Bonjour Madame

Today I put on my short khaki skirt that I wore all summer long in Ocean City.  I packed for fall weather and it’s been hot and sunny here.  Way too hot for my jeans and all the long sleeve shirts I brought.  So my summer wardrobe is a bit limited.  I added a nice little tank top to the khaki skirt, thought I looked cute and went out to enjoy another beautiful day in this charming town. 

I stopped in the boulangerie (bakery) near my place and got a raisin biscuit for breakfast.  Take a look at this adorable place!   And it had the warm smell of freshly-baked bread.  The biscuit was wonderful!  I vowed to come back for a baguette the next day. 

Then as I was walking around, suddenly I realized how frumpy I looked compared to everyone else!  I saw hundreds of people throughout the day and NOT ONE other person was wearing a short khaki skirt.  Everyone else looked either flowing, in long, airy skirts that fluttered in the breeze when they walked, or spunky, like the girl in the short shorts whose cheeks of her round, firm butt showed when she took a step.  She had beautiful, thin legs up to my neck, those crazy short shorts and pointed shoes with no back and a tiny heel.  Quite the package.  I couldn’t stop staring at her, but that’s another thing I’ve found odd here.  I’ve seen some spectacular women here- just absolutely stunning in their beauty and dress.  And back in the states the women would’ve turned heads.  Lots of people would’ve stared at them.  They’re remarkable- they’re stand-outs!  But here, no one seems to be impressed.  These fabulous women walk by and I’m the only person who appears to be wide-eyed!  What’s that all about?  How could they not be noticed?  No comments, no cat-calls, no mumbling when they walk by…. Just everyday normal and no ripple of reaction in the crowd.  Anyway, I decided to ditch the khaki skirt, even if it only leaves me with three other bottoms to wear during this hot weather. 

And… still can’t wait to see the clothing market.  It’s supposed to be really good.  I wouldn’t know because it turns out they only have it on Thursday mornings.  I looked all over yesterday for it, in the streets where it was supposed to be set up, but saw only a few areas of antiques and flea market stands.  I was out last Thursday looking for it, but was apparently too late and by the late afternoon all the stands had folded up and left.   Now my anticipation is really building. 

I’ve wanted to see Juan Les Pins, which is only about a mile and a half or so from here.  It’s supposed to be a vibrant, energetic little town with nice beaches on the other side of the peninsula.  Normally I would walk, but sometimes those “about a mile” things turn out to feel like a day-long hike.  Remember, the “4 or 5 blocks” to get from the train station to my apartment?  And besides that, I’ve been having these weird chest pains since I’ve gotten to France.  I’ve had them before over the last couple years, and had them checked out and nothing serious was found.  But I also recently got a blood test showing that my triglycerides were off the chart coupled with a not so good cholesterol level.  So now chest pains seem to alert me more than before. 

With all of this going on, and wanting to see Juan Les Pins, I reduced myself to taking “The Petite Train”  tour train through the streets of Antibes, through the port and over to Juan Les Pins.  Roundtrip with the availability to get off for as long as you like (it makes the trip every hour) for 7 Euros ($10.50).  How embarrassing.  I- wanting to appear so French- riding in the little car of The Petite Train in my frumpy khaki skirt.    

Juan Les Pins IS fun!  I was there around 6 pm and it was hopping!  Lively restaurants and busy shops crowded into maybe a 3 or 4 square block area.  And their beach was lined with many waterfront casual restaurants with tables in the sand.  It felt like a fun mix of Mexico’s playful Playa del Carmen and Florida’s cosmopolitan South Beach. Jlp beach restaurant What an area!  They actually rake their sand so that it appears groomed.  All the restaurants had this look- almost like the lined sand was their floor but running right out to the water.   And there were sofas and chairs on parts of the beach! 

I stopped by a busy little shop selling Grand Marnier crepes and ordered a sucre avec buerre best crepe .  They handed it to me folded in its own little pie-shaped container with special little tongs for eating!  YUM!  I think this was the best crepe I have ever had!  It had a touch of the Grand Marnier in it to just give it a hint of an added flavor.  And each side was grilled to perfection!  Absolutely delicious!

The promenade along the water had outside candy stands maybe ten feet long selling all different kinds of candy.  There were two of those within one block.  It looked so cute and fun I wanted to buy something but didn’t want to ruin my dinner, especially after downing the crepe.    I chose one piece of candy, a nougat with nuts, sort of like the Mary Sue pecan Easter egg we have in the states.  I asked for a bag since I wasn’t going to be eating it in one pop.  This caused a little disgust and a tone of voice that even though I couldn’t understand the words, I knew meant she didn’t want to waste a bag on one piece of candy.  Come on… it’s only one little pink and white striped paper bag.  Get a life.  Although the bag really was cute.  The shop owners appear nice until you ask them to step out of their normal routine.  But I got my bag and put the rest of my nougat in there.  After a few steps however, I realized how good the candy was!  I nibbled some more and before long the whole nougat was gone.  I crumpled up my little, pink striped bag that had had a useful life span of less than 5 minutes and tossed it in the trash.  And then got back on The Petite Train to head home. 

Back to my little flat within the walls of the fort.  I like it so much.  Often when I get home for the evening, I walk to the water to take a look at the sea before going in for the night.  Here is a special little video I made starting at my door, going by my window with the old shutters and heavy locks, around the corner to a view of the sea. This was shot at 8:30 pm- it’s still fairly light here at that time.

 Finally!  My petite dejeneau (breakfast at 2pm) of a crepe avec sucre and le beurre (with sugar and butter)!

I awoke at 11:20 this morning- I just can’t seem to get on this time schedule and I am awake for hours during the night.  But I use that time to do the reading and writing that I want to do so the time passes quickly.  I left my apartment to find another perfect day!  Warm, sunny and bright blue skies.  The skies here are the bluest I have ever seen.  It has to have something to do with that sunlight that the famous French artists recognized.  I walked from my little street around the corner to another little street, all lined with tiny, beautiful homes of so much old character, to one of the main streets of the town, and into the Provencial Market.  It was buzzing with a flurry of activity!  Stalls filled with all sorts of interesting food and ingredients!  The first stall had at least 20 different types of olives and olive spreads.  They offered me some olive spread on a cracker, but I just couldn’t stomach it when my taste buds were waiting for some sort of a pastry.  And then fruits, vegetables, a table of 30 different olive oils.  A stall of homemade soaps and then one with perfumes.  Everything so French!  And then five stall tables together making 20 feet of all spices!  Bowls and bowls of spices, sold by the gram.  You could just scoop into a bag as much as you needed.  It made me want to cook, but I’m still in the eating out mood.  There are just too many cute places to try.  I ended up buying some cherries, which it turned out came from a box marked “Canadian cherries”.   But they looked better than any cherries I’ve ever seen in the states.  All big, fat and the perfect red color.  As well as they should have been.   A little bag of the cherries turned out to cost over $6.00! 

I left the market in search of my first French crepe of the trip.  The best thing about France- their cafes!  And Antibes has to be the best of the best.  This place is filled with possibly a hundred adorable, thick stone-walled, little cafes sprinkled amongst sweet little gift shops.  Streets and streets of these places, and around every corner.  I can’t help but smiling as I walk the streets and feeling so French! 

This morning, well, actually around 2pm, I found the best of everything!  A crepe place right next door to the Lebanese restaurant that has the free Wi-Fi, which meant that I could check my email and send text messages through Skype while I ate my crepe and drank my café Americana!   By the way, what in the world IS that café Americana?  I carry along a water bottle and fill the little coffee cup to the brim with water to make it drinkable.  It’s way too strong!   I also add as many cubes of sugar that they give me- usually eight- to help get the bite out of it.  But the crepe… yum!!!  The only thing it needed was a little salt.  Which really surprised the garcon (waiter).  He saw me get up and get a salt shaker and before I used it he quickly said something in french which must have meant, “stop, stop- you’re getting ready to put salt on your crepe, you foolish American!”  But he doesn’t realize that in the US we have salted butter which tastes much better than unsalted butter.  And so with a little salt, my crepe was perfect! 

I walked out of Old Town today and into regular Antibes to find a gym.  What a difference!  The roads were wider, the cars whizzed all around and even the people moved faster.  And things had a modern look.  I actually found 2 gyms- I’ll join one tomorrow.  It felt good to scurry back home into the fort behind the thick stone walls.  Very comforting.  And very secure back in my little studio in this old, old building with the old wooden shutters that I lock at night with the heavy, old metal rod and lever.  

I had dinner in one of the most adorable restaurants I’ve ever been in!  An inconvenience of traveling alone though is that you usually get one of the undesirable seats in the restaurant.  This has happened to me twice already!  The shop owners obviously don’t want to let me sit at one of the outside tables, since they have seats for 2-4.  So they shuffle me inside where it’s hot and not as exciting because everyone else is outside!  They ask very nicely if the seat they’re directing me to is ok, but they know it’s not.  And even though it’s not my first choice, I smile and assure them it’s absolutely fine.  You don’t want to anger the people that are going to prepare your food. 

I was in the mood for greens- I guess because I’ve been planning on getting some greens from the grocery store and sautéing them in olive oil and garlic.  Which has not happened yet.  I ordered a dish of pasta, chicken and gorgonzola and asked if I could get a green vegetable along with that.  Lots of confusion.  I don’t know the French word for vegetable and kept saying “green”.  “Vert”  and motioning something crazy with my hands.  The server finally asked me in a irritated tone of very broken English if I wanted the pasta, chicken and gorgonzola or not.  What the???  I hadn’t been rude to her, there was no reason for her to be snappy with me.  If anyone had the right to be snappy, it was moi!   Shoved back into that hot corner.  But I smiled and told her “oui, oui”  Yes, yes to the pasta while shaking my head in exagerated movements up and down.  Somehow I eventually got my question across and she said, “OK, vegetable”.  And I said “green”.  And then… I don’t know why I had the nerve to take it further, but it was important… “Combien the coute?”  What is the cost?  Oooh… not what she wanted to hear.  She gave me the most impatient, disgusted look and walked away.  I think she even rolled her eyes as she mumbled something in French that ended with “4 or 5 dollars”.  Whew!  All of that because I was in the mood for a green vegetable.  You can see from the photo that it was quite a plate.  Not what I would call a side order for sure.  Hot cucumbers with garlic… yeah, that’s about what they tasted like too… some sort of Italian beans that were already in my pasta dish, some other brown concoction that was actually pretty good even though it was cooked to a mushy consistency, carrots and rice.  I know… rice isn’t a vegetable, and I already had a huge dish of pasta.  But I smiled heartily when she brought it and looked pleased.  I just want to be a friendly American.  And the coute (cost) of the legumes as it appeared on my bill was four Euros, or $5.60.  So my 12 euro entrée which is very reasonable here along with the four euro legumes and 2.30 euro wine came to a whopping 18.30 euro or $25.62.  I noticed I didn’t get bread the way other diners did which I didn’t notice till after dinner or I surely would have asked for it.  It looked absolutely scrumptious…. hard outside with light, airy center.  And I didn’t get a wrapped mint either, which I had forgotten about until I was out of the restaurant.  I remember seeing the table of four behind me had gotten four mints with their check.  Now I can’t get the taste of one of those little butter mints out of my head!

Tomorrow is market day.  All over the town!  The clothing market is supposed to be fantastic and there’s a food market of course and an antique/flea market.  I want to make sure I get out of the house before noon tomorrow- preferably around 9!  Don’t want to miss these!

 Why is it so hard to find Wi-Fi?  Or as the French say, wee-fee?  Maybe because old town Antibes has no Starbucks or McDonald’s.   Marc, the rental agency owner told me that he thought a restaurant, Le Jardin had it.  I went by there last night- a cute little place with a couple tables under nice lighting situated against the sidewalk.  I asked the lady, “Do you have internet?”  She looked at me like I had just belched.  I tried again, a different way, this time in French of all things.  “Avez-vous wee-fee?”  “Non, non” she said, shaking her head like she could poof me away.  I wasn’t about to give up.  Marc told me I could get service at “Le Jardin” and that was where I was.  Maybe she thought I was asking if this was an internet café.  “Avez-vous internet service? I have my own computer” I said as I was fishing in my huge purse for my new netbook.  “NON, non.” She said, acting like I was a fly she wanted to swoosh out of her sight.  “Merci!” I said as friendly as possible.  Hmmm…. Why would he say they had it and she act like it was impossible?

I finally found what appears to be the only place in all of old Antibes that offers free Wi-Fi to customers, The Blue Lady Pub.  It’s a restaurant/bar that stops serving food and goes to all drinks after 3pm.  Most people were drinking beer- definitely not the cute, little French restaurant I was hoping to find.  The bartender/owner gave me the pass code, but it wasn’t a place where they seemed to promote their internet service availability.  At least I was able to finally get on-line… but I felt like the underbelly of the street people.    

Today I walked around and asked many, many store owners if they had Wi-Fi.  No one did.  And they acted as if it was a ridiculous question.  All I wanted was to sit in a characteristic French shop and have coffee and pastries and use my computer.  I was starving- I hadn’t eaten anything all day and it was already 3:30 pm.  My body was still on the eastern standard time of 9:30 am.  I passed by Le Jardin and thought I’d give them another chance.  Perhaps the person I spoke to yesterday had been an employee and wasn’t sure, and just answered no since I was speaking a foreign language.   I wasn’t sure if the woman today was the same person I had talked to yesterday- I’d asked the question of so many shop owners.  Apparently it was, and she obviously remembered me.  No wonder.  I think I’m the only person trying to find free Wi-Fi.  She looked at me like I was nuts and shook her head.   Maybe I’ll play with her and go back tomorrow and ask the same thing.

After an hour or so of no luck I figured I would just go back to the The Blue Lady and use their service again.  I was feeling fairly comfortable with my familiarity of the town and walked to the corner where I remembered the bar.  It was about a mile from my apartment, but a nice walk, through the tiny streets of the old town, lined with cute shops and little restaurants.  It wasn’t there.   I walked around to several corners in the area and couldn’t find it.  I walked and walked and walked.  It was nowhere.  I asked several people if they knew where Le Femme Bleu restaurant was and no one knew.  It was a big, busy place.  How could they not know?  I started saying “Le Femme Blue, The Blue Lady Restaurant” thinking maybe it was referred to by its English name.  No luck.  I kept walking and walking.  I must’ve walked by Le Jardin five times.  Not on purpose- I just kept ending up walking by the same places.  I think I made the Le Jardin owner nervous.  She probably thought I was stalking the place.  It took over an hour to find The Blue Lady.  Two full hours on the second day of being in Antibes to find free Wi-Fi. 

I know I sound confused, but it is confusing.  The streets are so small and wind around.  And the buildings are so high on each side.  It’s like walking in a maze.  I have a little map (that I have to put on my glasses every time I look at it which is very often) but even with that it’s hard to follow where I am and where I’ve been.  I tried to use the water as a navigation point, but the water surrounds the point of where Old Town is situated so that caused even more confusion. 

Since I had woken up very late (not by my EST body clock time), unpacked, showered and left the apartment at 3:30 it was almost 6 pm when I sat down with my computer to have something to eat.  It still felt like breakfast time to me, and the Blue Lady had stopped serving food three hours ago.  My desire to drink coffee and eat French pastries at a little sidewalk café had been reduced to having a coke in an English pub.  What an odd first full day.

I wanted this trip to be a time for thinking.  And writing.  Deep things.  So far my effort has revolved around getting myself organized in the new country.  And finding the internet.  Hopefully I will get myself settled, get my feet underneath me.  And sit in the French café, alongside the sea, eating my pastries and drinking coffee and typing my story.

All posts beginning with Day 2 will be much shorter!  If you’re interested in reading the  longer version, stop by www. AnotherLevel.wordpress.com.  

Day 1- Arriving!

I arrived in Antibes yesterday.  What a long grueling trip to get into my new apartment.  I had tried to pack lightly.  I weighed my suitcase at home after I finished packing- 58 lbs.  Eight pounds over and way too heavy to carry.  Unpacked piles of clothes.  Went through the must have and maybe piles for the 20^th time.  Took out all of the maybe items.  53 pounds.  Did a major streamline of all my toiletries.  Took out the shampoo and conditioner I knew I would need and have to spend triple on in France.  Couldn’t get below 51 pounds and finally decided to take another carry-on bag.  Got the suitcase to 48 lbs.  Seemed like a success- was not thinking about hauling around a 48 lb suitcase in and out of buses and trains and up and down the streets of Antibes. 

We landed in Paris and I knew I had to make a connection.  We arrived an hour early due to strong tailwinds so I knew I had plenty of time.  But, I decided to find my gate first, make sure everything was in order and then use the bathroom, look around in the shops and get something to eat.  I first found out whether I needed to do anything with my suitcase or if it would automatically continue to Antibes.  I needed to do nothing.  Good.  I walked by some Parisian postcards that caught my eye and stopped by a patisserie and bought a 2 euro ($2.80) tiny cookie.  I got to my gate and saw it said “Rome”.  Not good.  Hopefully I wasn’t in the wrong terminal because I had had to re-enter security for some reason.   That hadn’t made sense.  I didn’t remember leaving security after getting off the plane, but had to spend 50 minutes in line getting through again.  Maybe everyone had left the secure area after they checked the passports in customs.  Yes, I remember now seeing all the people holding signs with last names.  Now I know that that means unless you’re on your way to baggage claim and leaving, you’re going to have to re-enter security to get where you’re going. 

I found a customer service area and they told me that my flight had been changed from Gate 30 to Gate 24.  Not a problem.  Same terminal.  Thank goodness.  My new flats were hurting my feet.  I had even packed a change of flats, and the new ones hurt too.   By now it was a pain to walk even a few steps.  I walked over and saw the people waiting, double checked the boarding time and departure time.  Everything in order.   I had a little over an hour and looked forward to getting something to eat, sitting down, taking off my shoes and firing up my internet.  I needed to see how to get from the train station in Antibes to the rental office where I would pick up my key.  I knew how to get from the Nice airport to the train station.  I had the number of the bus I would need to find.  But once I got off the train in Antibes, I knew nothing.  I felt panicked when I thought of myself standing alone on the platform after the train pulled away and not being able to get Wi-Fi to get on-line to find my directions.  Luckily, now I had time to use the airport Wi-Fi and find the addresses of the rental agency and the apartment and copy onto paper all of my walking directions.  Why was I feeling so nervous?  I guess just being so by myself in a country where I don’t speak the language.  And wondering why I was doing this in the first place.

I saw a delightful snack shop with freshly-baked sweets and quiches and freshly-brewed coffee.  Perfect!   I was so tired from not sleeping on the plane and I looked at my watch- it was the middle of the night at home.  No wonder I felt so sleepy.  I wanted to eat something other than bakery items, knowing I would have some walking ahead of me and needed something nutritious.  I placed a slice of ham and cheese quiche into a flimsy, triangular cardboard container with no covering and ordered a cup of coffee.   Looking forward to relaxing and having this.  I balanced the quiche, covered with a napkin into the top of my carry-on, and holding the coffee with the other hand that was carrying my zipped carry-on, looked for a place to sit in the coffee shop.  I thought better and decided to go to the gate to find a seat, with my coffee swishing every now and then over the top of the little cup.  As I made my way towards my gate, I saw that everyone was in line and boarding!  What?  I had an hour before boarding!  I went through the gate and realized we were standing in line to get onto a commuter bus to take us to the plane.  Now the coffee would really splash.  I tried to drink it, but I hadn’t gotten the sugar in yet and now I had no extra hands to do it.  It was bitter and hot.  The quiche was starting to stick to the napkin that I had put over it as it was only supposed to be a temporary cover.  This was not my idea of a leisurely breakfast and getting me organized while I had the luxury of having Wi-Fi in the airport.  I took another sip of coffee, put all my bags down, and found the sugar.  I was last in line and everyone moved ahead.  I took two nice gulps of coffee and two pinches of quiche- who knew where my fork was, and then threw the rest of the coffee in the trash before getting on the tram bus.  Everything was so discombobulated and again I wondered why I decided to make this trip.  I still didn’t know why we were being hustled along so much ahead of our departure time.  When I finally got myself and my belongings organized on the tram, I asked a person why we were leaving early.  The language barrier was a problem but they wouldn’t have understood my question even if I had asked in perfect French.  Apparently we were leaving at the correct hour.  Somehow that five hour difference that I was aware of during all my dealings with the French while in the states had turned into a six hour difference.  How could that be?  I can’t figure that one out unless over and over again while making my trip arrangements and communicating with people in France, I was wrong on the time difference.  Which means that I probably unknowingly called some people too early or too late.  I don’t get it.

We left rainy Paris as I remembered that I had forgotten to bring along an umbrella.  Had thought about making sure to bring it, but it never materialized past the thought.  I imagined myself walking for hours with my heavy suitcase and two awkward carry-on bags in the rain, and showing up drenched in the rental office.  Not the look my sister had imagined when she helped me find just the right outfit with flats and the new belt and scarf she had bought me to wear.  She said she wanted me to make a good first impression when I met my first people in Antibes.  Right then I was just glad to be on the plane.  That would’ve been a real mess trying to communicate arranging a new flight and asking about the planned location of my suitcase.

Surprise!  When we landed in Nice, just an hour and half away, the skies were bright blue, the sun was shining and it was a wonderful 82 degrees!  Now I was beginning to remember why I booked this trip!

Locating my luggage was easy.  I found a nice place to sit and pull out my computer and spend the 30 minutes finding and copying the walking directions I would need when I got to Antibes.  And I needed to check my email.  I had been totally out of touch with Bud and my family.  No one had a way to get in touch with me for the last 12 hours since my plane had left Philadelphia.  My Verizon phone doesn’t work here.  No emergency emails in my inbox.  That was a relief.  The baggage area cleared quickly and it felt strange and odd in a lonely way sitting by myself in the huge, empty baggage claim area.  But it was a nice setting to find what I needed and to get all the details straight. 

Next, buying my bus ticket and finding bus 99 and platform C was easy.  I used my first required French!  Bus 98 pulled in one platform away and everyone from my platform got up to board that bus!  What???  In fast French I said to a lady leaving “Does bus 98 take you to the train station?”  And I assume in perfect French because she answered in French (but easy to understand obviously) “No, to downtown Nice.”.  Perfect!  I was on the right platform, waiting for the right bus….  But I still don’t understand why all the bus 98 people going to downtown Nice had been waiting on the bus 99 platform. 

Train station- easy!  What a relief!  Everything was going as planned.   Imagine that!  I was beginning to feel a little smug.  And a little French, but more fake it than real.  Close enough.  I got my boarding pass- only 4 Euros, same price as the bus had been.  The bus had gone five miles through the city in 20 minutes.  The train would go 15 miles in 20 minutes.  Much better deal.  The bus trip had actually felt exhilarating!  I was seeing all the things I had seen in pictures over the last few months.  And it looked exactly like the pictures!   Clear, bright, that beautiful sun-drenching sunlight that is so different here than other parts of the world.  Matisse recognized it and so did Picasso.  And Renoir.  At least one of those artists had actually painted the same landscape at different times of day and named it something like “a study of the sunlight”.  It was intriguing.  And now, here I was, bathed in the same beautiful light!  And talking about sunbathing, I was surprised as our bus traveled on the highway alongside the beach that all of Nice appears to be a topless beach!  So odd for me as an American.  Just steps from a busy, city road are numerous topless women.  And everyone acting like nothing is out of the ordinary!  Interesting.    

All easy except that ridiculously stuffed, heavy suitcase.  What was I thinking!  As the day wore on, the suitcase got heavier and heavier.  It was almost impossible to lift it in and out of the bus while holding my two carry-ons and protecting the one with all my cash, new mini-computer and digital camera.  The auxiliary, last minute carry-on held my shoes, my hairdryer, a jeans jacket and a thin beach towel I thought I might need.  While maneuvering my suitcase on the train, trying to get it down a small ramp from the doors to the seats an old man decided to tell me exactly how to position it to fit in the width of the ramp.  How irritating.  The width of the suitcase allowed the wheels to barely fit on the ramp which would allow me to wheel it rather than turn it sideways and carry it like he thought I needed to do.  Didn’t he see my hands were full and I didn’t need his telling me to do it his way?  Just like a man- they always think their way is better.  I twisted it around and eventually got the wheels situated right where they needed to be so I could pull it as planned.  One wheel caught the side of the ramp for a second, but a hard tug and it moved to where it would roll.  That simple tug and extra force on that wheel would later cause bigger problems. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to get irritated and disregard the old man’s suggestions. 

I was moving forward.  This part of the trip, getting from the Nice airport to inside my apartment was what I worried would be the most stressful.  So many things could go wrong and leave me feeling stranded.  And having to figure out, on my own, what to do.  Not to mention while feeling even further bogged down by all the heavy luggage I decided to bring. 

I arrived at the Antibes train station and there were taxis!  Unexpected, but welcome.  I dragged all my stuff over to one and asked in French the cost to go to the address that I had written on a little piece of paper.  He told me in broken English that it would be 10 Euros (calculated by me as $14).  Seemed reasonable to delete the stress over the part of my trip that was the most anxiety-provoking.  But then he said, it was only a short walk, 5 minutes at the most.  He jumped out of his car and pointed to the street I should get on.  Go past the circle and fourth street on the right and there it was!  So simple!  But I did remember thinking that four simple streets could feel like a lot of walking while dragging the suitcase with the carry-on on top of it and the other heavy carry-on over my shoulder.  But, of course I should save the $14.  Why not!  I thanked him with several beaucoups at the end of my merci’s and set off in the direction he told me.  And walked and walked and walked.  And walked.  Finally I took a right before the circle, thinking that I must’ve passed it and hadn’t realized it.  Maybe circles look differently in France.  A block to the right and I now recognize no streets when comparing to my messy, quickly-drawn map in the Nice airport.  And the suitcase is becoming harder to roll.  More like having to drag it.  And then I see what’s causing the sound- the wheel that had been a little stuck on the ramp in the train is now sitting sideways and is ready to break off completely!   And there are no longer any taxis in sight on these small streets.  Oh no.  I try to fix the wheel and position it so it rolls easier, but it’s not good.  And now I walk a block back over to the left.  And then turn right.  Where I had been before but a block further along.  And walk and finally I come upon a circle.  And it’s the right circle, comparing the street signs to my map.  The street signs by the way are those little hand-painted signs posted on the top edge of buildings that the French use.  So cute and so hard to see.  Very hard to locate.  Not all buildings on each corner have a sign and some corners have no signs.  This causes the American dragging the heavy suitcase to become very disgruntled. 

Walk, walk, walk.  Sweating, my hands and arms are tired and sore.  And my feet hurt.  And finally, finally after 40 minutes of walking and lugging that stupid, lead-filled suitcase all over the thousand year old streets of Antibes I find the rental agency office.  What a relief!  It feels so nice and cool, a mild 80 degrees inside.  But better than the 90+ in the sun, whose beautiful light turned into a stifling heat with head-aching glare. Wonder if the famous artists were ever bothered by the glare of the sun?   I don’t think the woman (me) who walked into their office was the image that my sister had in mind of how I should appear.  Or maybe I did.  I noticed all day that I must’ve looked somewhat Parisian.  People would ask me questions in French, choosing to talk to me before others around me, I think because I looked like I lived in and was familiar with the area.  Or maybe it was that worried, self-absorbed look that made me look like a French woman.  Who knows?  That and wearing a scarf around my neck in 90 degree heat perhaps. 

Marc, my contact guy from the rental agency was very nice, but quickly handed me over to a nice young lady who spoke almost no English.  Not a problem.  We communicated what we needed.  Marc insisted the apartment was VERY close by and even drew two little stars on the local Antibes map to show me how close.  I saw many streets between the two stars, but really had no choice but to begin walking again.  The nice female office worker carried two bags of linens and towels and I dragged myself and my suitcase.  At one point we came to an uphill, cobblestone climb.  She strutted along, and finally I had to do the embarrassing oh-my-god- I’m-getting-old number.  I had to ask her to stop while I rested!!!  How old am I!!!! I never had to do that before.  It was the heat, the exhaustion, the uneasiness from this decision to come to France.  So we stopped for a few seconds.  I pretended that I caught my breath and was surely rested and we continued.  By the time we reached the apartment, my head was pounding and I literally felt sick.  But here I was.  Finally, from Philadelphia, all the way with plane changing, busses, trains into the unknown, and here I was!  At my destination!  Yes! 

But no… this little, teensy, tiny room surely couldn’t be all there was to the studio apartment pictures I had seen that made me put down my money.  Did the place shrink?  How could a person live in this one room?  And no tv or internet?  The tv was so important to me, that when I couldn’t turn it on shortly after the female from the agency left, I walked back to their office and told them I needed help.,  Marc came and showed me that I had not turned on the power to the power strip.  I had checked every plug and connection to the DVD and tv, making sure everything was plugged in and connected so I wouldn’t appear a fool.  I missed the power strip button.  Yes it had been plugged in, but simply not turned on.  So I did appear the fool.  But that didn’t bother me nearly as much as no tv.  It comes on, but only to run DVD’s.  Todd and Kent forgot to mention that.  The tv is my company.  I wanted the background noise, the connection of live tv news… anything to provide talking and feeling in touch during this time when I’m so by myself.   I’m really disappointed that there’s no tv.  The internet, I knew, but not the tv.  FUCK.  Excuse my French.  Now, I’m thinking maybe I did make a mistake in wanting to come here to think things over and clear my head.  I could’ve chosen Florida or somewhere.  I’m sure there are plenty of nice places in Florida.  Actually, I wanted to get far away.  I knew that that would be part of the catalyst to make me think clearly and would be detached enough so I could really get in touch with myself.  When you’re all by yourself, you learn to depend on and trust yourself.  First few steps in getting your head screwed back on straight.