There are some things that the senses just can't capture enough to fully absorb in. Like eating a jambon and fromage crepe at the base of the Eiffel Tower on a bench over looking the Seine basking in the intensity of Paris with the one that you love. Then mooring down the river with the cooling mid-spring air, after listening to the celestial sounds of choirs singing Ave Marie with clarity, echoing through the Notre Dame. Or evoking violin and cello, oboe, flute, and base while all bursting through the scene, casting glory over the gardens, an orchestra playing through Versailles, growing with green.
Then catching the first, second, and third glimpse of the Alps from the back of a steamliner with the colors of spring assaulting in the foreground, the sound of water and motors mixing in the air, and hot tea steaming in your hand. Stark beauty taking breath away, Lake Geneva in background and bright poppys bursting in the fore, swimming beneath the Swiss Alps, fullness abounding more. A thousand years of castle, encroached by only cameras and crowds, still it proclaims dignity against the Alps of majesty.
To gathering the goodness and intensity of so many sights, sounds, smells, colors, people, and joy as you guide your little "half-pint" car through winding roads of the Lubernon in France... this is the excruciating burst of the fullness of frolicking France. Munching on slices of baguettes with cheesed meat amidst the side of flowing rivers and years-greened waterwheels, with antiques and motorcycles and window boxes filled with pinks and purples and yellows all the while sitting stationary in Isle de Surge, now this is abundance. Or stick-shifting up screaming roads to Gorge, at that clenching first sight of the city amidst the mountainside, proclaiming for years its history and strength, then finding sweetly soft shops of feminine nestled within the walls like caverns. Then the senses collide with gnarled and smooth red clay, like canyons formed in earthy valleys to contrast the length and rows of green after green, Roussallain shocks the valley of to-be lavender with its terra cotta display.
From the quaint and quiet of the Provence to the bursting streets of Cannes, life swarming like bees of riches and wealth, the drips of honey marked in sails and yachts and little white-peaked tents filling the harbor -- the film festival alive and moving, rushing with black-clad men wearing Ray-bans, peons snapping red-carpet photos, and flags from every nation finding wind to slap against the sky. The hustle is a constant load of pushing and pulling, traffic yanking at streets and waves swiftly drawing at sand as the Sea grasps it own attention to strike against furry. Matched with boats bobbling in the harbor is Monte Carlo, bolted together to prepare for the Grand Prix, Rolls Royce parked at the marina, pit crew prepped for speed. Then Lamborghini and Ferrari and Alfa Romeo and Bentley march up the landscape, valeted at the Casino and money displayed for all to see.
Nice is pebbled beaches, rocky with ankle-cracking wanderers skipping rocks and kissing, and ducking from the anxiousness of trains and tall structures and traffic lights like a delta to the Sea. It's small lights at the dusk of day in Old Town, the protection of the harbor and taste of red wine blurred with salmon and crustini, the basil and pasta with bacon and cheese. Nice wakes morning with sunlight gliding through curtains to white blankets and soft linens and a warm cup of tea, nestled in quiet with love and breakfast, served eggs and granola and jams and coffee. Pool-side conversations, mandarine and oranges and lemons growing, delight springing forward, captive by viewing the Mediterranean Sea.
Then ocean finds blue, fierce with tension, fullness to capture angst against rocks; there old fishing boats loiter and all senses crash at the whole of the Sea. The oranges find yellow and arches find floral and five little towns spring like joy, splashing along the Sea. The buildings boast hope in color, bright paint shouting like children at play. Then terraced cobbled pathways link the entrys, displaying oils and lemons and hydrangeas and tourist, the city crowds during the day. Rockied pathways rope the Cinque Terras, mountains sharp to ocean, colors and vines intertwine contrast with latte and gelatto and pizza and calzone, all enraptured by the great abundance of the day. Then night calms with beach-watching and waves crashing, house wine toasted to gnocci and shrimp to the end of a perfect day.
Venice finds quaint meeting water, romance with orchestras yielding its display. Frothing with people and cappichino, it's alleys alive during day. Masks form and glitter marking, flowered window boxes mark the way, Murano glass and Prada windows, a jubilee for all to see. Long boats troll through Venice, ongoers enchanted by, eating sliced pizza and gelato, bridges and canals pictures taken by. Thin boats slice the sidewalks and grand churchs grow from the Sea, the Hilton Stuckly glimmers with prawns on plates to eat.
Europe tastes the senses -- from France to Swiss to Italy. Brilliant poppys to bacon pesto to morning near the Sea. Beyond the music singing, from mountains to the cities, is love filling thee.
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