Antibes and M.Greene

More on Antibes

I cannot see the yacht harbor at Port Vauban from my window. It lies to the East of Old Town. I’ve walked on the ramparts along the edge of the water towards Fort Carre where Napoleon spent time, possibly in captivity. The last time we went to Fort Carre, it was “exceptionally closed.” It’s a long walk from home, just past the limit of my endurance. I came home in pain and slept for many hours the last time I walked. Parking in that area in a problem unless you own a yacht, in which case you’d get a parking spot with a mooring berth. I don’t want to buy a yacht just to get a parking space. The yachts rarely leave the harbor over the fall and winter. In April, Antibes will proudly host its Annual Yacht show which brings in visitors from all over the world. They start at 10 million Euros and go up from there. I will save a lot of money by not buying any boats: they depreciate in value just like cars do.

Old Town is charming with narrow streets, surprising doorways, arches, paved with brick and limestone. I’ve taken some photos. The town was Greek and then Roman, so we have an open public bath where I’ve seen people wash clothes. At the heart of Old Town, beside the Mairie, is the Picasso Museum. Picasso's atelier was on the third floor, and he could see what I see from my terrace. Close to the museum is the open market where I buy olives and spreads, and cheese. Much of the produce is brought in, only some of it is regional. I expect in the spring it will feel more abundant.

The town is crowded with cafes, bars and restaurants. I haven’t visited the Absinthe bar and museum at the market, but I have been to Heidi’s English bookstore. I’m still buying books. It’s a need, and I get withdrawal symptoms when I’m far from a bookstore but it’s not an addiction because I can give it up anytime I want to. Around the corner from Heidi’s is the Harbor and a street lined with more cafes. The most famous of these is Chez Felix where Graham Greene ate lunch everyday with his mistress.

I asked a waiter if this was the same Cafe Felix, confused as I was by the Chez. The waiter, a good-looking 30 year old Frenchman, assured me that it is the very same cafe. I asked if he had seen Greene. “Je suis trop jeune,” he told me. He is too young to have seen M. Greene, M. Greene has been dead for 20 years, and left Antibes 25 years ago. I’ve just read the Power and the Glory and I am still swimming with the Mexican priest in the rain across the river, escaping the police and listening to confessions in stealth, and now I am told that Greene is dead, I don’t believe the news.

A mile from Cafe Felix is 26, Rue Pasteur, Residence des Fleurs, a modern apartment building. A sign states that the writer, M. Graham Greene lived here, with the dates below. Two apartments are for sale in the building. I wonder which apartment was Greene’s, did he have a view of Port Vauban? I hope he did. Everyone needs to be able to see the water.
“Who hath desired the sea, the sight of salt water unbounded?” Yes, Kipling.

Would it help me write better if I lived in M. Greene’s apartment where he wrote The Quiet American, The Heart of the Matter, The End of the Affair? Would I also have to drink as much alcohol as he did, smoke opium, spy for a government and have a series of affairs? I can’t handle any of that, and I wouldn’t make a good spy. I’d share the information with friends who read the blog. Nobody said that it's easy to be a writer.

I worship briefly at the shrine of Greene, lower my head and fold my hands, ask for a blessing. No coconut to break, no marigold garland to hang on the gate. I return to my own apartment, make myself yet another pot of tea and wish that Greene would ghost-write my novel.