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Published: August 7th 2012
I couldn’t stop myself watching the clock, I would do my best to force my eyes away and concentrate on which ever piece of work that was failing hopelessly behind, after what would feel like an eternity I would allow my eyes to flick back to the digital numbers. Each time my shoulders would sag, only 2 minutes? And 2 minutes was as good as it got.
This is how time felt for 6 weeks leading up to my fantasy vacation. You know the one. Where the gentleman takes you to a romantic location, wine and dines you, strolling hand in hand, sharing soft kisses, wearing sun dresses with floppy hats, being THAT couple that everyone envies as you swap ice-cream, laugh at each other’s jokes and feel so obliterating happy they barely notice anyone else, you know the one, the fantasy that became my reality.
We touched down in Nice which lazed across the southern coast line, cliffs sheltered the city from the rest of the world. The sidewalks twisted and twined throughout the old city, adorned with coble stoned paths and side walk cafes it was easy to lose yourself in the magic of such a romantic
atmosphere, and indeed each other.
We spent 3 incredible days wandering the backstreets, taking pictures and lounging in the sun. We wandered up a path to view a well deserved 180 degree view over the city, a busker sat nearby and played guitar, gently plucking at the strings allowing additional senses to be filled with beauty, when Matthews arms wrapped around my waist this was about to be the most romantic moment of my life, that is until a typical French woman ignored the no dog sign and allowed her yapping mutts to drown out the music. We looked on in amusement at the musician argued with the woman and then stalked off in obvious defeat.
The French are interesting people; they carry themselves strongly and act with such superiority, then quickly flip and show such love and tenderness towards one another.
We spent a day wandering around Monaco standing in awe at the gigantic super yachts. Matthew was convinced we could walk to the Italian border, seeing as he had not been to Italy before I was happy to agree to the adventure, we figured if we stuck to the coast line we should essentially cross
right over the border – even if this was the long way. The sun beat down and the tourists thinned out, eventually we were on our own and lost in the back laneways of the many private beach resorts. My feet were tired but I could not resist the excitement of walking across three countries so we pursued. It is safe to predict that our mission was a failure, you cannot walk to Italy from Monaco, because Monaco borders only France, bless.
I could not help stealing sneaky side glances at Matthew at every opportunity, I was overwhelmed with emotion and used every excuse possible to reach out and touch him, to make sure he was real and that we were really in France. This perhaps sounds foolish, but I don’t have to words to truly express how I felt thorough out the entire journey.
We left Nice and headed to Arles, Matthew drove as I stretched my legs across the dashboard and read out load from my novel. We stopped along the way to take pictures and visit a winery. Spending 9 days back to back with someone you learn new things about each other each day,
on this day, I learnt that Matthew is a nervous driver. I had to stifle my laughter more than once as cars would pile up behind while he waited for a ‘safe gap’ to pull into traffic, or when he drove the wrong way up a one way street, or perhaps was the cause of French road rage as he did his miserable best to navigate multiple lane roundabouts, which after the third it was impossible to hide my giggles.
We arrived in Arles (after 15 roundabouts and just as many curses), the first impression was not the greatest. Along our street sat suspicious looking older men smoking cigarettes, our hotel was a far cry from the luxury in Nice which mattered not to me – as a backpacker I found the hotel a generous step up, however Matthew was mortified when he saw the tapestry decorations and mustard yellow walls, his face alone as he inspected the bathroom with his southern accent groaning ‘oh no’s’ will forever be engrained in my memory, even as I write this I can’t help but smile.
As we wandered into the back streets we were swept away with the beauty of
Arles, I could imagine Vincent Van Gough sitting with his easel, painting the scenes before my very eyes. We stopped along 2 locations where he had sat, I tried to imagine myself in the 1880’s and wondered how the world would have looked, this was easy to imagine as Arles seemed undeveloped and copies of the famous artist’s impressions where strikingly accurate, even though more than a century had passed.
Sitting on the wall looking across the river as we drank wine from paper cups, the moment could not have been more perfect.
Venturing on to St Remy, which was hosting a performing arts festival, every turn of the corner boasted additional characters persuading those who passed to see their show, the result was a rich vibrant city full of colour and noise. Sitting at a side walk cafe as comedians played the accordion and gave viewers a sneak into their performance, I was memorised. St Remy is surrounded 3 quarters by a high stone wall and river, and was one of my favourite towns to day visit. The atmosphere was contagious and I could not resist spinning myself under Matthews arm.
It was in St Remy,
standing on a fallen bridge that I realised I myself had fallen.
The entire week was glorious moment after glorious moment. On our final village visit I tried Steak Tartar; I am not a vegetarian but my meat intake is limited to fish once or twice a week, the raw mince and egg look exciting and tasted delicious, who would have imagined such flavours! Every time we sat to eat we were stunned with the presentation, atmosphere and melting flavours. The French did not disappoint once with their food, from simple goats cheese on toast drizzled with honey, Foie gras served on top of toasted peaches, Rabbit stew, Roast duck, Escargots bathed in garlic butter, Pizza delicately topped with cream and fresh eggs, everything, and I mean EVERYTHING was a delight for all of the senses. I salivate at the mere thought of the gastronomy spoiling I received.
I could gush for hours on end, reliving the beautiful sights, the fabulous weather, the incredible food... but in the end, it all came down to the company. Who you choose to surround yourself is the real key to happiness. I have travelled to a fair amount of destinations, on
my own, and with many different companions. The value you have on these people is what changes an extraordinary adventure to a life changing epiphany, perhaps I am sounding extreme, but I honestly believe this. My last two trips have been clear indications. Greece taught me to love myself surrounded by the incredible support of those who I hold dear to me. France taught me to love someone else.
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Virginia Wemyss
non-member comment
France
Yep, you're a gonna!! How fantastic for you both. Enjoy! I do so relish your stories