He looks dry. I shake off the last doubts and get moving.






It's lovely along the coast. This is, of course, more densely populated than Cornwall's coast (that has to be an understatement of the day!) and yet the walk puts you quite in touch with the sea...






And on the inland portion, I am again among the familiar Mediterranean vegetation that I so much associate with Sorede and the Languedoc region of France. But I am surprised at some of the flowers here. There's Spanish lavender and it's in full bloom now! It looks heavenly against a yellow backdrop!






And, too -- lots of blooming freesia! How could that be? I don't recall seeing it in the wild before. The scent is unmistakable!






There are two ascents to this loop -- none of them especially challenging and never too far removed from civilization but maybe that's good. Maybe my hikes into more desolate terrain were more enjoyable when I was a little more devilishly brazen? Maybe I don't feel the pull of that kind of a challenge so much any more...

On the second small summit, I look out over the bay of Cannes.






Rocks again! Another selfie moment.






And it is in many ways a selfie, meaning introspective moment, where I try to place this trip in the context of my other travels and possible future travels. One big challenge for me is to decide how to treat each trip -- whether it should be exploratory or merely comfortable and whether it bears repeating and if so, how often and how soon and with what expectations. So I think about all that as the sun fades and I zip up my jacket against the gusts of wind.

(Looking toward the hills behind me...)






Once in the town again, I pass something that is emblematic of La Napoule: a blooming mimosa.


 


This is a late one -- most will have passed their prime several weeks ago. Indeed, in February, La Napoule celebrates the festival of the mimosa. I'm told there is a parade with floats of yellow flowers and a crowning of a mimosa queen.

I go then to the sweet little grocery store where the fruits and vegetables are arranged in total attention to detail.











I pick up more berries and a yogurt since I seem to have gotten stuck in this lovely habit of eating breakfast at home.


In the afternoon, I read reports as they came in about the plane that crashed just a short distance from here (some fifty miles due north; you could say it was just a little further than Grasse). Of course, I know that the weather in this region was fine and that other factors, therefore, contributed to the accident. It's strange how these tragedies remind you of your vulnerabilities even as flying is perhaps the safest mode of moving from point A to B. And it is uncomfortably strange, too, that my quiet corner of the world is in the news. If I had thought I'd encounter issues or unrest, I would have guessed they would be the kind that have created virtual military zones in France around the major train stations (the entrance to Cannes Station is blocked to traffic and there are fences and barricades and plenty of patrol people keeping watch). There definitely is a felt sadness when something or someone strikes at places nearby. I imagine the plane crash is in the conversation of many here, at La Napoule.


It's raining when I step outside to find dinner. I'm always very hungry then, since I don't each lunch here (the breakfasts and/or dinners are too big to accommodate yet another meal) and tonight I don't want to go far. Just at the corner, I have La Palmea -- liked by my hosts and, too, by the ever helpful Tripadvisor.

I go very early -- just after 7 --  so that I am the first one there. (When I leave, most of the room is filled.) A young woman is sitting to the side, feeding her baby. Of course I ask how old and when she tells me four months, I have to explain that "mine" (and I explained that as well, even though she knew I was the grandma) is just going to be three (months).






From my table, I see that she is getting ready to leave. All the tall skinny (male) waiters hover.






They all kiss the baby goodbye. Of course, they all kiss the mom good bye too. I am thinking -- the child already has a community here. What a lucky babe! Communities matter!

My meal is superb and extremely well priced. The main dish special, which they call a seafood wok, is a blend of fish and crustaceans and veggies in a delightful light sauce






I have to take dessert - it's included in the price! A  home made tiramisu with red berries. Incredible.






After, I walk the docks of the boats and sailboats. My hosts had said that the cost of a docking space here is exorbitant. Not that there are any available. Being such a coastal traveler, I am too aware of how many people have expensive boats. In the many dozen marinas I've walked through, the boats are always astonishingly large. Since I am not a boat loving person, I have no envy there at all. Only a fascination on how someone may love the darkness of the ocean or the sea and not have fear when facing its powerful anger. Because the sea does get angry.





But not tonight. The rain has stopped and all is calm. Only a cat, dashing from one hiding place to the next, disturbs the stillness.





I turn around and make my way to the warm apartment that I call home this week.

excursion!

Without the advice of someone from the tourist office, my plans for the day are shaped by the train schedule. Where can I go that's close by and new for me? I still haven't done the local hikes around La Napoule, but today I want to do big things. There's plenty of sunshine and the temperatures are climbing. Aim high!

I decide on a trip to Grasse. It's so easy! A ten minute train ride to Cannes and change there for a twenty-two minute ride to Grasse. As a benefit, on the way back I can finally stick that toe in the city that I've avoided all these years. I don't know Cannes at all. I think I visited it when I was thirteen years old, but at this point, if you asked me what I associate with Cannes, I'll say -- the May film festival and glitzy shops, people and boats. To me, it represents "the Riviera" side of the shoreline here and I don't mean that as a complement.

The train that will connect to Grasse leaves Mandelieu-La Napoule at 9:47. That gives me plenty of time to get a good cafe breakfast.

But is that what I want? The sun is streaming into the apartment, the terrace looks so inviting!

I go out to the bakery, purchase a small croissant, a small pain au chocolat and a half a baguette...






...and take my breakfast out to the balcony.






The view is toward the marina across the street. I almost don't want to leave.






Alright alright alright. Off I go!

Are you asking what's in Grasse? Okay, let me pump you with some basic information about the place. It's in the hills, away from the shore a bit. The hills protect it from prevailing winds and they create a micro climate that is extremely suitable for growing flowers. Grasse is known as the perfume capital of the world. It produces over two thirds of France's natural aromas used in perfume, body care products and foods (it's the food flavorings that saved the town from stagnation ofter many of the perfume companies were bought by international conglomerates, who then took the industry elsewhere and, too, began to rely on synthetic chemicals for many of the scents you'll now find at least in part and especially in the less expensive perfumes). Grasse has been in the business of creating natural scents for several centuries. If you deal in perfume, you'll know about Grasse.

A town with such a long history of scent production is going to be big: Grasse has a population of over 50,000. I have a mild interest in seeing this perfume aspect of Grasse and I know, too, that it has a very pretty medieval old town. Initially, I thought it may also offer some hikes into the hills, but that proved to be false, so I concentrated my walk on the old town.

I start, of course, at the train station. If there is one thing that has been elusive for me on this trip it's the reliable Tourist Office. I need maps! I need information! Can anyone tell me where it is? No they cannot. One person (wrongly) tells me it's in the center of the old town. Well great! It's where I'm heading! Which way is the old town?
Take the bus.
But I want to walk!
There are many steps.

Each time I asked for directions,  I hear the same words -- there are many steps.

On this point, everyone is so right.

I am the only one using them going up and I can so understand why. There are many steps!

But the old town is really pretty! Yes, much of it looks especially beautiful against that blue sky -- I'm in Provence after all and the building colors are a perfect match to it.






I do still need my maps and information, but this part of the walk is already good!






The Tourist Office seems to have moved fairly recently and so I cross virtually the whole old town before I find it and therefore I only half listen to the agent's explanation of where I should walk and how I should go about discovering Grasse. I feel I've already plenty discovered it. And I really like what I see.






Still, the perfume aspect of it is eluding me so I decide to pause for a while at the museum of perfume.

I don't regret it, but nor do I especially benefit much from it. Yes, scent has been important for human development since ancient times. Yes, over the centuries aromas have contributed to everything from hiding body odor to creating religious rites and developing a sophisticated cuisine. But it's not until I reach the part of the exhibit that explains how Grasse's industry flourished that I really begin reading what's posted on the walls.

(On this particular wall there is a mirror. I put it to good use.)






And I like the little terrace with the orange trees and the blooming rose.











You would think that I'd be all museumed out after this, but less than a block away there is the museum of Fragonard - a leading perfume maker in France -- and that museum is free, so perhaps I should peek in there as well? Here's the building, against the panorama looking down to the sea. (It's funny: when you are in the hills and mountains, you relish the distant view of the sea. When you are by the sea, you get excited by the sight of mountains in the background.)






I do an even faster walk through there and I skip the factory tour because I would have to wait quite a bit for it. (I do peek at the vats where the maceration of the flowers takes place. No photo needed: they look like big vats for processing wine or whiskey or any other liquid.)

And I do pause in their basement shop because it's fascinating to see this world of scents translated into the retailing of perfumes. I've stopped using any perfumes since I met Ed (though lotions are another story). Not even eau de toilette. He thinks that stuff is weird.  I don't necessarily agree, but it's not as if I have any use for it at all at the farmette. It just doesn't fit with planting flowers, tending chickens and looking after my granddaughter. Ah, but I have two daughters! And so I linger. And sure enough, I make the purchase. I am a sucker for a good sales pitch. All the images of jasmine (Fragonard's "flower of 2015")? Right to my head. Out comes the credit card.

After the second museum, I don't linger. I've seen the two interesting sides to Grasse. I can catch the train back to Cannes.


Ah, Cannes. Nothing like having low expectations to make you actually feel quite good about your visit to a place!

It start on the right foot: a poke into an exquisite patisserie, lured less by the sight of beautiful pastries...






...and more by the sight of my beloved macarons. I purchase six.





I also go to the Galeries Lafayette (France's leading department store) and purchase a pair of polka dot slippers  -- I need them for the apartment and will use them at the farmhouse -- and too, several delightful girlie things for my granddaughter back home. Think: summer in sundresses with strawberries and playsuits with orange poppies.

A bit loaded down with bags, I nonetheless persevere with a sight seeing agenda. I find the tourist office (finally! the requisite brochures, maps and schedules!) and I learn about hikes near La Napoule (there are plenty!). And I get directions for a walking tour of Cannes. I do "part one" this afternoon -- of the old town. I take few photos, in part because I'm loaded down and in part because I have the old town for you from Grasse and I feel there are only so many scenes of yellow shuttered buildings against blue skies that you can take in one sitting.

But I will put up one pic of a typical cafe scene along the grander boulevards.





Lots of women with very yellow hair and expensive handbags, just as I imagined Cannes would have.

Still, the old town is quiet. The blocks wind up a steep hill and there are almost no people on them. Just the occasional person enjoying the warm air. In Wisconsin, he'd be in shorts. I've long discarded my jacket! Warm climate people get cold easily!






The castle up on top is closed today (perhaps this explains the almost complete emptiness of the area),  but the views from here are magnificent! Of Cannes below...






There's a stone wall, so I can do a time-release selfie!






And facing west, you see the more hilly, rugged area just west of La Napoule.






And now just a few more minutes of strolling the streets -- I have a 5:03 pm train to catch for the ten minute ride to La Napoule.


Dinner? I go back to my first night's place -- La Neapolis. Yes, there are other choices, but honestly, this one is just crowded with people and I like that. And the food is more than fine -- I take a pasta dish with gambas and thin slivers of zucchini. Delicious!






At home, I open the bottle Jean-Paul and Martine left for me -- of an Alsatian Cremant (bubbly). It is superb, especially when paired with my macarons!






I upped the walking hours today. I'm happily tired. And full of plans for the week ahead.

Sunday in La Napoule

Suddenly, my days have become very relaxed. I know this part of the Mediterranean coast from my Nice visits and I feel no urgent need to explore. Yes, I'll go back to Nice. And I'll head for the hills. And I'll set (a reluctant) foot in Cannes. But not today.

For one thing, I wake up to a drizzle. I know it will end and I know that in the week I'm here I'll have plenty of sunny days and so I ignore it. I unpack, I throw a week's worth of laundry into the machine and I settle in.

But I also notice a small puddle somewhere in the vicinity of the brand new (well every single thing in the apartment is brand new) washing machine.

Now, Jean-Paul and Martine were so concerned about leaving me alone in the south that they had planned on remaining in the hotel next door for a few days, making sure that all worked well and that I would have in them a resource for anything I needed.

I shoo them away. They'd already pretested the apartment by living in it for a few days.
But you don't know the area! What if you need advice?
I nearly roll my eyes. It's not all that new to me and you've given  me plenty of advice!
Jean-Paul hesitates, but I insiste. Martine misses her dog up in Alsace. They've been away from their home for a while and the drive back is long (8-9 hours).

Go! I repeat this (multiple times) when they come this morning, even after showing them the puddle. Jean-Paul calls Mr. le Plumber and tells me he'll be here in a half hour.
Go! I can handle Mr. le Plumber!

And so we say our good byes and they drive off.

I turn on their lovely preprogrammed classical music on their exquisite sound system and settle in to wait.

Mr. le Plumber comes promptly. He dismantles everything in the bathroom. He needs a part.
I will return! He assures me. I tell him I'll wait to buzz him in.
He returns.
He sweats.
He tries to turn down the heat. Me, I'm just enjoying the warmth after all those blistery walks along the English coast (even though it's wet today, the temps are in the upper fifties F).  But, I feel sorry for Mr. le Plumber who is stuck in a very warm space between the washer and a wall. I turn down the heat.

After a while I notice that it is approaching 11. I ask him if he minds if I pop out for a breakfast. I have visions of the last croissant disappearing. Good bread products must be taken seriously and I know that only one bakery is open today.
But I need to get another part!  He, who speaks little if any English, knows the name of the part in my language. Joint! he says proudly. C'est le joint!

Well that's okay. I'll go out and get my coveted bread product and return to eat it here. The apartment has a Nespresso machine. It has butter. It has milk. In other words, it has a good foundation for a breakfast at home.

I pick up the essentials.



(see all those guy jeans? Another French tradition: send your man out to get the bread)


A baguette, an almond croissant at the bakery and then strawberries and wild strawberry preserves and eggs at the cute little food store and I go back home and Mr. le Plumber gets his part and I set out my breakfast and this is how one could say that I ate my first breakfast in France (well, it is noon, so really brunch) with Mr. le Plumber.





After he leaves, I turn the heat back on and relax. I seem to be very good at that here.

Do I get ambitious in the afternoon? Here's a surprise: what I do is I iron my freshly washed and dried pants. I never iron anything back home, but I feel disheveled enough in France (as compared to the perfectly groomed French woman) without having to add wrinkles in my pants to my appearance. And so I iron.

Popping out for a quick exploration is not particularly attractive as it starts to drizzle just as I step outside. I admire the tiny little beach right across the street and wonder if Snowdrop would enjoy it.



(It's raked every night which I think is quaint in the off season...)


I watch hardy types sit outside at a cafe-restaurant and enjoy an afternoon refreshment...





... against the backdrop of bobbing boats.






Back at home, I again get too comfortable on that lovely sofa. This wont do!

The rain has stopped and I decide to go to the Tourist Office. The walk is by the river, inland and I estimate it to be 45 minutes each way. (That would put me at 1.5 hours of brisk walking for the day -- I must arrest this downward trend!) I want to stock up on information about the area.

La Napoule, for me, isn't really a destination in an of itself. Like Sorede where Ed and I stayed so many times, it doesn't offer sights per se (though it does have a crumbling old castle, so perhaps it has one over Sorede), but it's pretty, it looks out to the sea and it even has a small beach for those who need that time on the sand. Its greatest virtue though is that it's an extraordinary base from which I can explore the area. Unlike so much of the crowded and spoiled Mediterranean coastal towns, La Napoule offers calm and serenity. It has great eating choices and everything is at your fingertips: good bakeries, a train station -- all just around the corner. The train station especially makes this place pretty perfect. In most other seaside towns and cities, the station is removed from the waterfront or anywhere you're likely to stay and so going somewhere becomes more of an effort. Here, I can be on a train five minutes after leaving the apartment. Jean-Paul and Martine have truly discovered a Mediterranean jewel. (And the reason they found it is that she had remembered coming here as a little girl for a summer with her aunt.)

But on a cloudy Sunday afternoon, I don't want to head out anywhere and so I use this day to simply collect information. Or I mean to do that.

I am not the only one walking the river walk. This is such a French (and Polish!) thing to do: eat a big meal then go out for a walk.



(this is where the river meets the sea; choppy waters today!)





(women talk, men talk; just not with each other)


And so I am glad I rejoin humanity out here among the flowering pear trees.






But since this is the off off season, the tourist office is closed (Sunday closures continue until the end of March), so that you could say the goal was a bit of a fizzle, except that I did step into a bakery, just to look and I happen to catch the moment when the baker is taking out a fresh batch of baguettes with the most heavenly aroma. (Another French tradition: to buy your bread for the evening in the late afternoon, so it is as fresh as it can be.)






The walk back is even better because I can appreciate its nicer twists and turns and all that this path has to offer.
















...which includes, every once in a while, views onto to the tip of the Alpine range to the north.







Dinner, well, it appears that I have picked a place (Le Tire Bouchon) where good looking young people go. I am definitely twice as old as nearly everyone there. Maybe they have left their babies with grandma. Maybe they're just thinking about whether to start a family. [France has one of the higher fertility rates in Europe at 2.01 per woman, but the mean age for starting a family is also high at 29.9 years for the mother. Compare that to the States: 1.88 births per woman, with a mean age of first birth for the mom at 25.4.]


 


It's thought to be a tapas wine bar and I see that many simply order charcuterie trays of meats and cheeses. Perhaps they had their main Sunday meal with families, in the afternoon.

The food is exceptionally good. Consider this gambas tempura -- delicate, with an intense dipping sauce.






The French around me is rapid and intense. It's as if the young people here are loaded with a verbal energy that cannot be tamed.

I finish and walk slowly to my little apartment by the sea. The moon, new and thin, is nonetheless shining brightly over the Napoule  rooftops. The clouds are chased away. It's going to be a sunny Monday here, in southern France.