We picked up the rental car and filled it with luggage and knitting and an electric guitar and drove south! For, like, seven hours! And nobody died or even threw up, which is quite an achievement for the Carsick Family. All credit is due to the car, which was an Audi A4 Quattro that weighs more than twice as much as the Twingo (it really does, we checked). Dayum, it was like driving the Enterprise, folks. Built in talky navigation with two screens to tell you when to turn next, how many kms you still have to go, when you can expect to arrive, and they even tell you when you’re running out of gas and offer to direct you to the nearest gas station. You can connect your phone to the car via Bluetooth and play your own music and even field phone calls, we learned by doing. Cup holders! Air conditioning! A trunk you close by pushing a button! Also it was enormous and very difficult to steer. It was a miracle we didn’t scrape the hell out of it on all those narrow French streets. We called it the Great White.
Anyway. We have these friends with whom we occasionally travel, another family with a son about Ignatz’s age and a daughter who is 8. We were all in this cottage right on the church square in this village called Saint Restitut. All of the buildings are made from this beige local stone, with shutters painted different pastel colors, a thing about which I rhapsodized occasionally, to be met with much masculine eye-rolling. But it was so pretty! The house was good too – I don’t know how they fit 6 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms in there, but we certainly had enough space, even without the patio, pool, and sitting area out back.
We ate all our meals out there (except when we were out touristing, of course). The first two or three days, le Mistral was very busy whipping the trees around and shaking tree-shrapnel into our breakfasts (we wondered if this was the origin of the famous Herbes de Provence). The wind was a good thing, though, because it kept the heat from feeling too… well, hot. Then the wind died and the days got a little bakey, but we were still happy to be there.
The town was hella picturesque and all, but didn’t even have a bakery. So we had to drive into Saint-Paul-Trois-Chateaux every morning, once one of the dads was awake, and hit the bakery and/or grocery store, so we usually sat down to “breakfast” around 12:30. So, hm, a lot less tourism happened than I really wanted, because getting an early start proved to be
a challenge utterly impossible. Also, the place was really nice, so it was kind of hard to leave.
More tomorrow. I am determined to get back to blogging, folks.
Song du jour of the day: Reconciliation, by Noyau Dur. Why don’t I have more French music? I should remedy that…