Why?

Why do we do this? This travel, this sojourn, this wander? Ouest for meaning? Need to experience new things? Opportunity for escape? All good reasons. But why are we, Sarah and I, here? Vacation? Sure. Although I would rather refer to it as lifestyle. A break from work or a certain complacency  at home? An urge to observe and experience how some of the other 2 billion of Earth's people exist? To realize it is not just us? We are not alone. And, we do it because we can. 

Sitting on a white plastic chair at a white plastic table at a brasserie on the town square of Gonfaron. The old stone church stands strong and silent to my right. In front of it, what was probably once lawn, now space for parking. Three and four story buildings form a continuous wall around the parameter. The only difference of one from the other is the color of the ground floor shop or the shutters of the apartments above. Tourist and locals alike sit under the various cafe awnings sipping coffee or beer. We watch as a wizened old man in tattered brown jacket takes an eternity to slowly shuffle across the square. A nodded greeting, a twinkle and a smile for Sarah when their eyes met. Cane in one hand and shopping bag in the other he is met with the French double kiss on the cheeks by the owners of this establishment and helped to sit at one of the few other tables taking up the width of the sidewalk. Church bells chime out noon and Sarah gets pooped on by the pigeon on the window sill above. Tractors pulling small trailers filled with dark purple clusters of grapes ramble along the narrow streets  on their way to the local winery leaving a sweet heady smell in their wake. Women hurry by with shopping bags full, baguettes sticking out, on their way to their big noon meal. Stores preparing to close for their customary 2 hour break.

So, it's lunch time. We walk around the square and settle on a small restaurant down a side street. Tables with red Kronenbourg beer umbrellas guard against the sun. From the interactions of the waitress, mostly locals seated here. Water from an ancient fountain flows into a stone wash basin as cars and trucks and the occasional tour bus recklessly pass each other on the narrow highway running through the middle of town. Today's "Formule du Jour" of salade mixte, paupitte de veau, riz, legumes and 1/4 liter of vin for 12.50 is written in chalk on the sign hanging from a tree. The closest translation I can find in my dictionary for "paupitte" is "eyelid". Order it anyway. Hey, it IS on a menu! Ground veal wrapped in bacon and tied with string in a rich brown sauce with mushrooms. Yummm.....

Our planned tour de circuit continues as we drive thru old cork oak forests. Trees peeled bare to the height of a man. Roads winding nauseatingly over mountain ridges. Narrow enough to require drivers to slow down and hug the edge to pass. We stop in Collobrieres hoping to get gas. Told by the lady at the tourist office that the only gas station is closed today. Will risk the drive back on 1/4 tank but in the meantime we walk the 12th century town crossing the bridge built at that time and get lost in the ancient old streets and alleys to the ruins of the old church above the town. We drive to Monastere de la Verne after passing a sign that warns of narrow winding road. You've got to be kidding!!! Only had to back to a wide spot once! The monastery, rebuilt several times since 1174, is now a cloister for nuns and a exhibition for tourists on the sight originally of a pagan temple dedicated to the god Laverna, the protector of thieves. Spiritual, if one is so inclined, but certainly one big impressive stone structure. 

We make it back to Cogolin where we can buy gas and spend some time in the Cyber Cafe checking email. Too time consuming to try to post this blog with the strange keyboards of France. The "M" is where the ";" is  and the "A" is where the "Q" is and you have to shift for a "." as well as all numbers! 

Tomorrow is a day to stay close to home. (And probably post this) We have to pack and get ready to travel. We plan to return the car to Nice on Friday and then go to Genoa, Italy. Because we can...because we must.