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The Pearl of Bora Bora


Hello everyone! I have been asked by the lovely Marsha at Splenderosa to join her International Blog Party “By Invitation Only.” It is quite a thrill to be participating along with some of the blog world’s finest. Today’s theme is “Weddings”…



My photos are faded now. But my memories are fresh. I am not single. Nor have I been married. I have a ring but it is not a wedding band. Let me explain.
Two wild things, two wanderers recognized something in the other and fell head over heels in love. They enmeshed their disparate lives by creating a team as a travel writer and photographer. And discovered the world and each other…together. Wherever they were, that was where home was. 
And so my companion Remi Benali and I found ourselves on Bora Bora in February 2005. It was our most glamorous assignment so far, covering Bora Bora Cruises slow circle of the Leeward Islands for the French travel magazine Hotel & Lodge. We swam amidst the sharks only to find that a floating champagne bar had magically appeared when we came up for air. We were giddy with good fortune, dumb-founded by our luck. But it is also harder work than one outside of the métier can understand and we took it so. We didn’t see the time passing but felt it brushing past our skin.
One evening, just as the sun was tipping its hat in farewell, I could hear Remi’s gentle pad behind me as I gazed out onto the swirling sea. I turned and saw he held a jewelry box in his hand. My heart started to pound and I searched his gaze. Was this…? Would he…? No, no, not exactly. Inside the box, was the most beautiful pearl, one that glimmered green like the waves below me on one side and glowed pink like my heart on the other. A feeling, a moment, solidified into a tangible thing. It is a commitment ring. A promise was made with it and it has been kept. It is the most precious object I own. 

Five months and much paperwork later, we made that promise legal by making a PACs or a Pacte Civil de Solidarité in the Town Hall, an exceptional option here in France. Solidarity. To stand by each other, to promise to take care of the other. It is so right for our couple, who have been through so much after having previously been so independent. I wore a white Margiela jacket and we stole a quick kiss as the notary wished us congratulations. But that was it. No champagne, no cake smushed in faces. We rushed back to our tiny apartment and started packing our bags for an especially challenging assignment in Tibet. We left before dawn the next morning. There was no time for ruminating high in the Himalayas but what we saw imprinted us strongly, with weight. And fifteen minutes after our return to Paris, Remi found an internet ad for a house that would finally take us to Arles, the city that had called to us. In Provence.
In Tibet. ©Remi Benali

All of this doesn’t mean that I don’t have my moments of rêverie. I honestly have no idea if we will ever tie the knot as our being together is still an active, not a given choice, but if we do, I know exactly where I would like us to go to do so–back to Bali. We have been twice on assignments and it is magical for both Remi and I. We have roamed the island and been intoxicated by its romance. We could have a simple ceremony on the beach with just our immediate family at our sides. We could be barefoot in the sand with the waves as music. I would charm Remi into wearing his sarong (he is even more masculin in one)…

…and I would don my favorite champagne silk bias gown with matching vintage pearls.
And of course, the pearl of Bora Bora. 

And although our lives have taken another turn, our existence is now quite simple and our travelling days are perhaps over, for the past eleven years I have been with an incredible man. Finally, all of our voyages together were our lune de miel. For yes, we did dine by candlelight in the garden and spread the rose petals out with our toes the evening that I took the above photo along with too many memories to mention. Today, I run my finger over the pearls surface and remember that I don’t need any more than all I already have.
I never dreamed of being married, not even when I was a young girl. I don’t know why, my parents certainly gave me a wonderful, lasting example. But I did hope, for so long, that one day I would meet a man that I would love and respect, who would feel the same for me. Who would appreciate me for who I am and vice versa. That we could build a life together in trust. A wedding then of heart, mind and spirit. 
I feel very fortunate.
Cue music:

For those of you that are visiting for the first time, I really want to extend a warm bienvenue. And for my wonderful readers and friends, please take a moment if you can to visit some of the other posts. You will be able to find them all at Splenderosa. How wonderful to explore and dream! 

More Saturday treasures!

Happy girl! That is me. I love Saturdays. Don’t you?
The market was too exceptional to not write about today. Packed to its peak, it is true but also tumbling over with bounty.

For once, I did not buy white flowers as the delicate paper-thin pink was too appealing…

…and for those of you that are wondering…yes, the flower man gave me another free bouquet! But not just any flower either…the first lavender of the season. And yes, they are more blue than purple, tickling my nose (and Ben’s) with a perfume that is soft as spun sugar.
But the fruit! It is positively luscious. Not a word I usually use as it strikes me as vaguely creepy but my other choice was ‘addictive’ which isn’t exactly charming either! I can. Not. Stop. Eating. The cherries! Why did I only get a half kilo? Why? I think that I wrote recently about “edible jewels” and whatever that was referring to is poppycock because these are the real thing. The strawberries aren’t half bad either. The poor things got a bit smushed in transit, so of course I had to eat them to put them out of their misery. We’ll finish them off after a late, late lunch of oysters and a glass of chilled white.

Ah, but time to move on to the goods. Because nothing beats a surprise. And there was an envelope waiting for me when I got home, exhausted after lugging around a filled to the brim panier in the heat. It was from Marsha! At Splenderosa! You see, I am a winna!!! Look at these gorgeous bracelets that I scooped up in a give-away. They are gorgeous and my photo doesn’t even begin to the quality justice. Marsha bends over backwards to keep her prices reasonable, so if you are thinking, “Yes, those are fetching but I could never afford that,” please go take a gander at her shop so you may think again! I will wear these all summer long…

She also included a second surprise in with her card, which that says so much about her generosity. Being in contact with her has been the true gift though. She is one of the wonderful ones who really found her place with her blog as she can bring happiness to so many people. More about her soon but thank you Marsha–for everything!

Now, speaking of lovely ladies, I would be sorely, sorely remiss if I didn’t take advantage of writing this little extra post today in order to wish my Mom a very, very Happy Birthday! Do you see that flower? That is how beautiful my Mom is. I love you!

Sending you all wishes for a wonderful weekend full of treasures great and small…And joyful celebrations to those that are revelling in the Queen’s Jubilee–huzzah! 

The definition of patina

noun
  1. A thin greenish layer, usually basic copper sulfate, that forms on copper or copper alloys, such as bronze, as a result of corrosion.
  2. The sheen on any surface, produced by age and use.
  3. A change in appearance produced by long-standing behavior, practice, or use.

We love that word “patina” (and no, I am not inferring the Royal We, I’ll leave that for the Queen). We bat it around effortlessly as in “Oh, I find the patina on this frame quite charming, don’t you?” But what is interesting to remember is the hows and the whys of the flaky crust, tumble-down and slimy sheen. It comes from use. And age. Just like the little wrinkles, the crinkly ones forming in the corners of my eyes from too much smiling (there is no such thing). So I will leave Sete with the details and trails of a hard work town, well-worn. Not with its heart on its sleeve but more probably, a tattoo over the heart.
Bon weekend! 

Seafood Feast in Sete

“Do you want to go to Sete? He says we will have the best bouillabaisse of our lives…””Done!” I shouted out immediately from the next room. Now truly, who on earth would say no to such an offer? Who would even need to think twice? Not me. I will go an-y-where for good food. 
It turned out to be the stuff of dreams. The little family run restaurant that is so off the map that even locals get lost trying to find it. A gorgeous room filled with an eclectic art collection and low lighting. No music but the sound of the gulls bobbing on the waves just beyond the front door. Yes, please.
Our ami had called ahead to reserve bouillabaisse for four people. He knows the father, who is the owner, the son is the host and the other son the chef. We met them all. They treated us very kindly. Parce que je suis gourmande or because I am piggy, I wanted to start with oysters. We were after all sitting  at 15 yards from the place where some of my very favorites come from. Our friends shot each other a glance and then looked quickly down at their menus but said nothing. The oysters! How they were divine! So creamy. I couldn’t get over it. And so perfect with the white Clairette that had a fair whiff of sea salt in its golden  bouquet. As the host/brother/son approached, hefting a silver platter, I started shaking my head in disbelief. Mais non! C’est pas possible! Mais si, it is possible. We each had our own dorade, plus enough rascasses, crevettes, encornets, rougets and some other extremely special (although alien-esque) fish that this was no mere bouillabaisse but a bouillabaisse royale. My hands trembled with excitement before…

…and were folded into a prayer of “Please, no more, I beg you” an hour later. Now kids, I can eat. I really can. I can put away enough sushi for a family of four and relish every bite. When I was invited to partake of the incredible, mind-blowing menu degustation at L’Atelier de Jean-Luc Rabanel in Arles, I was the last person partaking, even when my charming French honey was clutching the table. But here alas, I cried defeat.
Ooh la la, c’etait beaucoup. The crispy little toasts with aoïli, the saffron-perfumed gravy to dribble…all just phenomenal. A second bottle of wine washed the whole lot down and no, we did not get dessert.

Needless to say we were feeling rather…pleased with ourselves…at the end of such a meal. Certain members of the party even felt the necessity to pose “like fishhhermen!” Yep, that’s right. While we finished our desperately needed coffee the chef took our Golden Retriever, Ben, for a walk on the beach, blithely ignoring the sign stating “No Dogs Allowed.” The sun finally pushed the clouds out of the way. And our visit to Sete? Oh yes, it wasn’t half bad either…

Le Galinette
2 Place des Mouettes, 
34140 Mèze

Tel.: 04 67 51 16 77

Open only in the evenings in the summer, a good idea to reserve and folks, Google Map it!

Sunday in Sete

Now, I do love the Côte d’Azur, I do. Or I have come to love it after my dives for the rare pearls of peace and the past. They can be hard to come by. Not so on the wide-open other side of France’s Mediterranean coast. If authenticity is what you seek, Sète, a half hour south of Montpellier, is ready for her close-up. But only if you are shooting a documentary because this girl has a day job. A polar anti-thesis to Cannes, it is the second largest port on the French Mediterranean after Marseille, one instigated by Louis XIVths own Colbert. Materials of all sorts are launched across the world and the fish is as fresh as you can dream of (more of that very soon). The Grand Canal winds its way between the Bassin de Thau and the shimmering sea and yet the ambiance entirely lacks the frothy romance to deserve its nickname as “The Venice of Southern France.” Locals, of whom I was lucky enough to have one show me the ropes, call it an island but it isn’t quite one. Sète is of the in-between in several senses. Prosperous times have been followed by rough economies and then back again. And it shows. This is not a place to come looking for a dream but to wake up (hopefully not in one of the sailor’s bars) and realize that you just might love it somehow, despite or because of the rusty iron balconies, the grated plaster, the glint-eyed sea captains that will threaten a punch if you take their photo. But there are also hipster hotels, a contemporary art museum staffed by pouting young folk draped in black, a burgeoning photo festival and one of the world’s most beautiful concert venues in a Vauban fort positioned for sunset over the waves. I just want to take my hankie and polish the corners a bit. But Sète might prefer to be left just as it is, to follow the ups and downs of its own tide.

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