Sea and Aromatherapy on the Cote D’Azure

I was away all last week on the Cote d’Azur in desperate pursuit of the sun.   When you live in Paris,  sun chasing comes from an essential thirsting  for that bright golden globe that likes to tease the city now and then, like an elusive lover.

When I think of getting away, I generally feel attracted like a magnet to the sea.  The deeply turquoise waters of the Mediterranean, from which the Azure coast takes its name is breathtakingly beautiful bordered by lush high cliffs, some that plunge steeply down into the sea.

If you have read my previous posts in the past, you probably already know how much I adore the sea and find being on the coast therapeutic.  When you combine this with the luscious perfumed air around Le Lavandou , you have a powerful combination of healing agents.

For those not familiar with the geography of the French Riviera,  Le Lavandou is a rather sleepy small village on the Mediterranean coast about 25 kilometers west of St Tropez.  It is surrounded by vast chestnut forests to the north and miles of vineyards that produce the famous roses of Provence.

Saint Tropez certainly is larger and has impressive yachts filling her ports, but Le Lavandou feels more rural and pristinely elegant to me.  Their old villages resemble each other though with narrow flowered streets and men playing the popular game of balls.

Lavandou has some of the prettiest beaches in France.  Honeyed colored sand alcoves, some backed into towering cliffs blanketed with masses of colorful wildflowers.  Orange trees heavy with dangling fruit are everywhere, as well as lemons trees too.

Le Lavandou has eleven crescent beaches, along with a small port and an old central village. The adjoining village Bormes les Mimosa is famous for their perfumed flowering golden-yellow mimosa  and for having the summer residence for the French president.

The air is perfumed year around by all sorts of flowering plants and multiple herbs, primarily wild lavender, thyme and rosemary that grows everywhere.  Last week the air was thickly scented with Neroli or orange flowers and the delicate enticing aroma of  the flowering acacia trees, laden with clusters of white flowers , which by the way make delicious beignets.

Further down the coast heading east is Grasse, home to the perfume industry for good reason, as many species of heavily perfumed flowers are indigenous to the whole area.

Walking on nature paths high along the coast one becomes drunk with the redolent and luscious smells that engulfs  you.  Stopping to sniff this flower or plant is part of the immense pleasure to be had for free; divine gifts from nature evoking the poetic side of God.

Eight years ago , I was lucky to discover a very small apartment on the beach, that is practically lapped by the waves, or as the French say; pieds dans l’eau.  The door opens unto the glistening golden sand and the sea is only about 12 feet away at high tide, with the Porquerolles islands in the background.

Fortunately the Mediterranean does not have huge tides like the Atlantic, or otherwise the residence would be constantly flooded! What I love most about the place is hearing the rhythmic swooshing and sloshing of the waves as they crash upon the beach, especially at night lulling me asleep.

I think the sounds are very similar to the likewise rhythmic sounds from the umbilical cord that the fetus hears for 9 months in the womb. Perhaps the sea reminds us unconsciously of that time when we are rocked and bathed in the fluid darkness of the amniotic sac.

For me the waves also signify the continuity of life, as they carry in every atom of water the existence from the very birth of our earths waters eons ago.  The oceanic waves reconnect us to our fundamental core that we too are a part of and in cohabitation with the wholeness of our universe.

The minute crystals of sand could represent humanity and our individualistic physicality and close proximity to each other in populating the earth.   The oceans, like a cosmic bath refresh us, redistributing the sands of humanity and in doing so we are polished like the rocks and shells that are strewn along the beaches.

I love collecting the smooth various shapes rocks that are continuously washed ashore with  each wave, especially the heart-shaped ones.  I often wonder from where they originated and how  many millions of years in took to bring them into sight.

In many ways, we too are like the tides of the oceans.   When the tide of our lives is low, many of us suffer and may feel emptied. yet it is during these very times when the jewels of our inner selves are thrust up by our turmoil and laid on our bare beaches of despair.

And so like the pretty shells  and rocks brought into view, when the tide recedes, we too can discover what had otherwise been hidden in the deep recesses of our souls.   It is through this psychic thrashing, much like the  powerful pounding of the waves, that we become aware of what is really important in our lives.

I always come away filled with lasting memories of the spectacular beauty of the sunsets, the blueness of the ocean, and feel refreshed by all the wonderful perfumed mists of the sea , and flowers.

Driving back to Paris affords me a wonderful excuse to stop mid way in Burgundy so as to prolong my pleasureful pursuits in one of those tiny wine villages near Beaune.  Saturday I found myself in Saint Romain, famous for their powerful red wines in a small hotel, Les Roches, that had a wonderful restaurant.

The chef and his wife were adorably warm and provided  a wonderful classical rendition of the treasures of Burgundian cuisine.  Their speciality,  a tatin of carmelised pig ears with sage sauce as seen in the photo was beautifully executed and mouth-watering delicious. Cheese course with a mind-blowing Epoisse and other regional cheeses made for a delightful end to finish off the lovely red Saint Romain wine.

Before heading back to Pairs, we had enough time to revisit some of those very famous wine villages, where the vines were just showing only a few baby leaves sprouting from their bare wintered branches.

Like the vintner hoping for a prosperous harvest come fall, I too left to continue on my way back home with the same optimistic thoughts.  Revived from my own winter’s dormancy by the sea, flowers and lastly a delectable Burgundian feast!