Thursday, May 30th, 1991
This is my last day here. The weather this morning looks like it might be a nice day. I haven’t decided what to do yet. I should do a small load of laundry so I have clean clothes tomorrow for the flight home.
I thought about returning to Nice for photos, or maybe Cannes, but really don’t want to deal with the traffic. I’ll probably go over to Valbonne and spend a quiet afternoon. It is 9:00 AM and I’m sitting in the center square of Valbonne. The church bells just tolled. It’s fascinating to watch a small village like this one wake up. It slowly rolls over a few times, stretches and yawns. As I walk down the streets I look into the open doorways of stores catching the smells of baking bread or watching a butcher lay meat out in a display. Automobiles begin to transverse the narrow streets occasionally meeting head on, forcing one into reverse.
It seems too early for cats to be out and about, but dogs are beginning their morning rounds. The dogs are amazing. Most are better groomed than many people I know.
Valbonne is different from other villages I have visited in France. Unlike the rest, Valbonne is laid out in a very straight grid. I prefer the more random streets of old Nice, or St. Paul, especially for photography. Valbonne seems to be a favorite spot for British tourists, maybe because of the subliminal need of the British for rules and order. I watch a British family (parents and two young boys) walk by. They call into a butcher shop asking if there is any chicken today. The boys are running ahead acting out some adventure fantasy.
The French have a reputation of being unfriendly. I see how they get it. Most French I watch seem to greatly dislike the tourist. I suspect that it is like having unwanted guests walking through your home. But I have found the French to be very warm and caring. The trick is to get to know them, not as a tourist, but as a person.
As I’m sitting I’m watching various people. The butcher came out, wearing his white apron with only one strap over a shoulder. He was eating a baguette stuffed with pate. A woman just went in to shop there. The women do their shopping with wicker baskets, a better idea than our paper bags. Of course they also shop everyday, which I also think is better for they get fresh food each day.
I feel a few drops of rain so I pack up my camera and begin to wander the village some more. I come upon a young cat that has climbed a tree to a roof and is watching a man and German shepherd walk by. The man tells me that the cat is a “bad cat.” The cat attacked his dog once. I look at the cat, really just a kitten less than two years old, and at this large German shepherd. I personally would not want to be a cat in France. It seems that the French hold dogs in higher esteem.
I eventually win the confidence of the cat and sit on a front stoop with the cat on my lap. From the expression of the passersby, I gather that seeing a cat on a lap is not a common occurrence. I wonder what they would think of my walking my cat Crystal on a leash. It is starting to rain a little more now, so I’ll take refuge in an English language book store.
I’ll need something to read on the flight home tomorrow. I pick up “The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket” by E.A. Poe, and “The Lost Continent,” a book about a man’s journey across America. I head home to update my journal and to begin reading the Poe. The housekeeper is still at the house, so I pour a small glass of wine and take some bread out on the front patio. I plan on return to Valbonne later this afternoon for lunch. Maybe the weather will improve by then.
It is 2:49 and I’m back in Valbonne. I ended up laying down at the house and taking a nap. I still feel a little tired. Almost everything is closed for the afternoon, and it is still overcast and drizzling. The cafe on the square is open and I am having a beer. If the weather is any indication it is time to head back to Portland.
I have been sitting reading for about an hour. Some of the stores are opening. More customers are stopping at the cafe for coffee or beer. The Sun keeps struggling to break through but as of yet it has been unsuccessful. I’ve ordered a cafe au lait and after enjoying it I will resume my wanderings. Even with the cooler weather it has been an enjoyable afternoon doing very little, but doing it well. The bells have struck 4:00 and the butcher is opening his store. Gendarmes have opened the square so cars can park (they are not allowed between 12:00 and 4:00).
I take a walk out of the village, finding a track through some woods. The path leads to some streets and I aimlessly walk in a circular direction. Coming down off a hill I find a group of men playing jouer a la pétanque, the French lawn bowling game. I take some photos using telephoto lenses from a distance.
I continue my walk and eventually arrive back in Valbonne. Finding a bench on a street corner I sit to watch people pass by. The children are the most fun to watch. They are dressed in colorful clothes and run ahead of their mothers. They remind me of young puppies that sprint and play, but always pause to see where the master is, never going to far astray. If they do stray, a sharp command from the mother may bring them up short.
An elderly couple have just walked by and the man, carrying a Nikon, noticed my camera bag. They turn out to be Italian, though I must confess my ear didn’t detect it. I had thought they were French but they graciously corrected me.
I plan on staying in Valbonne to have a drink with the owner of the restaurant I met yesterday. I’ll have to call Vianeytte and let here know when I will be coming home. There is a danger of sitting in one place too long. People who have passed by several times mistake me for someone who belongs here. I’ve had three people come up to me for directions. None of them have spoken English, not that it would have mattered. Even if we could have conversed, I wouldn’t know the directions to where they wanted to go.
The favorite pastime of the older people is sitting either outside the homes on stoops or leaning from windows chatting. Just down the street are three, two men and a woman. Often the people sitting are shop owners who, if someone enters their store, rise and cross the street to help the customer.
7:00… and I have gone to Rene’s bar and restaurant. Rene has bought me two Pastis and I have done magic for his friends. Rene was born in Indochina and lived there for eighteen years. He speaks French, Dutch and English.
I return home around 8:00. After dinner I decide that instead of having Vianeytte take me to the airport I will take a taxi. It is expensive, but I don’t feel right having Vianeytte drive all that way. It would be too early for her to go to work, so she would have to return and then a little latter drive all the way back into Nice. It is a quiet evening. Corrine wishes me a bon voyage and retires to bed. Vianeytte finds the phone number for the taxi service and makes a reservation. I pack and get ready to leave. Goodbyes are never my strong suit.