COUPER LE VIRAGE

CORSICA and DECISIONS

COUPER LE VIRAGE

Last week, as Simon drove (at graciously a glacial speed, given his passenger (c’est moi) was full on head-out-the-window, fully convinced that the next hairpin mountain turn might render her a new and unfortunate shade of green), he’d spot a curve up ahead, squint to see if any cars were on-coming, and if the coast was clear, he’d light up and announce, “Couper le virage!” Then, just like that, he'd skip the curve entirely (which made me very happy), steering straight through instead. His mother had taught him this phrase when he was young and learning how to drive in the Mountains of her hometown. It means to cut the curve so as to go straight.

I found it fitting for this week’s EN ROUTE title, since I have decided to couper le virage ici à Paris and head straight back to my home country, America. At least for a while.

This hasn’t been an easy decision — one I’ve turned over in my mind at least a trillion times in the past four months since being back in France after my wonderful month long visit home over Christmas. But the truth is, I’m homesick. I miss hearing my mama not say “good morning” at the start of our daily 2pm Paris Time calls — which, for me, is already the middle of the afternoon, not our joint morning. I want to be in the same time zone. I want to laugh in my own language, see familiar faces, feel supported, build community, and have days where I don’t need to rehearse sentences before stepping outside, just to avoid feeling misplaced for saying... well, any words.

That’s not to say that this experience hasn’t brought me immense joy and deep gratitude more times than I can count. Living everyday life in another country has been a true gift — one that’s changed me to my core. It’s definitely not for the faint of heart, and I’m proud of myself for doing it. It’s just — I’m in need of a reset.

With my lease ending, memberships expiring, work conveniently hitting pause for a few months in the coming weeks, and the visa still sitting in limbo, it feels like the right time to step back. To take the pause that has been calling my name throughout nearly every sleepless night lately.

With this decision, I have had the impossible responsibility of breaking it to those who I love the most here à Paris – that I will be leaving them and this gorgeous city at the end of May and returning to the USA, possibly for good. The news has been met, and delivered, with a virage of emotions: sadness and joy.

Before I go, I am…

A. Writing a Paris Bucket List, and then, doing it all! (It’s in the works and I’m welcoming any and all suggestions.)

B. Staying over in Europe until the very end and make several mini trips to other countries before I hail the Delta flight back to the US. (As without this visa that has been the bane of my existence, and part of the reason I am so ready to go, I don’t know when I’ll be allowed to travel back to this continent after I leave it.)

C. To see all the people who I have fallen in love with here as often as possible and at all of our favorite spots.

D. To repeat the same action that got me here in the first place – having a “stoop sale” – open to all of my friends with all of my things that I’ve accumulated over here that don’t need to return with me. (I’m already feeling a virage of emotions about this part – sad to let some things go and yet happy that I (my things) will be able to “stay” in my friend’s homes over here when I’m gone.)

E. Figure out how in the world I will ship all the rest of my things back. (Challenging and $$$, but not impossible. I just need to eat the frog (stop procrastinating) and figure it out.)

So there. Now you know.

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CORSICA

Corsica, Corsica, Corsica! What a beautiful paradise!

I took the train from Paris to meet Simon in Marseille the evening before we were to spend 4 full nights and days on the island of Corsica – for an overnight ferry boat ride. We had a ball! He was coming off of one of his sailing training weekends in Cannes for his upcoming cross-ocean-voyage and looking like a fisherman – showerless, smiling ear to ear, and wearing his wellies all the way up to his knees. 

We loaded onto the boat and into our cabin. When we heard the air horn blow – signaling that we were pulling away from the port – he hurried me outside. As the boat moved south, we ran north on the deck. That was my favorite memory of the trip. People were staring as these two grown adults were in hysterics running in place (it looked like) as Simon kept his left arm extended, pointing to the mainland, so as to keep our eyes fixed on one place, and yet speeding past people who were standing still to admire the coastline from the deck. At some point our stride took us to the back of the boat, where we made our way to the other side and admired the vast Mediterranean sea. I have never been on a cruise before – so this view, for me, of wide open ocean was absolutely breathtaking. We ended up staying outside most of the evening and getting completely whipped around by (felt like) hurricane-force winds that, unbeknownst to either of us, would trail us all the way to the island — and stay with us until the night before we were due to head back to Paris.

As we sipped our Pietra, Corsican beers, (Simon’s blond, mine amber) they were getting sloshed around with every sway. Bubbles vanishing by the second. So we drank fast, laughing at the urgency. Funny enough, the woman sitting just to our right clearly hadn’t gotten the memo about needing to drink beer speedily in a wind tunnel. Deciding hers wasn’t worth saving — flat, no doubt — she made the bold decision to toss it into the wind, as if gravity and physics simply weren’t things.

Needless to say, the (what felt like) category 5, 155-mph gusts caught the beer instantly and launched it straight onto us. Within seconds, we were soaked — dripping, sticky, and smelling less like sea mist and more like we’d stumbled out of a rave. 

Night came early — as, on a boat, there wasn’t much to see or do once the sun dipped below the horizon. And me? Well, now you all know the deal: sleepless nights, weighed down by big decisions. I didn’t sleep a wink. I learned almost immediately when the lights went out that motion sickness was a very real thing pour moi. I tossed and turned just like the waves that rocked me. Luckily, Simon wanted me to see the sunrise, so it was a short night – we were up before the 6:30 a.m. boat wake-up call of traditional Corsican music, Paghjella, pipping through our room speaker.

Sadly, however, given the storm I’ve mentioned that was following us, there was no golden sunrise. Just a dark, brooding sky and winds that howled like they had something to prove. It was magical in its own moody way. We had the deck entirely to ourselves, wrapped in that quiet, eerie calm before the rest of the boat began to stir. We scurried back to our cabin before everyone was out of theirs so that I could take a cat nap while we waited to port. 

My snoozing went over time accidentally and as we made our way out of our room on the final call to de-boat (is that a word?), we realized we were the last ones left. No joke! And lost! It took us a good 20 minutes to figure out how to get off of the massive ferry. And when we did, we miraculously were spotted in the rearview mirror by the last bus pulling out. We hopped on in a paint, and joy, that we made it!

After getting our car sorted, Simon drove us to Le Couvent de Pozzo where I had booked us for our first night. A Convent, and to us, a haven of peace. This room of ours was tucked into the mountains of Cap Corse, and offered breathtaking views of the Tyrrhenian Sea from our balcony. I was lucky enough to soak in the atmosphere on the morning we woke up there, as the sun finally broke through for a few precious hours. Even in the monsoon-like rain though when we arrived, the place was stunning. Quiet, sacred, and unforgettable.

After dropping off our things, we headed to lunch at Le Vieux Moulin — one of only two occupied tables, which made the meal feel extra special. We shared the fish for two and had starters made with local ingredients. The restaurant overlooked the Port de Centuri, a picture-perfect little harbor with unreal turquoise colored water. We drove around for hours that day (yes, my head stayed halfway out of the window the entire time — have I mentioned motion sickness? — and neither of us cared that rain was blowing sideways into the car as long as I didn’t turn the same color turquoise as the sea). 

That evening, we explored the area around the Torra Ghjenuvese d’Erbalonga and wandered through the ancient village center. Our first choice for dinner, Restaurant Cantinalolo, was fully booked by locals (turns out it was off-season), so we rang in our first night on the island at the only other place with lights on — Bistrot a Piazzetta, right next door.

One of our top dining highlights was at Ferm Campo de Monte — a must if you ever find yourself on the island. It’s cash only (as I quickly learned most places are), and for 65€ per person, you get the sweetest ambience from this family run B+B, a generous home cooked three-course meal of local fare, dessert, a digestif, coffee, and a sweeping mountain view to top it all off.

Then there was Casa Corsa in Porto-Vecchio, where if you don’t order the Broconcini de veau Corse et ses pommes sautées, are you even doing it right? I barely managed to finish a quarter of mine — which Simon was thrilled about. He gleefully cleaned my plate!!

The rest of our meals were shared at Steve’s beautiful home, perched high in the hills of southern Corsica, with incredible views of both the ocean on the east with the sunrise, and the mountains on the west with the sunset. Steve, a dear friend of Simon’s, was actually the reason for our trip. He generously offered us his unbelievable cabin for three of our four nights, and we felt honored to call that home while we were there.

At his house, we dined on homemade pizzas straight from his brick oven, prepared right in front of us by Bruno, one of Steve’s childhood friends who was also visiting with his family while Simon and I were there. He was evidently a remarkable chef, artisan, businessman, and, for that evening, a pizza-thrower and pretend Italian. We all had the best time. We also feasted throughout our trip on grilled local beef and chicken, alongside some of the best Corsican charcuterie and brocciu, the island’s famed goat cheese. Two staples, I quickly learned, define the soul of Corsican cuisine. They, in some form, were offered at every meal.

We played too! We practiced pétanque on the home court that Steve built next to his house with his daughter and her friend (Bruno’s daughter). I sharpened my table tennis backhand in the mornings with his son, Shanis (I hope I’m spelling this right. It’s pronounced sh-ennis like tennis). And by afternoon and into the evening, we all found ourselves gathered around the Paris puzzle that I gifted them for our stay. (The one I wrote about in my last En Route). It was harder than expected. But with these Parisians we had it nearly completed by the time Simon and I left them. They would all recognize the neighborhoods and street names, placing the pieces in the general area of the puzzle map as I sorted the pieces into color categories: metros lines, lettering of larger monuments, the Seine, parks, and so on. Happy to report we got a picture the morning their crew flew out — two days after Simon and I left — that they had indeed finished it!

Simon and I also spent a ton of time outdoors, exploring the mountains, beaches, and winding roads — we drove a lot. He’s always joked that I never know how to dress properly in France. And... he’s not wrong. I haven’t been able to figure out the weather here since I’ve arrived. Days that I expect it to be warm are inevitably cold. And times I think it will rain, the sun beams. So, here too! Most days I froze wearing shorts when it was, ummmm, 55°F. Mais, c’est la vie.

On the night before our last one at Steve’s, Simon took me to a Paghjella concert. Where three male acapella singers harmonized traditional Corsican music for a solid hour in a church that was decorated for the holy holiday. It was actually on Maundy Thursday. I loved the concert so much. The talent was remarkable, and it felt like such a deep, living expression of Corsican tradition.

Fun random story time: The few times that I attempted to speak in full French sentences were, oddly enough, when Andie MacDowell, an American actress, came up in conversation. Bruno’s wife was obsessed with her — and her movie Green Card. I lit up when I heard this! I finally was in! I had something to add!! So random, but I was able to tell her that one of my hometown best friend’s moms had roomed with Andie in college. And — are you ready for this? — my friend’s mom pierced Andie’s ears!! Like, numbed her earlobes with ice cubes and punched holes in them with a needle… in their dorm room! What are we even doing here?? OUCH. Bruno’s wife loved the story and luckily wanted to practice her English as much as I wanted to practice my French, so was very patient with me as I had NO IDEA how to say pierced ears. Or numb. Or, really anything en français.

All this time with Steve and his family, and meeting Bruno and his, stirred something deep in me — I started craving my people. My own family. I think this trip played a big role in my decision to leave France, at least for a little while. I’ve been missing home. The beaches of South Carolina. The ease of slipping into a flowing conversation about a random celebrity I just happen to have a fun story about — without taking forever to find the words, feeling the spotlight burn on me as everyone waits, half-smiling, for me to catch up. I miss laughing because I get the joke, not because I pretend to.

Before flying out, Simon took us to the one town I’d requested we visit while on the island: Bonifacio. And I’m so glad we made it happen. I’d never seen a place like it. Perched dramatically high above the sea, built with such intention — to protect the coast, to watch for intruders — and just unbelievably beautiful. Simon told me that every summer, the biggest and most luxurious yachts in the world dock here because it’s one of the most coveted ports in all the oceans. And I believe him. When I’m a billionaire, I’ll plan to do the same! The views were surreal, you could practically toss a rock and hit Italy, the people were among the kindest I’ve met in France yet — and honestly, that goes for all of Corsica! They were the most polite, caring, patient, precious people. 

Since it was Good Friday, every church, (and there were many - we counted roughly one every two blocks) was hosting services. We wandered into one, where people stayed on their knees through the songs, then rose to follow the priests in a procession through the streets. The crowd grew as they moved, and somehow Simon and I found ourselves swept up in it. Little did they know, we were actually just searching for a sandwich before heading to the airport. Still, what a cool tradition to stumble into. Bonifacio left such a mark on me. One of the most impressive villages I’ve ever visited. And maybe I loved it even more because, finally, the sun came out.

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PARIS THINGS

Since returning from our trip, I have attended Easter Service at the American Church in Paris, had tea at our favorite spot, Recto Verso, with Fanny, followed by a visit to her stunning apartment. A solo lunch at Clamato (yes, where I ordered all the things), a stop at Tang Frères (a massive Chinese grocery store - to search for the dried Chinese noodles that I have needed for my easter cookies. They didn’t have them, but they did have tons of spices and pastes that kept me mesmerized for over an hour as I walked each aisle). An impromptu stroll and beers with Leah, Ellie, and Hassan at Le Balto. So much yoga at Rasa. A spontaneous lunch with Justin at Ya Bayté by Hébé. Daily sauna and steam sessions at Soho House (because my membership is expiring this month — no joke, I got the email right after telling my people I’m leaving Paris. If that’s not divine timing, I don’t know what is). There was also a pop-up taco dinner at Crudo, in the 20th, with Michelin-starred chef Ana Dolores from Esquina Común — that I went to with the gang: Jillian, Justine, Miranda, and Elizabeth.

And best of all… a small-world run-in moment with my Margot! I spotted her on her bike with her best friend as I was en route to dinner with some of mine on Friday. I got to give her a big smooch. Tomorrow we have a plan to see one another — just the two of us, a bottle of wine (maybe two), and a long overdue catch-up. Can’t wait!

And tonight? I'm off to Club 211 (who am I?!) to dance my @#$ off. I’ve been invited to join Leah, Hassan, Ellie, and Ariel for a night of dancing — and my hand is raised high to shake my body. Word on the street is that our evening’s organizer (ahem, Leah) will be showing up in a skintight copper glitter bodysuit, and setting the bar for the (suggested on the ticket) “chic et élégant” dress code. I, on the other hand, will likely be in my go-to Canadian Tuxedo. It’s about as glittery as I get these days, given my closet is 90% winter wools and vintage capes. To spice it up though, I’m considering a red pout… and to get really wild, possibly a headscarf. Stand by. It’s also possible that none of that flare happens.

Until next time… xxo ac