The wild, chaotic sea and the fierce, breath-taking, ferocious power of the wind had something frantic about it. The whole scene perfectly matched the turmoil, the mayhem and confusion raging inside my head. Of course I was happy to have sold the car, but with it went a big link to our life, memories of our travels from the foothills of the Pyrenees in France, a country we both loved.
When I got back, invigorated, without consciously making the decision to do so, I opened a map of France on my Laptop. Three hours later I had re-traced our journeys around the Hexagon.
To Biarritz, Bayonne, Bordeaux for rugby matches. Toulouse had become 'our team', and we followed them with gusto. Further up the west coast to Arcachon and La Rochelle, and sometimes south, via the Canal de Midi to the Basin de Thau, for seafood and glorious white wine.
I remembered so many friends planning holidays in France, suggesting we 'absolutely must meet up', forgetting it might be a seven hour drive for us. We always went.
Often, friends stayed in places new to us and we discovered charming, tiny hotels across rural France. Many times I wondered had if I had found the hotel that inspired Rumer Godden's 'Greengage Summer'.
Unforgettable places, with peeling shutters, ancient lace at the windows, timeworn terracotta pots full of robust red geraniums. Hot baguettes, strong coffee served in large painted pottery bowls, often by eccentric owners.
Driving from Paris down to the Pyrenees, only stopping for lunch. Easy on Sundays, when trucks are banned from French motorways.
To the Riviera, driving along the splendid, palm fringed, Promenade des Anglais in Nice, the blue sparkling Mediterranean, me wearing a vintage head scarf and huge white framed sunglasses, bought on eBay France for little or nothing. It's worth mentioning that we had retired early to follow our hearts and enjoyed all our adventures on one reduced pension. Yes.
That afternoon, re-living them, with the full realisation that there would be no more, was almost unbearable. Almost.
Camille Paglia said: "Let nature shrug, and all is in ruin."
That wild day was packed with incident; the early morning goodbye to the car, hours spent out in the fierce storm, an afternoon full of memories. By evening, it was clear that something had changed.
Travel is my drug of choice. An idea took shape. Notes were made, lots of notes. Pros and cons listed. A plan formed. A new beginning. The first thing was to return to France.
And I'm back, able to write again.
Here in Nice, I take, like the proverb says: 'one step at a time.'
©2016 Jane Shortall for SeniorWomen.com
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