Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“Thanks so much Darleen, I am most grateful for your help and sweet company. Now that
you got that crewing job you'll still be my neighbor, and you must come and have dinner
with me some time if you like, that is if you can tear yourself away from all the young tour-
ist boys.”
“I would like that very much. I'll see you soon.” She waved out the bus window with her
cute, honest smile.
I went for a stroll about town, taking in the big, luxurious hotel and bars and restaurants
on the waterfront. The dock led right up to the waterfront and several large, foreign yachts
hobby-horsed boldly from their water front confines, their bright work gleaming in the late
afternoon sun. Halyards clinked on towering aluminum spars, and the sounds of their oc-
cupants could be heard now and then in foreign tongues.
Chic French women dressed in the latest island and Paris fashion minced along the fash-
ionable promenade, some lead by pet dogs on leashes. Rich, glossy, Mediterranean men,
successful, confident, and tanned, accompanied others, or sat easily at tables outside talk-
ing in foreign tongues, their leather handbags Gucci or crocodile skin.
Restaurateurs threw red and white gingham tablecloths expertly over bare wooden tables.
Menus and flower-filled vases soon followed, and late afternoon became early evening.
Candles were lit, patrons drifted in and were seated, seduced by the smells of such heady
aromas as escargot in wine and garlic sauce and fresh seafood and intoxicating pastas hung
heavy in the air. Penguin waiters with French accents and service towels slung over their
wrists were in attendance. Cocktail glasses tinkled, and gay laughter drifted across the fash-
ionable street.
I hurried back to my boat, stowed a few groceries and, after dressing into evening casuals,
rowed back to the waterfront. I strolled past a charming, little restaurant that advertised
Italian food; I had a great yearning for a plate of oily, Italian pasta.
I was met at the entrance by a small dark haired waiter with merry, black, intelligent eyes.
“Aha, monsieur, table for one?” he smiled. “You are a sailor, no?”
“Yes, I am, I would like a table for one please, garçon.”
I was shown a little table outside under a wooden awning with a view of the many night
people now making their way to various bars, eating establishments, and the only hotel. A
tall glass of water was quickly poured from a tinkling jug. A menu followed, along with
my ordered drink, as the waiter bowed away with a professional flourish.
Music wafted out of the candlelit restaurant out into the spicy, warm, night air. There was
a tranquil ambiance; a feeling of old culture evolved from the bastions and pavements of
