This was the trip that started it all. Just whiling away the summer in a big villa in the south of France with my best friends and family.
Absolutely no agenda except to enjoy ourselves.
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In truth, I had done it many years before, and perhaps this trip was a desire to revisit the follies of my youth. Some cocktail of a romanticized summer slinking about the Cote d'Azur and several Bridgette Bardot films intoxicated me with a fantasy of a lazy summer with agreeable persons. I dreamed of lengthy shaded lunches punctuating the long, languid days and sultry nights spent shuffling along the quayside, looking for trouble. So I gathered my peeps, found a charming villa in an ancient hillside town above St. Tropez and settled in for a summer long dream-a-thon.
We gathered our necessaries at the weekly market in our medieval village and blazed righteous barbecues on the wood fire back home. Wine was dispensed at a roadside drive through pump where folks would fill jerrycans with local rosé. In the afternoon we'd take our siesta on the beach or explore the uber quaint villages that dotted the surrounding countryside.
Although we made our case at the requisite beach clubs, my favorite beach was Escalet, a so-called "plage sauvage" or wild beach. There were no yachts or champagne showers, but the water was impossibly clear and there were high rocks from which to jump. That's all I'm really asking for in a beach; high rocks and clear water.
I can't say that I was disappointed in any way with doing nothing all summer. In fact, I think we should all do it.
Thank you Lauda, Susie, Lulu, Hicham, Dawn, Jan, Jackie, Manuela, Joyce, Barbara, Jean-pierre, and Mehdi for helping me visualize my dream.