It would appear that the third time really is the charm. And what could be more charming than “Le Petit Nice”? Today was our big-day-off for week three, and it finally was a big-day-off.
Things began as they ought to on a day off, with a liberal utilization of the snooze button. We finally acquiesced to the donkeys’ uproarious supplications for breakfast–I promise to upload audio of this cacophonous opera at some point–and rolled out of bed around 9:15. Emilie was a wonderful dear and fed the beasts, while I prepared our morning meal. We then laid out the plan for the day over some delicious toast with jam, and mint tea.
The plan was decided as such: Go to Roquebrun. Find food. Eat. Go to Gorges d’Heric. Walk Around. Go Home. Eat. *Note: I lay this out for you here so that you can observe that we did indeed stick to the plan as decided, with no tom-foolery or mishaps at all.
Having decided on Roquebrun for the first stop of the day, we packed our bags–we will never, ever, attempt a big-day-out without snacks, extra clothes, and an emergency inflatable dirigible, again– and locked Muttley in the house with a fresh fire in the stove and a new book of Sudoku. Our first stop was at the lovely boulangerie in Premian for our emergency baguette. Now, if you’ve been following along you’ll know that United Airlines finally found the snow we brought with us from Wisconsin, and that we’ve had an abundance of flakes accumulating over the last two days. Well, the initial drop in temperatures rose enough, and then fell again, to turn the nudiustertian accumulation into great patches of ice covering whole sections of road. This was especially true in the boulangerie parking area.
While Emilie was inside making the aforementioned purchase, I was spinning my wheels. Literally. The car was stuck. I was dangerously close to giving up on ever having another day off ever again (maybe this would have been proper preparation for the next four years of my life?). Then, as Emilie returned and saw the look of wild-desperation on my face, we noticed a kindly gentleman in a cowboy hat and orange scarf. He too saw my impending panic. He approached us.
I did the international sign for, “Car stuck, you help push?”, and he nodded in agreement. We pushed, Emilie did as the cowboy instructed (pas vite!), and we were…
MOVING! I couldn’t believe it! I thought all was for nought, the moon had fallen, and that the earth was ready to swallow me up. But lo! things were okay.
From there we drove to Roquebrun, had an absolutely amazing lunch at a restaurant called “Le Petit Nice”–thanks to an impromptu street-interaction with an English speaking Dutch woman–and proceeded to dawdle all around the wonderfully cute little town. It would seem that all of these towns, in southern France, are wonderfully cute. Perhaps it’s something in l’eau?
After soaking up the beauty and deciding that yes, we do want to retire here, we hopped in the taxi and sped off towards Gorges d’Heric.
I could copy and paste some info from wikipedia, but why deny you the pleasure? I leave it at this: Gorges d’Heric was beautiful, absent of other human life (save one speedwalker), and a great way to spend the latter portion of the day. We were both glad that we opted to check it out today. Here is a photo there-captured of the Authors.
After all the merrymaking of the day, we bought some groceries, drove home, bought more bread in Premian, walked the dog to observe the clouds settling all around our personal mountain peaks, ate Jerusalem Artichokes/bread/cheese, had Nutella and Oranges for desert, had second desert, and
we were contented.