November 9, 2008

The Magic of Mougins

Walking over the uneven cobblestones, I turn a corner and stop.

Am I supposed to be here? I feel as though I should tiptoe. Village streets in France are seldom revealed at once. I slow my pace to let my mind determine which doorway is a home and which is a shop. A flower pot. A trellis. A folding chair. I inventory the details to search out the unassuming shop signs.

An antique shop invites slow browsing. Juxtaposed within this crevice is a shop of handcrafted jewelry of sleek, modern detail. Two artistic worlds come together, linked by the architecture of the old village.

The plantings are squeezed outside the doorways, poised precariously in pots upon walls or anchored in massive urns. Vines scamper up the stone walls. Sunlight must be limited, yet the greenery is abundant and overflowing. I whisper when I speak. I feel as though I'm exploring a secret garden.

Photo and story by Freda Cameron. Mougins, France (May 2008)

Freelance travel writer. My current fiction writing projects include a completed manuscript and several works in progress.

By the way, my name is pronounced fred-ah, not freed-ah. Thank you.

Subscribe Now:


Click Pic for Travel Stories

Click Pic for Travel Stories
Paris, France; September 2013

The Musician. My late husband

The Musician. My late husband
Paris 2011