Gonfaron Month

Gonfaron, France

After poetically wandering the streets of Nice in the rain mourning our losses, we hopped on a coastal train to Gonfaron, the tiny town in Provence where we would be spending our next month at another work exchange: an American couple looking for renovation and help with their twin three-year-old girls. Robin was excited to get back into working with children, and David had lots of renovation experience to put to use. 

Our hosts, John and Jill, had bought an 18th century stone farmhouse about 5 years ago, with the plans to renovate and resell it while living in the French countryside. They'd been frustrated with French contractors and not making the progress they wanted to alone, so they started taking on volunteers when the twins were two. In the time they'd had the place, they'd installed a pool, converted the pigeonaire to a tool shed, converted an open space barn into a 2 story addition to the home with living room, office and master bedroom, and almost completed three bathrooms. 

They'd warned on their profile that this wasn't a place to practice French, as English was spoken at home. After our language barrier challenges in Italy, we were excited for that change of pace. And after a robbery that made us seriously consider going home, the idea of an American household in France was comforting.

An American household in France was an understatement. It was a small American bubble resting in the middle of Provence. Yes, English was spoken exclusively. But more than that, we watched American TV, ate chili, egg salad, bagels, pancakes and sundaes, used Windex, Clorox wipes and American power tools, and listened to the only radio station in the area catering to expats. They even used Morton's salt, imported from the good ol' US of A.  With our fragile state, this twilight zone America was the perfect home away from home for us.

Apparently, other volunteers thought so too, because it was a full house with a couple of volunteers staying on later than they'd originally planned. Our arrival brought the house count to 10, with 6 volunteers, our hosts, John and Jill, and Celeste and Camille, their girls. With the exception of one British volunteer, and the twins who were technically Niçoise, everyone was American, and 2/3 of us were from California.  One of the other Californian volunteers joked that from inside the house, he could've forgotten he wasn't in Northern California with all the vineyards and mountains of Gonfaron.

Gonfaron is a quaint town, centered on one main street that happened to be under construction for the entire month of our stay. It's known mostly for its turtle sanctuary, and for the legendary flying donkey of French tall tales. While we were there, we didn't manage to see either. We did see snow. What was days of rain in Nice was nearly a foot of snow in Gonfaron when we arrived. With the unseasonably warm weather the week before, the trees had blossomed bright yellow but were now covered in snow. 

There were two wood stoves working hard to heat the first floor, and electric heaters set up in every bedroom. But after a day of travel, freezing weather, and hanging out with a sneezing twin on our first day, we both officially caught a cold. Our room was on the third floor, which was a converted attic. And apparently stonework negates the concept of heat rising. With two down comforters, two electric heaters, and a cat snuggling up on the bed, we still went to bed freezing and woke up colder - plus with a dry throat and nose from the heaters. So we got in the habit of sleeping in layers, and took Jill's advice about putting a wet towel on the heater to re-humidify the air.

A few days of snow later, we were feeling back to normal and things were warming up. David went out with the girls and tried his hand at building his first trulli, in igloo form. And Carl, it works! 

The twins were a delight to be around when you were on their good side. We'd chase them as monsters, go for walks and play princess. But they were also at that fickle age, and at one minute would "wanna be your fwend," only to moments later insist that you "don't look at me." In spite of typical sister fights, at least they had each other's backs. When one of the girls was "mad" at you, the other would explain to you that their sister didn't like that and didn't like you. They also excelled at the tantrum arts. It was interesting from a developmental point of view to watch them make the conscious decision that they would have a tantrum, not just following instincts like a two year old would. 

With so many volunteers, it felt like there were too many cooks in the kitchen - literally. Originally the plan was for Robin to handle childcare, cooking and cleaning while David worked on the renovation project, but with so many of us, we were outnumbering the kids when we were watching them and running out of sous chef spots.  So soon enough, Robin was in on the renovation work.

The renovations had slowed a bit with John being on call for his job. Which is basically the job anyone wishes they could have: helicopter pilot to the stars. Just kidding, not the stars. But a multi-billionaire with a yacht big enough for a helicopter land pad, and the need for a private pilot to drive him to and from said yacht. 

When we arrived, work had just begun on the two sets of spiral staircases connecting the kitchen to the bedrooms. The house was built in the 18th century, and the existing stairs were constructed with rocks, pieces of wood, and plaster. The first step was demolition, which involved a bit of guesswork because with the strange construction there was a fine line between removing the tile and rubble and clearing out the entire innards of the step. 


Then came the wood-taping, cement-laying, plaster-spreading, facade-smoothing, primer-coating, painting, tile-planning, tile-cutting, tile-laying, mortaring, grouting and polishing portion of the work. Sure, it sounds like a regular day's work, but it took longer than that.

The renovation was tricky because the house was also being lived in (by a lot of people), and working on the stairwell that connected the kitchen to the bedrooms meant that everyone and everything was in the way — all the time. We started with every other step to leave a pathway, which was horribly inefficient but a necessity. And we had to make everything livable again at the end of each workday, which meant a lot of set up and take down of the same things. You know, two steps forward, one step back. Har har.


But, as you can see, we did finish one flight during our stay, which we were very proud of!

After a day of working on the stairs, we'd hop down (literally) two flights for amazing dinners put together by the other volunteers. Every night was like a culinary experiment gone right by a different volunteer, from potato dumplings to homemade pizza to curried salmon to taco night (something which most of France lacks). When it was our night to cook, our experiment with risotto didn't go so well, as everyone was called to sit down for dinner well before the rice had finished cooking. In our panic, we added a bunch of liquid to speed up the process which resulted in a concoction that was both crunchy and mushy. C'est la vie.

The twins spent dinners entertaining us all with the different expressions and sounds they could make. "Everybody, look at this face!" And they stalled bedtime every night by requesting every fruit in the kitchen one at a time until they were finally whisked upstairs by their parents. 

Kids these days: some of our awesome coworkers
...'borrowed' photo courtesy of CPJ

The rest of the night was usually spent gathered together in the living room, enjoying each other's company (and the internet connection and fire). We caught up on movies and TV shows, including far too much Holmes on Homes. Which we all determined was sound directed by one of Holmes' family friends. One night after watching Harry Potter, we came to the sad realization that we are getting old. I mean, sure, we're young and traveling. But all the other volunteers were young and traveling. Harry Potter was their Back to the Future. They're younger than Harry. And don't get us started on the fact when Aladdin came out, they weren't even born! To add insult to injury, they spent an afternoon reminiscing about their middle school dance songs, which included our college hit, "Yeah," by Usher and Lil Jon. For shame. It was a strange feeling to realize you're sharing drinks and jokes with people ten years younger than you. Or even that people ten years younger than you are drinking!

For the second half of our stay, the weather turned absolutely beautiful, and we had a great time playing with the girls outside with their brand new Hello Kitty umbrellas (quickly turned parasols with the change in weather). We also got to bust out our running gear for basically the first time of our trip. And we got back to our "roots" pruning the dozen or so olive trees on the property. Thanks, Tonio and Donato.

Cami came home from school one day with a stomach bug, which stayed around for so many days that John and Jill took her to the doctor. They were worried that it might be a bigger issue, so they spent the night with her in the hospital. It was a very scary couple of days, and it meant that Celeste was stuck with us volunteers while not fully understanding where her family was. Thankfully, Jill helped us get Celeste into the bath mid-tantrum before she left, and once the bubbles hit the water she was too distracted to notice we were on bedtime duty. For a three-year-old with a handful of strangers and no family in her house, Celeste was a champ. She hammed it up in the tub and through story time. But then she said she would save the last story for when Cami got back, and we had to explain to her that Cami wasn't sleeping there that night. She walked around Cami's crib slowly, and sadly announced, "but there is nobody else in here." It was the cutest and saddest thing we'd heard.

Thankfully, after a brain scan, Cami returned home from the hospital with a clean bill of health, her usual gusto, and a giant chocolate cake. 

Chapter 2

Robin with our second group of coworkers
 and a creepy float.

About a week before we left, a new volunteer, Kaleigh, arrived. Her luggage hadn't. But she couldn't have been more positive about it, and got straight to work despite having none of her stuff. The airline and luggage delivery agency was far from helpful, and gave up after they drove the main street of Gonfaron and didn't see the house. They only spoke French, so John and Jill helped follow up when they could, but eventually they found out that the only way to get it was to go back to the Nice airport.

So, as a farewell gift, Jill and John loaned us all the car for a day trip to St. Tropez, the city David had always wanted to see and just missed on both our Cote Azur road trips, and to head to the Nice airport to finally pick up Kaleigh's bag after a week of fighting with the airline. She'd been such a good sport managing with what she had on her back for that long. We spent a few hours in Nice, touring the antique fair, eating baguettes, and checking out the carnaval decor, before heading on to St. Tropez. We arrived just before sunset and hiked up to the citadel, where we scaled a wall and saw a peacock reach the top of a tree by basically jumping from branch to branch.

Best times:

After watching a successful home haircut performed by our fellow volunteers one evening, we thought, heck, if these kids can do it, so can we! So Robin had a glass of wine and scissors and an hour later David got a much needed haircut.

Learning about British culture from our only non-American company: Like that the word "lad," which we'd always thought meant a proper English boy, basically means a playboy manwhore. There's a whole website dedicated to guys bragging (*cough* lying) about various conquests and punctuating it with "Lad." E.g.: "Just hooked up with a girl while my girlfriend was in the next room. Sly lad." 

Le Bowl Super - After a night of super bowl food (nachos, seven layer bean dip, guacamole, chili and chicken strips) we watched a morning after replay of the Super Bowl on the Armed Forces Network. John and David were pretty much the only football fans, Sarah had never heard of the Super Bowl, and Robin accidentally saw the end score on Yahoo. So slowly everyone lost interest and David watched the end by himself.

The Lovely Owl - watching Sarah get as emotional as the first time every time she watched the Lovely Owl. Then introducing her to Christian the Lion with full-on sob results.

Sparks Flies

French Riviera Road Trip

We'd been alone on the island of Europe for months, missing the familiarity of home and all of our stuff that was stolen in Marseille. Then on the horizon came a glimmer of hope. Our friend Mike Sparks told us he was headed to Europe and wanted to see us. After day(s) of elaborate planning, we'd worked out a trip itinerary along the riviera for four days of rest, relaxation and aggressive sightseeing. 

We laid out a breakneck plan to see Monaco, Roman ruins in Freges, the beaches of St. Raphael, baroque and Russian architecture in Menton and Nice, and the yachts of the super rich in Antibes. 

We left the Nice Airport and headed for dinner across the Italian border. It was Sparks' first time in Europe and we wanted to help him check off as many countries as we could. We found the charming Italian town of Dolceacqua, an authentic feeling medieval hilltop town just a half hour across the border. We got lost a few times with a cheap bottle of Italian wine in hand, and somehow managed to run into the only other strollers four or five times on our way up to the castle at the top of the town (which was closed).

We eventually found flat ground again and went in search of an autentico Italian dinner, settling on one of the two restaurants that were open (it's slim pickings in low season). We had a great meal with pizza, papardelle and the soulful bass of 90s smooth jazz. 

A few hours later, we were back in France, full of food and Italy-ed out. We set up camp in Menton, the city famous for its oranges and old people. They really take it seriously, because they were everywhere. Each sidewalk was lined with orange and lemon trees and blocked with senior couples out for their afternoon passegiata. Unbeknownst to us, we arrived the day before Menton's citrus festival…more refreshing than Nice's competing carnaval. We got to see the magic in action as workers created the Eiffel tower, a gladiator, and a giant shoe — all out of citrus. Imagine the wasted juicing opportunities. 

We drove along kilometers of beautiful coastline and rocky cliffs, which Sparks pointed out "looks like California." A lot of websites we looked on had said that the riviera was the California of France, and it turns out to be true. But unlike California's coast, the water of the Mediterranean is bright blue.

For a change of scenery, we turned inland for the windiest drive we'd ever experienced to the town of St. Agnes (1200 ft up). After almost an hour of turns and twists and climbing 100 meters every kilometer, out of nowhere the small village appeared with a WWII anti-aircraft bunker and rows of artists' shops. After we parked we hiked up to the top peak of the mountain, where a 12th century castle once stood. Now, there's just a lonely guy who charges admission to visit his "royal gardens." We looked down at the miles of t-shirt weather beaches below as a flurry of snow started falling around us atop the mountain.

We swirled back down the mountain and landed at the bottom of the hill in Monte Carlo, Monaco. The streets are bordered with the red and white stripes for the Grand Prix, and the area around the casino is congested with Aston Martins, Bentleys, Ferraris, and Rolls Royces. Gardeners are constantly primping and manicuring the city to keep it postcard perfect for its billionaire residents. The rich and famous are well protected here: security cameras dot every intersection and the entire city can be shut down in a matter of minutes. 

We'd already driven for a few hours and pulled over for lunch in Eze, yet another hilltop town overlooking the beach. We wanted to flaunt how French we'd become, so we had a picnic of baguettes, fromage and jambon, complete with a beer from the Alsace region. We felt like a couple of annoying tour guides, pointing out historical glassmaking techniques, architectural differences, and ancient stone construction. Our last stop before Cannes was yet another hilltop town, St. Paul de Vence, where we saw a beautiful sunset and an art gallery selling a giant photograph of Will Smith hugging a pillow. 

After our drab accommodations in Menton, we were treated to stay in an amazing hotel in Cannes. Our workaway hosts had arranged for us to stay at the Pullman Hotel and Casino as a kind of thank you for our work. The room was great, with a balcony, rain shower and a window between the shower and bedroom. Kinky! The beds were so comfortable, Sparks committed to redoing his bedroom at home and considering stealing the duvet on our way out.

For dinner, we found there was a La Tonnelle restaurant just a couple miles away. (For our loyal readers, you'll remember that it's a roadside restaurant with an all-you-can-eat dessert and chese budget and an all-you-can-drink bar of beer, wine and cider on tap.) We rushed to find the restaurant before they closed, but google maps directions were wrong and we ended up speeding through a speed trap to find it. We were pulled over and a very French police officer kept reiterating that this "isn't California, it's a town." David was doing 90kph on a four lane divided road where the speed drops to 50kph. In France, traffic violations are payable on the spot and apparently were cash only. Which made it seem a bit like a scam, but better to pay them off than end up in a French jail. 

With David's poor broken French arguing, we missed the restaurant and ended up eating overpriced Vietnamese food. We returned to the hotel with a mission to win back all of our losses at the casino.

We'd love to say we walkd into the casino and did a Hangover-esque card counting scheme and walked out with thousands of euros, but nothing in France is awesome. This isn't Vegas, it's a town. Cards were sloppily dealt and Sparks was shorted twice on blackjack payouts. Once, the dealer paid Sparks with his own double down bet, and the other time took his money on a push. The cocktail bar, however, did have a giant jar of chocolate chips…so, win.

The next morning we were back on the road with a stop walkable from our hotel to see the castle of the American artist, Henry Clews. He was kind of a nut and constructed a baroque/gothic style castle on the shores of Cannes in the 1920s. He lived there with his wife, whose name he changed to Marie when they married. The castle has a lot of his artwork, which ranges from classic to modern to cartoony and grotesque. It's worth a visit if you're passing through. 

Our road trip was rushed South to see Roman ruins in Frejes. We saw a 2nd century BC amphitheater and saved 2€ in admission because the French don't work winters. It was really in ruins but it was amazing to see centuries-old trees growing through the building.

We creped for lunch and hustled to reach our last stop of the Picasso museum in Antibes. It proved to be a tiring day of slow-going roundabouts along the coast, but we made it to the museum an hour before closing. The museum is housed in the castle where Picasso stayed after WWII. There was such a shortage of canvas in war torn France that Picasso painted on the walls and the backs of older portraits. Many exhibits were closed for remodeling so the trip was only good for a 15 minute loop.

Antibes is a delightful old town, and Sparks finally found the charm of France. We strolled the streets with a baguette and scarily unpasteurized brie and had a parking lot picnic in a small town square. 

After sundown we were tired and ill-prepared mentally to retrace our entire drive along the coast. We passed through cities we'd seen in the days before, including Golf Juan and Cagnes Ouest. The only time you can say you're getting into Kanye West without people judging you. We arrived at our next hostel in Nice which is renowned to be one of the best hostels in the world. After taking a half hour to get our reservation acknowledged and getting a distracted tour, we were cornered by the old owner and given a second tour and game of Nice 20 Questions even though we made it clear we were leaving in them morning. We toughed it out and decided on staying low key and ordering a pizza from the hostel. They wouldn't accept an order for a half hour. 

To say goodbye on our last night together, we visited the old town and found an Irish pub with an Australian cover band playing classic 90s American hits. Viva la France! 

Best Laughs:

Just after the Italian border, traffic came to a stop. We saw a very Italian car accident: A car ran over a motorcycle. No one was injured, the vehicles weren't damaged , but the drivers weren't at their vehicles and no one attempted to move the vehicles out of the road. Cars waited patiently for a back-up that probably took hours to clear.