Biarritz means our children get new shoes and clothes at the end of season sales.
It means streets turned into a bazaar.
Crêpes, escargot, oysters and wine at the market hall.
It means our children turning into teens,
moving from holding our hands
to roaming the streets on their own.
It means it’s just our little one now,
him, the dogs and me.
We fell in love with Biarritz many shoe sizes ago.
Back then we only window shopped real estate agents.
This time I went in.
If Biarritz offered the schools we need,
we might be living here instead of Porto.
Like Biarritz, Porto has the Atlantic, the beaches, the sunsets,
but not my heart.
This visit we have a pair of Portuguese Water Dogs along.
They joined our pack this year.
I’ve had dogs before but never the time to know them.
Now all of Biarritz does.
He can’t walk five steps without someone asking their breed, their age, their names, to touch them.
Bali and Symi sit calmly for toddlers learning to walk,
then stand on their hind legs to meet adults,
maybe for a lick of late-season ice cream.
He looks good with them.
I get they orbit him.
There’s a leather jacket hanging in the window of a vintage store.
I ask him if he minds if I go inside.
He says of course not.
The jacket reminds me of the one I wore when we met.
My oldest daughter wears it now.
It doesn’t fit me anymore.
The one in the window fits perfectly.
The price is more than fair.
He says “it looks good on you.”
I say “maybe for the girls.”
He says “no, for you.”
I ask the shop owner to hold it for an hour while I consider.
I walk back into the property agent to ask about viewing a flat.
He leaves me there and walks off with our youngest and the dogs.
They’re waiting for me at Galeries Lafayette.
My baby runs to me. "Mommy mommy look".
She’s holding a perfume sample.
I ask him how she got it.
He says "she asked if she could go in, I said yes.
She came out saying the lady gave it to her."
She’s seven, almost eight,
and walks into a fashion store like she owns it.
I tell him I bought the jacket and got five euros off.
"Of course you did", he says,
and leaves it at that.
We viewed a flat, steps away from the old port.
Tomorrow we drive two hours north to look at homes around Bordeaux where there are schools for my girls.
The flat in Biarritz could be a weekend place for him and me to escape,
or for my girls to use,
to surf, to sleep, to make love, to paint, to cook, to be alone.
