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Showing posts with label walking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label walking. Show all posts
Monday, March 26, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Back outside for a walk
The weather here in Roquebrune was thawed and the sun is beckoning. So with my nifty orthopedic inserts tucked into my sneakers, my Ipod on and Anna along, I head out to walk the Cap.
Its been weeks since I took this walk, down the 1 million steps to the cliff edge of France and then around and up and over and through the rocks that embrace the sea.
I was sweating within minutes, naturally. Anna wanted to stop at every tree, fence, flower and spot of dirt. We had to weave through the Italians grouped around each corner, wearing coats and hats and scarves..and heels, discussing the scenery and where to have dinner. The men mixing concrete and patching holes left from the winter erosion. The smell of flowers hung in the cool afternoon air and the waves splashed merrily against the cliffs. I wanted to jump in and swim.
It felt like spring, although Dennis assured me that true spring is several weeks away. My blood was singing and my feet were spry, so much so that I ran ...yes, ran up every staircase we encountered (and there are many).
But by the time the 45 minute walk was over and we had reached the street, I was very tempted to call for a ride home. After resting on a bench and bathing a little longer in the setting sun over Monaco, Anna and I began the climb uphill toward home. It was an uphill climb all the way, ending in 4 flights of stairs to our apt. It nearly killed me in my present bread and cheese drowned body (see the previous blog entry) but I am still alive and ready to do it all again.
Its been weeks since I took this walk, down the 1 million steps to the cliff edge of France and then around and up and over and through the rocks that embrace the sea.
I was sweating within minutes, naturally. Anna wanted to stop at every tree, fence, flower and spot of dirt. We had to weave through the Italians grouped around each corner, wearing coats and hats and scarves..and heels, discussing the scenery and where to have dinner. The men mixing concrete and patching holes left from the winter erosion. The smell of flowers hung in the cool afternoon air and the waves splashed merrily against the cliffs. I wanted to jump in and swim.
It felt like spring, although Dennis assured me that true spring is several weeks away. My blood was singing and my feet were spry, so much so that I ran ...yes, ran up every staircase we encountered (and there are many).
But by the time the 45 minute walk was over and we had reached the street, I was very tempted to call for a ride home. After resting on a bench and bathing a little longer in the setting sun over Monaco, Anna and I began the climb uphill toward home. It was an uphill climb all the way, ending in 4 flights of stairs to our apt. It nearly killed me in my present bread and cheese drowned body (see the previous blog entry) but I am still alive and ready to do it all again.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Earl Grey
I walk Anna every morning down our street, across the road and down towards the olive tree garden. Sometimes I deviate and we go down the stairs toward the sea. We have a pattern, a rhythm that we follow every morning. Along our way we meet different people and their dogs, some who ignore us and some who lung and bark at Anna (the dogs lung, the people look the other way for the most part). I assume they are barking at Anna. Maybe its really me.
A few days ago I noticed something different. Several feet down the road, along a property that is edged in shrubbery too high to see over and too thick to see through, a scent that could only be described as Earl Grey tea wafted into my senses. I thought the first time I smelled it that I must be imagining it, since I drink Earl Grey every morning and my nose must just be impatient to get home. But day after day since then I have smelled it. Gently lingering at one spot along the shrubbery and then take a few steps and its gone. Like the perfume of an exotic flower just beyond my gaze. Oddly enough, its winter here and nothing is flowering. The evergreens are all that is left of the foliage and spring has not sprung yet. Strange. I like to think someone is sitting just behind those bushes, at a table set for tea with two china cups and saucers painted in a delicate floral design with pink petals. Cucumber sandwiches cut into squares with no crust, scones and biscuits with soft butter and preserves. The tea is steeping in the matching tea pot complete with cozy and all I need to do is cut through the greenery and sit at my spot. And there are spoons, naturally.
This reminds me of the honeysuckle in North Province RI. I would walk Anna around the neighborhood where we lived and there was one spot, down a side street, where you would be walking and suddenly the sweet smell of honeysuckle would flood over you. I spent so much time looking for the actual plant but I could never locate where the smell was coming from. Like a fool, I would turn this way and that, sniffing the air like a hound trying to find the trail of a fox. A few steps beyond and the cloud would vanish. The invisible honeysuckle cloud. And here we have the invisible Earl Grey tea cloud.
A few days ago I noticed something different. Several feet down the road, along a property that is edged in shrubbery too high to see over and too thick to see through, a scent that could only be described as Earl Grey tea wafted into my senses. I thought the first time I smelled it that I must be imagining it, since I drink Earl Grey every morning and my nose must just be impatient to get home. But day after day since then I have smelled it. Gently lingering at one spot along the shrubbery and then take a few steps and its gone. Like the perfume of an exotic flower just beyond my gaze. Oddly enough, its winter here and nothing is flowering. The evergreens are all that is left of the foliage and spring has not sprung yet. Strange. I like to think someone is sitting just behind those bushes, at a table set for tea with two china cups and saucers painted in a delicate floral design with pink petals. Cucumber sandwiches cut into squares with no crust, scones and biscuits with soft butter and preserves. The tea is steeping in the matching tea pot complete with cozy and all I need to do is cut through the greenery and sit at my spot. And there are spoons, naturally.
This reminds me of the honeysuckle in North Province RI. I would walk Anna around the neighborhood where we lived and there was one spot, down a side street, where you would be walking and suddenly the sweet smell of honeysuckle would flood over you. I spent so much time looking for the actual plant but I could never locate where the smell was coming from. Like a fool, I would turn this way and that, sniffing the air like a hound trying to find the trail of a fox. A few steps beyond and the cloud would vanish. The invisible honeysuckle cloud. And here we have the invisible Earl Grey tea cloud.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Anna
Things are settling into a routine here...pretty much. Anna seems to be adjusting well to her new life in a foreign country. As far as I can tell, she doesn't seemed fazed. Although she misses my family, I can tell. She gets these far off looks and I know she is thinking about my mother and laying in the middle of the floor while Jane tried to walk, clean and cook around her. Funny thing is that I like to lay in the middle of the floor too. I guess Anna gets that from me.
Once I get out of bed in the morning (and this is not at an early hour, keep in mind) Dennis and Denise are already at breakfast and Anna is all "I wanna go out! I gotta go now!!!"..following me closely, bumping into the backs of my knees with her nose...herding me toward the door. So I dress and drag my feet out the door and down the street. We pass the local grocery store with the homeless man sitting out front, who always speaks to us but I have no idea if he is saying "have a lovely morning beautiful lady" or more like "can't you spare a euro? I'm starving to death, you fat American pig"...so I smile at him and keep walking. Past the butcher shop, across the street to a grass patch for Anna to do her deed in. When she is through with that first step we continue on toward the olive tree garden. The street is quiet and we usually pass a few other dogs. One morning a tall and elegantly dressed woman, in dark sunglasses and 5 inch heels was walking what looked like two rats on long long leashes appeared from a driveway. There was a flurry of French and barking from the rats and the woman....Anna stared and I kept going. Anna kept turning around to stare. She turned around so much that she walked into a tree, a car, a garbage can and finally she walked right into me, causing us both to trip and end up in a tangle. Anna likes to turn around and stare while still walking. Not good for me before I've actually woken up.
Sometimes we pass dogs unleashed, which is always an adventure...barking..jumping and lots of disgusted French comments. I can't understand the words but I know what the people are saying. I've said it all myself.
Now as we approach the area where dogs are allowed, just around the edges of the fenced in garden of 500 year old olive trees...I need to pause and add this side bit. Anna and grass. If you know Anna, you know that she cannot be responsible for her actions when she is around grass. The girl is ridiculous. Rolling like a fool in any spot of the green. She is like a grass addict. Well, grass is not too easy to come by here in the South of France. Most places Anna can be have been visited by tons of other dogs and the grass is long gone. But Anna has turned to more exotic flora and fauna. Still in the grass family, don't get me wrong. She has discovered Ornamental Grass. The six foot high kind with those fuzzy brown seed things on top. And she manages to roll into it.. vertically. Like a big tumbleweed. So there I am, on any given morning....speaking in hushed angry tones to my dog as she rolls vertically with abandon into this huge bush of ornamental grass. The grass has been slowly browning and falling over on the ends because its winter here, so after a few moments, Anna is completely invisible and all you could see if you were to walk by is a crazy American woman, talking in angry tones at a quivering bush of six foot tall grass, that she appears to have tied a red leash to. Thanks Anna, for disappearing and leaving me here to look like a fool, a fool shouting at ornamental grass.
Once I get out of bed in the morning (and this is not at an early hour, keep in mind) Dennis and Denise are already at breakfast and Anna is all "I wanna go out! I gotta go now!!!"..following me closely, bumping into the backs of my knees with her nose...herding me toward the door. So I dress and drag my feet out the door and down the street. We pass the local grocery store with the homeless man sitting out front, who always speaks to us but I have no idea if he is saying "have a lovely morning beautiful lady" or more like "can't you spare a euro? I'm starving to death, you fat American pig"...so I smile at him and keep walking. Past the butcher shop, across the street to a grass patch for Anna to do her deed in. When she is through with that first step we continue on toward the olive tree garden. The street is quiet and we usually pass a few other dogs. One morning a tall and elegantly dressed woman, in dark sunglasses and 5 inch heels was walking what looked like two rats on long long leashes appeared from a driveway. There was a flurry of French and barking from the rats and the woman....Anna stared and I kept going. Anna kept turning around to stare. She turned around so much that she walked into a tree, a car, a garbage can and finally she walked right into me, causing us both to trip and end up in a tangle. Anna likes to turn around and stare while still walking. Not good for me before I've actually woken up.
Sometimes we pass dogs unleashed, which is always an adventure...barking..jumping and lots of disgusted French comments. I can't understand the words but I know what the people are saying. I've said it all myself.
Now as we approach the area where dogs are allowed, just around the edges of the fenced in garden of 500 year old olive trees...I need to pause and add this side bit. Anna and grass. If you know Anna, you know that she cannot be responsible for her actions when she is around grass. The girl is ridiculous. Rolling like a fool in any spot of the green. She is like a grass addict. Well, grass is not too easy to come by here in the South of France. Most places Anna can be have been visited by tons of other dogs and the grass is long gone. But Anna has turned to more exotic flora and fauna. Still in the grass family, don't get me wrong. She has discovered Ornamental Grass. The six foot high kind with those fuzzy brown seed things on top. And she manages to roll into it.. vertically. Like a big tumbleweed. So there I am, on any given morning....speaking in hushed angry tones to my dog as she rolls vertically with abandon into this huge bush of ornamental grass. The grass has been slowly browning and falling over on the ends because its winter here, so after a few moments, Anna is completely invisible and all you could see if you were to walk by is a crazy American woman, talking in angry tones at a quivering bush of six foot tall grass, that she appears to have tied a red leash to. Thanks Anna, for disappearing and leaving me here to look like a fool, a fool shouting at ornamental grass.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Heat Wave
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.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Ready, set...go
So here it is, the winding down of my trip to France. I have so many stories stored inside my tiny hummingbird brain, I thought this may be a good way to let some of them out. I hope I make you laugh in this effort. That is my only goal here.
Since I'm late in starting this, I don't think a daily diary method will be all that interesting to read so I will just
let my thoughts unfold and hopefully it makes for some interesting reading.
We have had a merciless heat wave in the first few weeks of our visit here to Roquebrune Cap Martin, France. The kind of heat that makes locusts cry. So today is a heavenly 70 degrees with minimal humidity and cloud cover. This is why I agreed to return to Death Mountain with Dennis. In
our first week here he took me walking
up to visit The Chateau. He assured me that it was a mere 30 minute walk, that took one gradually uphill......
Lies, all lies.
It was 100 degrees, 100% humid and full high noon sun. Thus returning to Death Mountain was not even making the top 50 of my list for the rest of our visit here. However, I fell in love with a tiny handcrafted
baby owl in a ceramics shop and Dennis and I had no cash on our first death march to the summit. So return we must. Of course, my new husband assured me that we would return in a car. Lies, all lies.
Today dawned cool and cloudy so my prince turned to me and said, "want to go buy that owl?" And I fell for it.... Oh yes I did. So climb we did and I have to say, knowing what was going to happen did make it easier. I didn't bring a potato or shovel and I survived to tell the tale. It really is lovely there, with a thousand year old olive tree and views of the entire beautiful area coastline.
Such an amazing view.
After locating said owl and having it wrapped by the designer himself, we wandered out, up and through the tiny streets and staircases that go in every which direction.
Every way you turn there is a set of stone steps going up or down, a shop to discover, a random cat that needs some attention and a beautiful view to drink in.
This time we stopped at a tiny restaurant nestled along those stone streets and steps, had a glass of white wine and shared some wonderful crustless quiche. Poor Dennis, I think I ate more than my share. I can't be serious around good food.
Then we climbed back down the mountainside. Not a bad morning after all.
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