Yesterday morning at 7:45 am like clock-work, the phone rang. Who was it? It was my grandfather. Since Séb and I know darn well that sleeping in is not an option, we were already starting our day by brushing our teeth and making the bed. "Grandpa calling from Villa Bella Vista, with whom am I speaking to?" he said painfully slow in his thick Italian accent. All week this has been his formal introduction after telephone contact has been established. He can call a few minutes later, and me knowing it's him, I'll pick up and say "Hi Grandpa" but he will still launch into the Villa Bella Vista bit, which is by the way, the name of the condo. The thing is that he doesn't even need to call or introduce himself because I can hear him perfectly fine through the door - since he is only calling from the living room.
On this fine morning, Grandpa was calling to ask us if we would like to go to Francia for the day. Thinking that he was joking, I said yes and without further explanation told Séb that we're going back to France, and to wear comfortable shoes. With my grandfather, I never really know, but what I do know is that comfortable walking attire is almost 95% required.
After a 30 minute walk in the sweltering heat we arrived at the uber-chic One and Only Ocean Club (it really says One and Only in italics on sign - it's not me being pretench) for 8 dollar iced-teas, a gorgeous and breezy ocean view and a walk through their manicured Versailles Garden. Ah, so there was some truth to his France remark, and I was so grateful that he didn't take us to some fake Eiffel Tower monstrosity that I was imagining was up at the Vegas-style Atlantis hotel.
The gardens are adorned with marble statues of Napoléon and Josephine, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Hercules, and why not? Mephistophelesand were modeled after the gardens in Versailles. And at the opposite end of the garden, facing the Harbor is the stone monastery built by Augustinian monks in France in the 13th century; the Cloisters.
Grandpa had us read each plaque, then had made me translate it to Séb, who speaks and reads English, we talked about the history and then he filled us in on local gossip. Rumor has it, or rather per my grandfather, Cindy Crawford was married on the grounds several years ago, Martha Steward enjoys her vacations here, and Michael Jordan has a suite here. FDR, Hercules, Augustinian French monks, Cindy Crawford...you learn something new everyday...
We've been enjoying our vacation in Paradise, even if it is raining today, and look forward to the our last few days with my grandparents who truly know how to entertain. I can only hope that I am as vibrant and witty at 84 and 89.
Below are some pictures that we captured on one of Paradise Island's most breath-taking views. You'll also notice that several shots are of Séb. I have been torturing Seb on Facebook, posting photos of him taking photos, and have been threatening a vernissage in Paris called "Séb Hearts the Bahamas - A Young Man's Quest for Truth in the Carribean"
He's ready to murder me.
Bon week-end à tous!
The Vesailles Pool.I'm saying this in my fancy voice which also can
sound like my drunk voice.
It's all in perfecting the slur when differentiating the two.
The Versailles Garden.Not in my fancy voice.
Séb getting "fresh" with the fairy statue.
So French.
They can't help themselves.
Gazebo over looking the Harbor at the Cloisters.
The Cloisters.
