I haven’t mentioned Le Transat restaurant yet. Another of our ‘finds’ of 2006, it is family owned – has been for a long time – and its décor is noteworthy for its relationship to soccer and the international players who have, at one time or another, visited the establishment.
My picture is of our waiter of the day and, in white shirt, a member of the family who was insistent that he would like to see England win the World Cup about to be played in South Africa. When I told him I was in Le Transat four years ago and now regarded myself as a regular customer, he was in wholehearted agreement with the sentiment and said he would look forward to seeing me again in four years time!
Food good: prices slightly lower, but not much, than Le Perroquet.
This is where we saw the ‘Hawaii’ t-shirt man.
Nothing to do with Le Transat, but I forgot to mention that we set a new world shopping record in Carrefour, spending half and hour there and not spending a cent.
You may get an impression of my age and memory when I tell you that coming back this morning with the baguette from the boulangerie, I had great difficulty with the street door key. This was not exactly unusual: Jacques Dechentinnes had explained when we first arrived that there was often difficulty in opening this door in that it needs a little pull as you turn the key. Fortunately, a man I had not met before arrived and let me in with his key. When I reached the first floor I was surprised to find a notice with a new name on the apartment door. This turned out to be because I had come in by the wrong street door, identical to ours but without the condom machine, and was in the next set of apartments.
What you don’t need you don’t miss I suppose. Could have been embarrassing if I had bought some and managed to get into the wrong apartment holding a pack in hand. Could have been arrested for all sorts of crimes, from breaking and entering to false pretences.
Just to return to Juan-les-Pins, not that I really have the inclination so to do, my comments concerning its drawbacks are not overstated according to an article in Nice-Matin’s issue of the 27 May 2010, where the members of the town’s ‘cadre-de-vie’ have submitted 75 proposals to improve life there, from dealing with the appalling traffic problems, market stalls overflowing onto pedestrian crossings – not that French drivers know what these are for anyway - and lack of parking, to taking action against those who start building works and never finish them, instancing 43 avenue de Cannes where no work has been done on site for the past twenty years! Must be a relative of my next door neighbour who seems to have been extending his house for as long.
Doubtless, there may be similar proposals for Antibes where, I am told, binge drinking on a Friday night with young English girls crawling along the roads on all fours is now a common and distressing site. It is true there seems to be a substantial English population hereabouts judging from the voices of shoppers and mobile ‘phone conversationalists; not all of them entirely welcome and many adding to the unfortunate view of the English held by the French since Agincourt.
Today was planned to be a day out to Nice. We walked to the railway station to catch the train, only to discover today was a day of strikes against government proposals to ‘up’ the retirement age from 60 – possibly to 62 or 63.
Back to the town centre for the bus, but that too was unavailable for the same reason. Fortunately, for the better half of this marriage, it was ‘market day’ which meant not all was lost, especially for the market men and ladies who were probably supporting the strikers in view of the number of shoppers, including the better half, who otherwise would have been attending markets selling identical wares in foreign lands.
And so we wandered the bustling narrow restaurant and shop-filled streets of Antibes and sat with coffee and a copy of Nice-Matin getting up to date with all the news of the latest noteworthy happening here, namely the assassination of one of the regions more notorious gangsters – bandits as they are more romantically called here in terms echoing the description of some golfers who take money off me with increasing regularity. At least, I wandered and read and coffeed in the sunshine, having left the market men to the mercy of the lady bandit who accompanies me on such occasions.
I also sat with Jacques Dechentinnes outside his gallery while, in a strangely domesticated scene for an up-market gallery owner, he shelled peas for dinner while his lookalike-for-Cleo-Laine-wife ‘looked after the shop’. He had acquired from Orange a programme to enable me to update the internet connection in the apartment. Unfortunately it didn’t work because it was for Windows 7 32-bit operating system: mine is 64-bit which, Orange proudly announcing, would be their next job!
Talking with us was an American friend of Jacques, who was also having problems with internet connections – or lack thereof. He has despaired of the state of the USA, and England for which he had a fond affection having been there for the invasion of France in 1944. In considering their economic situations he quoted Mark Twain:
“I am concerned less in the return on my investments than in the return of my investments”.
Having come across one of those delights of a fish shop in which the French excel, reunited with my personal shopper, we bought fish soup and a baguette, grilled ourselves sardine fillets, followed up with cheese, all with half a bottle of rosē from the frig, as we sat down and enjoyed our French supper.
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