It began with a few notes that fell into step beside Mea. They belonged to no song she could name, perhaps only to the morning light and her good mood. In this Riviera collage, she carries them through lanes, greenery and sea views. She will try to discover how the tune continues, without being too strict about it.
Illustrated fiction inspired by original Travel2City photographs. The places come from separate journeys, not a one-day itinerary. Characters, dialogue, props and some composition and lighting are artistic interpretations.
In Antibes, the lane sloped pleasantly and the houses held the light close. Mea began humming quietly. The first two notes sounded certain; the third found its own direction. Nobody corrected her, so she continued. Beside the shop baskets, the melody briefly turned; at the stone corner, it slowed. Walking felt easier. She needed neither words nor an audience. For now, enjoying her own small sound was enough.
“I do not think anyone has recorded this one. Not even me.”
Among the greenery on Cap Ferrat, she sat down and tried to continue where she had left off. She tapped a finger gently on her knee. The rhythm arrived immediately; the melody needed time. Leaves moved in their own way, and she accepted them as a discreet accompaniment. Sometimes she repeated a phrase, sometimes changed it entirely. With her own song, she realised, she need not prove which version was right. She could keep looking while it pleased her.
Above the bay in Nice, the wind lifted her scarf just as she tried another note. Mea caught it and laughed. The song acquired an unrequested pause that suited it rather well. Below lay the city and the long curve of the coast. Perhaps she need not finish the melody immediately. Some places deserved to be heard without her accompaniment for a while. She left the rest of the refrain for later.
Beside the water in Saint-Tropez, she quietly repeated her favourite phrase once more. She was not certain it matched the morning’s version. That no longer mattered. She bowed her head slightly towards the sea, as though thanking it for the accompaniment. The sea offered no applause, only another ripple. Mea accepted that as a favourable review and continued with a song she had saved nowhere, though it had already brightened a generous part of her journey.
“Thank you for the accompaniment. I shall invent the rest later.”
From notebook to book
The Map with No Last Page
Travel2City journeys continue between the covers of a book. Discover our illustrated travel world.
By evening, she could no longer repeat the tune exactly. That did not trouble her. Something of it remained in the way she walked, and a little in the smile she brought back.
