A blanket of blue unfolds to the horizon. A deep gorgeous opal of ocean draped upon the earth. Hard to describe the beauty of the scene as early morning light makes the molten glass waters sparkle, a gentle Mistral adds soft caps of frosted snow to the undulating sea. Small hamlets tucked into coves, Nice, Antibes, Cannes, and then they become smaller names, known only to those that seek destinations that still allude to that timeless Provencal dream. Pastel colors of pink, chartreuse, and sienna spread like the palate of a Monet and I sigh knowing that my train will not stop to leave me in this vanishing wonderland. I am bound for Paris.
The landscape changes quickly. Green rolling hills. Pastures. Sheep! Sparse forests and vineyards, row upon row, and then they break revealing a small isolated cottage. Who lives out in this pristine countryside? Our train is moving faster now and the landscape scrolls by offering only fleeting glimpses of a simpler gentler life. Paris is soon approaching.
