I sit here in my quaint hotel lobby a few hours away from Paris sipping tea while Forrest is napping peacefully and cannot think of what I could possibly write in the aftermath of last night's attacks. No words describe the horror. Perhaps Obama's statement of support to French President Hollande and the people of this country are as good as any: "This is an attack not just on Paris, not just on France, but an attack on all of humanity and the values that we share...an outrageous attempt to terrorize innocent civilians." To be sure, innocent civilians are being targeted and caught in the crossfire of terrorism all over the world each day, but rarely does it stop us in our tracks, reminding us that nowhere are we safe, that nowhere can we take our freedoms for granted. Aix, as far away from Paris as it is, woke this morning reeling, somber, in disbelief. The streets were deserted for hours before finally, slowly, people started venturing out, opening their shuttered businesses and huddling in quiet groups around their phones and newspapers. I honestly didn't know if anything would open today, but life does continue even in the face of the unthinkable and with grim determination, the people of Aix, like the people of Paris, move forward. It is through this reality that I think comes the most poignant act of defiance against such evil: Their terror will not win. They fight a war in which, though they injure, they have already lost. Perhaps it is in the face of this fact that such acts of violence and mayhem become the epitome of grievious senselessness.
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In this spirit of moving forward, I look back to yesterday's adventures with Forrest in the hopes of bringing a smile and a bit of joy to the moment. I had written quite a bit last night when my ipad crashed without any of it being saved. At that point, I crashed too. The post went something like this:
Forrest was a crazed bipolar child today, oscillating between Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with a fluency and extremism that astounded even me. I'm sure we put the fear of God into most onlookers -- we were that mother/toddler duo. You know the ones. On the bus, on the sidewalk, on the boat (yep, we were on a boat - more on that later), in the restaurant, writhing in the stroller. I can say it was epic only now curled in the fetal position in bed. Earlier, well, my choice of 4-letter words was not so mundane; neither was the pulsing cramps in my abdomen, the vicious headache, or the bloodied battle wounds we both garnered. Ugh. Granted, Forrest has been (relatively speaking) a pretty darn good little travel buddy, so I knew it was going to catch up with me at some point. I only describe it for you to let you know not all is peaches and cream traveling with a toddler. :) HOWEVER, wait till you see some of these photos, and then tell me it isn't worth it. And lest you think I am just dragging him all over tarnation kicking and screaming (though points of yesterday may have pretty much been that), he also is having a really good time and was absolutely ecstatic about the boat ride - even more so than the bus ride! ...Don't let his "toddler-ness" fool you into thinking he was the more injured party... Most of his complete melt-downs were in some variation due to me not letting him jump facefirst into the water to swim with the fishies, or let him clamber up on any old fishing boat he wanted, or get garbage from the bottom of the clear blue sea to "throw it 'way."
We took 2 different busses to get to Cassis, a quaint little seaside village about 50 km south of Aix. Winding through multiple towns and stops, it took us almost 2 hours to get there, but coming over the last of the southern France hills, we could see the Mediterranean lapping at the towering, sheer rock cliffs and this picturesque, medieval village carved into the hillside. I'll let the pictures do most of the talking, but it reminded me a little of Venice, mixed with Carmel, mixed with the south of Spain, and complete with a 13th century castle up on the bluff that retains much of its mystique because no visitors are allowed. As my friend Kate says: amaze-balls.
The incredibly clear water - the bottom is like 30 meters down the boat driver said. November or not, I was tempted to jump in!
Cassis is known most for an intriguing collection of Calanques -- where streams flow into the sea at deep, protected points along the coastline. They are all part of a national park and boast incredible hiking, which, except by boat, is the only way to access the little beaches and breathtaking views. Forrest and I took an hour boat ride to go visit the 3 main Calanques and it was definitely the highlight of the day. In one, Port Miou, hundreds of boats are harbored along limestone cliffs that were once quarried for use along the Suez Canal and the base of the Statue of Liberty among other places. The water is breathtakingly clear, and Forrest was ecstatic to see fish swimming alongside our temporarily moored boat. The cliffpoint extending furthest out to the east, Cap Canaille, is the third highest sea-cliff in Europe, rising nearly 400 meters above sea level. Sir Winston Churchill spent a lot of time here in Cassis painting Cap Canaille.
I have to be honest: I totally stole this photo from the web, but I just HAD to give you some idea of how incredible these calanques are and my pictures DO NOT do it justice.
The trail (which goes all the way to Marseilles) is on the very crest of the cliffs.... it's a steep drop down for the brave souls who get to the beach, but imagine it on the way back up!
His cheeks hide the biggest smile of the day... (Cap Canaille in the distance)
Be still my heart . . . Yesterday, it was be still my spanking hand, but whatever. A day's perspective is everything!
Are these sea urchins? Whatever they are, this man was literally preparing them directly from the boat and bringing them to the seafood restaurant directly in front of him. Can't get any fresher than that!