Dans Provence, Il Fait Pleut

The gorgeous (wet) town of Antibes, a lovely afternoon with Mark, with Bec back at her place burying her nose in a pile of marking.  Wet, shiny cobblestones, the sun poking through the ominously dark clouds, torrential rain and felafals.  Topped off by a cheeky pint and a glimpse of the French Open men's final.  Ohg, and some obscenely massive yachts.

Eating My Way Around Provence

My Sweet New Ride!

Ain't She a Beaut!  I am one proud mamma.

Cassis and Queenslanders

One of the most surprising, and wonderful things about southern France:  Eucalypts! Everytime I caught a whiff I got very homesick.  It's a funny thing memory - so inexplicably triggered by our senses, we forget about the impact a smell, sound or sight can have on our memories and then suddenly - BOOM!  My stifled feelings about my sense place and home took a direct hit.  Just as I'm starting to feel like maybe I could stay on in Europe indefinitley, I realise that I have no control over that part of my mind's insistant yearning for sensory familiarity, and how susceptible I am to the emotional associations that make those familiarities so important. 

Still, whatever I feel about the 'Australia V Europe' question and my future, I cannot help but be enchanted by a European past that is still so very much a part of its present. 1785 and still standing, you can't hep but be impressed.   

The town of Cassis was recommended to us by Bec as a lovely place to stop between Nice and Marseille.  We decided to stop for dinner there on the way back from Corsica, as we were staying that night in some god-awful motel close to the airport in order to get Kate on her early morning flight.  So so glad we did stop here, the charm of the place is barely captured in these shots.




The seafront was lovely, and the number of potential dinner spots to choose from bordered on overwhelming.  We decided against the seafront however, in favour of exploring the restaurants lining the cobblestoned lanes just behind the harbour.


As an afterthought to the first paragraph of this blog entry that might as well be summarised as: 'There's No Place Like Home', it's probably worth mentioning that there are definitely aspects of Australian life I don't miss in the slightest.  Without wishing to provoke undue offence, I'd have to say there are definitely certain social attitudes prevailing across a section of the Australia population I find both confusing and thoroughly distasteful. I just can't believe we still live in an age where it's ok to think (let alone say out loud) some things. 

We chose a really cute little restaurant for dinner, it just happened to be situated right next to an amazing wine bar.  So while we waited for our table, we sat at the bar next door to sample the first really really good wine we'd had all week (Corsican 3 euro bottles are fine when you're camping, but my godfathers, the astringency of a cheap bottle of red really becomes apparent when you get your hands on a glass of the good stuff).  Stu's heart melted when they also brought forth complimentary tapas.  His expression of delighted disbelief was hilarious.  Within seconds the olives, chorizo and bread were gone.  It was almost as if he was afraid the waitress would realise that she'd made a mistake and come to take the food away - he'd be damned if he'd let that happen. 

When our table was ready, we sat down and ordered more wine ('once it hits your lips'!).  I happened to catch a few words from the table next to us and realised that the older couple we were sitting next to were Australian.  Turns out they were from Queensland, but I could've guessed that from their seriously ocker accents.  I could've also hazarded a guess based on their hard core Liberalism.  They were Old School, and while this was in one sense extremely entertaining, it was also pretty troubling.  You forget just how large a segment of Australian society is till like this:  Obstinately narrow-minded.  Par Example:

(I quote):
Yeah, I have my suspicions about those Aboriginal (sic) rock paintings.  I reckon it's just spray paint - you can tel they're not that old.  It's a total tourist trap.

We decided to go ahead and buy this campervan for our trip.  We saw it online, so we spoke to the bloke who was selling it, and we saw a piccie of him next to the van, and he looked trustworthy.  He was a proper scottish guy, not dodgy-looking at all.

This last sentence was later clarified by the pair as meaning that, 'you know, he was from Scotland'.  He was white, and he was British.  He wasn't some ne'er-do-well man from Africa/Asia/Poland out to make a quick buck off the backs of a couple of erstwhile tourist types.

I think the greatest problem for me was that I found this couple really lively, chatty and fun before I found out they were Queenslanders, you know, they were from Queensland.  Changed everything.

Bonifacio and the Wind

How windy was it?  Somewhere between light breeze and tornado, but more tornado-y than breezy.

The stunning harbourside in Bonifacio is below, the tranquility of which is more apparent in still photograph than it was on the day.  The wind was more than a little bracing, and Bonifacio was crawling with hapless tourists.  None quite so hapless as the three of us.  Outraged at the thought of having to pay for parking, Stu took us on a tour of pretty much every one way street in the tiny town centre, more often than not the wrong way.  We finally ended up on what could possibly have been an exclusively pedestrian street but for the lack of signs pointing this fact out.  To our right, shops and crowded cafes, with chairs, tables, customers and waiters spilling out onto the street.  To our left (about 2 metres to our left), the cafes' outside seating that lined the harbour.  Somehow we found ourselves in the middle of this chaotic jumble of human traffic and carelessly-placed seating, in a giant cube with poor steering.  The long, sloooow drive down this pedestrian street was punctuated with fist clenching, the occasional yelp and dive for cover from a sleepy tourist, many an apologetic shoulder shrug from us, and looks of mild bemusment from most of the cafe traders, who had clearly seen it all before.

Stu partaking of yet more food, after only having just consumed a 3 course meal.  The boy cannot say no to street vendors.  He's my favourite little glutton.

Stu climbing the steps to the old town, avec crepe au chocolat.

The fortress entrance to the old town.

Had a lovely day walking around, paid way too much for a sub-par lunch, but with views like this, we weren't complaining.  I will just say that the wind didn't die down all day, and I don't know whether you've ever been in an exposed area (like a coastline), for an extended period of time when the wind is so strong you could easily go over the edge but for the sake of a few strategically-placed guard rails... It can make you nervous, and a little wackadoo.  We were pretty relieved to get back to the comparatively sheltered campsite and uncork another 3 euro bottle of plonk at the end of the day.