A french village

So many people have read Peter Mayle's books and his experiences in his French village, and we have ours. In Eygalieres, it is almost picture perfect, a fantasy in reality of what it should all be like. Where people get dressed for Friday market day, to be seen, and mingle, to socialize. Where someone can hold court every morning in the same cafe in the same seat for 40 years, sitting undisturbed doing a crossword puzzle, sipping one cafe for an hour with no one hurrying him to vacate the table for others, allowing the world to come to him. Where villagers help each other, supporting local businesses and artisans, masons, mechanics. And where vendors return to the market every week, and we know who has the best paella, or the vietnamese food being made freshly while we wait, or the cheese vendor we see in St. Remy and in Apt., the woman selling espadrilles whose booth expands each year, and the gentlemen selling smoked meats and salmon (maybe bagels and lox next summer?). Ah for the simple life. Returning soon.