What's in a name by Jane Tolbert

High Heels at the Melbourne(Fla.) Harbor



The Dilbar at the Antibes Harbor with the Fort Carre in the background

I always assumed the difficult part about owning a boat was procuring the money. But now I realize it’s much more complex. Money isn’t the issue—the name is! Some of those in the Melbourne, Fla., harbor carry interesting names—High Heels, Love Nest 4 Two, Miller Time III and Free and Clear (now for sale) and Fish Story Part II. We can only speculate how these names were chosen.

Since the Americans seem to name their boats (as well as their racehorses and greyhounds) in a clever way, are the French equally imaginative? A visit to the Antibes harbor (where most of the boats have non-French owners) revealed names like the Désirée, Fahrenheit, Developing Fast II and Just for Fun. Of course, many of these were the size of small cruise liners. . . . the deck hands were so busy polishing and preparing that no one had time to explain the origin of the name.

At the Port de la Galice on the Cap D’Antibes, I found names like Nikaia, Ideal 1, Octant and Equinox. This port was devoid of deck hands, and the boats were much smaller. One fuzzy dog remained on a sailboat. . . and the owner of a catamaran did not understand my fascination with boat names (“Je peux vous aider,” translates to mean Can I help you, but in this context, it was more of a rhetorical comment, What are you doing here!)

A French forum provides some insight into the dilemma of selecting a name. The forum moderator had just purchased a sailboat with two other friends. One of the owners had chosen the name, the JaJa. The moderator asked participants to come up with a better name—something that alluded to wine, good speed and other “sensible” things about a boat. The prize, he claimed, would be a ride on the boat or a picture of the three owners “en petit tenu.” (I will leave that translation to the reader’s imagination.)

The nine pages of posts hint at the popularity of the topic.

One forum participant suggested Le Grand Cru, and another, 11°. Another participant (a male) said he really was not interested in the photo. . . . The moderator provided the narrative of the delivery of the boat. . . and the final decision about the name. The JaJa. . . .

The only thing preventing me from buying a boat is the name. . . . Je rigole. Je ne suis pas trop bateau. Actually, I am fond of the Lucien.




The Lucien at the Antibes Harbor


Life is Good at a private dock on Tropical Trail

Bing bling on the Cote d ' Azur by Jane Tolbert

The Cannes Film Festival ended on May 23, 2010. Although the subject matter of many films has been described by the press as “morose,” the atmosphere here at this time of year is anything but. . . . In fact, the daily processions of Ferrari, Maserati, Lamborghini or Rolls tend to put the recession at the back of my mind.

The other day in Cannes, I planned to count the number of red-carpeted steps leading up to the entrance of the Palais des Festivals. I have heard 24, but the lines of paparazzi and tourists, all armed with cameras, and some with lighting equipment and ladders, blocked the view.


A festival attracts more—more euros, more tourists and business for the service industries well as more cars. Trains and the bus number 200, all of which headed for Cannes, were crammed. The atmosphere of “more” led to traffic jams. Even Ferraris were held up in snarls, and chauffeured stars needed more than one hour to make the trip to Cannes from outlying area hotels in Mougins and the Cap dÁntibes. .

Even though activities focused on Cannes, the outlying towns have benefitted. Juan-les-Pins has numerous luxury hotels. The Belles Rives, just on the western edge of the Cap d' Antibes, popular with foreigners since the 1920s and where F. Scott Fitzgerald stayed, was rented by Schweppes to entertain clients or hold parties during the festival.



We all suspected something was going on given the exotics parked out front—a Mustang, Maserati, stretch Hummer and even a Rolls painted to promote the Schweppes events.

In contrast, even the two-star hotels had clients, but of a different nature, from the looks of beach towels and wet swim suits on balconies.

Exotic cars whizzed the narrow streets in front of my favorite café, the Crystal, where Brazilian acrobats performed and a Louis de Funès impersonator (from the Gendarmes film series) caused some unique traffic jams. Looking very much the official French official, this "gendarme" stopped a Mini to take its dimensions with a tape measurer, told another the road was closed and jumped in the back seat of another car. . . then, putting on his red clown nose, he motioned traffic to continue.



Photo of Patrick Chagnaud, artiste imitateur, in the style of the Gendarmes series


At the Port Vauban in Antibes, crews polished and preened yachts that ranged anywhere from 50 meters to 100 meters. The turquoise yacht resembling a cruise ship even had a matching helicopter.



Owners of restaurants hoped the warm, sunny days and proximity to beautiful people would attract clients and offset the slow tourist economy caused by months of rainy weather, volcanic ash and erosion from waves.

In the face of lavish parties and lifestyles, the train-train de la vie continued. The tango dancers attended milongas at Jack’s Blues Café. The regulars met for their afternoons of pétanque (likely followed by a pastis) at a site overlooking the Mediterranean. Other locals frequented their favorite bistro, such as those surrounding the Square Dulys or PMU. And those year-round inhabitants who still have errands to run or groceries to buy probably wondered if Ferraris come in any color other than red.

The Blog of "No"by Jane Tolbert

Signs tell what we can or cannot do in public places like city gardens or on the beach. One sign, the Defense dáfficher (or no posting), always carries the footnote-like citation, the Law of 29 July 1881. This law enables the town halls to designate locations where announcements can be posted. I have seen few of these public bulletin boards. The ones I have seen are in inaccessible places.





According to a municipal decree of 7 August 1987, no one can leave trash or damage the walkways and equipment. Kick ball games as well as petanque (!) are prohibited as are bikes and dogs. Tricycles are allowed.



Numerous activities are not allowed--camping, camp fires and dogs for starters. But barbecues are strictly forbidden.




Swimming and small children are permitted.


But here, both diving and jet skis are prohibited, but not yachts lining up for parties associated with the Cannes Film Festival. And no one mentioned swimming and diving dogs.









Some signs justify a decree (no parking) with a type of footnote citing the Code de la Route (driving regulations). Others provide the rationale--no parking because firemen need access, the tourist train leaves from here, a market takes place here in the morning. . . .






The fisherman can fish in peace. Tourists and bathers dare not venture beyond the Forbidden to the Public sign.








In an enviroment of "no," it is refreshing to see courteous signs. Please do not slam the gate or please keep the gate closed.







But maybe what lurks behind the gate is the reason for keeping the gate closed. This mean dog must have gotten out at least once. If the sign is any indication of what a Chien Mechant could do to a person. . . .

Quality of Life by Jane Tolbert

For many years, my parents handed us envelopes, which were labeled “quality of life” and filled with a wad of cash. Their families had known the Depression, and for them, quality of life meant the ability to purchase something frivolous such as shoes or bouquets of cut flowers rather than the more mundane groceries and necessities. My grandparents had also given us rolled up dollars and handfuls of coins each time we visited. No one could really afford to give us this “quality of life.” But they did, and they appeared generous.

Quality of life means enjoying the simple pleasure of life when the economy is bad, unemployment is high and the next paycheck is uncertain. In today’s recession, many of us seek activities that require little investment but have a high yield of memorable experiences. This year we have given up travel to the larger dance workshops that require nights in hotels and airfares. Instead we are riding out the recession, focusing on less expensive local dances or relatively free activities.


Quality of life isn’t about extravagant pleasures but about a perspective. This past year in France, my walks enabled me to savor details—the steep hillsides of Vallauris where orange trees nestle among turn-of-the-century villas or the wide boardwalk at Juan-les-Pins overlooking the Mediterranean. Local dances on the Mediterranean cost anywhere from 1 euro for the outdoors events to 10 euros for the clubs.







Rocky coast on the Cap d'Antibes


The occasional jaunt to see the yachts at the Antibes port and a hike along the rocky edge of the exclusive Cap d’Antibes allowed me to gauge how the very wealthy were making out in the recession.

This year in Melbourne, we meet at places with no cover charges--the Cove, a beachside restaurant with great dancing on Tuesday nights, or Lou’s Blues, a bar with a small dance floors. We take turns hosting dances at our homes or may splurge on an afternoon Argentine tango workshop. Biking along waterways, planning a picnic on the beach or attending free foreign films at the local university are activities that make us focus on that extravagant feeling associated with the quality of life rather than the perception that cash is the sine qua non of the quality of life. Like those times when my dad would throw dollar bills—not hundreds and hundreds of dollars—up in the air, we attempt to emulate that tradition, or perspective, of quality of life associated with those envelopes of cash. It’s not a million dollars but it seems like it.



Crane Creek, Melbourne, Florida

What did not fit in my suitcase! by Jane Tolbert

Travel is about experiences and memories. I used to collect souvenirs—salt and pepper shakers, mugs, ashtrays--but now I realize the most special parts of a trip are the intangibles (sights, sounds, smells, memories) and all those other things that just won’t fit in my suitcase--parasol pines, the azure and turquoise colors of the Mediterranean Sea and the cobalt blues of the mountains, the hillsides of poppies and olive trees.



Just to the west of Juan-les-Pins, the Boulevard Bijou Plage runs down to the beach, the Bijou Plage and the restaurant.


Starting in April, the ferries make frequent runs to the nearby Iles des Lerins, where the Man in the Iron Mask was imprisoned. But that is just one small incident in an area with a rich history of numerous civilizations.


Although Antibes offers an old city, a market, and port, my favorite place to visit is the Picasso Museum.


There, the Nicolas de Staël painting, “The Concert,” and the view from the terrace with the Giacometti statues leave me breathless. For obvious reasons, I could not put these objects in my suitcase. . . .



My other favorite museum is the Maeght Foundation near St. Paul de Vence, which has an enviable sculpture garden and collection of Mirò, Calder, Arp, Giacometti's figures and animals, and Chagal as well as the Braque basin with the fish mosaic.

In Nice, the Monday morning flea market on the Cours Saleya has numerous stalls of books, furniture, glass chandeliers, toys and curiosities.

One vendor sporting large, round glasses, has a wonderful collection of Art Deco jewelry. But I am tempted by the larger and colorful chandeliers. The pragmatic concerns (e.g., airline excess baggage) deter me in my purchase. I end up by contemplating options from the terrace of a cafe.

In the streets of Valbonne, that red Ferrari would go well with my red shoes and, of course, THE red carpet at the Cannes Film Festival. For now, these are musings. I am not sure I could afford to fill up the Ferrari anyway.