In my heart, there is nowhere like this. My family’s history is a nostalgic echo I can hear through in breeze, the genêt, lavender and thyme, the dreamy haze that captures a pinkish glow bouncing off the calanques and tree shoulders…a history of war and escape, of hideouts and solidarity. There is a peace out of time here. I can taste it in the wine, read it in the bark, feel it between my toes.
The port in Cassis was quiet. I remember music, even if it was only in my head…I couldn’t sing it for you, it was so faint…even lacking notes on our scale. The closer we came to the calanques, the more concentrated the movement of the water. Miniature waves flipped and curled onto themselves, small folds of foam diamonds and translucent jade.
Bandol. I have not remembered being this calm. I can remember the taste of fennel and parsley. The olive oil mirrored everything. The breeze kept trying to tell me something, but I was young. And yet, I think I can hear it now.
These pictures (besides the 2 of rosé) were taken at the end of May 2005, where parts of my family reunited (some met for the first time) and scattered my great aunt’s ashes into the sea.