It's been two days since my last post. If I wait for it to disappear off the front page, I'll never finish.
An author friend had just introduced me to a French girl at a party. Something about Laëtitia instantly drew me to her. There was something about her eyes. I felt compelled to look into them. I could fall into them. I felt like I was skydiving. Skydiving at terminal velocity feels good, but in this case, I didn’t know if a parachute would deploy landing me gently in the beautiful countryside or if I would hit the ground with a bloody splat. We talked for three hours, left the party, walked along the river at midnight, and had our first kiss on the Pont Neuf, the oldest bridge in Paris, with Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, the golden dome of Beaux Arts, and the Louvre all in the background. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before that fast and intensely.
The writing of this gets confusing because there is a huge gap in time between the girls and by the number of characters. In the US, I went 10 years with only 1 girlfriend, not that the relationship lasted more than a few years, but here in 10 months I have been involved with a lot more than 1 girl. I always only look for a serious long term relationship, and that is all i ever wanted. Things haven’t worked as planned, and I’ve gone through a large number looking for one. I’m ashamed of how many there have been. I never wanted to one of those people. I’m only writing about the ones that had the biggest impact on me. I left Maiz out on the bridge the last time. It was the same bridge where Laetitia and I went. I didn’t even realize it until afterwards.
Not long ago, I wrote about my friend Maiz. Maiz is the young wife of the Albanian ambassador. Maiz and I were seeing each other for a while earlier this year. I had strong feelings for her, and we had/have a strong connection. I think I looked to her as a friend but not really as a girlfriend. It is hard to describe. Who looks at somebody else’s wife as a girlfriend anyway? She is married, and she had just started with the divorce. The relationship was complicated. We put the relationship on hold. We are still friends and talk and see each other regularly. We have both been open and honest to each other but kept our secret from her pederast husband. There was never any hostility between us.
Laetitia and I spent several weeks together before we professed our love, and after two months she told me she wanted to marry me. I said I would like that, but I would like to get to know her better before I make that commitment. She agreed.
The weather turned cold, and we took the night train out of Paris. In the early morning, the train arrived in a small town near Cannes. Her villa was a 15 minute taxi ride away from the depot.
Late summer on the Riviera (Côte d’Azur) the weather is warm in the sun but cool in the shade. The land is dry. Rising from the sea, steep, rocky hills covered with vineyards and trees in dusty olive greens become mountains. The sky was an intense blue. It reminded of the California coast. We were to spend a couple weeks at her villa overlooking the Mediterranean sea. The mild opioid withdrawals added a heavy tone of nostalgia to everything.
At the Riviera, I was tapering off the opiate painkillers that I had started again after a cluster of migraines hit recently. I had completely quit opiates and tramadol, but the pain and vomiting was unbearable that last time. It was the worst migraine I’ve had in a year. I hadn’t been able to move from my bed for a day. I hadn’t even been able to get up to use the toilet. I was so sick in fact, I texted my ex-lover Maiz from bed and asked her to come to my flat to help me. She had to get the tramadol from my medicine cabinet, pour me a glass of water, and feed me 2 two hundred milligram tramadol pills while holding the water so I could sip it. Maiz is a physician and is educated about migraines. I hadn’t asked Laetitia because I didn’t want her to see me like that.
photo of pool and sea
Her house is on a hilltop not far from some forgotten Roman ruins. It’s a typical Mediterranean house with a tile roof, stucco walls, tile floor, and a pool.
We spent the days visiting the surrounding medieval towns, walking through natural areas, exploring ruins, and eating. Eating is a big part of life in France. When we didn’t eat out, we cooked at home. I didn’t know how to cook, but Laetitia showed me what to do. In all, I did about half the cooking. We ate a lot of cheese, grilled some steak, vegetables, bread, olives, and wine.
Eating out was usually OK. A funny thing about French people is that they eat a lot of pork. One time, the only restaurant open in town served nothing but pork. We were both hungry, but Laetitia was thoughtful enough to go to a grocery store and buy food for a picnic lunch. I only had to mention my food allergies one time to her and there were no surprise poisonings with pork or garlic.
Castelly is a fortified medieval town built on a rock on the edge of the sea. The rock is, in fact, a plateau with sheer sides and whose top is somewhat smaller than a square kilometer in area. The town’s foundations date to pre-Roman times. The Romans conquered and destroyed it. They rebuilt it on the ruins of the old Celtic-Gaul opidum. Within its walls are a castle and a chateau. Narrow streets wind among the medieval houses which have all been preserved. They have shops on the bottom floor and living quarters above the shops.
The sunlight was a gold hue that accentuated the yellow ochres of the buildings lining the narrow street. Flowering vines, their flowers intense magentas and blues, framed the archways and grew up the walls to the eaves of many of the buildings. The flowering plants were all around and overhung the archways of passages between streets and doorways.
Laetitia and I strolled through a narrow streets. They were shaded by high walls and trees. Most of the buildings were three stories high and contiguous to one another. The shops were designed for tourists. They sold designer clothing, art, jewelry, handbags, kitchen gear and dining settings, shoes, bakeries, chocolate, and a few brasseries. Dozens of stray cats sunbathed in the middle of the streets. There weren’t any cars.
During the tourist season, it is not possible to walk down the street, but instead one must push through a crowd packed shoulder to shoulder like a crowded stadium rock concert. It was deserted this time of year.
http://i.imgur.com/XAAYZxR.png
photo of oragne cat
We walked out the city’s west gate and followed a steep path that winded down the chateau’s terraced vineyards. The sun was setting. The fall palette of the vines caught the red ochers, rust colors, and deep purples of the sunset. We found a grassy area next to some overgrown Roman ruins overlooking the valley. We had a picnic of wine and cheese with some pastries from the bakery. The setting looked like a Romantic period painting. The afternoon and, in fact, the whole trip had been romantic.
I couldn’t help but wonder whether this was too good to be true. Maybe my past experiences have made me irrationally suspicious and there was nothing to worry about.
An author friend had just introduced me to a French girl at a party. Something about Laëtitia instantly drew me to her. There was something about her eyes. I felt compelled to look into them. I could fall into them. I felt like I was skydiving. Skydiving at terminal velocity feels good, but in this case, I didn’t know if a parachute would deploy landing me gently in the beautiful countryside or if I would hit the ground with a bloody splat. We talked for three hours, left the party, walked along the river at midnight, and had our first kiss on the Pont Neuf, the oldest bridge in Paris, with Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, the golden dome of Beaux Arts, and the Louvre all in the background. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before that fast and intensely.
The writing of this gets confusing because there is a huge gap in time between the girls and by the number of characters. In the US, I went 10 years with only 1 girlfriend, not that the relationship lasted more than a few years, but here in 10 months I have been involved with a lot more than 1 girl. I always only look for a serious long term relationship, and that is all i ever wanted. Things haven’t worked as planned, and I’ve gone through a large number looking for one. I’m ashamed of how many there have been. I never wanted to one of those people. I’m only writing about the ones that had the biggest impact on me. I left Maiz out on the bridge the last time. It was the same bridge where Laetitia and I went. I didn’t even realize it until afterwards.
Not long ago, I wrote about my friend Maiz. Maiz is the young wife of the Albanian ambassador. Maiz and I were seeing each other for a while earlier this year. I had strong feelings for her, and we had/have a strong connection. I think I looked to her as a friend but not really as a girlfriend. It is hard to describe. Who looks at somebody else’s wife as a girlfriend anyway? She is married, and she had just started with the divorce. The relationship was complicated. We put the relationship on hold. We are still friends and talk and see each other regularly. We have both been open and honest to each other but kept our secret from her pederast husband. There was never any hostility between us.
Laetitia and I spent several weeks together before we professed our love, and after two months she told me she wanted to marry me. I said I would like that, but I would like to get to know her better before I make that commitment. She agreed.
The weather turned cold, and we took the night train out of Paris. In the early morning, the train arrived in a small town near Cannes. Her villa was a 15 minute taxi ride away from the depot.
Late summer on the Riviera (Côte d’Azur) the weather is warm in the sun but cool in the shade. The land is dry. Rising from the sea, steep, rocky hills covered with vineyards and trees in dusty olive greens become mountains. The sky was an intense blue. It reminded of the California coast. We were to spend a couple weeks at her villa overlooking the Mediterranean sea. The mild opioid withdrawals added a heavy tone of nostalgia to everything.
At the Riviera, I was tapering off the opiate painkillers that I had started again after a cluster of migraines hit recently. I had completely quit opiates and tramadol, but the pain and vomiting was unbearable that last time. It was the worst migraine I’ve had in a year. I hadn’t been able to move from my bed for a day. I hadn’t even been able to get up to use the toilet. I was so sick in fact, I texted my ex-lover Maiz from bed and asked her to come to my flat to help me. She had to get the tramadol from my medicine cabinet, pour me a glass of water, and feed me 2 two hundred milligram tramadol pills while holding the water so I could sip it. Maiz is a physician and is educated about migraines. I hadn’t asked Laetitia because I didn’t want her to see me like that.
photo of pool and sea
Her house is on a hilltop not far from some forgotten Roman ruins. It’s a typical Mediterranean house with a tile roof, stucco walls, tile floor, and a pool.
We spent the days visiting the surrounding medieval towns, walking through natural areas, exploring ruins, and eating. Eating is a big part of life in France. When we didn’t eat out, we cooked at home. I didn’t know how to cook, but Laetitia showed me what to do. In all, I did about half the cooking. We ate a lot of cheese, grilled some steak, vegetables, bread, olives, and wine.
Eating out was usually OK. A funny thing about French people is that they eat a lot of pork. One time, the only restaurant open in town served nothing but pork. We were both hungry, but Laetitia was thoughtful enough to go to a grocery store and buy food for a picnic lunch. I only had to mention my food allergies one time to her and there were no surprise poisonings with pork or garlic.
Castelly is a fortified medieval town built on a rock on the edge of the sea. The rock is, in fact, a plateau with sheer sides and whose top is somewhat smaller than a square kilometer in area. The town’s foundations date to pre-Roman times. The Romans conquered and destroyed it. They rebuilt it on the ruins of the old Celtic-Gaul opidum. Within its walls are a castle and a chateau. Narrow streets wind among the medieval houses which have all been preserved. They have shops on the bottom floor and living quarters above the shops.
The sunlight was a gold hue that accentuated the yellow ochres of the buildings lining the narrow street. Flowering vines, their flowers intense magentas and blues, framed the archways and grew up the walls to the eaves of many of the buildings. The flowering plants were all around and overhung the archways of passages between streets and doorways.
Laetitia and I strolled through a narrow streets. They were shaded by high walls and trees. Most of the buildings were three stories high and contiguous to one another. The shops were designed for tourists. They sold designer clothing, art, jewelry, handbags, kitchen gear and dining settings, shoes, bakeries, chocolate, and a few brasseries. Dozens of stray cats sunbathed in the middle of the streets. There weren’t any cars.
During the tourist season, it is not possible to walk down the street, but instead one must push through a crowd packed shoulder to shoulder like a crowded stadium rock concert. It was deserted this time of year.
http://i.imgur.com/XAAYZxR.png
photo of oragne cat
We walked out the city’s west gate and followed a steep path that winded down the chateau’s terraced vineyards. The sun was setting. The fall palette of the vines caught the red ochers, rust colors, and deep purples of the sunset. We found a grassy area next to some overgrown Roman ruins overlooking the valley. We had a picnic of wine and cheese with some pastries from the bakery. The setting looked like a Romantic period painting. The afternoon and, in fact, the whole trip had been romantic.
I couldn’t help but wonder whether this was too good to be true. Maybe my past experiences have made me irrationally suspicious and there was nothing to worry about.