I must have only been six or seven years old when I recognized it from the times before. The long dark road from Valbonne to Opio with its sharp bends. Surrounded by tall cypresses and pine trees. After a journey of more than two days, I could smell the complex scent of the South of France through the turned down car windows; infiltrating the compact space between my sisters and I. The region’s unique and distinctive aroma of sweet jasmine and lavender, spicy herbs like thyme and rosemary, and pine shrubs and bushy plants. A fragrance unlike any other. I remember it feeling like a hot but refreshing breeze soaked in salt water on my cheeks.
We were nearly there.
Opio. My father’s treasure. Home to my family. The place where I grew up. It is time to say Adieu. And now. How do I capture almost fifty years in a sentence? A story?
Opio. You taught me how to dive and how it feels to swim in the rain. How to catch fireflies in empty bottles after dinner. You taught me how to whisper with my sister in the darkness of a tent. You taught me how to speak my first French words, how to behave in fancy restaurants, and how to drink wine. How to eat Fleurs de Courgettes and dip artichoke leaves in vinaigrette in Antibes. You taught me how to windsurf near Cannes Palm Beach and water-ski in Golf Juan, how to hold my breath under water for more than a minute in Theoule sur Mer, and roller-skate in Juan Les Pins. You taught me how to count falling stars and search for meteors lying on a tennis court at night. You taught me how to beat the French in volleyball, Ping-Pong and table football. You taught me how to dance the Macarena, how to listen to the chirping of crickets, and how to run barefoot up a hill, how to play drinking games with my mates and how to get banned from the swimming pool and how to be a teenager who escaped on midnight adventures to the Monument. You taught me about heartbreak and farewells when my sisters left their French boyfriends behind. You taught me how to appreciate the glamorous sophistication of towns like Nice, Menton and Monaco. And the raw relaxation of villages like Cabris, Magagnosc and St. Vallier. You taught me about food and society and the contrasts between cultures. You taught me about the great names in contemporary art and their remarkable museums and foundations. You taught me how to play, how to float, how to fly and run. How to breathe and how to listen. And how to look around me.
Opio. You were where I met my parents English best friends. And where their children became my lifelong friends. And again their children became my child’s best friends. You were where three generations connected. You were where my family from England visited and gathered summer after summer. You were where my auntie brought us gifts and magazines and treasures and where my sister met her husband and became a mother. You were where I went on my first foreign adventure: picking raspberries at six in the morning. You were where I played cardgames every day from February to September, drinking coffee and talking about grown-up issues with those who had made the journey of life long before me. You were where I had pool parties at our home and where I learned how to cook for people. You were where I went to superior French lessons and private Art tutoring. Where I learnt to look after my French au-pair children and how to guide tourists around the Fragonard Museum. You were where I saw the beauty of landscaping, flower gardening and planting lemon trees. You were where I sang Summertime on warm autumn afternoons accompanied by my Norwegian neighbour on the piano. Where I sang Christmas Carols with the Valbonne Choir on cold winter evenings. You were where I had dinner with a Polish Princess, French doctors and Belgium Ministers and local farmers. You were where I learnt to consider a person’s character rather than status or wealth. You were where I was torn between worlds and countries and where I started to travel between Nice and Amsterdam. You were where I met my best friend. You were where I got engaged. And where I was given away by my father to get married in Roquefort les Pins. You were where all my friends and family united at our wedding in Hotel l’Ambasssadeur in Juan les Pins. And you were where I was pregnant. You were where I learnt to appreciate and admire and how to absorb. You were where I learnt how to read and sing and how to write and paint. You were where I learnt to travel. And where I learnt about the past and the present and where I learnt about the future.
Opio. I know your every stone and tree branch. I know your scent when I close my eyes and feel the dust of a Mistral that covers your earth. I remember every step I took on your paths. Your countless walls that have been broken down and rebuilt. And I cherish the innumerable memories and the innumerable people that have taken the road from Valbonne to Opio. Anyone who has visited you will, have fallen under your spell.
Opio, you taught me how to smile. And you taught me how to say goodbye.