Provence, the Luberon Valley
My first visit to France, invited by Australian friends Joy and Stephen (who live in Bali)...
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| From our $400/week apartment overlooking Gordes and the valley |
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| Dining with a view on our terrace - Salad Nicoise and Rose were our staples |
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| Watching French film Jean de Floret set in Provence |
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| Gordes |
We spent a day in the Sault Valley, walking the country roads, picnicking, meditating and napping among the lavender fields that hummed with bees and butterflies.
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| Tapenades, ratatouille, tzaziki, herbed goat cheese, quail eggs and a variety of other delights at a lunch out |
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| Ice cream at Bonnieux |
Nice
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| Our street, off of Rosetti Square |
Our drive from the Luberon Valley took us through the rocky dramatic Gorges du Verdon to Nice on the French Riviera.
Each day, we took a bus to the beach to swim in the crystal clear Mediterranean, warm and very salty.
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| From a series based upon Nice |
One afternoon in Nice,I took the bus to the Musee Marc Chagall. When I saw the his work, I was mesmerized. Since the museum was not crowded, I could sit back away from the art and gaze for as long as I liked, and I could get up and go very close and see the brush strokes,texture, and layers and complexity of the colors. The work was more vivid and powerful than I could have imagined.
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| Happy Bastille Day, France! Fireworks over the sea in Nice. |
Paris
When I first caught sight of the Eiffel Tower from the plane arriving from Nice,I felt a wave of emotion. Paris. Finally.
On Saturday morning I got up early and took the metro to Monmarte, my grandfather's neighborhood. I got off at Rue Marcadet and walked, thinking about how these streets looked 100 years ago when he was a little boy having been born and growing up here. I first arrived at the park where I knew he had played, and next to it was the old stone building where he had lived. 227 Rue Marcadet. I touched the door and shed a few tears.
When I left Rue Marcadet, I walked up the hill to the famous Sacre Couer. I entered the doorway on the side and wound up the stone stairs, hearing the labored breath of others making the climb with me. The top yielded a stunning view of all of Paris.
I thought of my grandfather's feet touching these same steps when he was a boy. 
I found myself wishing that I had come to Paris while my grandfather was still alive so that I could learn more about it and marvel with him about the country he left behind.
I found myself missing him, and maybe understanding him (and us) more, I could see why we had caviar and champagne on holidays, and how we came to love the arts and carry a bit of artistic ability, and smiled to think that we all have strong opinions (and strength, in general). I wished I had taken the opportunity to learn his beautiful language. I liked that I "passed" for French. I missed him.
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Notre Dame
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| The most delicious thing I have ever tasted. |
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And a word about the French. In my 12 days in France, I found them to be sweet and helpful. 100%.
Bon nuit. Au revoir.
I found myself wishing that I had come to Paris while my grandfather was still alive so that I could learn more about it and marvel with him about the country he left behind. 
