Rarely could I escape the madness of work to enjoy myself those days.
Each reprieve was a reminder of what lived on the other side if our efforts paid off… those days, it didn’t seem likely that would actually happen. To top it off, we were desperately poor.
It was difficult to find anything worth lasting those days.
It wasn’t difficult to meet people, my French was getting a bit better and I had made some friends in Monaco and La Turbie, but hardly anyone worth sticking around for.
Finding someone I wanted to spend my alone time with. Someone that meant more to me than those moments of respite. Someone whose company I prefer to solitude. Someone I need in my life more than myself…
I knew she was elsewhere. Matter of fact, I had a very good idea of where she might be.
Regardless, there was work to be done and I had to be here to do it. I was only a week or so out from leaving the country so every moment aside from work was spent at or on the way to my favorite places along the cote d’azur.
I took the train just over an hour west to sit with my legs crossed in a beach chair and have a chilled rosé on the Plage Keller in Cap D’Antibes. I rolled a cigarette while taking in the scene. I sat staring into the small bay bestrewn with sailboats and swimmers. There were parties happening on some of the boats and people cheered as one had a mock diving show. I only looked down once I felt the cigarette burning the tips of my fingers.
It was not quite dusk yet so I walked along the Cap and found a corner on the shoreline littered with sea glass blunted over time by the salt and sand. A little nook for all different colored glass gems.
I grabbed a handful of the choicest light blue pieces and chose to walk back to the station rather than take a car. The scenic route I took was over 3 miles along the coast and started past some breathtaking homes that lean over the Mediterannean.
They looked like a water droplet just before falling from the edge of a leaf, hardly holding onto the surface below, daring to leap.
Once you round the Eastern end of the Cap on the Boulevard de Bacon, you come across a small beach leading up to the old fortified walls along the coast and beyond that is Vieil Antibes. You could walk the coast along the ramparts looking over the water crashing on the rocks and turn around to the old city underneath you, small yet packed with life.
Most of the streets are only narrow enough for three people astride or a single vespa between trash bins. Rising from either side are small apartment buildings, their clotheslines hanging heavy with towels and bathing suits above the alley. Occasionally, you’d see someone sitting side-saddle on their window sill with a leg hanging out observing the goings on below.
If you turn down the right alley, you’ll find rows of bistros where you can have snails dripping with garlic-butter and pubs with small picnic tables set up so you can enjoy drinks anytime from mid-morning into the wee hours of the night.
It was a magical little city and felt as old as time.
I walked through the Place Nationale and there was a gypsy band playing on the gazebo. I sat on a railing near the middle of the square in the shadows from the surrounding buildings and enjoyed their take on Hey Joe by Jimi Hendrix.
Comme tu dis, la vie
C’est l’métro à six heures
Et chacun pour soi
Mais pour toi Joe
Eventually, I was tired of the rail and I found myself standing. I walked to the nearest bistro and had a lager and some overly salted nuts while standing at the bar. After two beers the barman came over with another bowl of nuts which I shrugged away.
I didn’t want to get too thirsty.
After one more pint, I left some Euros to cover the bill and a tip and stepped outside to head for the train station finally.
I began to roll a cigarette carefully with my back to the wind. In the warmer months, the wind left you alone but when the cold arrived, it became vindictive. It took me four tries to get the lighter to spark.
I slowly made my way out of the Viele as darkness settled on those drinking and eating in the alleys.
“Maybe I’ll hang in town a bit longer and skip dinner tonight…” I thought to myself. Being hungry can be a good thing.
I knew if I got home later than 10, dinner was off the menu. I’d likely get home, pour myself a whiskey on the terrasse with a large ice cube and stand barefoot watching the clouds go by until my glass was dry.
I chose to stay, grabbed a couple pints from the nearest marché and walked up the ramparts to watch the water and clear my head.
As the moon rose, the sea peacefully caressed the jetties below me. The Mediterannean never saw any real waves this far east unless there was a big storm and tonight was bright and clear.
The beer was cold in my hand and as I watched the tide slowly working itself towards me. I felt like a puppeteer, holding the sea’s strings and moving it to and fro as I saw fit. All I needed was a crowd around me to ooh and ahh.
As I sat there watching, I let my thoughts drift away and felt my stomach grumble ever so softly.
Excellent