Nesting

Breakfast this morning was a double espresso and a chocolate croissant.

Dinner tonight will be a hunk of aged cheese, a bar of dark chocolate, and a bottle of red wine.

Why? Because I am in France.

I often ask myself why we pick up certain habits and do certain things while traveling that we would never, ever do at home. I can buy cheese, chocolate, croissants, crusty baguettes and red wine on any corner at any shop in New York City. But I don’t. When in New York, when at home, these foods are eaten rarely and sparingly, and are always served up with a huge helping of guilt - and a silent vow to work off the calories first thing the next morning with a long run in the park. But here in France, it feels perfectly normal and natural to drink a bottle of wine and eat half of a baguette drenched in olive oil with (or, more likely, as) the afternoon meal. It’s rather liberating to eat this way and not care too much. Of course, my American brain makes sure a little bit of guilt gets mixed into all this indulgence. But I will be sure to work it off with a long run first thing tomorrow morning...

I was feeling rather ansy tonight, so I went out for a walk down to the promenade. The winds began to pick up as I got closer to the water, and suddenly they were blowing ferociously over the sea. By the time I reached the now-crashing waves of the Mediterranean, it seemed as though a mini-hurricane might be on its way to town. Only a handful of brave souls were still out, all others having run for the welcome cover of a nearby brasserie. My hair lost all self-control and was blowing in every direction, and I felt something like Dorothy right around the time she departed for Munchkin-land. Trash began to stir, signs blew over, but I kept walking. With my face in the wind I felt awake and alive. There was no one else around, and for a moment it seemed as though the entire promenade was all mine. Were it not for the bits of sand blowing into my eyeballs and scratching up my contact lenses, I probably would have stayed out there longer.

Truth be told, tonight’s stroll into town was a rarity. I am nesting here in Cannes, quite a bit. When classes end, I stroll aimlessly up and down Rue d’Antibes, the main (only?) shopping drag in town, and I wander in and out of the same stores I have wandered into and out of many, many times this week. I look at the same clothes and shoes I have already looked at, try on a few new things, and wander back out onto la rue having bought nothing. There is no room in my over-stuffed suitcase anyway. I head down the same path back to the apartment - sometimes changing up the route just enough to keep things interesting - eat a belated lunch, fire up my laptop, then waste the evening away listening to NPR, writing, and chatting with friends online - a glass of vin rouge forever by my side. Maybe I should be going out, meeting new people, and parlez-vous-ing francais, but I am not at all interested in discovering the party scene here in Cannes. What I have seen thus far of it does not appeal to me at all, at least not now while there is no festival or major event going on. I don’t really know any people here to socialize with anyway, and for whatever reason I am not in the mood to sit at a bar alone, chatting with strangers and getting harassed by drunk tourists and businessmen (although, normally I would welcome such attention…).

It may all sound dismal and dull, but I am perfectly content. This apartment I have generously been granted access to is calm and serene. I can sit in the living room, feel to the cool winds (sans sand) blowing through the glass doors to the balcony, and just be. No one to see, nowhere to go. Just me, my laptop, my wine, and the steady buzz of NPR keeping me connected to home. It all feels kind of nice.

And anyway, I am saving all my social energy, cash, and sitting in cafes alone-time for my upcoming rendez-vous with Paris. Wouldn’t you?

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