I want to thank all of you who have sent me a message regarding the passing of my father. It has been a dark cloud over me, and I realize I have to go through my paces. It seems rather... ridiculous that I ended up on the Mediterranean during his services. As I mentioned, that decision was not made easily. But we had already made plans to meet up with our nephew in Provence; more on that later.
So I sat on the beach, and I realize that I am not the first daughter to mourn the loss of her father on the coast of the Mediterranean. I just thought that my first trip to the sea would have been more enjoyable for me. But I sat there, appreciating the beauty of it and realized I was about as relaxed as I was going to get given the circumstances (which was not relaxed at all). I have to say, that to a certain extent it is nice to be here - away from the sports camps, the duties to my mother I feel I should be fulfilling (thanks sis!) and to be able to reflect on my father. But it is also a bit lonely, as only I can go through what I need to do. At the very least, my phone isn't ringing all the time asking me to subscribe to the Oregonian. So the usual stuff of life is absent, the new stuff is a distraction, and there is a part of me that feels like I am just putting if off until I get home. We shall see.
We traveled across France from Pau to La Ciotat. We got to drive through a couple of provinces and as we got closer to the Mediterranean and Spain, well, the influence is obvious. Provence, as a province, is as beautiful as people say. It is a rugged, dry climate beauty. Pines, like in Sunriver. And colors, well, like a Cezanne. Considering Cezanne was from Aix-en-Provence. Okay, so admittedly, as we drove over, I said, "This looks like a Cezanne." And a little piece of my heart broke. Because then I thought, "So, he just painted what he saw." As if he was no longer talented. Which is ridiculous and stupid. But really, his paintings are an accurate depiction. And when your subject matter is THAT beautiful, it can't be hard, right? As if. No picture, photographic or otherwise, can truly communicate how beautiful it is here.
La Ciotat (la sheu-tah, I had to ask at the Centre de Tourisme) is a small town on the coast of the Mediterranean, south of Marseilles, west of Nice and Monaco. It has lovely sand and pebble beaches. It has an operating shipyard, with some giant super yachts (think Greek shipping magnate size), and an old town. It is also the entrance to one of their National Parks. I learned all of this at the tourist office. The young man that helped us was very pleased we were there, all the way from Bore-uh-gun. We signed the visitor book and I drew a map of the western US with a star for PDX. Way more gauche than the pleasantries the French visitors leave behind. Just keeping it real...
We walked through the Old Town, visited the church. We met a man from Tunisia (he wanted to know where we were from) and his grand son. We tried to play with the grandson for a minute, but he was too shy. We traveled through some narrow roads (single file) with the shops and I managed to order lunch from a lady in a bakery. Everybody was impressed with my French (ha!). I love telling the French, "I don't speak French very well. But I try." And they are so willing to help. Two sandwiches, two drinks, one baguette and two of the most delicious apple tarts later... I was feeling much more confident than the whole toll booth incident. While standing in line, waiting for my apple tarts, the man behind me stepped up and instead of cutting in front of me said as clear as the blue sky, "You are before me." And then everybody starts helping in French, based on their understanding of what I say in English. I find the help charming, but I also find that a simple point of the finger and a "Voila. Et voila" works just fine too.
I love to think of the US as a melting pot, and surely it is. But in some way, the Mediterranean must be the original melting pot, maybe closer to Turkey. France has a diverse population, what with their empire spread over the world. I like seeing all the French colors... of people. I have never seen such deeply tanned people. It is a whole new color. The tourists definitely stood out - pale white folk from the north always seem a little out of place in a sunny clime. Of course, we got plenty of second looks, with our American accents and general confusion (HA!). I have to mention this, because it is a concept always close to my heart. I noticed a pasty white couple with two adopted Chinese girls. And several pasty white couples with adopted African children. And it is nice to see that nobody takes a second look, like when I was a child way back in the '70's. Times they are a-changin'.
One other thing of note. I love Paris as much as any big city (which is not all that much as I get older), but I am so happy to be out in the provinces. France is so much more than Paris. So many people assumed we were going to Paris; when you say "France" it is a natural assumption. But just like NYC is not a good representation of the whole of the US. The French are so kind and helpful here.
We ate our picnic, and hiked the kids through the park (much whining and complaining). Yes, it is hot. But you are in the Mediterranean. There's no crying in the Mediterranean.
I have been seen some beautiful places in the world, and I definitely want to see more of this sea and coastline. The Tween was amazed at the color of the water. Maybe it is the combination of the old town, the palm trees, warm weather and cool breezes. Or the attitude. Could be the view...
SpecK! Move to your left! Your other left! One more step... good! Too bad this pic doesn't do it justice.
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