Pt 2 - The Summer Trip see here
Pt 3 - The Summer Trip, June 16 ***
Ah, lovely. The French hotels have returned to using duvets, covered in crisp white duvet
covers, replacing a variety of unsatisfactory cotton and foam and dense wool blankets they've substituted for many years. Duvets have a way of comforting one in all weather.
It's a restless snooze, with upward adjustments in the thermostat failing to thaw the air conditioning until I untuck the duvet all around and slip under it. I might have stayed asleep for the night if the Jill-of-all-Trades hadn't knocked on my door to bring up my suitcase, which Air France had delivered in about two hours . . . as promised.
I fall back into bed, intending to skip dinner, but a hungry tummy protests. I feel like something light, not the full-fledged dinner. I try to negotiate a lesser price with Jill, but neglect to notice the next morning when I check out whether the negotiation has been successful.
There are salads, cheeses, crackers, sprigs of tomatoes. Lots of water. I love the starry shadows the tomato stem makes across the table from the slanted sun rays.
I eat in the dining room, but a man sits out by the pool, reading as the sun slides down and breezes ruffle the trees. It lures me outside.
As does the heat after the chill of the air conditioning.
*The breeze turns into wind gusts, strong wind gusts. Mistral?
It's hard to take a photo that shows the wind, or that captures its sound. The little lollipop trees show only faint evidence with the leftward bend of the tiny shoots that poke out from the balls, by the ripple of the lavender . . .
. . . by the golden grasses whipping in the slanting rays of sunset.
My hair, short as it is from a fresh haircut, blows in the balmy winds but my eyelids are drifting down. Even thought it's still light out, it's time for bed. I hadn't expected Beth, my friend and tour leader, to pick me up tomorrow until around noon, but the new plan is for 9:00 or 9:30.
I open the window wide, which finally solves the too-chilly issue.
And I can peek out at the glow of the lights from Marseille all night long, and at the purple reflection of neon off the flowers of the oleander.
Morning comes too soon, since I have to repack my suitcase after scrambling everything for a change of wardrobe.
*** For security reasons, these trip posts are being made after my return.