The adventure has come to an end but my story is far from complete. I left Paris AND...Here's the next chapter...Sept 27th....
Fresh off a five hour train ride, my warm welcome in Cannes was delayed. I found our little apartment empty with no sign of my jet lagged traveler anywhere. "It's a mystery" the woman at the front desk told me, "We know he asked for a change in rooms this morning but we haven't seen him since. Perhaps he's gone in town with the others to find the grocery store."
I attempted to contain my disappointment and returned to the "apartment," to unpack and settle into what would be our "home" for the next month. To say it was tiny would be an understatement. I've had bigger rooms on cruise ships! Anger fueled my intermittent rant with many expletives thrown in for effect. I kept saying, " Calm down, don't complain, give it a couple days, so what if we don't have a view of anything but pine trees, the patio is large, and we'll be close to the lobby, restaurant, and pool area. Maybe it will be quiet, quiet is good!."
To calm my bitchy nerves I put on my bathing suit and headed to the pool. Having just Come from the chill of Paris, the sun and mild humidity felt wonderful. It was the first time in several days I was warm. Little did I realize it would be the last time I'd put on my bathing suit and sit by any pool the rest of the trip! As for the pool, it was very large and pretty with an infinity edge that appeared to flow into the sparkling Cote Azure waters in the distance. There were a couple cruise ships and yachts hanging out near the distant harbor which set a very ritzy kind of atmosphere. I smiled for the first time in hours and tried to relax.
As the sun warmed my skin I tried to justify the minute size of our room with the thought that I'd spend a lot of time outside enjoying this view, swimming in the pool, or on tours. Then I stuck my toe into the water and wondered where the icebergs were hiding. More disappointment, more trepidation, and more longing for the 85+ waters of our community pool at home. Eventually I wandered back to the tiny home away from home and found my wayward partner curled up on the little sofa soaking up the sun that radiated into the room. He was nearly in tears. "I want to go home he whispered." Not quite the welcome I'd expected after being separated for nearly a month!
As the story unfolded, it seems he'd arrived from his long overseas trip sometime after midnight to a very deserted hotel that had only a French speaking night watchman on duty. Expecting no other guests, he had no idea where to put this weary traveler. After a few calls and a lot of wandering the expansive but dimly lit grounds, up and down stairs, and with baggage in tow, Rich was led to a dingy, damp room that smelled of mold. This was offered up as the best option for the night. No amount of pleading from Rich could convince the guy that this was unacceptable. To make matters worse, in the morning, he was told that though another room was available, for now he'd have to wait in the dungeon until someone could be found to help him with his bags. No wonder I found a very tired, unhappy, overwrought partner with one foot out the door. I figured that with sleep, food, and time he'd be singing a different tune. After all he had brought his guitar!
Then the rain began. It started with just a light, chilly shower that sprang forth from heavy grey clouds. Unfortunately, the drizzle continued for the next few days. To be fair, there were a couple of hours break from the rain to walk the two miles of hills into town for groceries, but independent sight seeing was definitely not possible unless you favored mud and puddles. We did have a break in the clouds each evening to gather on a private patio for our cocktail hour where we met the other 40 or so guests from Canada that would be our pals for the next three weeks. Knowing that they'd left their chilly cities behind to come to this place, we would get no sympathy for what we'd left behind. San Marcos was enjoying unseasonably warm temperatures and Rich couldn't believe that he'd left all that for this! Things will improve I cajoled. "We're here in Cannes, we get to see so many cool parts of this area. Think of all the fun we will have!" No amount of trying to brighten his sour outlook would work. He had bad weather, steep hills he couldn't navigate with a bum knee, and fatigue holding him prisoner. I thought things would soon improve, but I was wrong.
Three days into our trip the sun appeared and we all loaded onto a bus for a tour of Nice, the Rothchild Villa, and Kerylos Villa. It was lovely to be off the hill and out exploring the area. Nice is a neighboring city about 45 freeway minutes away from Cannes. It is a very congested seaside town that must be impossible to navigate in the high season. For lunch we had free time to wander away from the group to see the market and old part of town. We found a delightful outdoor restaurant where we had our first special meal and I celebrated with a glass of wine. "Our vacation together has begun" I declared with a smile. I toasted to our first time together in a foreign city, to the wonderful food, and new experiences yet to come!
Then Friday we had to cancel our second excursion due to the rain. Saturday night started out with more of the same, continuous light chilly rain. Then by 10 pm a major storm arrived like a freight train with no destination. The heavens wept and roared with thunder for a couple hours. Buckets of rain poured from the sky and then abruptly stopped. But the quiet interlude was short lived when another even harder storm filled with rain, hail, and thunder claps arrived and stayed. Water filled our patio and began to creep under the sliding glass doors into our tiny living room. I utilized all our available towels to contain the deluge that seemed to have no promise of ending. But within an hour or so the rain abruptly stopped and I was finally able to settle in for a bit of sleep....at midnight.
The morning sun was triumphant and made the walkways sparkle like glass. Noting that the Internet was down I ventured forth from our cubby to the reception area for an explanation. "Cannes, Nice, La Bocca and a few more towns have flooded exclaimed our flustered hostess!" "Thousands are without power and phones and with that so goes the Internet." The news on the TV told the story. Pictures of cars stacked on top of each other like dominoes, homes and businesses ruined by water and mud, lives lost and many missing was the story that repeated as we watched in astonishment.
It was a beautiful day so it was difficult to grasp the severity of the situation. The sun was like Mother Nature's "Mea Culpa" for the fit she'd thrown. With little else to do, a few of us, with good knees, put on our walking shoes and began the mile walk to the beach. No words are appropriate to describe what we found. A strange quiet was broken by sounds of rushing water and intermittent sirens. Heavy manhole covers torn from the road were found tossed like poker chips down the hillside. Garbage cans poked out of the open hole to alert drivers to slow down and avoid damage to their car. Rushing water sped along the sides of the road, like a rivers, to the ocean. Mud claimed walkways, filled underpasses, covered cars and flowed out of low lying buildings.
Streets were blocked by several cars and motorcycles mixed together and stacked in a twisted pileup that seemed impossible. However, the mess we saw spoke to the power of rushing water and debris. The sand along the ocean was littered with a mixture of garbage extracted from the sea and twisted pieces of furniture, pieces of cars, and other unrecognizable things. Yet, what surprised me most was that many of the locals carried on about their day as if nothing had happened. Joggers dodged puddles, sunbathers found patches of sand to lie on, and a few ventured into the sea to surf little waves. I hoped they'd give up and get out to avoid things that floated in the wakes. Nearby, I could see one car that had been pushed into the sea and was nearly fully submerged. Little did anyone know then that it contained two of the missing to be recovered a couple days later. I marveled at the resilient, yet risky behavior of the locals. Kids ran barefoot over debris that held who knows what and the bacteria count of the water must have been unusually high and climbing. One surfer walked by with a one inch gash under his eye that he'd just gotten. I stopped him, offered him a clean tissue, and suggested he seek medical attention for stitches and antibiotics!
What happens after the rain and devastation? Train travel ceased, buses took twice as long, and Internet was gone for weeks. Sadly, thirty people lost their lives. We were one week into our month "visit" and other than our local shopping area, with local towns cleaning up from the mess, there was no place to go anyway. What happens after a storm? Mosquitoes hatch and I became their favorite place to dine!
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