Colombine wanted to bring home one unposed portrait from the Riviera. “Nothing grand. Just us, as we are.” Mea immediately adjusted her scarf. Lu Cia looked at her, then at Colombine. “This may take a while.”
An imagined journey with Mea Zen, Colombine MichelangeLove and Lu Cia, inspired by original Travel2City photographs. Saint-Paul-de-Vence, Cap Ferrat, Monaco and Nice form a loose collage of separate stops, not a one-day itinerary.
Beside the fountain, Mea found her spot, straightened her back and folded her hands. Then unfolded them. One went to her bag; the other had no clear assignment. Colombine raised her pencil. “Just look natural.” Mea stood even straighter. Lu Cia watched the transformation for a moment and tilted her head. “Is this how you stand while waiting for coffee?” Water kept dripping into the stone basin. Mea managed one more serious second. Then her shoulders dropped, and the smile no longer needed arranging.
Outside the pink villa, Mea had a new theory: looking natural required the right background. She turned sideways and offered a grand, welcoming gesture. “Please, make yourselves at home.” Colombine lowered her sketchbook and offered her the entire balcony with a matching flourish. Lu Cia covered her smile. “Wonderful. Which of you cleans all those windows?” Mea looked at the upper floor. Then the lower one. Playing hostess suddenly lost its appeal. “Let's be visitors today.” They stayed on the path, laughing at their very brief new careers.
In Monaco, Lu Cia proposed a more dignified attempt. She stood beside the displayed cannons, clasped her hands behind her back and adopted an expression suited to receiving important news. Mea joined her. They stared ahead in silence while Colombine held her closed sketchbook against her chest. “What are we supposed to be?” Mea asked without moving her lips. “The Committee for Looking Relaxed.” Colombine laughed first. Lu Cia promptly lowered her head, and Mea lost her expression altogether. The historic cannons were the only things that managed to remain solemn.
In Nice, Colombine stopped giving directions. She opened her sketchbook on the wall, drew the curve of the coast and added three small figures beside it. Mea leaned closer; the breeze swept her hair across her cheek. Lu Cia rested beside her and pointed at a line. “Is that me?” “So far, that's your arm.” Mea laughed, Colombine added another stroke, and for a moment they all forgot how they looked. There was very little on the paper. A coastline, three women, and hands that had finally found somewhere to belong.
“So far, that's your arm.”
From notebook to book
The Map with No Last Page
The world of Travel2City continues between the covers of a book. Discover The Map with No Last Page and more illustrated journeys.
