It’s not a problem for me to sink into vacation mode instantly upon arrival to Ile de Re. The light, the air, the pace of activity--it’s chemically, physically, structurally so different from life in Paris or elsewhere as to cause the body itself to undergo a leisure-bound alchemy.
It’s basically impossible to find internet access anywhere near where I live, so I don’t bother. Getting online means, either by car or bus, crossing the island to the busy main town of St. Martin--a major expedition. For what reward? To read the list of complaints and incomplete tasks from the outside world? Yikes. No, thanks.
This year, like every year, Ile de Re is a little more crowded, but generally the view is the same. Our village hasn’t changed in the 6 years I’ve been coming here--now new houses, no new businesses (well, that’s a net change--in 6 years, we have 1 new restaurant, but we lost a realty office).
So, we have the habit to head to the beach, every day, to swim and sunbathe. If the weather is cloudy or windy, we skip it, and I head (by bike, rain or shine) to a spa’s pool to use the sauna, hammam, and take aquagym. Aden takes her swimming lessons there.
Friends of ours from Paris, who have a son Aden’s age, are here, on the other side of the island, and the papa is a tennis player, we’ve been playing. Mostly, I ride my bike, play with Aden, sleep, eat, and enjoy the simple pleasures of my family. In the morning, I ride into the village, or if Aden wants to come, we walk together. I have a cafe, pick up a newspaper, and head to the poissonier to see what’s good. Dom’s mom cooks it up for lunch, and we hit the beach after the afternoon nap.
The local wine has been hipped up--in general, the growers give their fruit to a central production facility, which turns out 2 reds, a white and a rose (sorry, but blogger doesn’t let me use special characters like an accented ‘e’). The two reds are cheap -- 3 and 4 Euros a bottle; but now the more expensive of the two, Le Gouverneur, has a chic look in black and orange--the bottle no longer screams ‘cheap local wine, nothing special’. In fact, I swear, it tastes better in a more dignified bottle. Today at the supermarket we discovered that there is an upscale, 12 Euros/bottle red from Ile de Re called Ultimium. We tried it today; I barbecued a steak as big as Michael Jordan’s shoe and we ate in the fresh air. Ultimium smooths out many of the rustic edges of Le Gouverneur--and thus, is less interesting. There is a tangy edge brought in by the salty air that is unique to the island--its terroir, like the constantly adjusting coastline, is made of something ephemeral and elusive--like the time we spend here. To make something that’s like anywhere else--would be like putting up big ugly Miami Beach condos here--it’s not needed, it’s not welcome, and we are relieved that this island remains true to its roots. If the water is too cold, the beaches too rocky, the nightlife too boring, the campgrounds too tacky, the nonexistent wifi too limiting--good. Go to Ibiza and leave us alone.
This year, there is a new attraction tho--a pavilion set up in a parking lot near one of the beaches houses a mobile zoo of reptiles--dozens of terrariums with cobras, rattlesnakes, pythons, boas, strange turtles, giant tortoises, alligators, caimans...fantastic. Right up my alley, certainly, and Aden loved it. Not only that, but there is also a massive collection of pinned insects from around the world.
In general, we are asleep soon after dinner, around ten, before its even really dark. If we are awake and the sun has fully retreated, we can go out in the backyard and observe the lonely courtship of the yard’s sole glow worm--it’s been a couple of years since I’ve seen any, and this poor one seems to be on her own. Like the SETI antennae, she broadcasts her hopeful code into vast, dark and empty space, hoping one day her blip will wash up on a shore that is populated by those who might comprehend it, and answer in kind.
The village had its annual fete, the square was filled up with tables and chairs, and a chaotic process of waiting in line, buying little tickets to get food and finding out you still needed cash to get some items (and wine), and trying to sort this out while a marching band blatted away on a small stage...it was great fun. I ate about 20 oysters. The fete has a serious side--during the daytime the tiny church by our house has a mass, a procession and a benediction for all those lost at sea and those the sea chooses to return. The church itself marks the spot where legend has it a Spanish princess came to shore after her ship foundered off the coast, and she dedicated the treasure she could bring with her to the church’s construction in thanks for sparing her life.
Sorry I can’t tell you everything about my life here--there are many many locations, restaurants, special things that I want to keep as best kept secrets. I’m always surprised so few of my Parisian friends come here, but it’s just as well. I am happy to be an off-duty entertainer. It’s Aden who puts on the shows here--each night as dinner comes to a conclusion she uses the back doors as a proscenium and does an improvised dance/pedagogy/singing/acrobatic routine that is truly overwhelming in its range of subject matter--she may detour for 15 minutes into an exposition on the secret lives and conversations of various microbes on various planets--or guide us thru the guts of dead katydid as she imagines being an ant scavenging the soft bits.
Last night we went to the village of La Flotte, to see the party, ‘La Nuit Americaine’--not to be confused with the awesome film w/in a film film by Truffaut--this was a celebration of the ties between France and the USA--where France aided the US in their revolution for independence, and took the ideas back home to enact their own shortly thereafter; and later we aided them in their liberty, ridding them of a peculiar species of gray insect. This exchange was wrapped up in a symbol--a statue, unveiled this evening, of one Nicolas Martiau, born in the 16th century on Ile de Re. From a rich Hugenot family, he fled to England when France reneged on its promise to tolerate non-Catholics; and later ended up in the Jamestown settlement in the Colonies--he survived the massacre, somehow...and ended up having children--a few generations later, one of his great-great-great grandsons, George, had a fair bit of success on the Revolutionary battlefield, and is commemorated today on the dollar bill.
For the big party, at which the harbor of La Flotte was jammed with gawkers and for which parking was nearly impossible, they set up a stage and had the Glenn Miller Orchestra play--now, knowing that Glenn and band perished 65 years ago, and any contemporaries would be extremely advanced in age, we have to wonder how someone has the right to the name--Glenn’s work and image would have passed into the public domain sometime in the 1990s. Anyway, somebody gets to call this big band the Glenn Miller Orch, full of robust musos in no more than middle age. As we arrived later than most, we installed ourselves on a terrace and were across the harbor from the main event. And in fact, we were freezing so we didn’t stay for the fireworks...
Life is rich here, rich beyond the power of money, and I want for nothing.
Love
KS
Ste. Martin de Re
