At last. Friday. Quelle week! But it’s nearly done. And momentarily, I am no longer the chauffeur, the middle-of-the-night chef, or the sponge, amply absorbing adolescent angst and aggravation.
Friday in my “usual” life? No.
Non merci.
Ah… France
I’ve disappeared, and reappeared – can’t you tell? I feel the lapping of waves and foam curling over my painted toes… the glittering blue of the French Riviera… the Mediterranean sea and sky enveloping me… the sound of gulls overhead… okay, okay. It’s my French fantasy. It’s Friday. A girl can dream.
Sink full of dishes? What dishes?
Taxes still unfinished? Je ne comprends pas “taxes.”
The masseuse is waiting?
Ah yes. Désolée.
Might he give me another minute so I may order one last cocktail? I do so love the twinkle in my waiter’s eye, and the delightful view as he turns to leave. Could he be aware that I am enjoying the pleasure of his departure, and his oh-so French, oh-so tantalizingly tight fesses? Isn’t France a wonder – so much culture and color. So many forms of art…
Nice or Cannes?
Cannes may be the location in the South of France that is best known; there is the Cannes Film Festival, the Intercontinental Hotel Carlton where so many famous scenes have been immortalized. There are glorious beaches, silky sand, and to say that Cannes is grand is to understate a very lovely hand indeed.
Yet I love Nice. My treasure is Vieux Nice, despite the bustle of tourists during peek season. I love the old city center, its marvelous dining, the clattering colors that pulse with heat. Steep hills and long strolls, even the feel of the stony beach beneath my feet, and the sun’s kiss on my collar bones as I return to this, my very own lapis dream.
My ideal hotel
My fantasy travel destination?
A luxurious place where no, I have never stayed – the Hôtel La Pérouse, in all its Mediterranean splendor with breathtaking views of seductive sea and sky, its garden terrace, its elegant and intimate rooms decorated in oceanic blues and ruby reds… its inviting tables, its cushions, its beds…
Should I tell you what wonders I tasted as a 15-year old in Nice? That very first summer I lived in France?
Oh, so many pleasures for the tongue and palate – oozing bries to make the mouth water, plats prepared in lavish sauces, large leaves of lettuce that must be folded while eaten with your fork and knife, extraordinary wines, though I could never retain the vintages nor the varietals.
I have returned since that age, of course – to see friends, to walk the Promenade des Anglais again, to experience the beauty that is the French Riviera, le Côte d’Azur, and whatever the reality of my life at this time I can close my eyes and imagine the hours drifting without beginning or end.
And still, always, dreams of the Mediterranean, at my feet…
Rooms with a view
Stacks of books and bills, the bank, the laundry, the everything else that never quits. Can I push it all out of my mind – just for awhile longer? Mais oui...
Oh, and I want the red room! Surely I will bring all my finest shoes (was there any doubt?) and of course, mes foulards – the lightest, gauziest of my scarves that are barely there. No need to cover all the skin that is sweetened by the perfumed air and Mediterranean sun. Whatever I may select to wear tonight – the sandals, the fluttering skirt, the satiny camisole… will it matter, really?
What will he see when he enters the room? Mes yeux de braise as he is fond of saying?
How long until the bubbles of champagne go to my head? Shall we linger on the balcony overlooking the Riviera, or tumble like teens onto the pillows and spread?
Will he attempt some English and utter the dreaded “Dear” or stick with French and call me ma chère? (I know, I know. Just a sleep-deprived ramble and Danielle Steele has nothing to fear.)
TGIF (Thank God It’s France)
It was another near-all-nighter, another sullen face this morning, another race to get to school on time. There was coffee again at 11 last night, once more at midnight, and then café au lait and eggs at seven. Oh for the heaven of parental escape… (TGIF? Exactly.)
In this tiny window of quiet I conjure France, a gentleman at my side – or at least a masseuse! And vistas of blue; it is, after all, “The Blue Coast.” So what might I toast? Simply, to the South of France, and returning soon…
Click image of room to access Hotel la Pérouse… oh, they really are my dream destination! Other images, Bigstockphoto.
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What a lovely meditation! Thank you for taking us along on the mental trip, a nice escape from rainy MN and an inbox full of messages I don’t want to deal with.
After the evening/morning I’ve had I’m right there with you! We can dream can’t we? 🙂 TGIF.
Yes, we can dream… thank goodness.
Tres bien fait, BLW! The Chagall museum in Nice is one of my favorite places. Ever. Thanks to this post, I think I’ll spend my afternoon daydreaming about it!
Except for the masseuse, you have just described my dreams of France. In mine, there is food in abundance; every day begins with a pain au chocolat.
I hope we will both get to go back soon.
Oh yes. Pain au chocolat. (And every other kind of bread and chocolate! And scrumptious cheese, and long walks afterward, so none of that gourmandise will produce any unwanted effects!)
When your kid heads off to college, I sense you’ll head off to France. Go! You love it there!!
As I have never been there, thank you for the lovely mental tour…alas my soul is relaxed and ready for the weekend. Have a happy and relaxing one yourself.
Paint some easter eggs! Have a great weekend, too.
BLW, pour mes vacances prochaines en France, je dois vous amener comme guide! Vous aurez, bien sûr, la plupart de votre temps pour vous-même, sauf si vous voudriez m’accompagner où vous m’enverrez.
🙂 A tough job, but if someone has to do it… quel plaisir.
Ah, thank you for taking me away, BLW. I enjoy your glimpses into France. I may have to listen to a tape this evening, after church, to help me with recalling my French better. 🙂
Ahh, France. Although I have never been south of Toulouse, your delicious, vivid imagery takes me there this evening. (Did I ever tell you about the week I spent living in a converted windmill in a tiny village outside of Toulouse?) I so badly want to be on that balcony right now eating, yes, pain au chocolat. Parfait!
We’ll need the Meandering Tour de France soon (and I don’t mean cycles, either)…
Okay. Windmill story? Now you have to tell.
Hi Big Little Wolf, Your beautiful writing has taken me away as usual. You are so talented and I thank you for sharing. I have two friends in Paris this week and I’m forwarding both of them your Friday tale. Have a great weekend. Have Fun, Jim
Award for you at my place.
This brought me back to being nineteen, staying in a cheap place but loving everything about Nice, also preferring it to Cannes. I can still picture the old guys walking down to the beach in their striped shirts, each one looking more like Picasso than the last.
It’s nice to be transported by your reverie—it sure makes me wish your dreams will come through for you.
Maybe there is a movie that can loft you there again in memory?
Any recommendations?
Or maybe the Cote d’Azur of your imagination is even better.
I could do with a good French… breakfast.
The perfect place for the perfect soul.
Ah, the beauty contrasted with, um, the teenager. Quel dommage! (I think I remember that from my college French!) C’est horrible! One moment in France and the next twisting around in the procrastinating teen’s world!
Your French is formidable, Linda! And yes – you live my world as well – quite the contrast between a teen boy and other places a mother might want to be. At least in her reveries. (I spent a good hour looking at that gorgeous hotel in Nice, and imagining myself there, and even deciding which room I might like. Less expensive than I thought (which doesn’t mean inexpensive, naturellement). Shall we have a blogging get-away there?
Oh, sigh, can you dream me along? Now that I’m out of the snow my fantasies are starting to be less about beach places and more about luxury and ease…
Oh yes… even a little bit of luxury and ease would be such a welcome change. And a view of the French Riviera isn’t anything to sneeze at either. 😉