Many years ago, my wife and I decided to introduce our young daughters to travel, culture, and…all things France! The plan encompassed a week in Paris, with day trips to the jaw-dropping Versailles, Monet’s incredible gardens, Montmartre, The Louvre and the like, with plans for Normandy then Beaune to the South–for a little wine-region research; “Tax purposes.”
As “she” does however, Mother Nature presented a dilemma, oppressing us–and 65 million French–with the greatest heat wave in 100 years, temperatures in the high 90’s and high humidity. Have you ever been in a major metropolitan, 2,000-year-old city, in such inhospitable weather? Not cool.
While the memories we made in Paris will last forever– incredible architecture, the Mona Lisa, ancient streets, French bread that lived up to the hype and our young ones sucking live snails from their shells off a Parisian bistro raw bar platter–-in contrast, no air conditioning, long sweaty lines and the rank smells of the city inspired a pivot. Although I don’t recall the specific catalyst to our “negotiation,”, as the challenging one in our relationship I proposed a change in course to my planner-plotter wife. The conversation, as I recall, went like this;
Me: “If it’s going to be 100 degrees, let’s head to the Mediterranean Sea and be near beaches.
She: “Dude, that’s an 8-hour drive.” (She probably did not actually say “Dude.”)
Me: I’ll rent a car, make beds in the back seat, you all will awaken by the sea!”
She: “I’ll find us a place to stay.”
As Burgundy was along our sojourn, we brought the girls to an ancient wine cave at Pommard, before completing the next night’s excursion–ultimately landing at an inland hotel with a glorious pool set against mountains. With no agenda, we frolicked the morning away! Our new course was set to explore beaches along the Southern coast; beginning with the (clothes optional) at St. Tropez (who knew!) then to Cannes, Nice and all the way to Monte Carlo, just shy of the Italian border. Many hours later, with the sun and our own energy waning, as hot and “hangry” weary travelers, we serendipitously stumbled into an oasis; the port-side town of Antibes on our way back to the hotel. Food awaits!
We ascended along winding cobblestoned streets into town and while viewing a menu displayed in front of a small gleaming white restaurant, one of us exclaimed, “How about this one?” Tres magnifique!
With a premier people-watching perch outside, strolling musicians serenaded us–so very French. The gregarious owner lavished us with attention the entire visit, regaling us with stories, and a complimentary bottle of wine.
My eldest daughter and I ordered the bouillabaisse-for-two–much to his delight! As a vintage and dented pot was placed on a burner in the center of the table, a roiling and aromatic broth begged us to ladle the soup over the assorted seafood placed in our bowls. He next demonstrated how to use the small cocktail fork, to stab the whole clove of raw garlic and grate it against a piece of crusty-crostini, before spreading on a saffron-garlic aioli, before then dunking it into the glorious broth.…a pinnacle of dining theater. Tres chouette!
As our evening progressed, we learned that our host was originally from Spain and his wife-partner from France–and that each year during the Winter months they shut down the restaurant and he returns to Spain. We inquired with surprise; “You separate for six months?” “Yes!” he explained joyously; “And we are then so happy to see each other again!” “Joie de vivre” we toasted! As he continued to pour our wine, we reviled in the soft light of sunset and amorous chords of accordion music.
To this day I wonder how much of that sublime soup was
consumed by the whole of the affair; travel improvisation, the mysteries of a
foreign land, hospitality personified, sand and sea and most of all, the
sun-kissed faces of my beautiful family! Whatever the answer, I dream of
returning; Vive la France!
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