This has been 100 days on the Rue Bijou. Merci d'etre venu!

Balades sur la Rue Bijou by Jane Tolbert

The Rue Bijou is an experience, not a place or destination.

However, not to be confused with la Rue Bijou is the Boulevard Bijou Plage, which runs perpendicular to the beach known as the Bijou Plage and separates Juan-les-Pins from Golfe Juan. Although boulevard implies something grandiose, this street alternately widens and narrows and crooks up toward Boulevard Poincaré.

Scenery alternates between Mediterranean and mountains. Winter storms erode the beach at Bijou Plage. The view is spectacular--the Iles des Lerins and the Esterel.


Landscapes change dramatically just inland. I've used these impressionistic photos before of the Gorges du Loup as seen from from the Chemin de l'Hubac. The village of Le Bar-sur- Loup is in the center.

I always associate inland region with Opio. I like to stop at La Boutique to see the antiques and to have coffee with a friend and his family. It's a tradition that goes back more than 20 years. For years I have bought or admired things in this store. My tastes have changed--now, light wood or fruit wood, smaller objects, tiny chandeliers or mirrors. . . .small things because I move so much and space is limited. Objects that reflect light or images bring most any space to life.

I love this 18th-century provencal mirror, but I liked an Italian one even better. That one sold.

Facades and details provide me with hours of contemplation and amazement. Nice has this wonderfully rich palette of earth tones. These photos are from my Monday morning trips to the flea market on the Cours Salaya, just a couple blocks inland from the Promenade des Anglais.

The facades of the old cities of Grasse and Antibes offer incredible detail. I observe more when I walk alone and am not involved in conversation.

Grasse is at its best on bright, sunny days when its streets are filled with passersby. On rainy days, the narrow alleys and labyrinth of passages seem anything but inviting.

Details in facades are found throughout the village just behind the ramparts and close to the market and port.

Fig pastries are made with an almond paste coating. The interior has a chocolate and almond paste filling. Years ago, few pastry shops carried these. At other stories, the figs had to be ordered! But now, you can find them most anywhere.

Cafes are an important part of my life. I used to feel self conscious and carry a book or look busy. But now I relish these moments. A cafe provides a substantial sensory experience. I watch patrons and passersby, dogs and their owners, the patterns of movement of garcons weaving between chairs, tables, pets and packages. Bonheur! Certain cafes provide a sense of place in the day, others are better in the late afternoon or evening.


The natural beauty--at least the wildflowers--are more difficult to find. At one time, the present site of Sophia Antipolis had numerous varieties of native Mediterranean plants (at least, I found them in my plant guide). These photos, however, were taken near Chateauneuf. Miniature orchids appear in May.

The crinkly cistus bloom throughout the hot summers.

So many wild flowers bloom that I kept vases filled throughout the summer. Of course, roses at the Grasse flower market are around eight to 12 euros a dozen. . . . Flowers are an affordable luxury.

Balades on the Rue Bijou include experiences that are not the stuff of travel guides but instead what has been noteworthy to me. This street sign indicates "intermission" and also signals the end of 100 days on the Rue Bijou.

Enfin, Chez Moi by Jane Tolbert

5 a.m. This seems to be the witching hour of the two cats. They are everywhere, playing or leaping over me as I try to get those last winks before leaving for the day job. New Year’s day, the three of us moved to a new place. And the interior of this Cappadocia-esque apartment resembles a large cat house—holes to enter and exit, walls to scale, and small passages. The pets spent a day in hiding but have now settled into a routine—arising early then sleeping the remainder of the day.

Although the apartment seems designed with pets in mind, convincing the pets to move with me required some work. One cat, who has an international passport, reluctantly came on a leash. But the other became skittish. It took some smooth talking and a sleight of hand by a cat whisperer to get her in the carrier.

Six days after the move, I can find most things—clothes, tango shoes and my coffee pot. The Ikea shelves are filling with curios--ink wells, an absinthe spoon from the flea market in Nice and a door knocker from Turkey. There is a small water color of the Gorges du Loup, the view from my former mas in France, a drawing by Munro Leaf and a photo of tango dancers. I need to be surrounded by my stuff-- laptop, books and music, a marble-topped café table and wooden café chairs from Michel’s boutique. The yellow armoire, which has been an essential part of my moves since 1998, is in sections, awaiting repair. My sister’s paintings, along with a collection of drawings by other artists, line walls or shelves. A few rugs and favorite books--Eric Ambler, Dr. Seuss, four volumes of Harry Potter and Graham Greene—create a much-needed clutter and make it more like chez moi.



But six days after the move, I still have not put in the new shelf paper . . . .I still have not washed windows.

My minimalistic approach (which stems from a lack of furniture and one too many moves) seems to work well given the space. But hélas, it will not compensate for a lack of beds. The cats don’t seem to notice. At 6 a.m., they are now exhausted by their play and asleep on the couch.