I would give my eyeteeth for an antique door like this.
Forrest and I have walked a lot lately. Like, a really lot. Today, we went even further afield, making it out past the "old city" to where the views open up and sequestered little neighborhoods hide behind high rock walls and draping ivy. Boutiques, restaurants, museums, and mysterious enclaves hidden behind these magnificent old doors all gave way to primary schools, the city pool and even a small military training site (or maybe base?). A little river appeared next to the sidewalk I was squeezing the stroller onto and we followed it to our destination-- a large natural space that, according to the hotel concierge, hid a small playground. Students were running on the myriad of paths in perhaps what was team training groups and we wove in and out of the foot traffic over bouncy roots on a path that was clearly not meant for strollers. Finally, in the distance, Forrest and I spied a slide at the same time.
Still in the "old city."
The playground in France is just one of the places that has caused me incredible consternation over the unbearably embarrassing level of French I have. Forrest gets to interact with these little kids regardless of their inability to communicate over spoken word, while I just hang around and smile my big dumb American smile and say Bonjour and "je ne parle pas le frances tres bien" to almost all the conversation starters thrown my way by the other mothers. I literally feel like I know less French now than before I arrived. I got off the plane in Marseilles and swoosh. Gone was whatever Rosetta Stone had been teaching me this summer. Also, I totally learned or maybe just remember all the wrong things. Who cares what time it is when all I want to ask the smiling mother next to me is how old her little girl is? Forrest can only sit at a little cafe on the Cours Mirabeau and people watch for about 11 minutes (but boy, do I take advantage of those 11 minutes!) and he gets pretty ancy strapped in his stroller all the time, so park forays have been a part of almost every day here. In the perfect world, it would have been the ideal place to practice my French . . . but that would require me having slightly more French to start with I guess. Ugh.
Cours Mirabeau.... it never gets old.
Talking about other mothers at the park brings me to the fact that I think France has more beautiful women per capita than any other country I've ever been in. Most women here are quite stunning; and almost every single one dresses impeccably well. I also could literally count the number of overweight people I've seen in a week on one hand.
Ok, so at least I have a general concept of what is behind this set of doors, but seriously... don't they just make you want to creak them open and have a peak? I also think its humorous the statues on each side look like they are getting a massive headache -- commerce, I agree, can be a major pain!
Seriously, someone please find me a way to get a set of these home... Heck, I'd even settle for the brass door knockers.
This morning was one of the large multiple square markets held 3-4 times every week here in Aix. Locals shop almost exclusively at these for produce, meats, and cheeses rather than the supermarket. Forrest and I have been missing having a kitchen, but found some absolutely amazing apricot with lavender jam to go with our fresh baguettes.
We actually haven't been eating many restaurant meals, but I've had so much bread and cheese and fruit lately, I just had to get a legitimate salad last night. ....Somehow they make even what I thought was a basic caesar look incredibly gourmet.