Our little town is busy, we’ve come earlier in the late summer than we usually do, and there are the markets at night, the roads closed and the restaurants full. Last night we found out there were going to be fireworks over the harbour, fired from the jetty by the boatyards round the quay from our apartment; and we hurried back to our balcony, fearful of wasting the best seats in the house.
Nothing’s quite so rushed in the happening, of course, and we had time to sort ourselves out with pizzas from the little place behind the old tower. A man ahead of me, a rare other English voice (though there are obviously more at this time of year), actually said mercy buckets for his thank you. But I worked out who he was and it wasn’t so surprising, really, then. Which sounds terribly snobbish, I know, but, see, I have been re-reading, as a lounging indulgence, Anita Brookner’s Hotel du Lac.
The fireworks went on for an age – a really very generous display – and so we watched so much more than we photo’d, for sure. When I checked my pictures afterwards I liked (with a cheeky filter, obv,) the very Turner-ness of the scenes of masts and smoke and blaring light. Sparks raining down on the upward struts.
Here they are, a threesome of fireworky snaps. Whilst I love the colours of 1 and 3, there’s a super moody fug about 2 which feels the most painterly of all.
And of a relatedly nautical theme, here’s a picture we liked from a stroll round St Mandrier, Friday. Position’s still open as far as we know…
So that, very mainly, has been our arriving in this lovely, special place.