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.
I love a good decorative door. It’s an art form that we seem to have lost in our modern culture, seeing doors simply as a means of entering and exiting a building rather than a potential site for beautifying an otherwise boring building exterior.
The six of us stood still as statues, hands outstretched with palms to the sky in the silence of the forest.
When walking down the streets of Ottawa you are almost as likely to hear French as you are English. Being the National Capital of a country with a sizeable French population the City of Ottawa is an officially bilingual city, so the two languages co-exist here peacefully (for the most part).