Since I've lived in Florence I've noticed that my agitation at the city grew and grew. The only body of water is the ugly green Arno, and its fresh-water (but please don't drink it, its toxic). I'm used to humid, salt air in my lungs. I need that ocean breeze; without it, I've realized, I'm a real bitch to deal with. I get really annoyed when I can't see the ocean for long periods of time. I've been in a city where salt-water is scarece for about four months now. I've been having the beach kid version of PMS. I knew when I went to the French Riviera that I would be close to the sea. I knew I'd be on the beach. What I didn't know or understand was that when I got onto that beach I'd lose my mind completely. Cannes, pronounced con, is one of Europe's only white, sandy beaches. The second I stepped off the train and smelled salt in the air, I'd lost myself. I walked in a sort of trance toward the ocean and when I caught sight of the inviting sand I felt the most overwhelming relief. I put my stuff on the ground, took off my dress (I was wearing a bathing suit, don't worry. I'm not European enough yet for nude beaches) and sat my ass down in the sand. I looked out at the sea and basked in the sun and felt like I was almost home. Leo-Pisces. I fell asleep in that sand for two hours, allowing my skin to drink in as much sun as it possibly could.
When I came to, I noticed behind me a man building a sand castle. I love those people. Professional sand-castle builders-what a life! If I ever became serious about sculpture, I'd be a sand castle builder. He was making a life-size Ferrari in honor of the Grand Prix. It was seriously sweet. I watched him for a while before taking in my surroundings. The actual city of Cannes is alot like San Diego. I guess this makes sense. The two cities have the same kind of environment and are both really close to Hollywood. San Diego is about an hour drive from L.A. and Cannes hosts the most important film festival in the world, which makes it close to L.A. too. I noticed all the Europeans lounging on the beach: hairy young men in their rolled up jeans with no shirts on, topless elderly women, naked little boys and girls tossing sand up into the air. A typical day at the beach. Behind me a small old man played an acordion, a melody befitting only of France. The white sails of one thousand sailboats floated past my vision and fisherman sat on the shore with their lines cast out to sea. I sat and noticed things for hours, barely speaking to my friends and letting the sun wash over me like waves. Speaking of waves, there aren't any in Europe. There are little ripples because it is the sea and not the ocean. This never fails to disappoint me, often so much that I don't even bother going in the water. Like today. I was too busy enjoying the sunshine to bother pretending the sea was anything like the ocean. Whatever, salt in my lungs, sand in my hair, and sun in my skin makes me a happy person.
We stayed there from 9 a.m. until 5 p.m. Sun-soaked. When we got onto the train to go home I felt forlorn. I was leaving the salt, the sea, the sun. Sadness was about to engulf me when I realized with a start that I would be back at the beach (although a much different beach) tomorrow. Ohhh, sweet, sweet relief.
Arrivederci, for now.
Love, Gabby
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