[One in a series of catch up notes. I’ve not been able to find connection anywhere that didn’t involve being locked in a room with a pregnant crying dachshund. More on that later]
I left St. Paul this morning (written Saturday, April 23. Happy birthday Mom) and it was bittersweet. A new crop of people arrived at the villa the day before and they were wonderful, but it felt like a good time to turn the page. As was my impression from the first day, the entire experience was perfect. It didn’t feel at all like I was traveling alone as the owners, Ann and John, as well as the other guests, Sarah, Jim and their daughter Lilly and Jim’s parents Jules and Dorothy took me under their wing and made me one of them. I loved hearing Jules’ and Dorothy’s stories of working and raising a family in New York – from childhood to the post-war years to the present; about Sarah and Jim’s extensive travels and love and experiences with great art; Lilly’s many pursuits – learning French, studying the violin, taking riding lessons and Anne and Jim’s pending plans for summer travel to Scotland and Malta. All were just as interested in me as I was in them and we passed wonderful hours over the week chatting. Sarah, Lilly, and I spent a grand morning on my terrace practicing yoga with Baron on the iPod. Yoga drishti is much easier when your gaze point is a sailboat far away atop the Mediterranean. Most dinners were spent at the Vieux Roulin where Madam also took me under her wing and by the third night I was a regular with my habit of taking my coffee on the terrace well understood. Madam would come out to make sure I wasn’t cold and to admire the moon and the quiet and beauty of the village. I know it is very different in July and August and I’m thankful that I experienced it before it was overrun by the hoards. One very memorable dinner was spent with Ann and Jim in their kitchen. I’d decided that I really didn’t want to go anywhere when the phone in my room rang and it was Ann asking if I’d like to join them for a simple dinner John had prepared. It was a chicken and turkey tart with a light crispy crust and was served with a Provencal rose, a wine I’d never thought I’d drink and now I rarely drink anything else with my meals. The conversation was light but meaningful turning equally from politics to work to travel. When traveling alone, eating a family meal with two people who you would enjoy no matter the circumstance is a gift.
Even the changing of the guard (as I think of the arrival of the new guests) was a treat; two more lovely sets of people with which to share stories and revelry. And I was happy to have their presence at my farewell gesture, where John taught me to open a bottle of champagne with a saber. When I say open, it doesn’t mean pulling the cork off, it means taking the entire top off. I have the glass bound cork to prove it. The history comes from the Napoleonic wars where the generals would celebrate a victory by using their sabers to open whatever champagne the pillaged or ported. It’s a unique feeling, one I had no idea existed and one I’m very glad I have in my cadre of experiences. If you’re wondering, the action doesn’t require strength, though I imagine it requires leverage even if it doesn’t feel like that either. It feels a bit like magic as the saber passes over the top of the bottle and the entire head goes flying into the swimming pool below.
During my time in St. Paul, I didn’t do much, though I accomplished what I wanted: finished a day of paperwork that was hanging over my head, seeing the collection at the Fondation, wandering around the old town, doing some laundry, getting my belongings reorganized, and napping at will. Those of you who can’t or won’t nap, I am sorry for you. It is a luxury accessible by anyone with a little extra time and the desire to step out for a moment. The copious amount of time I have here is beyond luxury for which I will be forever grateful. Thank you Macromedia and especially to whomever it was who thought it important enough that people of our ilk get the chance to step out for a moment and made it so.
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