Let’s be clear from the start, Saint-Raphael, with it’s sister city of Frejus, does not make the tour books. If you Google “Saint-Raphael” you’ll see that it is a resort city on the French Rivera. That seems like no small accomplishment, but in the world of the French Rivera, Saint-Raphael is no Antibes, Cannes, Monte Carlo or Menton.
We drove to Saint-Raphael after visiting St. Tropez, with no real expectation. We liked it. However, I can’t really tell you why. The conclusion seemed to be that it is a small Nice. That is a compliment.
We took some photos of the beach area. The downtown area was located on a street parallel to the beach road and about two blocks inland. And, lots of housing above the retail, both rather modern buildings and typical older buildings. I suggested to Marlene that many of the buildings in St. Raphael were new. She said they weren’t, because they looked like they were constructed in the 1960s. Well, in Europe I’m calling anything built after World War II to be new, which then makes me new, but that’s another story. You’ll see a photo of an old downtown Saint-Raphael church. In this world, it’s actually a pretty new church.
There’s also a photo of the women working behind the counter at a chain called “Paul”. It is essentially a bakery, however, they also have sandwiches (the kind on a dry baquette with very little filling). At lunch time there’s a steady stream of customers to purchase the combo (known as a “menu”), which is a boisson (drink), sandwhich (though they don’t call them sandwiches) and a dessert. Do not forget the dessert at lunch!
We had dinner last Saturday at the home of a French-American family. Their son goes to school with Keaka and Sophia. It was a raclette dinner. That’s actually a Swiss cheese/dinner, while the word “raclette” is somehow French. Simply Google “raclette” and you’ll get photos that look exactly like the dinner we had. Most interesting was being served about four different kinds of jambon (ham) and a couple of interesting vegetables. One vegetable was referred to by the host as “a white carrot”. It was similar to a carrot, but actually tasted better. And, there was another vegetable that looked like peeled onion, but it was firmer and without the strong taste of an onion. It was also good, at least with the melted cheese poured over it.
Dinner went from 8:00 pm to 11:00 pm, and included salad near the end of the meal and a desert called Tropezienne. You can look it up, but it’s described as more of a cake than a tarte and a rich cream-filled brioche. You may have had it, but it was new to us, and, quite tasty at that.
There was plenty of conversation over three hours (you can only eat so much). We learned plenty. French parents do not kiss their children on the lips. Kissing on the lips is only for lovers. And, French people do not hug.
Celine (the host) is battling rejection. She’s a French-native, but their family has lived ten years in Boston and Seattle. Her friends, because of her actions (among other things she hugs her children in public), continually tell her that she is not really French. And, apparently, there’s a strong element of jealousy, for having had the opportunity to live in the wonderful and great United States. Celine suggested we might have a difficult time when we return to the United States. I assured her it would be no problem. Believe me, we have not become French. By the way, Celine and her family are doing everything possible to move back to Seattle.
I asked Keaka the other day what he would tell people about France. His reply: “Old and the people are mean. More vacation at school and more tests than the United States.”
The Wilsons
