"Violette isn't at this school anymore," the English teacher told us, "she's going to the lycee now.  I'll try to reach her father."

Violette is the pen pal of an American friend.  Violette writes in English and K writes back to her in French.  They'd never exchanged phone numbers and all the correspondence was handled by the schools. No one was 100 percent up-to-date on plans, including us.

The teacher was young, with short bright red hair.   The French school was not so different from a US school, except in name.  A "college" is a junior high or middle school; a lycee is the high school.    K was impressed that all the kids dressed differently; I noted how similar they looked to her.  Violette emphasized how everyone was individual at her school in Manosque, "not like Aix-en-Provence -- snobs".

I am always up for a new adventure.  How many chances do you get to visit a junior high school and high school in another country?  When K's Dad said they were coming and she'd like to meet her pen pal, it set my wheels in motion.

Violette's dad called on our cell phone to say it would be OK for her to miss a couple of classes.  We met at a cafe and had lunch and  coca-cola's.  Manosque is a city of about 20,000 inhabitants.  It is situated on top of a hill, with walls surrounding the center.  We sat under spreading chestnut trees, just beginning to bloom.

Our journey continued along the French and Italian Riviera.  A station wagon and a map and we were all set.

In Cassis, when Blair put his hand in his pocket his camera wasn't there.  "I'm sure," he said, "that guy in the grocery store took it."  An odd-ball doddering man had blocked our passage as we entered, and bumped into us near the potato chips.

"I knew it!" I moaned, "It's always like this in the South of France."  If it's not gypsies, it's 60 year-old-men in argyle sweaters picking your pockets.  I had warned our companions to beware of thieves, but never imagined we'd be prey.   We saw the guy later and I shot him a look that could curdle milk.  He winced and then smiled.

At dinner time, I slunked out onto the street from the hotel.  I felt our vacation was ruined by this incident, and then I felt ashamed something so stupid could bother me so.  Madame Gloom mourns the loss of her camera -- other people lose their homes, their savings, their loved ones.  I just couldn't reason with my disappointment.

Cassis is perhaps the most beautiful place I have ever been.  Dramatic white rock formations meet the brilliant turquoise sea.  We took a boat ride through three "calanques" -- inlets of the sea into the land.  The first was a harbor for the Phoenicians, the Romans and the Greeks; stone bridges and loading bins still were recognizable.  The second calanque was lined with pine trees bursting from the stone.  At the final calanque, two of our passengers literally jumped ship for the sandy beach only accessible from the sea -- another boat would bring them back.

We decided to eat dinner at a little French restaurant.  Earlier in the day, Blair had helped the woman working there to attach some lights for outdoor dining.  As we slipped into our booth she smiled to see us again.  "Did you lose this?" she asked, holding our camera.  We left her an extra 20 euro tip.

We continued our motor trip clear to Genoa, past thousands of greenhouses covering the terraced hills of Italy.  This region grows most of the roses and carnations for Europe.  Our camera battery died just as we boarded the boat tour of Genoa.

Your pen pals are going to be traveling in the US for the next ten days, peddling paintings.  Artnotes will be back in operation in late April.




Laurie (painting and text) and Blair PESSEMIER
"Postcard from the Italian Riviera"'; acrylic on wood; 5 x 12 "