{"id":866,"date":"2026-07-26T14:30:00","date_gmt":"2026-07-26T12:30:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lapinupose.com\/i-was-in-san-diego-but-that-day-my-heart-had-stayed-in-france\/"},"modified":"2026-08-02T10:53:28","modified_gmt":"2026-08-02T08:53:28","slug":"i-was-in-san-diego-but-that-day-my-heart-had-stayed-in-france","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lapinupose.com\/en\/i-was-in-san-diego-but-that-day-my-heart-had-stayed-in-france\/","title":{"rendered":"I Was in San Diego\u2026 But That Day, My Heart Had Stayed in France."},"content":{"rendered":"\n

1 February 2026 \u2013 At Sea<\/h2>\n\n

After a good night\u2019s sleep, a hearty breakfast, and then an espresso at the bar on Deck Five, where the welcome is always so warm, I headed to Massimo\u2019s press conference, an event I would never miss for anything in the world. Especially because today\u2019s subject was as captivating as it was intense: the all-consuming passion between Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. When they first met, she was barely twenty-two years old. Her body had already been shattered by pain, yet her spirit remained utterly unbreakable. He was immense in every sense of the word\u2014his presence, his voice, his reputation. A giant of mural painting, a Marxist titan, a man convinced that art belonged in the streets, covering the walls of the people. She affectionately called him her toad, with a tenderness that was both playful and defiant. He saw in her a dangerous flame, one far too fierce ever to be contained. They did not choose each other in search of happiness. They chose each other in pursuit of truth. Frida painted sitting down, lying in bed, trapped inside corsets, strapped to her mattress. She painted what she was: pain, impossible motherhood, betrayal, Mexico woven into her very flesh. Her paintings were confessions laid bare for the world to see. She never looked away. Again and again, she painted herself, as if each self-portrait were proof that she was still alive. Diego once said that she painted \u201cwith her entrails.\u201d He was right. She never painted to please anyone only to survive. <\/p>\n\n

Diego, meanwhile, paints standing up, creating monumental murals that tell the stories of revolution, workers, and the stolen history of Latin America. His frescoes are manifestos. He wants to change the world with every brushstroke of colour. He believes in the people, in the collective, in the future. Frida believes in the present moment, in the flesh, in love\u2014even when it hurts. And it does hurt. Terribly. They betray one another. They tear each other apart. They separate. They divorce. Diego loves deeply, but never well enough. Frida suffers endlessly, yet loves even more fiercely. She transforms every betrayal into a painting, every wound into a symbol. When Diego sleeps with her sister, something breaks forever\u2026 and yet she never truly leaves him. Because their love is not a refuge. It is a battlefield. Around them, Mexico is boiling. Revolution, communism, Trotsky\u2019s exile in the Casa Azul. Art and politics mingle with blood and tequila. Frida wears her dresses like flags, her eyebrows like an act of defiance, her body like a work of untamed art. Diego admires her, respects her, loses her, and wins her back. Years later, he would say, \u201cI have suffered two great accidents in my life. The streetcar\u2026 and Frida.\u201d In the end, when Frida\u2019s body begins to fail, when the pain becomes unbearable, when morphine blurs the passing days, Diego remains by her side. They remarry. Differently. <\/p>\n\n

With greater clarity. She knows she is going to die. Yet she keeps painting. Until the very end. Her final painting bears the words: Viva la Vida. When Frida dies, Diego is devastated. Too late, he understands that the woman he had always believed to be fragile was, in truth, the stronger of the two. He would later say that loving her had been the greatest privilege of his life. Their love was never gentle. It was never simple. But it was immense. A love that burns, destroys, and creates. A love that promises not happiness, but intensity. And sometimes, that is exactly what we need in order to dream. Perhaps that was precisely what I needed to begin this beautiful day, especially as the sky was far from kind\u2026 After enjoying a sunbath, I headed to the Mauritian hairdresser. Yes\u2026 it was Sunday, and I had negotiated a package for the remainder of the cruise. Let\u2019s just say it had become my little indulgence. Subham is Mauritian, and his wife also works in the hair salon. <\/p>\n\n

Beyond being highly skilled professionals, they are both genuinely warm and friendly. At first, taming my hair had been a little difficult, but now\u2026 after three visits, he is finally getting it just right. Lucky me. The evening unfolds peacefully. A message from Claire arrives, simply saying: \u201cTonight, there are white tablecloths on Deck 13, it\u2019s Mexican night. We\u2019d rather eat there\u2026 join us if you\u2019d like.\u201d I appreciate the invitation and decide to join them. As for the other couple, they are having dinner at the restaurant. Afterwards, as usual, I make my way to the amphitheatre. Tonight, the stage sparkles with a thousand lights. The dancers perform to songs by the wonderful Tina Turner. I love it\u2026 With stars in my eyes, I return to my cabin, carried away by the music and the lights, ready to surrender to a beautiful night\u2019s sleep. <\/p>\n\n

2 February 2026 \u2013 San Diego \u2013 United States<\/h2>\n\n

I dock in San Diego, a first for me, but my heart is somewhere else\u2026 in France. It is with my son\u2026 because today, he is starting his new position as Deputy Manager of a hotel in Cassis. A huge milestone, well deserved and full of promise. How I wish I could have been by his side, watching him experience this moment, sharing his pride, taking in every emotion. So even though I am in an extraordinary city, surrounded by completely different scenery, my thoughts will be in France. A mother never truly moves away. She is always there, accompanying her child. <\/p>\n\n

The city of San Diego opens its arms to me\u2026 A message from @canal83 suddenly wakes me with a start: \u201cAnnick, you absolutely have to post that you\u2019re in San Diego, because we\u2019re ready to publish the question at 6:00 p.m. And yes\u2026 with the nine-hour time difference with France, you can easily imagine the headache\u2026\u201d I am only just waking up, while in France it is already the middle of the afternoon. So I rush to film the video\u2026 In the distance, San Diego is only just beginning to wake up, still slightly shrouded in mist, as though suspended between night and day. Despite that, I have a magnificent, almost unreal view as the backdrop for a video I want to make truly special. Delighted by the time I still have left, I take the opportunity to fit in my workout: 10 kilometres, no question of giving up. <\/p>\n\n

I grabbed an orange juice from the buffet on my way through\u2014not freshly squeezed, as the machine was broken\u2014and all too quickly it was time to head to the amphitheatre, wait for my turn and present myself to immigration. Looking at my card, I discovered that I was in Zone 7, while Michel was in Zone 6. No big deal. He had planned to explore the city on his own, as usual, while I was going whale watching with MSC\u2026 Despite the excursions being very well organised, the wait was endless. I had been called for 9:30 a.m., but we waited almost two hours before I finally found myself face-to-face with immigration for that long-awaited clearance\u2026 But what upset me most was what came next: three hours of waiting in the cold, hoping for the arrival of the famous boat that was supposed to take us whale watching\u2026 While waiting, I took the opportunity to photograph a US Navy ship nearby for an Italian friend of mine who serves in the Italian Navy. Remember\u2026 that extraordinary encounter in 2025. <\/p>\n\n

After waiting for so long in the cold, I finally board the boat. From the outside, it looks very beautiful, almost promising, but the moment we step inside, the disappointment is immediate: the interior is very old-fashioned, very unattractive, as though frozen in the past. You can immediately sense a general feeling of unease. No one has eaten, and above all, no one had been warned. So, almost instinctively, everyone rushes for the crisps and drinks. It is a kind of silent revenge, a way of making up for the exhaustion, hunger and frustration. <\/p>\n\n

After two hours of sailing, a moment of pure grace finally arrives: we are lucky enough to see a whale and her calf. Time seems to stand still for a while. We simply remain there, watching, as though this moment finally gives meaning to everything that came before. But then we have to head back, with another two long hours on the boat before reaching the quay. Inside, the atmosphere becomes heavy. Many people cannot stop sneezing, myself included. The cold, the fatigue and the confined air all begin to take their toll. <\/p>\n\n

And it still isn\u2019t over. Once we arrive, we have to queue again, outside in the cold, because of immigration, before we can finally get back on board the Magnifica. We move forward slowly, exhausted, with the feeling that the waiting will never end. The only thing I can think about when I get back is going straight up to Deck 13. I need warmth and peace. I make myself a lemon and honey tea, which I drink in my cabin, almost in silence. I write a few lines about this day\u2014not memorable, no, but eventful enough to leave its mark. Simple words to release the fatigue and gently bring the afternoon to a close. Only then do I go back downstairs for dinner, to meet my Canadian couples again, like a return to a gentler, more human kind of normality. And I honestly think I can already see exactly how the evening will end: with a good book in bed\u2026 and that is exactly what happened. It was 8:00 p.m. when I left the table to return to my cabin, and at 10:00 p.m. I was on the phone with my son as he told me all about his first day in Cassis. How I wish I could have been by his side\u2026 I receive a message from Michel asking me to join him in San Diego, but I decline\u2026 Yes\u2026 We are docked here for two days. Annick, where has your joy of life gone\u2026 Did you leave it behind in France? <\/p>\n\n

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3 February 2026 \u2013 San Diego \u2013 United States<\/h2>\n\n

Just as I had suspected, I wake up this morning with a sore throat. My first instinct: take some paracetamol. I would gladly have stayed in bed, wrapped in the comfort of my cabin, but I am expected at the amphitheatre at 9:00 a.m. for an excursion: a tour of San Diego aboard a typical sightseeing bus. I sincerely hope this outing will improve my opinion of the excursions. Unfortunately, it does not. The driver shouts for almost two hours. The bus races along at full speed, giving us just enough time to capture a few images, but never enough time to truly experience the city. The neighbourhoods and landmarks flash past like postcards we are never given the chance to open: Old Town State Historic Park, the Maritime Museum and the legendary Star of India, the Embarcadero, Seaport Village, the Marriott Marquis and Marina, the Historic Gaslamp Quarter, Petco Park, the Hilton San Diego Bayfront Hotel, Barrio Logan. <\/p>\n\n

Coronado and its famous Orange Avenue, Balboa Park, the San Diego Zoo, then Little Italy. Everything is there, everything passes by\u2026 but nothing really has time to sink in. Too fast, too loud, too far removed from my desire to wander and take my time. It is 1:00 p.m. I do not really feel like returning to the ship, so I head towards the Maritime Museum, right there, just a few steps from the pier. It feels like a silent call from the sea. Very quickly, I am struck by the grandeur of the place. Here, everything speaks of navigation, the Navy, power and history. Great ships lined up along the quay, steel silhouettes weathered by time, aircraft frozen in motion, resting on the decks as though ready to take off again. It feels as though I am stepping onto an open-air aircraft carrier. I walk across the decks, touch the cold railings, imagine the lives lived aboard, the crossings, the departures, the returns. The wind still seems to carry echoes: shouted orders, roaring engines, stories of men and women whose eyes were fixed on the horizon. The Maritime Museum is more than a museum. It is a place of remembrance and respect. <\/p>\n\n

A place where the sea meets steel, where the past continues to breathe softly, facing the ocean. As I leave, one powerful image stays with me: majestic ships standing motionless, anchored in time, silently watching over San Diego Bay. My throat is still irritated, so I walk a little farther on the other side of the pier, hoping to find a pharmacy where I can buy some cough syrup and lozenges to soothe it. Unfortunately, there is no pharmacy in sight, but I do find somewhere to buy a magnet for my friend Buju. Eventually, I make my way back to the ship. Once on board, I want to find something positive in all of this. So I decide to have a pizza. At least one thing that genuinely makes me happy. And what a pleasure it is\u2026 a huge, simple, comforting pleasure. Then a short nap, a good book, and at last, time begins to slow down. And just like that, my second day in San Diego is almost over, quietly, without any particular sparkle, but with that small bubble of comfort finally restored. In the evening, it is always an immense pleasure to be reunited with my Canadian friends, even though we are having dinner at the buffet. <\/p>\n\n

Once again, I make my way alone to the amphitheatre to attend the show\u2026 an opera\u2026 which I adore. And then, an unexpected surprise: my friend Michel joins me. He too is dealing with a few health issues. We tell each other about our adventures over the past two days; it is always such a pleasure to listen to him. We then return to our respective cabins, him limping, supposedly because of his kidneys, and me with my sore throat. Before parting, we wish each other good night, smiles on our faces. I then whisper in his ear: \u201cAre you sure we did the right thing booking this cruise in 2026?\u201d He smiles at me reassuringly and replies softly: \u201cOf course\u2026 don\u2019t worry. Everything is going to be fine.\u201d <\/p>\n\n

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4 February 2026 \u2013 At Sea<\/h2>\n\n

Almost a month already since I boarded the ship. The routine is settling in, nothing particular to report. Exercise, Massimo\u2019s conference\u2026 today\u2019s subject: \u201cLos Angeles\u201d, where we will soon be docking. I have always loved this city. Ah, the Walk of Fame, I am delighted to learn a little more about it. Did you know that the stars are fixed into the ground, embedded in the pavement like eternal promises, beneath the feet of hurried passers-by? Some shine brighter than others. Gene Autry has several of them, a rare privilege, as though a single star could never have contained all his lives: the singer, the actor, the cowboy, the legend. In Hollywood, he became a constellation. Others have refused this immortality in stone. Julia Roberts said no. No to a form of fame that people walk over without looking, no to the idea of having her name exposed to dust and crushed chewing gum. Sometimes, refusing a star is already another way of shining. <\/p>\n\n

In front of Michael Jackson\u2019s star, the flowers never truly die. They are constantly renewed, left by anonymous hands, as though love itself refuses to fall silent. There, the pavement becomes an altar, and the star, a beating heart. Only one star looks out at the world differently. Vertically. Muhammad Ali\u2019s. He did not want to be walked on. He did not want his name beneath people\u2019s feet, because although feet are part of the body, they also carry its impurities. And so his star stands upright, at eye level, reminding us that some names are not meant to be walked upon, but looked at. And then there are the wounded stars. Donald Trump\u2019s, vandalised time and again, repaired and then attacked once more, like a mirror reflecting the divisions of the world. On Hollywood Boulevard, even fame becomes a battlefield. Los Angeles is like that: a city where glory is engraved into the ground, where people walk upon myths, where some stars are loved, others contested, and where each one tells us less about a celebrity than about an era. <\/p>\n\n

Beneath the Californian sun, the pavements speak. They whisper that fame is fragile, that admiration can fade, that refusal can be noble, and that some stars, even when fixed into concrete, continue to burn. I spend the afternoon in my cabin writing a chapter of my second autobiography. That is how authors live: we write when we feel it, when the inspiration is there\u2026 at least, that is what I believe. Time stretches without me even noticing. The hours slowly drift towards evening, and I decide to stay there late. The words and sentences flow from my pen with an almost unsettling ease, and I want to make the most of this suspended moment. Especially since I decline the invitation to have dinner with my Canadian friends. I\u2019ll see later, I tell myself. There is no hurry; tonight, I am somewhere else, absorbed in my inner world. <\/p>\n\n

Then, a message from Michel breaks through this quiet little bubble. He tells me that he is suffering from a severe attack of gout and has not eaten dinner yet. Concerned, I suggest that he join me at the buffet around 8 p.m. He immediately agrees. That evening, dinner is held in honour of America. American flags are flying everywhere, their bright colours filling the room. Most of the dishes pay tribute to American cuisine, and even the waiters are wearing hats decorated with stars and stripes. The atmosphere is cheerful, almost theatrical\u2014it\u2019s fantastic. When I see my friend arrive, I immediately realise how serious the situation is: his foot is terribly swollen. The pain is written all over his face, despite his brave smile. I help Michel as best I can, offering to fetch some food for him, but he refuses. Yet he keeps smiling and insists on filming a video with me, our American hats firmly on our heads. The image is almost funny, slightly surreal, despite his suffering. You can tell that the pain is pulling at him, catching up with him. So he does not stay long. He asks the waiter for a bag of ice, then we each return to our cabins: me to write, him to rest and ease the pain. He hopes to go on an excursion tomorrow, but I advise him to rest. <\/p>\n\n

5 February 2026 \u2013 Los Angeles \u2013 United States<\/h2>\n\n

It feels like d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu\u2026 since I celebrated my birthday here in August 2024, but I am delighted to be taking this excursion. As the meeting time is not until 1:00 p.m., I have time to do my workout, continue writing and try to see Michel before I leave. As usual, once on the bus, I try to have a seat to myself, preferably by the window. I meet Michael, our guide, who seems very friendly. He tells us that, given the traffic, the tour will probably take a long time, a very long time indeed. We begin with Rodeo Drive, and from the very first steps, a strange feeling of familiarity comes over me. The luxurious shop windows, immaculate fa\u00e7ades, legendary names\u2026 I recognise all those brands I had once seen on Avenue Montaigne in Paris. And yet, the atmosphere is different: sunnier, more relaxed, almost effortlessly confident. I had not explored this neighbourhood during my previous stay, a year and a half earlier. This time, the moment had come. I take my time looking around, observing the passers-by, the elegant cars, the palm trees standing like sentinels above the asphalt. I really enjoy this walk, this feeling of being both a tourist and already a little at home. Then, naturally, we make our way towards Hollywood. From time to time, I find myself chatting at greater length with the guide. What a life he has had\u2026 He has mixed with some of the biggest names. Of course, there are his explanations about the landmarks, precise and fascinating, but also more intimate anecdotes, shared almost like confidences, about certain legendary artists. Listening to him, I feel a strange sense of closeness. <\/p>\n\n

I had the feeling that our lives echoed one another, that they had been shaped in much the same way: through encounters, fortunate coincidences, and moments shared with unforgettable souls. Lives shaped by others, by those unexpected crossings of paths that quietly change everything. But very quickly, Hollywood Boulevard catches my attention. I almost naturally become part of it, as though the setting itself were calling to me. For a moment, I belong there, and yet the myth remains intact. The stars embedded in the pavement tell a thousand stories, blending fame, dreams\u2026 and sometimes oblivion. Every step becomes a silent journey through dazzling or broken destinies, forever frozen beneath the gaze of passers-by. As I walk, I can feel everything this place carries within it: the hopes, the meteoric careers, and the shattered destinies too. I am particularly moved to see Muhammad Ali\u2019s star. Massimo had spoken about it during his conference, and seeing it with my own eyes suddenly brings his words to life. I stop in front of the star for a moment, almost out of respect. More than a champion, he was a symbol, a voice, a quiet strength engraved there forever. The day then continues with countless journeys across the city. Los Angeles is vast, almost overwhelming in scale. The distances seem endless, and the scenery changes without warning. We travel all the way to Los Angeles Union Station, an impressive place filled with history and constant movement. There, we see the countdown to the next FIFA World Cup. Time ticks away, the numbers keep moving, reminding us that even the greatest global events begin with a simple, silent countdown. The hours pass without us even noticing. Fatigue slowly begins to set in, mixed with that deep sense of satisfaction that comes from having seen so much, absorbed so much. When we finally return to the ship, it is very, very late. The city gradually fades into the distance, leaving behind its lights, its promises and its stories. <\/p>\n\n

I felt exhausted, yet completely fulfilled, my mind still filled with images and my heart enriched by this extraordinary day. Just before leaving the bus, Michael and I exchange contact details. You never know what tomorrow may bring. It is already 7 p.m. when I return to my cabin. There is no chance of joining my Canadian friends at the restaurant: it is too late. I send them a message to apologise. Straight afterwards, I write to my friend Michel to check on him, ask how he is feeling, and find out whether he has eaten. His reply comes quickly\u2026 no, still not. So, once again, we meet for dinner together. And, once again, I cannot wait to return to my cabin, just as he cannot wait to return to his. Him, held back by illness; me, drawn towards this silent refuge, this place where I can finally be alone with myself. <\/p>\n\n

But the night does not go as I had hoped. At around 3 a.m., I am suddenly woken by a terrible noise above me. Once again, it sounds like trolleys being pushed around without any care, heavy thuds, repeated over and over again, endlessly. The noise cuts through me, assaults me, making it impossible to find any sense of peace. And above all\u2026 it does not stop. I tell myself this cannot be possible. Surely MSC does not have its staff working in the middle of the night. Since my cabin is located beneath the kitchens, that is immediately what comes to mind. But the uncertainty does nothing to calm me. The noise continues, relentless. There is no way I can get back to sleep. At the end of my patience, I decide to call reception. Thirty minutes later, a man knocks on my door. I try to explain the situation to him, even showing him my video recordings\u2026 but all he tells me is that a technician will come the following day. I am extremely upset, almost in tears. Especially since I have to get up at 6:45 a.m. for my excursion. Exhaustion adds to my frustration, and discouragement takes over completely. I have absolutely no desire to change cabins yet again even assuming they could offer me another one. <\/p>\n\n

Of course, I already hear the workers beginning their day at around 5:30 every morning, as my cabin is close to the service area. But this is different. This is too much. My refuge no longer feels like one. I really do not want to change cabins yet again\u2026 and yet, I no longer know what to do. <\/p>\n\n

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6 February 2026 \u2013 Los Angeles \u2013 United States<\/h2>\n\n

Malibu is also d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu for me, since I had already done a photoshoot on this exceptional beach in August 2024. And then, I have to admit, I did not sleep well. I am in one of those moods. Let\u2019s just say it would be better for everyone not to step on my toes without apologising. My outfit then becomes a real consideration. Normally, the excursion ends at Malibu Beach. So I opt for shorts, with my swimsuit underneath\u2014even if that bothers some of the women on the bus. I do not care. Just enough time to enjoy a coffee and a waffle that I find delicious, then I head to the amphitheatre, where I am expected at 7:50 a.m. for the tour. On the programme: Rodeo Drive\u2026 but above all Santa Monica, my real target. But, of course, nothing is going to go as planned. As soon as I get on the bus, a French cruise passenger I had crossed paths with the day before on the Walk of Fame asks if he can sit beside me. He starts chatting as though we have known each other for years. It is actually quite funny. Eventually, he tells me, very naturally: \u201cBut I know you\u2026 I follow you on Facebook. I like what you do.\u201d <\/p>\n\n

And then, suddenly, something is wrong. The bus is no longer moving. An injection problem, the driver tells us, forcing him to return to the port to change vehicles. In short, another day unlike any other. We wait at least an hour and a half before a new bus finally arrives. And once again, my \u201cfan\u201d sits beside me to continue our conversation. Eventually, the guide announces that, because of the schedule, Rodeo Drive has been cancelled. We will go directly to Santa Monica. No problem for me: I saw it the day before. Many people complain, but there is no other solution. We absolutely have to be back on the ship before 2 p.m. Despite everything, the tour goes well through the streets of Santa Monica, bathed in light and movement. The visit continues between Santa Monica and Venice, two places so different and yet connected by the same raw energy. In Santa Monica, everything is in motion: the pier, the laughter, the salty breeze, the colours, life overflowing everywhere. Then comes Venice, freer, more untamed, almost provocative. But this time, I am there alone. <\/p>\n\n

Alone on the beach. Alone facing the ocean. This is where I once came with my ex. And yet, today, I do not feel like comparing or regretting anything. I simply want to remember, then let the memory slowly drift away. I want to experience this moment entirely for myself, fully, intensely. Dressed in my fluorescent swimsuit, almost as an act of defiance against fatigue, the past, and those broken nights of sleep. I walk along the beach almost like a madwoman, carried by a sudden burst of energy. The sand beneath my feet, the sun on my skin, the ocean stretching as far as the eye can see. I walk quickly, smile for no reason, breathe deeply. I simply want to live. I want to smile at life, even when it falters, even when it wears me down. At that precise moment, there is no excursion, no schedule, no bus, no constraint. There is only me, the ocean\u2026 and that precious feeling of being fully alive. But it is time to return to the bus and then to our ship. The driver has to speed up because the ship is due to set sail at 2:00 p.m. We arrive at around 1:30 p.m.\u2026 Just in time. Following the bus breakdown we had experienced, MSC decided to offer us a 40% refund as a goodwill gesture\u2026 not bad. <\/p>\n\n

Starving, I head to the buffet before treating myself to a peaceful afternoon writing on my blog about everything I had experienced over the previous two days. In the evening, I am delighted to be reunited with my two couples. Yes\u2026 four evenings without them was beginning to feel like a long time. Judging by everyone\u2019s smiles and the glances exchanged around the table, there is no doubt about it: we are all happy to be together again. Despite everything, I am also delighted to return to my cabin to work on the second chapter of my book. <\/p>\n\n

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1 February 2026 \u2013 At Sea After a good night\u2019s sleep, a hearty breakfast, and then an espresso at the bar on Deck Five, where the welcome is always so warm, I headed to Massimo\u2019s press conference, an event I would never miss for anything in the world. Especially because today\u2019s subject was as captivating […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":853,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[19,22],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-866","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-2026-cruise","category-alone-around-the-world"],"yoast_head":"\nI Was in San Diego\u2026 But That Day, My Heart Had Stayed in France. - La Pin Up Ose<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/lapinupose.com\/en\/i-was-in-san-diego-but-that-day-my-heart-had-stayed-in-france\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"I Was in San Diego\u2026 But That Day, My Heart Had Stayed in France. - La Pin Up Ose\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"1 February 2026 \u2013 At Sea After a good night\u2019s sleep, a hearty breakfast, and then an espresso at the bar on Deck Five, where the welcome is always so warm, I headed to Massimo\u2019s press conference, an event I would never miss for anything in the world. 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