This is the second part in an ongoing semi-fictional series inspired by the French Riviera.
One morning in early October, I woke to a cloud speckled sky over the Alpes-Maritimes outside my small flat in Roquebrune-Cap-Martin.
I had a few drinks watching football the night before so decided to take my morning rather easily. The Derby della Madonnina was on between Inter and AC Milano so we had a couple of our Italian friends over to watch.
I made a large Bucatini Carbonara with fresh Tuscan guanciale and we drank some red wine.
After rolling out of bed, I went to the living room to lay on the couch and read while watching the sun slowly rise behind the passing clouds. I was reading To a God Unknown by Steinbeck.
L’automne had barely arrived.
A time of year I adored more and more each year. It wasn’t the temperature, the changing leaves or even the occasional rains.
It was the smell.
Once the transition to fall started, a lovely earthy, rainy scent came to life and awoke my senses. As always, the heavy breezes off the sea gave a salty flare to everything living and breathing around it. The pair of the lingering summer flowers and the first hints of damp, evolving weather was intoxicating.
It almost never rains over the summer so once the wet season arrives, it is sorely needed. Today however, was absolutely gorgeous.
Eventually, I was alone on the terrasse surrounded by nothing but a chorus of singing birds and that smell. Breathing it in heaps at a time.
Another thing that made early autumn particularly special on the Côte d’Azur was swimming until early November.
The Mediterranean stayed incredibly warm as did the temperature, the only change being an increase in cloud and cold at night and slightly stronger tides.
Before heading down to the water, I made a coffee and enjoyed it with a cigarette on the terrasse overlooking la mer.
Perched on a smull a third of the way up the mountain in our flat, the view was terrific.
The mountains sat with their feet in the sea, and the old man’s house was on the knees.
John Steinbeck To a God Unknown
The rocky coastal water started turquoise near the shore and extended out eventually turning a deep lapis lazuli where it met the horizon.
I felt deeply connected to the horizon after living on it’s edge the past few months. As if it were part of my daily ritual in the morning, afternoon and evening.
I would wake just as the sun was rising and watch it come to life most mornings, follow it through the sky during the afternoon overhead and eventually see it slip out of view over the mountains in the evening.
It was a long journey.
In the sea beyond our beach, there were 50 meter yachts and vintage sailboats littered about either idling or traveling toward Italy or Monaco.
It was quite a bit choppy but otherwise the beach looked wonderful. I packed my rucksack with four pints of Kronenbourg 1664, a half packet of cigarettes, my book and a water bottle, threw a towel around my neck and started off.
The walk to the beach through our garden was spectacular. A petit gravel path led you past an orange tree across from a row of violets and a wall strewn with viney wildflowers. It went past our shared pool and down to the mountain road below.
A row of concrete steps surrounded by trees wound down to a neighborhood two blocks from the beach.
I stopped at the cafe on the corner and talked to the waitress for a moment to practice my french. It was still shit but at least I was trying. After an espresso and some small talk I said, “Ciao!” and was on my way across the street to the pebble beach.
It was before 10am and the sun was strong. There wasn’t a cloud nearby, sans those above the mountains near the Italian border which rarely ever bothered us.
The Italian border was only four miles from the flat and we tried to take advantage of that as often as possible. Today though, I wanted to enjoy what remaining beach time was left.
I laid out and read some more for half an hour, occasionally looking up to watch the fishermen a block down.
Two weeks ago a big storm came through and flooded the shore road, destroying some of the beachfront businesses. The local anglers took up the space while the others worked on rebuilding.
I dug into the first pint and stared at the horizon for a while.
A brief moment of meditation forced me into thinking about where my life was at that moment.
I was alone in a foreign country and despite feeling forlorn, the solitude was comforting. I was working steadily, set my own schedule and did whatever I wanted in my free time. The only issue was money.
Even with the steady work, I had a very modest income. I was kept afloat by occasionally skipping a meal and regularly staying in. Often enjoying a beer on the terrasse and listening to music rather than at a bar socializing… choosing to cook over ordering out and so on.
The calm and the sorrow were so great that they bore down on his chest, and the loneliness was complete, a circle impenetrable.
John Steinbeck To a God Unknown
I felt a lot like Joseph Wayne from To a God Unknown today.
After my second beer, I took a swim in the ever clear water and went out to the buoy. I was close enough to holler, “Bonjour!” to the captains of the small sailboats nearby.
They shouted back smiling with cocktails in hand, floating above miniature swells and hardly rocking with the ebb of the tide.
I stayed out for a good half hour treading water and finding small spots of coral to stand on. When I came in I dried off and gathered my things.
I had a desire to take a trail walk around the Cap Martin to the beaches on the western side which were cut into a small valley in le rocher.
I liked the beach at the bottom of Avenue le Corbusier called the Plage du Buse. It was right next to Golfe Bleu, where the paragliders landed after their long flight down from the top of the Cap.
The hike took a bit over an hour as I enjoyed a beer on the steel walking ledge between two cliff faces on the west side of the Cap. They looked down on jagged rocks covered by some of the clearest water you have ever seen.
Once I got to Plage du Buse, I immediately went for a swim. Le Pointe de Cabbé juts into the sea from the west side of the beach. The farthest reaches of the point slip into the sea and have a landing that can be climbed.
I swam over and spotted a few crabs on the stone landing. They scattered as I came near and peered my head into the underwater cave entrance I knew was there.
After diving into the cave and swimming through the hole leading back to the open sea, I slowly swam back to my spot on the pebble covered beach.
I like the stones on the Plage du Buse, they were smaller than their counterparts on the east side of the Cap Martin and easier on the soles of my feet.
I drained my last pint on the beach while reading a bit more.
It was starting to get late in the afternoon and the sun was going to start dropping behind the mountains soon so I went for one more dip before drying off completely and stretching for a few minutes.
The way the day went made me feel accomplished without having really done anything. I was a little bit fuzzy from the pints as I hadn’t eaten since last night.
It was about 5pm and I wanted to head home and get something in my belly.
There are times when the people and the hills and the earth, all, everything except the stars, are one, and the love of them all is strong like a sadness.
John Steinbeck To a God Unknown
On the walk back, right after the steel walking bridge, you can take a side trail to go up the Cap towards the apartment so I went left at the break and started uphill.
It was a pretty tiring hike after the long day in the sun, but sweating felt right as I knew a nice, hot shower was waiting when I reached home.
On the right hand side of the cliff there was a fenced in property with grazing goats and I found it bizarre. I never thought about goats on the coast. I always associated them with more rural and mountainous climates. I mean I suppose it was mountainous but also at the beach, so naturally it makes sense? I really didn’t know much about agriculture.
I thought about it for a few hard minutes and realized I was just a little drunk and having a silly train of thought. “Anyway…”
I kept walking and went over the old railroad tracks running along the coast from Cannes to Genova where I sat for a moment’s break and took in the view.
Eventually, it was time and I climbed the rest of the hill, passed the private tennis court and pool for the big apartment complex on the left, through a small neighborhood, passed the Mairie de Roquebrune-Cap-Martin (town hall) and down Avenue Paul Doumer to the flat.
Looking out at the mountains from the terrasse was very peaceful when the sky was clear.
The sky had a fierceness tonight, illuminating everything fantastically in red, orange, yellow and pink.
At that time of year, the mountains had a very calming pale brown color to them where the trees hadn’t been able to cultivate.
You knew it was pale brown and not gray because after the summer months of drought, the rain had come unleashing their true color.
As the sun continued to drop beyond the Alpes-Maritimes, the clouds became more menacing.
That time of year, the weather could come upon you in the blink of an eye.
I quickly sauteed some spinach and made a couple of fried eggs and then poured myself a highball of whiskey and sat on the terrasse.
I ate ravenously and afterward as I enjoyed the whiskey, I watched the storm roll in.
It was really interesting to watch a lightning storm develop and slowly build up over the course of an hour or two. At first you see faint flashes within the clouds, then sparks just at the edges of them, and finally lashes of light from the ground directly to God above.
Later as the rain came down, I thought about how it was giving life to the earth after the dry season. This natural cycle I watched unfold year after year. A cycle as old as time. A process older than humans and sure to outlast them.
L’automne and the rains gave life to an already thriving world.
“I am the rain.” And yet he looked dully down the mountains of his body where the hills fell to an abyss. He felt the driving rain, and heard it whipping down, pattering on the ground. He saw his hills grow dark with moisture.
John Steinbeck To a God Unknown
