Re-entry

I cannot say that re-entry from a long vacation is easy, but it is even more difficult to return from beautiful weather and colors to a grey, raining, New Jersey day - which is exactly what I found upon landing at Newark Airport. Although when I drove through the entrance of the development where I live in the woods, it was lush and green, it seemed so foreign, even though I was home. It is always the most jarring part of re-entry when I approach the US Customs agent and have my first conversation on American soil. On the Air France plane, I am still in French culture, listening to the French of the flight attendants, and the fellow-travelers. But once I begin that conversation upon presenting my passport, I know I am home in the roughness of America, but also what makes us to successful and forward.

When packing to leave Provence and head back to Paris, I was able to contemplate one of the great travel mysteries - why is it that when we pack to begin our trip our clothes and possessions are so organized and fit in the luggage so beautifully. But upon returning, with the same clothes and stuff, it always seems to take up more room as if fighting its return to real life.

Since my return I continue to reflect on our trip and the contrasts in scenery, culture, lifestyle. the changes in color, whites and earth tones of the casual dress in Provence, to the blacks and browns of New York. The proliferation of chain stores, the return to Starbucks and chinese foods, to an oversized washing machine, and a hard, driving, stimulating shower with endless hot water. To feel sad as I contemplate having to return to shopping in a American grocery store full of tasteless, over-processed, over-sprayed with chemicals produce and frozen food.

The stark contrast as I drive the roads here still full of oversized gas-guzzling SUVs, in comparison to the Europeans who still drive smaller cars with better fuel efficiency and more style. We do not see many American built cars there except for Ford who sells Mondeos and other smaller vehicles, including with diesel engines that they do not sell in the US. We did notice more Prius' on the road this year than in the past.

I think of the differences every time I open my oversized three-door refrigerator with the filtered water dispenser, after using a half-sized refrigerator and finding I could manage most of the time, but had to be very conscious of what I was purchasing and when I was planning on using it.

The pace of life and the lifestyle is so different. For the Europeans to sit for hours over a meal is normal. For us, we are rushing to move on to the next activity, to return to work, to run to the gym, while they linger and talk, and eat very slowly, deliberately, enjoying their food, not inhaling it.

I was also reminded again, as I am every summer, of how we never converted to the Metric system, despite plans to do so and join the rest of the world. I remember being taught in school that we would be transitioning but it never happened. What a shame, so now when we travel and hear the weather forecast, or see a road sign, we have to go through gyrations to convert over. I have generalized now with weather, to triple the numbers for the temperature, and halve the numbers for road distance, but know that I am inaccurate and inadequate at this.

Each summer we purchase a few small items to bring more of France back to our home, from dried lavender and roses, to soap, to Provence pottery or a table clothe, so we can continue the feelings we had there, here in our home, and continue to look forward to next summer, and begin again to plan next year's adventure.

As part of that planning this year as I locate articles I will post the links here so we can all enjoy and dream of next year in Provence.

Fooded out

Well we have finally arrived at our final destination - foody completion, what we call fooded out. We can't eat anymore, talk about restaurants anymore, it is just too much. We are agreed that we will be eating many salads upon our return home. Almost 30 days, and I have to say I cooked a lot in our small kitchen. I made many fruit smoothies to compensate for the other foods we were eating. We ate many salads and lighter lunches and dinners, but we had so many wonderful meals here.

A few final foody notes:

Brasserie les Varietes, in St. Remy - we wandered in there one night looking for a light dinner and found, to our surprise, sort of a French diner. We are from New Jersey, the land of amazing diner food, where one can walk in and find almost anything on the menu, and usually in the front is a glass case full of fruit cups, chocolate pudding, and enormous slices of case. This brasserie reminded me of those diners. The menu was classic French brasserie food, steak tartare, omlettes, salads, and soups. We had a nice, but not expensive meal, sitting outside, watching St. Remy drive and walk by. When I ventured to the back to use the toilette, I noticed the class case, full of fruit cups, chocolate mouse, and other desserts, just like the New Jersey diners of home.

Another great restaurant in St. Remy - Bistro Decouvert - where they had an amazing menu for 25e, where I had a memorable fresh gazpacho, and a scallops over risotto dish that certainly equalled our favorite scallop dishes at Jonathan Waxman's restaurant in the NYC meatpacking district, Barbuto, topped off by a chocolate souffle. D. had a vegetable terrine with pesto, and a duck breast entree, concluded with a vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce. When we ate that meal we looked at each other and thought we had hit out food limit. We were not stuffed, as the portions were entirely reasonable, unlike American restaurants where the goal seems to stuff you, get you to overeat, and still have leftovers to bring home.

Last night we thought we had completed the food cycle, rather Wagnerian really, when we returned to Bistro des Alpilles in St. Remy for a final dinner. D.'s dish was a curry lamb with rice from the Carmague that he described as a 12 on a 1-10 scale, 10 being the best.

Today's finally foody venture was up to Lyon to visit D's father who was engaged in a barge cruise on the Rhone via Uniworld. Although we have driven through Lyon so many times over the years, and we know that it contains many great restaurants, it has never been convenient to stop. So here was out opportunity. In researching restaurants to go for a casual lunch, I happened to see in the New York Times online this week a frugal traveler article describing eating in Lyon and Paul Bocuse's new restaurant venture - OestExpress - his version of what he believes fast food should be, excellent quality and fresh ingredients, and fast to order, but able to eat in leisure, a concept he intends to franchise. here is the link to the article: http://frugaltraveler.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/07/15/in-lyon-a-day-devoted-to-the-stomach/?hpw

GPS Emily got us to Starbucks in Lyon for a quick Frappucino which we had not had since Paris, then to the dock on the Quai, which turned out to be in an interesting spot where there are two public swimming pools, right on the Rhone river bank concrete embankment. Emily then took us through the streets of Lyon to a section called the Docs which is a burgeoning area for housing, commerce and now restaurants. OestExpress was modern, bright, clean, and inexpensive, averaging about 10e per person for a fast meal that was as described - excellent quality ingredients, served quickly, and allowing you to linger over your meal and relax. Mine included a drink, a very good roll, probably the best quiche I have ever eaten, a small salad, and a dessert for 10e. D. had a hamburger with fresh vegetables and cheese, on a fresh roll with a drink and dessert, while S. had pasta and a drink with a roll.

While we were glad to experience OestExpress, we are agreed that our Emily tour of Lyon satisfied us that we do not need to return. We viewed it as a better than expected business and university city, but not for us.

So, although I balanced our eating adventures with simpler meals at our house, with many salads, vegetables, and fruit, our stomachs are finished, as is our trip.

Tomorrow, we head to Paris for the end of our long but beautiful journey. We can begin to look forward to returning home and beginning to plan for next year.

Fette du Miel

On the 19th we did go back to Gault for the honey festival. We realized upon pulling in to what we believed was Gault that we were incorrect, we were in Lumieres, which is at the foot of a hill, and Gault was at the top of that steep incline.

Trusty Emily took us to our destination yet again, bringing us into the centre ville of charming Gault. It was an incredibly well maintained and preserved village, with beautiful homes and restaurants, like a a dream or a movie set of what a Provence village should be and look like. The fette was lovely, with vendors, demonstrations, and teaching for the children, and many charming people with their dogs out for stroll on a hot summer Sunday, enjoying the slow pace of the country life.

This is a town where truly pictures express so much more than words and even those cannot do this village justice.

Tahiti, St. Tropez

There is nothing like the frenetic energy of St. Tropez. GPS Emily surprised us by showing that it was only a two hour journey from our house to St. Tropez, where we had not been for more than three years. Knowing this, we were immediately tempted and planned to arrive for an afternoon drink at Tahiti Beach club, followed by a walk through the port to view the yachts, and an early dinner so we could make the tortuous drive home through the mountains in daylight. D. repeated said as we were climbing and making hair-pin turns that Emily's route was one he did not know and it was so much better than the other ones! The dog and I were not happy, but survived. The beach was organized madness, with dozens of languages mixing and mingling, the models from the beach shops gliding past the waiters and patrons as though in a world apart from it all.

Even though there is a world-wide recession, the port was full of enormous ocean-going yachts, ships really. The only place we have seen more impressive private boats is in a gated area of Antibes where you can view ships that run about 300 feet and cannot be docked in any other location on the coast.

Despite the drive, we enjoyed it so much, we made the drive a second time on a Saturday, planning a lunch at Tahiti. Normally, we can linger and watch the literal and figurative fashion show that is the St. Tropez beach scene, but on that day, we were displaced by an incoming wedding "le marriage" complete with can-can dancers, champagne and a crowd ready for a wild party night, so we had to move on and return to our house for a quiet evening and early sleep.

We then toured a new hotel in the harbor called "le Kube" which was very

Words of the month

Each year as we travel the trip seems to take on its own life as we learn new words and terms. This year's terms arose from completely different people and experiences.

The first word arose from D.'s car obsession. It is almost equal to his bread quest. Since he was a teenager he is obsessed with cars, buying them, fixing them, driving them. This year he became interested in a quintissential French car that we still see throughout our travels in France, a Citroen 2Cv, made after WWII, until the 1970s, then evolved into other small cars and trucks. It was made as a two-door, two-cylinder car, diesel engine without real seats, just straps across a frame, no bumpers, definitely no AC, a truly paired down mode of transportation. We learned this year that Citroen also made this vehicle in the form of a "trucklette", on the same undercarriage with a very small truck body. Remnants of the trucklet are seen everywhere here in the very small trucks that would never sell in the US.

The other word of the trip was "basin" or in French "bassen" which is how the French refer to an above-ground swimming pool or pool-lette, even one which has been sunk into the ground. It is as though the pool-lette is barely worthy of being called a piscine, it is worthy only of dunking oneself, like you would in a basin of water or a sink.

As we begin to close this trip there is so much to remember, and to add on to for our return next year.

Fleeting Impressions

that become fixed in my mind of France, of Provence, of a beautiful time.

Walking in the field of grass outside our house, seeing dozens of grass hoppers fleeing as I walked as if I was a giant in Sinbad. Everywhere we go, people walking, bicycling, motorcycling, driving, with baguettes. No meal is complete without bread here - no butter - but must have bread. It is in such stark contrast to our fear in the US of carbs.

Reading last night about Bastille Day celebrations throughout France including the annual ritual of car burning in Paris. This year was a mere 300 cars.

Pizza trucks baking pizza in town squares and parking lots in so many towns as we drive throughout Provence.

Fields of Lavender and Sunflowers lining the roads.

Hay being grown and harvested, into huge rolls of hay like enormous spools of beige colored threat stacked, ready to be placed on trucks.

Wooden cartons on trucks and lined up in the fields, ready for the harvest of melons, tomatoes, plums, apples, nectarines, figs, eggplant, squash, and so much more. The fields are so prolific it is hard to imagine and believe.

The sound and smell of water flooding the irrigation channels, flooding the fields, frogs jumping to escape.

The pervasive throbbing of cicadas, as the heartbeat of Provence.

It is a country of endless beauty only pieces of which appear in so many paintings and films.

Fete de Paella

Last night was a pre-Bastille Day celebration held in Eygalieres, a large dinner held in the middle of the small village, with about one-thousand people sitting in a very civilized, organized manner eating paella, melon, bread, wine, and ice cream for 18 euro per person, plus very good entertainment. Tables were set with silver ware and plates, napkins, bottles of water, lining the street. Unlike America, the chairs were tilted forward against the table to signify that the seats were available. There were old and young, many dogs, mostly French but a few Americans and British. The several bars in the square were serving drinks to the masses of people, but no one was out of control. We had taken the dog with us and she attracted the attention of one gentlemen who began to speak to me with great enthusiasm, asking in French of this was a PBGV. That was the extent of what I could understand, although he seemed to be saying that he had one also. Later, at the end of the evening I was standing about 10 feet away from where he had seen me and he was walking with a larger PBGV, and his wife looking for me. D. came and interpreted for me that the other dog was now 11, a male, who he kept his hair cut short in the summer due to the heat. But he and his wife loved this dog, who was very sweet, and similar to ours in personality.

We also met a family from Philadelphia. I always believe my life is not six degrees of separation but two. As we talked it became clear that we knew someone in common, someone I used to work with. How small is my world.

Earlier in the day, D. and I had another GPS driving adventure. We began a drive toward Apt where D. had seen a sign for a fete de Miel that he believed was being held on the 13th, in Caumont. I had researched via internet the night before but found nothing and believed he had confused the dates. We arrived in Caumont but found no fete, so we continued further arriving finally in a small village, Gault, where the fete will be held on the 19th. We then asked the GPS to take us to Aix so we could return to Lancel to pick up our purchases from last week, when the entire internet/credit card service seemed to be malfunctioning and we could not complete the purchase there, and in another store as well.

Rather than returning us to the Autoroute, Emily (our now favorite speaking GPS voice) routed us over the mountains, up to Beannioux, a very charming town similar to Gordes with a view overlooking the Luberon plateau. Emily further wound us through and down steep mountain roads where we were being passed by cyclists out for a ride on their racing bikes, as we slowly wove our way down the hills to the floor of the Luberon and headed south toward Aix.

We drove through a village, Lourmarin, which includes a beautiful 14c Chateau.

We stopped for a quick croissant at Paul, a national bakery chain which has many locations in Paris, and had the best croissant of the trip (we had not eaten breakfast before starting our trip). We then arrived in Aix in time to struggle for a pre-lunch parking space, complete our purchase of my annual work hand-bag, a belt and a beautiful make-up case for my assistant. The manager was so nice to us for our trouble in returning, she made me a gift of a beautiful Lancel hook for my handbags to use in a restaurant so I am not placing them on the floor or on the chair where it can be stolen.

Lancel is certainly my favorite store for handbags in France. Not sold in the US, nicer than Longchamp or Furla, it is a brand owed by Cartier but not as expensive. I always feel as though I am achieving Cartier quality and style, finding bags that are stylish enough to make me happy but not so expensive and flashy (like LV) that I cannot use them for work.

We then had lunch at the same Brasserie Verdun, where we had eaten the previous Monday and had another reasonable, solid lunch. Aix was busy, but not crowded, as many businesses were closed for the holiday. The weather had become hot again, 95 degrees, so it was pleasant to come back, enjoy some AC, and take a dip in the pool here, and relaxing, reading until we left for the fete de Paella.

Today, for the holiday, we have read and slept, sat outside for hours, floated in the pool, and begun to set our goals and plan our year.

Speaking GPS

Today's journey took us to Aigues-Mortes, a walled 12c city. While the fortifications were in excellent condition and impressive, the city itself was not, rather disappointing in fact. A lesser Les Beaux. We then headed further toward the water, to Le Grau de Roi, which was a lovely beach town, with commercial fish boats in the harbor. Lunch on the water was easy to find. The town was similar to St. Marie de la Mer, but St. Marie has more charm and character.

The drive in and back was pleasant and scenic through the Carmague, the French marshes which produce sea salt and rice, have beautiful white horses, and very surprisingly pink Flamingoes, that you would expect to see in Florida. On our travels this summer with the GPS - Garmin Nouvi, we have experimented with the announcer- changing voices and accents. Regardless of which voice we use, the pronunciations are all terrible of the difficult French names, it is definitely not the way to learn French as the announcer is using a computer generated program which speaks phonetically, rather than correctly. So, it comes out in odd and funny ways. Think Avignon, with a hard G and you may get some idea. It certainly has us giggling as we drive.

Yesterday, D.'s bread quest took him back to the market at Apt where he saw people standing in line for a peasant-bread (see picture attached) which he purchased. It was big enough to feed a family for a few days so we shared with several friends and our host. Although it was good, it was not the same quality as the Carpentras bread. Yesterday, in the afternoon, we had a wonderful lunch and stayed for a swim at Valruges, a four-star hotel in St. Remy. It is quite charming spot, with a very high-end largely French clientele, and as always, a gourmand lunch.

We are now at the point in our trip where we are no longer sure of time, day or date. D. admits he is now unwound, a significant achievement for this man who works hard year-round until he arrives in Provence. Even the dog is relaxed and is enjoying the food, and the breezes blowing through her hair.

The Bread Quest

My husband's personal quest is always to find the perfect piece of bread, the perfect baguette, the perfect croissant. It is such a personal quest that I am not involved at all. It is an obsession, ne, an addiction. He gets up in the morning and goes out to fulfill this quest, taking suggestions from our host and others about where to go, looking at shops in each village to see if he missed the best baguette. Today, however, I may have stumbled on the best baguette of the trip. This morning we set off for market day in Carpentras. The town was very busy, so busy that D. dropped me off with the dog and S. to walk the market. As I wandered I noticed a very fine shop, Jouvaud, which made bread, pastries, and candy, as well as contained a Salon de The' to sit in. After meeting at our appointed time and place, I went back to Jouvaud and purchased a baguette, a "crumble" which is rather like an American muffin-top, a raisin croissant, and a chocolate merengue. We ate the crumble and the croissant which we were both excellent and sampled the baguette - D. had to admit I had inadvertently found the perfect baguette.

We returned to the house where I then made a near-perfect omelette and potatoes for lunch, accompanied by the perfect baguette. When we were at the market in Apt, we had purchased a jar containing fresh local black truffles for approximately $12.00. While in Carpentras, I had left several of the truffles soaking in hot water so upon our return, I could make the omelette lunch. This was something I had experimented with last year when our host gave us a gift of one truffle, and I researched via internet how to prepare truffles, and located a simple recipe for the truffle omelette, the easiest and most pure way for me to cook the truffles and appreciate the taste. As with any new recipe, it takes several tries to perfect, but I am close, perhaps one more away, with one more truffle left, I should achieve perfection before the trip reaches its conclusion.

Moules and Frittes

Last night was a true France adventure. We set out for Tarascon. Our German host told us about a spot on the river in Tarascon where we could sit and eat moules and frittes and look out at boats on river. We had driven through there last year on the way to Uzes but did not stop.

So, we set out with the GPS from our home location. As always with this gadget it takes you on the shortest route which turned out to be down many back country roads, through farms and fields. It routed us through a town outside St. Remy called Maillone which is where the Nobel prize winning poet Frederic Mistral was born, lived, and died. It has a museum for Mistral and hosts every year a chariot race with working horses from the local farms. As we were driving through the town we saw activity on this tiny country lane bordered by working fields and irrigation canals. As we approached we saw horses with young men standing beside them, harnessed to a small cart or chariot. The harness was quiet old but well-preserved, leather with horns standing up, which from a distance looked like small men sitting atop the horses with peaked caps. We did not know what we were looking at but it was fascinating. When we returned home later I researched it and in about 15 minutes was able to locate photographs of horses in the same unusual harness competing in the chariot race.

We eventually arrived in Tarascon but realized that we actually needed to cross the river into Beaucaire. The two towns sit opposite on the Rhone river, with a castle, the Chateau du Roi looming on the Tarascon side protecting the river front. As you cross over into Beaucaire, there are inlets and canals with marinas - small boats and houseboats lining the quay, with charming small restaurants with simple inexpensive food. We found a table at the one recommended by our friend and settled in for a solid meal of moules marinières and frittes, on a night where the weather was not too hot, and joined by a light breeze. Sometimes in Provence the breeze will be a "mistral" a wind coming from North Africa which brings heat, rather like a Santa Anna wind in California. But the breeze of the last few days has brought more cooling temperatures, like a whisper of calmer days that we all so need.

On our way home, we merely followed the road signs to St. Remy. As we drove down the D roads, lined with aging Plane trees, it felt as though we were traveling through time, through a tunnel of memories planted by those who planted those beautiful trees on a night with a full yellow moon, low on the horizon, and stars shining like they may have shined one hundred years ago, rather than drowned out by modern city lights.

Departments of France

In driving throughout Provence this year, especially with the GPS, we learned something new. We had been aware that France has various "departments" rather like counties in the US where each is assigned a number. Our house is in department 13, and we realized in looking at license plates on cars while we are driving that the last two digits of the French license plate contains the number of the department in which the car is registered.

"Yes we can" in France with Germans

We were invited to a barbecue the other night by our German host with his other guests. As soon as they knew we were American, they began to say, very excitedly "Yes we can" which began the running joke of the next several days. Every question, or statement involved this phrase, "yes we can". They love Barack Obama with a passion that many in the US do not share, and do not understand what would lead an extremist to want to kill him, as I am sure that many do (as a former hate crimes prosecutor).

But we had much fun with this phrase and their excitement for America.

Gorgeous Gordes

Today's journey was to Gordes, on the hillside looking out over the Louberon plateau, as the Michelin guidebook for Provence describes it, along with stating the the charming film "A good year" starring Russell Crowe, directed by Ridley Scott, was filmed there. What the book fails to describe is the unusual drive into the town, and the spectacular view from the hills into the valley and the farms below. As you begin the climb to the hills, the houses are built from, and with walls from large flat stones, some centuries old, some newer. Walls and walls of stone, lining the road as you climb farther up the hill. As you enter the town it is a beautiful drive catching glimpses of the valley below and the town with the 12c chateau above, dominating the skyline of the town. The town has a square in front of the chateau where the day's market was being held, the typical Provence shops and wares. Some vendors that I have seen in St. Remy for the Wednesday market including a pottery vendor that D. likes for her unusual designs and work.

As we traveled toward Gordes, for the first time on our trip our GPS system went off line, not finding roads for us. So, on the way back we followed the D2, knowing that was a main road and we could follow it back to Cavaillon and find our way from there. We saw a few small but interesting towns on the way down the hill and across the flat plains, stopped at the Musee de Lavendre, and found on the outskirts of Cavaillon a cooperative specializing in "bio" or organic products from local farmers and producers with many excellent products including a soup Pistou which became part of our dinner this evening.

We traveled further into St. Remy to one of our favorite spots, Cafe de Solel for an excellent, well-priced lunch. We tuned in this evening to the MJ memorial and ate dinner inside for the first time since our arrival and worked on planning for the remainder of the trip. So much more to come . . .

Llamas in Provence?

Driving back from Molleges I saw an animal climbing on a hill of dirt, behind a fence on the right side of the road, bending down to eat something green growing up from the earth. I asked D. to stop and realized I was looking at a Llama. D. asked, are you sure it's not a goat? But I was sure, we sat for a few minutes and contemplated this odd vision in the middle of Provence, a Llama from Peru on a farm in France.

Slipping sideways

I kept thinking today of a line in the film "Enchanted April" where the characters are enjoying the sun of Italy in springtime and a description of time slipping sideways, that was how it felt today here in Provence.  We had planned to get up and go early south toward the Carmague, but were tired and slept in.  We sat outside, reading, listening to music and watching the clouds go by, the breeze waving through the cypress tress, and listening to the cicadas throbbing in the heat. 

I purposely have tried to avoid wearing my watch unless I leave our house, I want to remove myself from the strictures of time, the constant pressure of American living, time management, productivity, that we are all so aware of.  Few consider the value of just doing nothing, to unwrap our minds from it all.

 

This evening after cooking and eating dinner, we took a walk for a mile or so down a country lane outside our rental house to see if my son could catch the frogs we saw crawling on the road last night when we drove home from Molleges and a restaurant, Mas Du Capon.  But he had no luck.  Last night we ran over a few hopping across the road in the dark, but it could not be avoided with cars pressuring us from behind, anxious to return home late on a Saturday night.

Yesterday we drove to Apt, a historic town northeast of here which had a wonderfully complete Saturday town market, everything from meats, cheeses, spices, olive oils and fish to clothes, lingerie, and African art.  The market encompassed almost every street in the town, winding through each square, but seemed in shadows even in the heat of a sweltering Provence day.  

Many people, mostly local French, but some German and British tourists, inspecting and shopping, stopping for a leisurely lunch or drink.  

But today was none of that, just quiet, sleep, starting a new book (Elmore Leonard) and not knowing the time - a true luxury that costs nothing.  

The Wind-down

Finally, after a week away I am just starting to wind down and relax. We have arrived in Provence and found a few changes. It is much quieter than past years, in part, due to the great recession. Some stores have closed or been sold. Our closest large grocery store, Le Clerc, is now an Intermarche, a much lesser store, which means we are driving farther to purchase basic supplies. At least the gas prices are not as high as last summer. Between the prices and exchange rates, it was almost $10 per gallon. This year it is closer to $7.00.

This summer we are driving a new black Mercedes C wagon - a CDI, with a six-speed. Douglas was not feeling well when we left Paris and half-way South we stopped and he actually let me drive for over an hour - another first in our nine-year relationship. I truly love to drive a manual transmission car, so much more control over the vehicle and the road, rather than an automatic which is more a point and steer effect for me.

In our shopping efforts, we ended up at Carrefour in Avignon, not in the best location but an excellent store with great prices, similar to Costco in the U.S. One purchase was Speedo bathing suits for both D. and my son S. Last year, we found in Salon de Provence, a public pool that was quite nice. D. and S. went for a swim one day and were informed that they were permitted there only in regulation swim suits - Speedo - which the staff loaned them for the day. No toys allowed, no games. Very rigid, but clean pool and location. They will be going back this year.

As usual, I have begun my summer cooking, now that we are properly supplied, including our journey to the weekly market in St. Remy where I obtained my spices, and fresh unfiltered olive oil. I looked for the woman who usually sells small but amazing goat cheese in the square but she was missing as were a few other regular vendors. Perhaps next week they will return. We spent yesterday relaxing for our anniversary and had dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants, Bistro des Alpilles in St. Remy. Each year the menu is a little different, evolving from classic Mediterranean to now with Indian and African flavors.

Today our journey included a drive to Eygaleres, and to the factory shop for Biscuits Mistral de Provence in St. Andiol. Eygaleres is an interesting town outside St. Remy where those who want more quiet, anonymity and discretion than St. Remy can provide are found. Princess Caroline of Monaco has a home there as do many in the movie industry. Biscuits Mistral is a fun shopping and eating experience. We had driven by it for several years and kept noticing the cars pulling up, the parking lot was always busy. Finally, last year we ventured in and discovered the boxes of cookies and biscuits lined up, with free samples of each variety for the tasting. Plus other local delicacies. Next door is a factory store for a local fruit juice manufacturer.

We continue to use SKYPE to conduct business while we are away. I do not know how we survived without it. This year's twist is the new iphone for which you can download and use SKYPE via the internet.