About Me

The first time I saw Bellevue was through a telescope. It was October 2005. Pierre, my Quebecois husband, and I were visiting France's Cote d'Azur to unearth a town in which we might spend time in the future. A town that, in later days, might yield an apartment with a long let, or even a "For Sale" sign. The dwelling would be a lock-and-go sort of place, one where we'd twist the key and dash to the airport.

We had three criteria. First, this overseas home had a view of some big mass of water. Second, it was situated in a French-speaking land. Third, an international airport was no more than 30 minutes' drive away.

The telescope was one of those tourist types. Situated along Antibes' well-trodden, seaside promenade, it was robed in oily, cobalt blue paint and offered an enticing view across the glistening bay. Pierre dropped a Euro coin into its slot. There, in magnified splendour, stood the house we'd first glimpsed in the upmarket Residences magazine. The building described as "rarissime" and a "Provencal bastide." The one that was "undergoing renovation." That one that, on closer inspection, was enduring open-heart surgery, a kidney transplant and a boob job, all under the same knife.

Our vision of the future was glorious. It involved red geraniums, a turquoise pool, and crusty croissants beside a piping pot of French press coffee. Or an array of local, artisan fromages with a bottle of crimson nectar from Vacqueyras.

1. Antibes was in France. People spoke French.

2. Nice Airport was 20 minutes' drive away (on a good day).

3. Not only was the sea in sight. Bellevue ranked as one of only 19 Cap d'Antibes properties with "pieds dans l'eau." In other words, the sea was right on its doorstep.

Days later, we met the agent. We met the head of Bellevue's beautification. And then, coming to grips with a convoluted document en francais, a legal instrument studded with antiquated verbage about phantoms who may or may not occupy the property, we signed on the dotted line.

French Lessons will trace the daily lives of Pierre and me, and our two-year-old daughter Laurelle, as we dwell within the resurrected Bellevue. The blog surely will pull threads from earlier days in our engagement to the property. That's where the story began. Those are our roots. But in the main, French Lessons will take place in the present: an unfolding story of everyday, French living and lessons that permeate our French-Canadian - American household as we occupy the grand old home for six months each year.