When you travel as much as we do, you learn to temper your expectations of places. Guidebooks and websites invariably embellish, waxing poetic about all of the good stuff while failing to mention any of the negatives.
There are few places that I like better than a market, and if anywhere does a market well, it’s France. Truth be told, a large part of our decision to spend our first two months in France in the small town of Pezenas was due to what we had heard about the town’s Saturday market.
The beauty of the French landscape is well-known. With the glitter turquoise waters of the Mediterranean Sea, the towering peaks of the Pyrénées and the Alps, picture-postcard villages that look as though they have been left untouched by the hands of time,
When you walk the streets of France you are being watched.
The beaches of the south of France aren’t generally thought of as places of solitude. When most people think of beaches in southern France the image probably includes half-naked German tourists with skin like leather and pasty Brits baking in the sun.
There are many things that are confusing to me here in France, like why women’s washrooms never have paper and how French people can eat so much wine, cheese and bread and not all be morbidly obese.
Walking down the streets of Pézenas is like walking through a fairy tale.
Today we took a drive to the nearby town of Caux, only ten minutes away from Pezenas. The town is the absolute definition of a sleepy French village, with not a single shop open on this wintry Thursday afternoon.
Or should I say Bonjour par France!
To be honest, the countdown started long ago but a daily posts starting at 78 days would get tiresome pretty quickly.