For years, I wanted to see England and France. Eight springs ago, I finally got my wish. It was a wonderful trip with a few days in Paris, a few days in London, time spent in Kent and Nice as well as a week at a beautiful bed and breakfast in a medieval town called Cagnes Sur Mer.Â
It was April and many of the locals were treating the 18-20C daytime temp. as if it was winter. Men wearing long coats carried briefcases on their way to work. Working local women wore long-sleeved dresses and tights. We wore shorts and light shirts and enjoyed the sunshine, overlooking the beautiful, blue Mediterranean. We rented a big scooter (Harleys were awfully expensive!) and rode the coast to Monaco and up into the mountains. It was blissful.
But it could get a bit cool on the tile floor of our B and B, especially if it was overcast. And one particular evening, I couldn’t seem to shake a chill. So I put on everything I had that had any texture to it, in a bid to get warm. Fortunately for all of us, the moment was caputured forever!
Who cares about colours and patters when you’re cold?
Not I!
Cagnes Sur Mer was wonderful, full of little shops and restaurants and the original Grimaldi castle. Some moments were like a scene in a movie. Holding impossibly tiny coffees, we’d sit in the castle courtyard and watch a collection of old men and young children playing Bocci ball. Small French towns are the kinds of places where you want to take pictures of people’s doors – and we did! We met an American who had relocated to a tiny flat to write her great novel. I wish I’d hung onto her name, to see if she did it. I keep thinking about going back to France, not to try to duplicate this trip but because there is still so much I didn’t see, didn’t experience…and didn’t wear.