Time to bid Paris, "Adieu." We hop on a train and head South today, to the Mediterranean. I have yet to mention Coffee Break French, a series of 80 or so podcasts that teach you French three minutes at a time. The reason I have yet to mention these podcasts is that I have only listened to two. However, I learned something interesting from the second lesson. "Adieu," may be a farewell salutation similar to, "good bye," but literally it means, "To God," as in, "Go with God." Etymology is one of those things that becomes fun when you're old, yet wasn't interesting at all when you were young and could actually put it to use.
Okay. Enough prelude. I deleted the breakfast picture, because you know the breakfast at the Hotel Castille. We got our bags together and went down to the lobby to wait for our car to the train station.
Yours truly, waiting in the hotel lobby.
Gare de Lyon. I have a hunch that I took a nearly identical picture last year on or around June 8.
A moment later this man turned to her and shouted, "Just get on zee train!" I do not know this for certain, but I have a good feeling that it is true.
The only word to describe Lon on this train ride would be, "Giddy."
Can a video be a self-portrait? Oui.
So... the train ride from Paris to Nice is around five and a half hours. This left me with time to read, listen to music, and play with Photoshop Mobile.
We begin with this picture.
Then we crop it, free rotate it, black & white it and give it a film emulsion border.
Then we kick up the contrast and add tint. Voila.
We begin with the wife making a funny face.
Then we flip it, add the sketch effect, push the contrast until colors disappear, then tint it. Voila.
This is a long train ride for a man who downloaded several new photography iPhone Apps.
Another self portrait, streaked like a mofo, then contrasted to heck. Had enough? All right. I'm sure I'm sorry.
Mr. and Mrs. Howard, Polaroid style. Note the map on her hoodie.
You may now celebrate, no more playing with photos. The train arrived in Nice and we hopped into our rental car. It is still painfully hot and humid, more so now that we are on the Mediterranean. This is my excuse for not having pictures of the Nice station or the car.
If I told you this was a California highway, you would have no reason to doubt me. It is not. This is the A8 that is taking us to St. Tropez.
We got into St. Tropez and found the hotel with just enough time to rush off to dinner. Why the rush? We are meeting Lisa and Kory. Lisa is our friend (she was once a friend's friend but is now officially our friend) and she has been visiting Kory, whom we met two summers ago in Aspen and who lives only an hour away from St. Tropez. You should be jealous of Kory.
Okay, I am going to have to find out online how a medieval fishing village became a millionaire's playground.
A playground with yachts as far as the eye can see. And these are Yachts. Yachts with doors that open to reveal large boats inside. Seriously. We should all start using the word yachty instead of the word ridiculous. If anyone asks, it is a Greek word that means, "That which is so colossally silly that it should not be."
Dinner is at Joseph L'Escale; one part restaurant, two parts scene.
For example, there is no beach in this part of St. Tropez, only docks. Yet inside the restaurant you have sand. No beach outside the restaurant, yet there is beach inside.
Making the scene. Every one of these people wants you to know that they stepped off their yacht and are now eating at Joseph L'Escale. You have to be seen in scene or you have not made the scene.
Talking about eating, here we have Barbie's foie gras.
And my grilled squid.
And Barbie's lobster ravioli, that is actually one large, open ravioli.
And my seared tuna.
And to close, a Grand Marnier Souffle.
And Sean's chocolate cake.
It was a delicious meal, and the music was among the best disco mixes ever. So good that our table asked about it, and we were told they sell the CD's. I had no choice but to point out that it is pretty darn illegal to sell CD's of music that you have no rights to. Then we were shown the CD's and were told that they are 40 euros each. That is 50 bucks of stolen, downloaded music burned onto a CD. Downright yachty.
The dinner crew with yachts behind.
Demonstrating the iPhone 4's forward-facing camera for Lisa. Botero statue behind us totally not planned. Oh man. If you call my iPhone 4, "yachty," then I will have to take a picture of you and mockingly photoshop it. Do not test me.
Okay. As per usual, I am typing this exhausted. Time for bed.
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