Italy bound...

Up at 7, quietly pack, breakfast of bread and jam and good byes to our new best friends and at the train station in plenty of time for our 10am departure. A Herald Tribune and a moment of pnick to find the right car we settle in across a silent Italian and a Japanese tourist who makes multiple cell phone calls trying to book a room for tonight. We are seated on the left side of the train going backwards. I'm sure the folks on the otherside are getting quite bored staring at the blue of the Meditarian and the redicoulously oppulent yaghts while I watch signage change from French to Italian, architechure get more tropical and the mountains get taller.

Again old news but that's the way this intermittant internet thing is going to work. At least in Italy they have the right keyboard configuration but there is only one comptuer at this hostel. Many of the travelers have their own laptops and are lined up at the windows at the end of the hall stealing wifi from the neighbors.

Having a great time.....wish y'all were here!

Nice walk...

Left hostel around 11am. Sarah had pulled nameso fo laine (wool) shops out of the phonebook. While sitting on edge of a fountain we reviewed a map and discovered several in the vecintiy. Three yarn stores later it's time for lunch. But first the toilets at Nice Etole-Nordstrom's on steroids. Picked up hamd and cheese and butter on bagettes with slice of flan for desert at snack counter there and ate it on marble bench at Place Massena. Then a definate downer at Handicap International event across the street raising awarness for victims of land mines. Next we're off to see the chateau. The long hard climb up uncountable steps puts us on the site of Nice's original count's townhouse-replaced now by a siovenier shop and one hell of a back drop for the 3 weddings we witnessed. Eventually bored with the view of the beach curving away west to the airport we heded down, past the jewish cemetary, into the maze of narrow streets in the old quarter for beer and tea at Antonia Cfe at the edge of the croweded little square in front of St. Bascus(?) church. Now sufficiently tired and a little cranky we head back to the hostel for some down time. We make note of an inviting resteruant to return to for dinner.

We won't be alone tonight. There are packs and clothes scattered about our room and an unconsicuous female corpse on one of the top bunks. A couple of quite showers and a computer fix we are off to dnner. Our chosen place turns out to be a German resturant with plates piled high with steaming sauerkraut toped with sausasge and pig knuckles. Oysters and seafood also a specility so I had a perfect whole grilled dorrey while the fish and I watched Sarha enjoy duck fois quais and salad neioise. Sarah hits the wall as we leanve so it's off to the hostel for bed. Two of our young roommates shortley arrive and I invite Michael to check out the bar around the corner. After jokes about getting permission from our wives we spend a perfect 2 hours drinking beer n a sidewalk table as the other boisterous customer finish their meals and we solve many of the world's problems from US and Austrailian points of view.

Of course that's 0ld news now. We have been in Genova for about 36 hours.

Hostel life...

Had an address, a phone confirmation that a room is available, a tourist map and bus 98 from the airport where we dropped off the car. Got off a stop too late. Back tracked counting streets and looking down alleys. I shouldered our green luggage/backpack and my day bag. I hear the wheels of Sarah's carry-on click clack along the pavers behind. The 3 story sunflower yellow hostel behind a lavender gate sits in a residential area a street paralleling the shopping district. The guy at the desk speaking heavily accented English checks us in, gives us each a sleeping sheet and directs us to room 201-a mixed (coed) dorm. Up 2 flights of cracked marble steps our key card lets us into a very clean room with 3 sets of bunk beds, a small yellow table matching the 50s style of everything else, a sink and bathroom and a 12 ft window opening onto a small baloclny overlooking the somewhat shabby paved courtyard. Tossing our luggage on two lower beds and locking our valuables (mostly meds) in the little padlocked cabinet we are off to explore the city.

We return after dinner; pay 2 € for 30 min of computer time and 2€ for a beer, we check our email and make a rushed post on the blog. We settle in for bed releaved that we are alone until around midnight when 3 Filipano exchange students appologetically arrive after a pilgramige to Lourdes. Up at 8 after a cacophony of alarm clocks we dress in a flooded bathroo, and share a single sink to wash and brush. Included breakfast of coffee, juice, bread, butter, jam and cereal is in the communal room down stairs. Some people packed and headed out but most sleepily getting fueled for their day. Couples and small groups of friends-mostly young; two women with small children and quite a few of us seasoned (read senior) travelers? Even an elderly couple with hubby in a wheelchair.

Tomorrow--Genoa.

Nice in Nice

Arrived Nice today. Checked in to youth hostel to save a buck then spent 80 e for dinner of bouillasse. Know where our priorities are. Sunset on Med was glorious.

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.

We ok

Found a cyber cafe near La Garde. But will retun with my computer later. Key board is weird and it takes to much tie. We are well;

Rubbing shoulders with yachties....

Coffee or tea and beer for me. We spent yesterday driving about 60km north to the Grand Canyon du Verdon. Not as long as our Grand Canyon but reputed to be as deep and certainly as impressive. Winding single lane roads hugging the edge. Motorcycles passing between us and oncoming traffic! Small villages and the occasional castle visible on the opposite side. Being such a difficult drive, several stops in quaint (can't use that word enough to describe the country villages) towns for a bit of a rest. Of course getting lost on the way is part of the charm. Of course, IF I had a decent navigator who can see the little writing on the map and match it to a sign on a road and IF we had at least one compass in the car that did not always show north to be toward the metal in the dashboard, and if asking directions was even an option...thank goodness for roundabouts. When in doubt, keep going around. I wonder if there is a limit as to how many times one can circle these things? There is a road that circles the entire gorge but we didn't see a real need to add an additional 50km to a trip that I can't really see anyway since, I'M THE ONE WITH HIS EYES ONLY ON THE ROAD! Am told there is rafting down there and I have to assume the climbing would be great but being the tourist that we are, we only manage to stop at the occasional overlook and go, "Wow!!". 

Got back to La Garde after dark. Hooked up with the dentist (see above post) and caught dinner in town at one of the last open restaurants. We both had the plate de jour of pasta with mixed seafood in a light tomato and olive oil based sauce. Oysters were available but at almost $3 each, I declined. Then home to our small comfortable abode to bring in the laundry that had been hanging in the rain all day and listen to the critters preparing for bed in the walls. 

Now in Port Grimand. Had plans to catch boat to St Tropez for the day but after a late start and choppy seas we decided to just hang here. And, this bar has internet access. La Bohemia, a low brow oasis in a sea of very high end yachts and people. Port Grimand is the "Venice of France". A developed community of townhouses each with their own private boat parking and shops for all the tourists who come to gawk at the boats. Like Disneyland but instead of the Magic Castle you see masts and money! This bar, my kind of bar, has a paper back lending library, a lounging room with TV and some teenager crashed on the beatup couch and on Sat. they are have "Cross Dress Party"!