Bonheur - Happiness

Quel Bonheur – The arrival of a long-awaited spring in the South of France. By Jane T. Tolbert

From mid November 2008 through mid April 2009, we had wet, cold, gray weather, typical of what I would call Northern Europe. “Unseasonal,” the natives claimed as if to justify the high prices visitors paid for the sunshine that should have been but wasn’t. “We always eat on the café terraces in January,” came the familiar refrain. “The first time in more than twenty years,” the meteorologists repeated all the while continuing their dire forecasts for the coming days. But spirits remained optimistic. “It could be worse—we could be in Paris or Brussels or London,” the locals agreed. Anything north of the mountains was viewed as the “netherland,” at least in terms of weather. But even in inclement weather, the people here remained optimistic and found happiness in the little things like walks or conversations with friends or bouquets of flowers.

In all weather conditions, a handful of bundled pedestrians appeared, often with a small shivering dog at the end of a leash. The dedicated joggers made their way up and down the boardwalk. The serious cyclists looking insect like in their large helmets and Spandex suits flew along streets and through deep puddles. But reminders of warmer weather appeared daily—the citrus and orange trees in terra cotta planters, geraniums that overflowed from balconies, and clusters of cafesitters.

On those rare sunny days that broke the monotony this winter, people and their pets, roller bladers, Africans hawking souvenirs, and candy vendors competed for space.
By Easter, anoraks, wool coats and scarves had been shed. Hopeful tourists donned light sweaters, flip flops or sneakers at the first sign of spring. Bright beach parasols popped open, and lounge chairs appeared on the private beaches that carried signs--transats et parasols demi-journée 8 euros, journée 10 euros. Dog scampered on the beach, kicking up sand. Small children raced to the edge of the water then darted back. Some people ventured into the water, oblivious to cold water. Café terraces became crammed with patrons sporting large designer sunglasses—Chanel, D & G, Roberto Cavalli, Guess. Other dogs tethered to café chairs squinted into the sun, their nozzles twitching at the scent of other canine friends.

Most boutiques and many small restaurants have been closed for a month or more during the winter. Tourists are scarce, and many locals hesitate to linger outside when the temperature drops below the 50s or rain threatens. Now with the return of spring, restaurant and store owners begin six weeks of frenzied activity to prepare for the tourist season. Crowds arrive before Easter, swell during the Cannes Film Festival in May, and streets become dense with moving throngs of color in the summer months. Although the weather remains beautiful into October, the crowds thin by late August. School or work vacations have ended, and the travelers have returned to their day jobs. By November, most have left the area, but some return at Christmas for the holiday festivities.

In late March, the beachfront restaurants, which pay an exorbitant rent I’ve been told, dig out terraces that have been buried under the sand or worse, washed away by the winter storms. The smell of paint and the sounds of saws, drills, and chink chink of masonry hammers fill the air. A large landscaping truck brimming with live palm trees blocks traffic in front of the Up Café. With a crane, it unloads the cargo to the beach of the Helios restaurant. Further down, the terraces of the Café de la Plage overlook the sea. The café, which has just gotten a face life, is in a gridiron-shaped building with a large clock on its façade. Most days its mascot, a black and white Newfoundland dog, ambles among the tables or lounges as waiters race to and from the kitchen to fill orders. This café offers an ideal vantage point from which to view the Mediterranean, the Lerin Islands, and the Esterel Mountain chain beyond Cannes. Just behind the café, the road veers off toward the park and the Cap d’Antibes. This street is bordered by small boutiques selling clothes, jewelry, and ice cream. Just beyond, an intersection is crowded with cafes—the Café Crystal and the PomPom—and restaurants and the Casino and hotel owned by the Partouche family. The annual jazz festival is held in July at the Pinède, a small park shaded by paraol pines. On the border of the sidewalk, clay tile squares carry the hand prints of jazz musicians--B.B. King, Little Richard, Ray Charles, and many others. On the sandy large area overlooking the sea and Cap d’Antibes, groups of men gather for their regular game of boules or pétanque.

Back at the Café Up (UpSideDown Café), I selected a seat facing west with a view of the sun setting over the Esterel and the Lerin Islands. I nodded a greeting to the gentleman and his dog sitting at the next table.

“What happiness!” he exclaimed.

I assumed he referred to his dog, who displayed a perpetual smile.

For two euros, I ordered a large coffee in a cup advertising Mokalito, which came with two individually wrapped sugar cookies.

“Quel bonheur,” my neighbor said again, this time motioning to the view.

The couple behind us seemed oblivious to the surroundings and instead debated the dessert menu. A waitress took orders of ice cream and drinks in tall glasses to another table.

Clouds gathered, and the rays of the sun cast hazy spotlights on the Esterel, now subdued with the fading light. On the boardwalk, parents and grandparents herded small children on tiny scooters and bicycles back to parked cars. A tan Corgi mix that makes daily rounds looked shocked and almost accusingly at an approaching car. He was in the pedestrian zone after all. I gathered my sweater and prepared to leave, somewhat euphoric at having spent more than an hour contemplating the scenery over a cup of coffee.

“The weather should be nice tomorrow,” the waiter commented. “It’s been unseasonably cold this year.”

I nodded, and agreed.
“Quel bonheur to see the return of spring!”


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