swimming in france
Alas, the sun is out and shining on the french riviera. We had a testing Easter weekend, filled with winds and sahara sand rain showers. We headed west to Antibes for the long weekend and spent some time there with family, cozied up over long meals and rainy walks around the cap, admiring homes of famous legends’ past. Charlotte was the pièce de resistance as our centerpiece for most of the time and we were both able to enjoy some long baths in deep soaking tubs-a luxury we lack in our apartment here.
On Easter, we feasted over a long lunch of slow-roasted (alison roman) lamb and chocolate eggs, watched the tour of flanders, then headed back to Nice. In the evening, we ordered neapolitan pizza and played secret hitler with friends.
The sun re-joined us for Easter monday. I strolled the antique market with friends amidst the busy-ness of a bank holiday, as vendors held tight to their tables while the wild wind gave them a run for their money.
The extra hour of sunshine is very exciting, but making the mornings a little harder to pop out of bed for. I made it to my friend’s 7:30am yoga class this morning *that I’ve vowed to attend since she first started the classes weeks ago*, and now it hurts my jello arms to lift Charlotte.
Neilson is home recovering from a knee injury, and I am repeatedly inspired by his persistence in the face of a slowdown. I find myself imagining if I were in his position, watching the goals of the season pass, and know that I would not be handling it as gracefully and rationally as he does. Knowing that the rest of the year holds even more opportunities, and taking the time to recover now will only serve him better in the future. Charlotte and I aren’t complaining, since we’ve gotten so much time together as a family and I must say parenting with both sets of hands around just feels much more… doable.
swimming pool
I used to go to the swimming pool for exercise when we lived right across from it, and I would always try to convince Neilson to come with me. But between the strange opening hours and his race schedule, he never made it with me. However, now he is swimming for cross training so we’ve lined up our workouts at the pool as date afternoons. romance isn’t dead.
There are a lot of rules for swimming at a public pool in France. Humor me.
First, you enter and either scan your card or pay your entry fee ~4 euros for a day pass. Then, you enter the dressing rooms and must take off your street shoes at the red line and head into a changing stall to don a swimsuit and water shoes. Hit the restroom, grab your towel, and go to the showers for a rinse before popping on your swim cap. Then you must walk through the basin of standing water to rinse your feet before walking up the stairs to the pool. Once you’ve reached the pool, if you are properly dressed with all the accoutrements, no one will bother you and you can jump into any lane. They are conveniently all marked fast lanes, either with or without swim devices allowed. which simultaneously makes all of them anything but fast.
The pool is olympic distance so it is 50m long, about double the length of your average swimming pool. In my regular days I could make it 10 laps for a full workout. But in the re-naissance of my swim career postpartum, I’m only making it 5-7. During this time, I am being lapped by my husband as he finishes off his 20 laps in the time that I swim, shower, get dressed and dry my hair. To be fair, I was ill prepared and brought goggles which filled with water by about halfway across the pool. At which point I tried swimming with my eyes shut, until I repeatedly ran into people and decided I would spare the pool of my swim skill.
I think it took each of us about 3 visits of going to the pool before we were allowed in. If your swim cap isn’t covering all your hair, birkenstocks are not counted as water shoes, neilson’s swim trunks weren’t tight or short enough… honestly, you name it and it’s not allowed. I have ambitiously entered pools in three European countries now and probably been scolded or chased down at each one of them.
When I swam at the gym pool in Sacramento, I showed up with a towel and bikini and popped in for a tan while I swam. This ~glamorous~ european experience requires much more dedication and rule following.
Anyways, if anyone needs to be humbled, you can borrow my husband to do a workout with. It never fails. And this is why when people ask if I ride with my husband, I laugh a little inside, but respond politely. I am not “aerobically gifted” in the words of Neilson. But I would also argue that Neilson is not quite as “rhythmically inclined” as one would need to be to be a professional dancer.
anyways, leaving you here with some recent
favorites
friday candy podcast- some favorite expats I’ve followed for a while on insta just started this podcast. and it makes me laugh
trying to read more and just finished reading the danish way of parenting
now onto the montessori baby & the montessori toddler
monochromatic workout attire…I just feel more put together
peony and lilac season!
until next week! xxf
Your grandmother’s necklace is so special & beautiful!