It's a heat wave. The weather has turned on me and we now are enjoying 90 degree days with tons of humidity and no breeze. The water of the Mediterranean is still and the tops of the trees outside my window are likewise motionless. The fan I depend on in our room stopped turning, just began to slow and then completely gave out a few days ago and refused to move. So we were forced to move the portable AC unit into our room and we keep nice and cool while we sleep. Denise is not bothered by the heat at all and so when I woke at 2 AM for a drink of water I noticed that every door was shut in the house and Denise was sleeping deeply, covered up in her flannel sheets and several wool blankets. I quickly ran down the hallway and dove into the cool bliss of our room. An added bonus is that the whir of the AC blocks out almost all scooter noises at night from the road. We live along a very busy route between Monaco and Italy with constant traffic coming and going. Even in the small hours of the night, scooters and motor bikes throttle along on their way to where ever but with the cool wind from the AC unit I've named Gus, I am not disturbed from my dreams.
A few nights ago, we had taken Denise for a walk down by the water at dusk. With the setting of the sun, the tourists and locals take to the streets looking for food and entertainment. It was about 8 PM that we found ourselves on the cliff walk listening to the waves crashing along the rocks, sneaking a peak at an outdoor restaurant with tables set right on the rocks and the smell of barbeque wafting up towards us. Once the land begins to cool a heavy scent of wild jasmine fills the air. We have searched for the flowers themselves but can never seem to find them. However, the scent is every where like a mist hanging about your shoulders as you walk at night here. Only at night.
Once we could no longer maneuver Denise's chair in the dark along the sidewalk and around the ancient trees that break through the pavement and hang toward the water, we came home and ate a late late dinner on the rear balcony, watching the lights of Monaco twinkle in the distance. With one candle lit on the table, we sipped wine and listened to Denise tell us stories of the farm she lived in as a child. Of washing clothes over the fire, of reading by kerosene lamps at night. For entertainment, her step-mother played the piano in the evenings. She spoke fondly of the 'modern' house in Marseilles that they moved into after her father sold the farm/vineyard and how she remembers how excited she was by the bathroom with its running hot water. When Dennis would ask something that Denise could not remember she would say to him in her French accent, "I don't remember Denny, I didn't think to write it down". And when we spoke of how different life is now she said, “we did not know what we were missing or what we did not have. We didn’t miss electricity or running hot water or washing machines because we never knew of them. We were happy as we were”. And as she spoke with the soft candle light flickering on her face, with her eyes cast back through to the years of her youth, I could see a glimpse of the young woman she must have been, smiling at her future, living in a simpler time before war came to the country and changed everything.
A few nights ago, we had taken Denise for a walk down by the water at dusk. With the setting of the sun, the tourists and locals take to the streets looking for food and entertainment. It was about 8 PM that we found ourselves on the cliff walk listening to the waves crashing along the rocks, sneaking a peak at an outdoor restaurant with tables set right on the rocks and the smell of barbeque wafting up towards us. Once the land begins to cool a heavy scent of wild jasmine fills the air. We have searched for the flowers themselves but can never seem to find them. However, the scent is every where like a mist hanging about your shoulders as you walk at night here. Only at night.
Once we could no longer maneuver Denise's chair in the dark along the sidewalk and around the ancient trees that break through the pavement and hang toward the water, we came home and ate a late late dinner on the rear balcony, watching the lights of Monaco twinkle in the distance. With one candle lit on the table, we sipped wine and listened to Denise tell us stories of the farm she lived in as a child. Of washing clothes over the fire, of reading by kerosene lamps at night. For entertainment, her step-mother played the piano in the evenings. She spoke fondly of the 'modern' house in Marseilles that they moved into after her father sold the farm/vineyard and how she remembers how excited she was by the bathroom with its running hot water. When Dennis would ask something that Denise could not remember she would say to him in her French accent, "I don't remember Denny, I didn't think to write it down". And when we spoke of how different life is now she said, “we did not know what we were missing or what we did not have. We didn’t miss electricity or running hot water or washing machines because we never knew of them. We were happy as we were”. And as she spoke with the soft candle light flickering on her face, with her eyes cast back through to the years of her youth, I could see a glimpse of the young woman she must have been, smiling at her future, living in a simpler time before war came to the country and changed everything.
