Spa, Storm, Sagan

The droplets of marine water fall from my fingers, while the rest of the body is covered in salty mist. The temperature of the water is warm and it feels so restoring after two days of stormy winds that lashed the Côte Sauvage and two sleepless nights spent helplessly listening to every cracking sound of this unknown house.

The spa is a surprise, a very sweet one meant to help me rest and recover from a few laborious months. The spa is also a comfort place despite its daunting maze of corridors, gardens, relaxation rooms and facilities. I like it instantly because it looks right onto the ocean, bravely facing the gusty winds of these past two days, and because it is full of light, letting every sun ray pierce right through. Safely nested indoor, between massage rooms, swirl pools and the swimming pool, I can barely hear the faint yet menacing voice of the wind, while every single tree and bush out there sways dangerously away - life behind a window can be comical.

While more salty sea water falls delicately onto my body to untangle knots of exhaustion and tensions, I remember the dish we prepared the night before, when the sky was so intently focused on pouring heavy showers. 

It was one of those dark, ominous nights under the spell of an imminent storm alert. We closed all windows, kept a few lights on - one in every room to hush our fears away. While the world out there howled into the night, we cooked freshly bought clams, mussels, langoustines and undercooked linguine. We made a big tin foil parcel, threw in a roasted head of garlic, some white wine, a can of chopped tomatoes, sea salt, pepper (chili would have been a better choice), a few sprigs of thyme and all our sea food. About 30 minutes in a 180° oven later, the fragrant parcel unleashed its heady perfumes in our kitchen, protecting us from fears and dangers of all kinds (the original recipe comes from this GREAT book).

The spa shower is over; the poolside waterbed deck chair is a relief that brings me back to reality: it welcomes me and my new book with open, soft and comfy arms. From the very beginning of Bonjour Tristesse, I know. I know this is the right book, all the more as the last two ones I read during the stormy nights left a bitter aftertaste. Bad picks happen, I guess. Françoise Sagan's first novel is the right balm: warm, reassuring, full of light. As I eagerly turn the pages, I wonder: how come I have never read any of her books before?

Credits: The Daydreamer