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.

Holiday Musings by Jane Tolbert

Snippets from the holidays

The days of Christmas cards seem to be a thing of the past. With the exception of one card from Bailey (a chocolate lab), all of my greetings have come through the web.

Were your holiday greetings similar?

I wrote a friend in Opio (France) – We are freezing here. Minus 5 Celsius at night. I hope your Christmas reveillon went well and in front of a blazing fire. My son and girlfriend are shoveling out in Atlantic City to get to the sales! My daughter, already a refugee from the cold, European winter, has headed to work in the warmer climes of South Beach. Sophie-the-Cat is still in Gainesville.

Michel wrote back – Here, it’s warmer and we don’t have the Florida summer heat. We are enjoying sweetbreads and fois gras (both politically incorrect). Do not worry about our health—we don’t plan to extend our vices to the point of eating salad.

Editor's note: It is not hot in the South of France at this time of year!

Katia in Paris had a very meaningful wish, which sounds so much better in French.
Cher Père Noël, cette année je veux juste te demander quelques faveurs: offre l'espoir à ceux qui l'ont perdu, l'amour à ceux qui ne l'ont pas encore trouvé, la joie à ceux qui ont du chagrin et surtout le bonheur et la santé à tous ceux que j'aime !!!! Si tu penses comme moi, mets le sur ton mur.

Here is a translation. Katia asks for hope for those who have lost it, love for those who have not yet found it, and joy for all who have grief, and especially happiness and good health for all those I love.



Other things that have changed since I have returned to Gainesville. In past years, most of my holiday outings have centered around dance, so conversation has been limited to those breaks between dances.

--Where did you find those shoes?
--Buenos Aires. Of course!
- Oh, the Comme il faut. Four-inch stilettos. I’m not sure my feet. . . .

--Have you danced with him yet?
--Denver was great. So many friendly dancers. . . . You should try the Labor Day event.

Sometimes I don’t even know the names of participants, yet I have been going to these milongas for several years. We are so focused on the dance and always watching for the invitation, or the cabaceo.
At the parties, however, conversation touched on when Santa became “standardized” in an all red suit, shoes, freelance work, pets, philosophy and astrology. Holidays have provided a meaningful opportunity to connect with old friends and meet new ones.


The decorations and lights give us that sense of BLING BLING in a period of recession. A palm tree. A flamingo with a snow cap. An alligator with glowing eyes. By night, Christmas trees seem to stretch to infinity. Inside, some are loaded with ornaments, each with a story. The poodle ornament that replaces the star atop one tree is in honor of the family dog. The friends who held parties should invite us all back to help take down the decorations. Maybe this could become a Twelfth Night tradition.

Back home, the carved wooden elf and the red and blue Santa are always on my sister’s tree. The cats watch the glass balls. Several have crashed to the floor. The gold string and foil are all that remains of chocolate ornaments. Normally, cats don’t like chocolate. . . . Did Fay the Greyhound taste these?




The Christmas Eve dinner—excitement over seeing family and friends. Dinner was a mixture of traditional and vegan. The champagne, vegetables and coconut cream pie—all to die for. We had friends from the other side of town and former neighbors who had come down from Virginia, along with my daughter and her friend, temporary residents of Miami.

Tomorrow night, we will usher in the New Year. Michel once told me not to wish anyone a Happy New Year until the new year has actually begun. So I will wait to wish you all the best!

Wizards and wands, cats in hats by Jane Tolbert

When it rains at a theme park, what do tourists do?

I was starting to feel out of the loop. Everyone had been to Harry Potter! The kids went and prepped me on the “safe rides,” those with a low q-force (queasy) rather than a high g-force.

I met a friend at Islands of Adventure, fully aware of the dire meteorological predictions for Saturday. That is, in a period of drought, the weathermen predicted rain. But surely, it never rained in a theme park. My fears tended more toward the long lines and even worse, the scary, loopy rides and g-forces everyone talked about. However, by 7:30 a.m. dark clouds had gathered. By 8 a.m. when the park opened, the silhouette of Hogwarts loomed large and foreboding. The purchase of a wizard wand would surely whisk away concerns about weather.

The walk to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter took us past the Dr. Doom Fearfall, said to have a 199-foot drop at 45 mph and g-force of 4.0. The Incredible Hulk coaster, which whooshed by at regular intervals, attained 40 mph in two seconds and speeds of 67 mph with drops of 105 feet. These rides plus the numerous warning signs about the danger of the rides if you have conditions x, y and z. I started to have doubts about the Harry Potter ride. Years earlier I had barely survived the Alice in Wonderland teacups and Dumbo the Elephant at the Magic Kingdom.

We walked through Jurassic Park and into the world of Harry Potter. The rains had started to fall. Umbrellas and plastic ponchos appeared. Soon the park seemed dotted with odd-shaped travelers who managed to fit backpacks and purchases and small children under these blue, yellow or clear plastics.

The village with its snow-covered roofs, crooked chimneys, numerous boutiques with the stuff of wizarding and a stall selling butterbeer contrasted with the dark castle. I had been warned about drinking butterbeer before the ride, so we joined the lines that had already formed.

Once inside the castle, we stowed our belongings in lockers that scanned our fingerprints. Would a ride be so violent that we could lose our bags? I began to have my doubts about the wisdom of continuing. But we made it along hallways that had doors leading to “potions” or a niche containing the “sorting” hat. Past paintings in which subjects carried on conversations with other portraits.

Forty-five minutes later, we got on the ride, which contained death-defying nose dives punctuated by blitz-like darts on a broomstick (or so it seemed) between towers and buttresses of the castle as well as among enemies or competitors. I couldn’t always tell—my eyes were closed. Because of the quease-force, the ride seemed exciting but endless.



The Dr. Seuss Carousel and the Cat in the Hat ride provided an antidote for the fear of the Harry Potter ride. These rides were covered, another advantage in the rains that never stopped.



The wait for the Spiderman 3-D adventure, which boasted a 400-foot simulated freefall (the simulation seemed pretty realistic), was short. We quickly wound through 1950s newspaper offices and climbed onboard. These rides were spectacular (a lower quease-force), offering a combination of plunges and special effects (sound, light and heat). The line was short, and I could have braved another round.

Admittedly, we selected rides and attractions on the basis of protection from the rain. The Eight Voyage of Sinbad combined slapstick, rope swinging (Sinbad was ripped) and evil beings. The audience was losing interest.

A few courageous souls headed for the water rides, got drenched. We could only marvel at their constitution as we headed inside for coffee and hot chocolate.

A wizarding wand would have cleared the skies but might have mitigated my fear of rides. I had had enough for one day. We would return another time.

Emballage

The smallest of gifts or souvenirs comes in a bag with a tiny ribbon, a label with the name of the store and the expression, “Le plaisir d’offrir,” or the joy of giving.



Boutique - Rose Anita, Juan-les-Pins

Tea strainers, aprons, crystal ashtrays or jewelry. C’est pour offrir? Je vous fais un paquet cadeau? At Rose Anita, I received an elegant green and pink bag for the purchase (en solde).

My earliest recollections on arriving in France include chocolates in a special box tied with a satin ribbon, souvenirs at the newsstand or bookstore in a special decorative paper and household items like glasses or mugs boxed and wrapped elegantly and efficiently by a storekeeper with impeccably manicured nails. They treated even the most insignificant of pottery bowls, olive wood trays or books like a luxury item from Hermès or Baccarat! And the way in which they wrapped them—with the seam on top and the ends with triangles. (For a "how to," see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YiXhxA9a39A.) All of this care and detail contributed to the oh-là-là impact of packaging.

Packaging has extended beyond the packages themselves to the decor of store windows.



The professional exhibition, Emballage, which ran Nov. 22-25, 2010, at Paris Nord Villepinte Exhibition, had more than 1,300 exhibitors, providing innovative and sustainable displays on beauty, beverages, food and health. Packaging adds distinction and contributes to branding.



Sephora - Nice Etoile
The November 2010 press kit for the exhibit Emballage quoted Charles Duclaux, Groupe L’Oréal, as saying that packaging helps distinguish brands and serves as a “vector of innovation.”

Chantal Sandoz, Groupe Carrefour, said that “ideal packaging solution. . . matches the product.” (for more information, see http://en.emballageweb.com/ExposiumCms/cms_sites/partage555010/presse/DOSSIER_DE_PRESSE_SALON_GB.pdf ).


Good packaging of small presents makes me want to open them. Packaging of store-front windows draws me in. Maybe I should rethink my packaging of Christmas presents. . . .



Chocolate store - Antibes



Sometimes professional gift wrapping is preferred!

Sophie and South Beach by Jane Tolbert

My daughter just arrived from France last week after a 24-hour delay in Nice due to a snow storm in Frankfurt.

She came with Sophie the cat and a friend who had visited about 12 years ago. At the time, both were teens with dyed, carrot-colored hair. The cat was a small kitten. The first visit was one of falls on skateboards, fake fingernails that came off when bowling, the discovery of Peter Pan peanut butter, trips to the Florida springs and those “all-you-can-eat” buffets, and hours spent in department store dressing rooms trying on prom gowns. We planned to speak only English, and we vowed to make photo albums. But the reality was different. Conversation often regressed into French, and the photos have remained in a desk drawer at my daughter’s father’s house.

The past few days have involved familiar and new activities. The familiar included the walk to Lake Alice to visit alligators and wading birds, to Publix, where Oreos, cheesecakes and cinnamon buns continue to hold fascination. The new outings include Harry’s Bar, which serves blackened food of a New Orleans style cuisine, the Mall at Millenia, from which we emerged empty handed, the local clubs where everyone looks so young and dances just by swaying because their feet have been immobilized by the sticky drinks spilled on the floor.

Dinners take place amidst rapid-fire conversation with everyone talking at once. “How do you translate. . . . armadillo . . . cranberry in French?” “What are the ingredients in mamajuana? Pumpkin bread?” “Who ate half a Klondike?” Our visitor takes photos of just about anything--supermarket produce and California wines, sidewalk cafés or evening gowns in those department store dressing rooms. Photos against a backdrop of brick walls give a ghetto look. American police cars with flashing blue lights, taxis and muscle cars from the 70s. . . .all of which will make up albums to share on FaceBook.

We didn’t make it to Disney on the trip 12 years ago. But this time, my son, daughter and guest spent a day at Universal’s Islands of Adventure where they visited the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, the Cat in the Hat and other attractions. The cold weather seemed to keep a lot of tourists away. And I had to work. But I did get to see the photos.

This visit has had a different purpose—destination South Beach for several months to work. The French guest hopes to learn more English in Spanish-speaking Miami. My daughter has never worked in the States, so this is a new experience for her.


Sophie did order room service at the hotel. Photo courtesy of SR.

With the departure of the travelers this morning, the French cat Sophie seems particularly unhappy. After all, she had spent an additional 24 hours in transit to get here, a night in a hotel room and crammed into a cat carrier, and now she has been left behind with her American cousins. Most likely Sophie will not see South Beach. But we will all see the photos.