We were almost gone when...
Hail, hail, the gang's all here! Left to right, Markus, Janice and mom Lorraine, Mandy, Marku's dad and brother Andre.
...36 hours before our departure for Europe, Mandy arrived for a scheduled visit while on their West Coast tour with Markus, his dad and brother. It was great to see them all before we left, so that we could visit a few local sites with them. They stayed in the house for a few more days after we left and then went on to Los Angeles and Las Vegas.
Meanwhile, we flew home to Brittany and took several days to settle in. A week after we arrived, Janice's cousin Cinde and husband Monte arrived from Nebraska to see our little neck of the woods for a few days and then drive to the South of France with us to spend some time on the Med.
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| Castle of Vitre |
See the short video here
Having visited us at home in California and at the Island last summer, they planned their visit to be in Brittany within days of our arrival. This being their first trip to Europe, we set out, and they were quite enamored with strolling the grounds around the castle of Vitre with its ramparts, moat and drawbridge. They found the medieval old city of Bourges to be no slouch either.
Once we arrived, they fell in love with the French Riviera where we toured Fragonard, the French perfume factory. With everyone smelling pretty, we slipped over the border into Italy for lunch.
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| Janice considering a trade in of our canoe at the island for new digs in Saint- Tropez, Cannes or Monaco |
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| Now where can I fit my Maserati ? |
We visited the roman amphitheater in the city of Frejus, (founded in 49 BC by none other than Mr. Julius Ceasar himself) and saw them setting up the spectator bleachers in Monte Carlo for the Formula 1 Grand Prix race in Monaco.
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| A girl just can't have too many handbags |
In Cannes, we all had a chance to walk the red carpet at the entrance of the International Film Festival theater where the awards are held. Exhausted by all the shopping, we returned each night to our home (exchange) in nearby Sainte Maxime, 2 blocks from the beach. Surely, it was 5 o'clock somewhere.
Our home on the French Riviera
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| Making an appearance on the red carpet at Cannes a tad bit early for the International Film Festival |
As all good things must come to an end, they did...for them. We saw them off at the airport in Marseille and stayed for another 10 days in the area.
The irony is that in spite of our best intentions, we had Canadian friends Ian, Lyne and their 3 kids Hayley, Audrey and Roy, fly over to visit Brittany precisely during the period we were to be gone. It was unavoidable as our plans had been set for months, and theirs were finalized weeks before their departure to coincide with the younger kids school holidays.
So, they flew to Paris for the obligatory visit there, rented a car and made their way down to our place during our absence. Fortunately, we gave village friends a heads up and they were around to give them the old village welcome.
So, they flew to Paris for the obligatory visit there, rented a car and made their way down to our place during our absence. Fortunately, we gave village friends a heads up and they were around to give them the old village welcome.
French Riviera, part II
When Janice's cousins left to tend to jobs and adult responsibilities back home, we stayed at our home in the area for another 10 days of frivolity without any adult supervision. Mere minutes away from St Tropez by jet ski, we have been to this area in winters past but really enjoy exploring new nooks and crannies with an eye to long term future plans.
One of the towns we love is a little place called Le Lavandou. It was named after the Lavender flowers that grow in the surrounding fields. The smallish town is a favorite among the beautiful, rich and famous with French president Sarkosy and Mick Jagger's ex wives among others, living here. "One false move" Janice says, and she could start an ex wives club.
As with most of these coastal towns and villages along the 200 mile stretch of the french Riviera, this one has 12 beaches. For fun, we attended a flower festival, albeit one with a twist. They call it a flower fight. It is the French version of a cross between a carnival, a Mardi Gras celebration and Rose Bowl parade.
They have about 20 floats all decorated in flowers with loads of elaborately costumed people and bands in between. So far, so good. The twist comes when the crowd on both sides of the street spray silly string and something that looks like something between snow and whipped cream onto the floats and their occupants....who spray them back!
The floats go around the large town square and when the parade is over, everyone scrambles to remove the flowers off the floats to take a bouquet home. Thus, the fight. It is not quite as wild as a food fight or as violent as the bulls charging the streets in Spain but it is still a sight to see.
One of the big surprises for me while walking the beaches was to stumble onto a memorial to something called "Operation Dragoon". I had never realized that as the D-Day landings were occurring in Normandy closer to where we live in Brittany, Eisenhower ordered an invasion of the French Riviera also.
The plan was bitterly opposed by Churchill, but on August 14th, 1944 over 1000 ships with the US 45th Infantry Division and 5000 paratroopers landed on the shores in this area. The goal was to work their way north to eventually meet up with the troops heading south, hastening the day they could liberate Paris. Over 17,000 Allied troops died in the operation.
17,000...in one operation. Contrast that with the 3,400 we have lost in 13 years of war in Afghanistan.
Well into the 1950's it was strictly forbidden to pick up anything metallic on the local beaches as there were more munitions laying about than clams.
In the past few hours, we have moved to a new home on the Med a little West of Marseille in what they call the Calanques ( rocky cliffs)
It ia a little warren of a house with what they call "pieds dans l'eau" (your feet in the water)
As with most of these coastal towns and villages along the 200 mile stretch of the french Riviera, this one has 12 beaches. For fun, we attended a flower festival, albeit one with a twist. They call it a flower fight. It is the French version of a cross between a carnival, a Mardi Gras celebration and Rose Bowl parade.
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| Go big or don't go at all |
They have about 20 floats all decorated in flowers with loads of elaborately costumed people and bands in between. So far, so good. The twist comes when the crowd on both sides of the street spray silly string and something that looks like something between snow and whipped cream onto the floats and their occupants....who spray them back!
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| Boys will be boys |
The floats go around the large town square and when the parade is over, everyone scrambles to remove the flowers off the floats to take a bouquet home. Thus, the fight. It is not quite as wild as a food fight or as violent as the bulls charging the streets in Spain but it is still a sight to see.
One of the big surprises for me while walking the beaches was to stumble onto a memorial to something called "Operation Dragoon". I had never realized that as the D-Day landings were occurring in Normandy closer to where we live in Brittany, Eisenhower ordered an invasion of the French Riviera also.
 |
| Then... |
The plan was bitterly opposed by Churchill, but on August 14th, 1944 over 1000 ships with the US 45th Infantry Division and 5000 paratroopers landed on the shores in this area. The goal was to work their way north to eventually meet up with the troops heading south, hastening the day they could liberate Paris. Over 17,000 Allied troops died in the operation.
17,000...in one operation. Contrast that with the 3,400 we have lost in 13 years of war in Afghanistan.
 |
| ...and now |
Well into the 1950's it was strictly forbidden to pick up anything metallic on the local beaches as there were more munitions laying about than clams.
French Riviera, part III
It ia a little warren of a house with what they call "pieds dans l'eau" (your feet in the water)
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| Rather self explanatory. The view from the bedroom, living room, kitchen or as here, the dining room. |
Flying ain't what it used to be
There was a time when flying on a commercial airline was an event. It was special because you were special. You were going somewhere far away and not many people did that. You even dressed up in your Sunday clothes and airline personnel treated you like you where sommmmebody! Today, it is little more than taking the bus, especially if you fly like we do, in the cattle car section.
The good news is that airline ticket prices have remained incredibly low, relative to inflation. I pay little more in today's dollars for a ticket to Europe than what I paid nearly 45 years ago. Sheeeh!
The experience though, is where the real price is paid. 9-11 was the gift that keeps on giving and will continue until I pass my expiration date. Seats so narrow and tightly squeezed together that you almost have to be anorexic to fit in them. They remind me of my plane actually. It is more like wearing it instead of getting in. But I don't make 12 hour flights in my plane so I actually get out and stretch before rigomortis sets in.
For me, the issue is always the same: possession of the armrest. It generally takes on the drama like the third reel-showdown in a spaghetti western. On long flights you vie for armrest domination for the next 12 hours, watching over it like a bear over a pot of honey.
The good news is that airline ticket prices have remained incredibly low, relative to inflation. I pay little more in today's dollars for a ticket to Europe than what I paid nearly 45 years ago. Sheeeh!
The experience though, is where the real price is paid. 9-11 was the gift that keeps on giving and will continue until I pass my expiration date. Seats so narrow and tightly squeezed together that you almost have to be anorexic to fit in them. They remind me of my plane actually. It is more like wearing it instead of getting in. But I don't make 12 hour flights in my plane so I actually get out and stretch before rigomortis sets in.
For me, the issue is always the same: possession of the armrest. It generally takes on the drama like the third reel-showdown in a spaghetti western. On long flights you vie for armrest domination for the next 12 hours, watching over it like a bear over a pot of honey.
You use non verbal cues to let your fellow passenger know that they had better be on their best behavior because their relationship with you is hanging by a thread. You want them to believe that they had better play their hand with care if they expect your assistance with the inflatable slide “in the unlikely event of a water landing”.
Dare to raise your arm for one second and your claim to the armrest expires faster than the warranty on a bootleg wristwatch. Still, once in a while you get a difficult, determined, aggressive, uncompromising seatmate. Eh...like me.
In that case, heaven forbid they should fall asleep with their mouth open or that their hair is sticking up in an unacceptable configuration. The next thing they will know, they are being ridiculed on hundreds or thousands of tiny screens, depending on the social media clout that the Epistle readers wield. Suddenly, the picture is being forwarded on Twitter or Instagram and Facebook with the legend “WTF??????Gross…” or something much worse.
I am a reasonable man, I tell them. Save time, see it my way.
a
Au revoir till next month
