Revenge Travel

Thirteen years ago I was given the book "The Olive Farm" as a gift by my then lover, future husband to be. The first foray into travel literature-living the dream stories, it made me aware of two things.

1. Provence must be beautiful.

2. I could do the same thing and by that I mean, live somewhere else and be happy and secondly, I could write just such a story.

The sad part, and let's get that out of the way first, is that I never went to Provence with Ian. Thirteen years passed by and while Provence was always a promise, it remained unfulfilled, like so many of his other promises.

The happy part is that I am to shortly venture once more 'beyond' and shall arrive in Provence mid May. Alone. Solo travel has now moved beyond being a necessity to a joy. The freedom is empowering and with no one to suit but myself, I venture and roam to my own taste. So what prompted this journey? Taking my books that had sat so long in storage boxes and packing them into my new library, "The Olive Farm" was unearthed, fondly held and cover opened to find the inscription and date and I thought..."damn that, surely that's a long enough time to wait" and right then, I decided to go.

Revenge can be sweet. I'm not by nature a vindictive person and while much of the angst has mellowed when I reflect upon my dramatic, painful and exhilerating second marriage, I knew that announcing my journey to France would rankle with him....knowing that I am prospering and will be walking the places he has loved so well and now have left behind, would irritate him. He is happy so often when he knows I am struggling or low. So it is now time to fly.

Flying directly into Nice, the Monaco Grand Prix provides the lure to my wanders along the Cote d'Azure. From there into the heart of Provence - Aix en Provence, Uzes, St Paul de Vence, Tourtour and the little villages in between. I shall breathe in the lavender scented air and trail my fingertips along the edges of fountains that are splashing away, I shall sit idly at courtyard cafes sipping Sancerre and cafe au laits and admire the way the sunlight casts shadows on the warm stone walls.

I shall drive my rental convertible down narrow laneways and stop to admire distant views. In my head I am Brigitte Bardot or Grace of Monaco, the breeze blowing my blonde hair as the scenery passes me by.

From Aix to Limoges, to Amboise, Tours and Blois, I shall journey from one outrageously beautiful chateaux to the next. Chenonceau, Amboise, Chinon to Villandry shall form the focus of my wanderings through the Loire Valley. I shall stroll immaculately clipped and constrained gardens, sip wine and taste michelin star food and pretend that I am a Princess worthy of someone holding my hand.

May. It is a good time to go. The name alone holds promise and hope. I shall turn it to Can. I can do this. I will do this. They say the best revenge is to live well. I shall continue to live well and travel often. May. Provence. Loire Valley. Then Paris. Revenge is sweet.