Sending messages

One of the great things about travel -- as about life -- is meeting people and enjoying their take on things.

One of the interesting people -- and everyone was interesting -- I encountered on my most recent expedition to France, was in a place I least expected.

It was my last week abroad and the only museum in the area that wasn't closed for repair that I hadn't visited yet was a little spot off a little rue called Le Musee de la Carte Postale.

No Chagall, Matisse, Renoir or Picassos here. Those were in the surrounding neighborhoods and towns.

But in the two hours I spent in the two rooms that make up the museum, I learned history, culture, art, science, humor and anthropology. I learned about inventions, politics and careers as well, courtesy an interesting gentleman with a passion that was contageous.

With few exceptions, the cards were over 100 years old. He had the first postcard ever printed, the first card with a photograph, the first cards with color. He had 100 cards of early Paris, cards with flowers, cards chronicaling school children, cards featuring everyday life for women, cards about men, cards with families, cards with flourescent coloring, cards with moving parts, cards with surreal art, cards that pop-up, cards with mini records, cards with mini bags of salt from the Great Salt Lake (still being sold) and mini bags of copper from the Kennecott mine (no more), cards from Russia, cards from Japan, two-dimentional cards that require a separate contraption to look through and cards that -- when collected as a series -- make up a puzzle of Napoleon. And he had them much better organized than this list.

And I could go on.

There's something about being around someone who delights in something so much that he's made it a life's focus, that's inspiring. And there's something to respect about someone who then wants to share his passion with others every Tuesday through Sunday from 2 to 6 p.m. for 3.50 euros.

So if you're ever in Antibes with a few hours to kill ... don't miss the chance to enjoy a whirlwind tour of science, art and culture from someone who collects it in antique postcards.

But don't just enjoy the postcards. Enjoy the collector who shares their histories, their politics, their interpretations. Sometimes there's as much to learn from the messenger as the message.

Temporary home

Three weeks is almost long enough to feel more like a local than a tourist.

Probably not long enough for the locals to consider you anything more than a tourist, but it might take years for that, if ever.

Still, I started feeling like a local the morning I walked to school in the rain with my umbrella along with students of all ages, and the afternoon I sat in a sun-drenched courtyard next to a centuries old fountain and had a salad with goat cheese, along with those who seemed to know the menu by heart.

Here are a few views from the first couple of 21 incredible days in Antibes:

Heading to school on a wet morning.Lunch in the courtyard.Grocery shopping.

Afternoon entertainment.

After sunset stroll on the ramparts.

First photo

Monet painted this spot. Victor Hugo called this a city where all glows, all flowers and all sings. Picasso lived and created in the castle that's part of the tower at right.

Antibes (pronounced On-teeb) is truly exceptional. It was a feast for the eyes, for the mind and for the soul.

More of the Cote d'Azur to come...

A bientot

It's been over 30 years since I first began my French studies with two years of college-level instruction in the north wing of Old Main at USU. It was a small class, less than 10 students who made it through those two years, and we got great instruction from our professor in pronunciation and literature, though I don't remember a lot of conversation -- something likely unusual today.

In those 30 years, I've kept trying to learn, considering my language study a bit of unfinished business.

I've listened to tapes, I've filled out workbooks. I've taken community ed classes, I've hired tutors. I've bought grammar books, verb conjugation books, learn-French-in-10-minutes-a-day books. I've read from novels translated into French, I've listened to CDs while driving, I've invited college students over to converse, I've listened to movies in French.
Of all the hobbies and projects and interests that have come and gone in my life, this one can't seem to go. I loved my geology classes at USU, and my history classes, even my physics class was fun for one semester until trigonometry got involved. Each of these interests I have successfully put to the side over the years.

But not French.

I don't know where my interest came in the first place -- was it the Christmas music of Gisele we grew up with? Was it loving the art of Monet and music of Debussy? Was it a French name? Was it a love of the castles and cathedrals of France? Was it the beautiful sound of the mellow language?

I can't say I really understand why I haven't given it up on it yet either -- is it because I want another excuse to travel there? Is it because learning a language makes me more sympathetic to the struggles of those new to America or those who converse with tourists in multiple languages? Is it because I want to show that Americans really are more broadminded than some people think? Is it because I want to delay Alzheimer's and would rather not do crossword puzzles?
Whatever the reasons that led up to it and have kept it going, this passion is about to take a new plunge -- studying French in France.

Call it reaching out towards a goal. Call it fulfilling something on the bucket list. Call it an adventure. Call it craziness.

I'll see you later...

Around the corner

Guide books seem to be rather a necessary evil. I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with them.

Yes, it's good to know if a museum is closed on Mondays or the road to the beach is only accessible by jeep, but I'd rather not know about the hike that goes across private land and might be trespassing but you should do it anyway. Or the hike that requires you to climb a 20-foot rock wall with a rope before getting to the stream you have to swim through to get to the waterfall -- or at least I'd rather my husband not know about it.

Everybody on the Big Island recommends a particular guide book, and it has helped us tremendously in finding good beaches and even knowing where on each beach to find the best snorkeling. Imagine our surprise when it recommended Costco pizza in the restaurant section.

Sometimes it's almost scary the detail and accuracy involved, and leaves too little to be discovered. In looking for a lunch spot on the north end of the Big Island, we read of a bakery that got a low ranking because the selection was limited and the people were unfriendly and it closed for an hour at noon. We spotted the bakery and, since the book was a few years old, decided we'd try it out anyway. Sure enough, the selection was limited, the people were unfriendly, and the sign said it was closing for the lunch hour.

Sometimes we see everyone with the guidebook tucked under their arms eating at the same restaurant, and sometimes we have to eat at that same restaurant. Because it says to. And you just get in a habit of following the recommendations. But sometimes we go for something different.

And that's the secret to using a guide book. Use it but don't let it use you.

Talk to fellow travelers or better yet-- locals -- and see what they like to do. Try a restaurant not listed. Catch a sunrise in the very spot it recommends a sunset. Wander around the corner to see what you can find on your own.

It's the secret to more than just travel.

Here are a few discoveries from our last trip. Things not mentioned in our guide:

And no, I'm not telling where they are. You'll have to discover your own surprises.

Somebody's gotta say it

It's not such a bad thing to pay taxes.
Really.
I know, we're all walking around saying how awful it is we have to pay all these taxes and how the government is taking such a huge chunk of our money and how it's going to get worse.
But look at what we're getting for our money:
Thirteen years of school per child.
Police protection.
Roads around town and across the states.
Fire stations with all the latest equipment just down the block.
A military.
A space program.
Libraries.
The Smithsonian museums.
Head Start.
National Parks.
And yes, federal leaders looking out for our best interests.
Yes.
Do you know how many people in the world don't have those things? Those protections?

We Americans have been known to be a very generous people. Trouble in Haiti -- we're there, or our money is. Trouble in Europe in 1940? In Afghanistan in 2010? We're there -- or our money is. Not to conquer, not to control. To help and to free.

My guess is if our neighborhood didn't have fire protection, for example, and someone came to us and said: would you contribute to buying a fire truck so we can protect ourselves -- my guess is we'd give willingly. And if it turned out our neighbor couldn't contribute as much because he made less and had medical expenses besides, we'd be willing to pay more than an equal share.

So, taxes are just that. Contributing to a general need in relation to your ability to contribute.

And if our government comes to us and says: we had to help some businesses to keep the world economy from collapsing, wouldn't we be willing to pitch in and help?

It's easy to see it as an outsider. Take Greece. The government is trying to control its financial problems by lowering expenses and raising income, and the people are in revolt. Can't the people see that the government has to do that for the country to stay solvent?

Can't we see it?
Come on, America. Let's get past the petty, pouty, "give me this and give me that but don't make me pay for it" mentality.
Let's be willing to contribute to the whole. And let's do it with grace.

Shared experiences

I will never know what it's like to fly a commercial airliner from Los Angeles to Honolulu. Or to captain a 43-foot fishing boat in the waters off the Big Island. I'll never be an Israeli living in San Francisco or a loud but friendly Kentuckian wintering in Hawaii. I'll never work in Hilo for four years and then move to Kona or drive for two hours in the middle of the night and then hike for another before dawn to catch a perfect shot of lava at sunrise.

That's why I love to talk to people who have done those things.

I learn about automatic landing capabilities and layover schedules, about using mackerel for bait and about squeezing lemon on a papaya. I learn about vog and skin problems and photo techniques and favorite haunts.

I'll never be a lot of things. But I hope I meet a lot of people who are.