I am not very fond of Paris.

Due to working in fashion I had to visit the French metropole quite regularly but never ever got attached emotionally. Not speaking the language (and not that many French people speaking English) did not help either.

But after I had read a marvellous Simone Signoret memoir, we ended up spending one summer in a little village in the mountains above Nice - and a lifelong love story began. Literally during the next two weeks we found a tiny little house we fell in love with - and bought it. Sold it some winter seasons later, when we realised that the weather in the mountains is more "Alpes maritime" than "Côte d´Azur". Found an orange farm, closer to the coast, even more beautiful. Stayed in this place called St Paul de Vence for almost twenty years.

Until today we go and visit the South of France every other year. Actually, our summers do not really feel complete without. And I always have one or two books with me to revive the spirit.

This year, it´s "Entre Nous" by Mary Russel, that mostly takes place in St. Tropez during the early Seventies. When holidays meant parties and never ending lunches, topless sunbathing and barefoot bike riding.

The other book tells the travel stories by Erika and Klaus Mann, big fans of that area as well. An entertaining sample of essays and remarks that came out in 1931 to describe much of the myth precisely: All kind of artists and writers, royals as well as actors seemed to get inspired by a certain light, the bright and sunny weather and the fun of gambling through the nights.

Now that travelling is much more complicated than it used to be, we are happy to live in Switzerland, from where we can take our little car to even go for a long weekend only. And if we still hesitate to leave the country later this summer, there are luckily plenty of other books we can read and dream along while waiting on next summer.