Thank you for joining this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.
In the midst of my moving preparation, I found the time to read a relatively short memoir about a Canadian man who moved to Saint Paul de Vence to work in IT. The book is called Uncorked: My Year in Provence Studying Pétanque , Discovering Chagall, Drinking Pastis, and Mangling French. He tells the story of how he fell in love with game of pétanque and convinced a local man to teach him to play in the dark of night. Eventually, the man embraced him as a partner, and he became one of the locals playing pétanque by the cafe and ignoring tourists.
This was an entertaining book because it addressed a topic that is oftentimes touched upon in books but rarely focused on. Of course, the game wasn't the entire point. The game helped him integrate into the village. And since we are planning to move to France, we always wonder how we'll worm our way into local life. Earl pictures himself sitting on a bench watching pétanque and eventually being allowed to play with the other old men in the village. I think I'd better get him a coach.
Here's the beginning of Chapter 1:
The French word bisou is used to describe the charming manner in which the French greet one another with a ceremonial kiss on both cheeks. This act should not be mistaken for a sign of real affection or even friendship but rather as a refreshingly warm way of saying hello or goodbye.
As tourists in France, we foreigners have all been witness to these tiny gifts, but rarely do we gain admittance into the tightknit club of the 60 million or so people who exchange them.... Receiving and delivering countless bisous during my year in the magical Cote d'Azur village of Saint-Paul de Vence made me feel a sense of "limited belonging," but when my neighbor, friend, and, most importantly, pétanque coach, Hubert bid me farewell by initiating a bisou, after my last match and last pastis as a local, it gave me pause to reflect on how close I had become to this part of the world, its people, its culture, and the game I fell in love with the minute I first laid eyes on it: pétanque!
I loaned the book to Earl on Kindle so he can read it too. Hope it doesn't make him fear playing pétanque in France. It's mean to encourage him.
How about you? Have you ever played pétanque or boules as it is called in other parts of France? What about receiving or giving a bisou? Have you experienced that? I'd love it if you shared your experience.
Thanks so much for playing along with Dreaming of France. Please leave your link below and visit each other's blogs to share your love for France.
So, we're a week into selling the house, and I realized this morning, as I was standing in the shower, that I needed to soften my face. Relax! I chided myself.
I have to actually focus on it to stop that scrunched up feeling in the middle around my eyes, nose and mouth.
We had to vacate the house at 9 this morning for a showing, and there is another open house this afternoon. We practically can't live in our house.
Tybs has no problem relaxing in our staged house. White pillows, black cat -- perfect
Our real estate agent had talked up the hot market. She said we would probably be in contract before the first open house last Sunday. We aren't; thus, the scrunched up worry face. What's wrong with our house? Is our price too high? Can we pay off all our bills and buy a house in France at a lower price?
All of these questions constantly swirl around my brain, preventing me from enjoying the sun-kissed day and heavenly breeze.
I had a brief run Saturday morning before I had to teach, and I know that I need more of that - running time.
Meanwhile, Earl and I carried our laptops to Panera this morning and settled in for breakfast and some screen time.
We had talked about driving to my brother's house about 90 minutes away and staying through the open house. I know I would have enjoyed seeing him and my sister-in-law, but the thought of driving back home in the evening, more exhausted than ever, made us cancel that plan.
In addition to the carefully staged setting at home, we have some more turmoil coming our way. Tucker is moving out of his apartment to a new one, but he has to have his things out on Monday and can't move in until Tuesday. He's going to use our garage as the receptacle overnight for all of his belongings. He may or may not sleep at our house that one night of homelessness.
But Spencer, who has been living with Tucker for the past month, will be moving back home. I'm sure it's not what he wants, but until he has a steady job and a bit of money saved up, he'll have a place to sleep and plenty of food. I urged him to take his time and find a job he likes rather than jumping from sales job to sales job that he doesn't like.
He's delivering food for Panera where he will get immediate tips for his everyday needs while he continues to look for a job with a good salary and benefits.
Grace continues her job search. She's receiving unemployment, so she can take her time, as well.
It seems like we have very few stable supports in our family right now.
Yesterday while I was teaching, Tucker texted to ask where everyone was. He had dropped by the house to do laundry. Then when Earl got home after the morning showing, he said Spencer had shown up. I ordered pizza and picked it up on the way home, along with texting Grace that she should come over for pizza. She wanted to do laundry too.
Me taking a selfie with the pizzas, reminding the kids I was alone and hungry.
When I got home, everyone but Earl had left. I texted the kids and soon they each pulled up and joined me on the patio for pizza and a rare family lunch as the breeze ruffled the umbrella over the table and the cats rubbed against the chair legs, not wanting pizza, but just some attention.
And for a moment, I looked up and remembered how lucky I am.
It's a little pale, but we did see a rainbow last week, which surely is a sign.
Most readers know that we have been prepping the house to put it on the market, and we finally got it ready last weekend. We've had several showings and one offer that we didn't accept. A couple of other offers are in the pipeline, so we are trying to be zen about it.
But as I worked to ready the house, I found myself becoming accident prone.
Some bruises make sense as I hauled furniture out of the basement, into a truck and then into a storage unit, or someone else's house.
Earl's nephew agreed to take the upright piano that we have had since Grace was 1. Earl's mother had originally purchased the piano and it was covered in black lacquer. She stripped the wood and finished it so that the wood grain shone through.
The piano movers. Tucker is kneeling with his back to the camera. Earl and his nephew are standing behind the piano, and Earl's brother is using a lever to get the piano on a dolly.
We did love it, but no one played it anymore, probably since we moved to this house, about 10 years ago. I used to play the piano quite frequently, but in the move, I lost all of my favorite piano books and couldn't get motivated to start over again with learning various pieces.
As you can see, we had more help moving the piano, so I didn't hurt myself.
But many times as we are carrying furniture out, it's only me and Earl or me and Spencer. Spencer has admitted that I'm a pretty good mover for a girl -- I didn't take that as an insult, because I know that my physical strength is definitely limited, yet I'm willing to try to move heavy things, like this desk that needed to be out of the house at the last minute before pictures were taken.
Tybs is not very accepting of all the changes
Of course, I first had to clear everything off the desk. And Tybs at that moment decided that the desk was his favorite place in the world and we couldn't possibly move it out.
So many times I hit my shins as I'm walking forward carrying a piece of furniture, or the furniture hits me, leaving bruises, as I walk backward with it. I also have big bruises on my forearms, I suppose from lifting and holding items.
Then two weeks ago, I had that fall on my back porch as I tripped after walking five miles. The bruise from that fall has faded to a pale green that stretches from my knee toward my ankle. I stopped running after that fall, giving my knee time to heal.
But last week, I stepped on a sliver of glass that came from a broken picture frame. I'm awful at getting splinters taken out of my feet. I decided to avoid walking on it that night and I tried to tackle it the next morning. I soaked my foot in hot water to loosen it up. I used a credit card to try to scrape it out. Then I used tweezers but couldn't get a hold on it. Finally, I decided that I would let my body absorb it or spit it out. I only felt occasional twinges when I stepped down on a certain part of my foot.
Obviously, I couldn't run with a splinter of glass in my foot.
On Sunday, before the open house, we decided to clean the side windows again because it had been raining. The windows are old and have a series of storm windows and screens. Earl was outside on a ladder and I was moving the storm windows up and down. One of the windows didn't want to go all the way up, so I was reaching under it to get to the storm window, when the window suddenly released, like a guillotine, streaking toward the closed position, and it landed on the heel of my thumb as I tried to escape it.
The impact formed a purple/red ridge along the heel of my thumb as I sprang away in pain. The swelling has subsided, but it is still sensitive to the touch and the dark bruise is slowly spreading.
I wonder if the stress of preparing the house to move has made me more prone to injuries. Maybe I'm being more careless, focused on the end result rather than taking my time.
Now that the house is on the market, I'll use this lull to heal, letting my bruises fade. Once we have a contract and a determined move out date, I'm sure I'll be back to moving mode and receiving new bruises as I race to get rid of our belongings that won't be coming along on our trip to France.
Thank you for joining this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.
We are big cat lovers at our house, so even when we are traveling, we are on the lookout for cute cats. There was no shortage of them in France.
This stocky gray fellow on the wall was in Mireval, not too far from Montpelier, where we stayed as we explored part of Languedoc-Roussillon.
One day I explored in Mireval and found another bakery. I also found this black and white cat near the church.
This guy was giving himself a bath with a nice view of red roof tiles.
And this chunky cat safely peered out over the world from the safety of his balcony.
Here's a cafe cat from Quillan, which is where we stayed the second half of our trip.
This cat was laying in a courtyard in Caunes-Minervois, a place where I now know that I should have eaten at the hotel.
And here's another cat in Caunes-Minervois, pretending he's in the jungle and that we can't see him.
I'm sure I have more France cat pictures, but I'll save them for another day now that I'm home with my own cats.
Thanks so much for playing along with Dreaming of France. Please leave your link below and visit each other's blogs to share your love for France.
hank you for joining this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.
Surely, I must be dreaming of France to get through all of the cleaning and boxing and storing that I am doing. If France was not dangled at the end as the prize, I would never make it.
So here's a picture of me in Jardin du Luxembourg, literally dreaming in France. This was on our last morning in France.
Maybe you already knew this, but I had never noticed before:
Some planter palm trees in the Luxembourg gardens.
We watched an exercise class (would I ever be brave enough to join in, in Paris?) and then we sat near the pond and watched children play and people pass by..
It was heavenly.
Thanks so much for playing along with Dreaming of France. Please leave your link below and visit each other's blogs to share your love for France.
Today I'm reviewing The Madeleine Project by Clara Beaudoux, which explores the life of Madeleine through the belongings she left behind in her Paris storage unit. The author moves into the apartment and when she finds that the cellar is padlocked and full of belongings, she contacts the previous owner's godson. He has no interest in the items, so the author saws through the padlock and begins itemizing on Twitter the boxes and suitcases full of memories.
I'm at an interesting point to read this book, since I myself am going through a "cellar" full of things, letters and awards and treasures, to decide what to keep and what to discard. I wonder what a stranger would piece together about my life if she happened upon the things I've deemed worthy of keeping.
Since the book is mostly a series of tweets, it's a very quick read, with time to pause and peruse the pictures a little closer.
Here's an early page as the author begins to explore who Madeleine might have been.
As a person who loves France and who loves a good historical mystery, I enjoyed peeking into the life of this French woman who would have turned 100 in 2015 if she had lived that long. Madeleine never married but she traveled and had a fiance who died in 1943, according to the author's findings.
I might have found all of this paraphernalia left behind just mildly interesting, if not for the author's own notes in the middle of the book. In the midst of documenting Madeleine's life from 70 years before, the terrorist attacks in Paris occurred, killing 130 people. The author decided to continue documenting Madeleine's life to share the beauty that she found. I think what she actually shared was the connection between all people, no matter the hurdles. When you imagine Madeleine living in Paris throughout World War II and then you picture the author living in Madeleine's apartment through another series of attacks, you can see the strand, like metal, that connects them and all of us. The author turned toward Madeleine's treasures, the mundane things in life that make it wonderful and also give us the stamina to continue in the face of evil -- one sweetly-worded letter or a hard-earned diploma or a family picture.
This book, translated from French, is more of a graphic novel than a traditional novel, but it still runs the gamut of emotion.
The book will not be released until September, so put it on your list for some fall reading.
A young woman moves into a Paris apartment and discovers a storage room filled with the belongings of the previous owner, a certain Madeleine who died in her late nineties, and whose treasured possessions nobody seems to want. In an audacious act of journalism driven by personal curiosity and humane tenderness, Clara Beaudoux embarks on The Madeleine Project, documenting what she finds on Twitter with text and photographs, introducing the world to an unsung 20th century figure. Along the way, she uncovers a Parisian life indelibly marked by European history. This is a graphic novel for the Twitter age, a true story that encapsulates one woman’s attempt to live a life of love and meaning together with a contemporary quest to prevent that existence from slipping into oblivion.
Through it all, The Madeleine Project movingly chronicles, and allows us to reconstruct, intimate memories of a bygone era.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Clara Beaudoux
is a Paris-based journalist for the France Info news network.
The Madeleine Project has been wildly popular in France.
You can follow her on Twitter at @Clarabdx
In French: on Facebook, The Madeleine Project page,
and the author’s main website
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Guys, I'm writing to you all today like a diary, a chance to pour out my fears.
My eyes popped open suddenly last night, boring into the darkness. But the darkness was broken by flashes of lightning and a loud boom that could have been thunder or the tree at the corner that fell during the night.
My mind didn't care which. It began racing.
What was I doing?
Was the house really going on the market in a week? Were we going to leave behind the house we bought 10 years ago, where the children attended school, where Earl and I walked to dance class, where I trudged most days to the coffee shop with my computer bag slung over my arm so that I could tap out books that inevitably focused on my longing for France?
But while I was longing for France, did I forget to find the joy of everyday life in my little burg?
If we sell our house here, the number one school district in central Ohio, we will never be able to afford a house here again. We hope to sell the house for an amount we couldn't afford now.
I spent some time today trying to figure out how we could keep the house even if Earl retires, and we might be able to, but we would sacrifice that other thing we've been wanting to do -- moving to France, traveling, exploring, having adventures.
We could stay here, and I could add an extra job to the two teaching jobs I already have. I could convince Grace and Jack to move into the refinished basement where they would only need to share the kitchen upstairs.
But that would mean giving up our dream.
Earl would be free to write and travel and explore, but not with me because I would be working more hours.
Perhaps if we had a place to move to then it wouldn't be so scary. We've sold houses before, but we always knew where we were moving afterwards, had a warm home waiting for us, but not this time.
Our plan is to stay in Ohio until December when Earl will retire, yet we have no place to move too if the house does sell. Apparently, homes are selling within hours of going on the market. That would still give us a month or so to find some place to live for the remaining three months, but the pressure has begun to build.
And then when we go to France, we don't have a house purchased. We thought we'd rent for a few months in different places to figure out where we want to live, but our we endangering our security, our future, by not owning property?
If I share my doubts with Earl, rather than the two of us talking it out, he's quick to come down on a black or white side. "Forget it, we won't go," or, "don't be ridiculous, of course, we're going" when I just need to bounce ideas around.
And when he tells people we are moving to France, he still says that it is my dream. I thought it was our dream now, but if it's only me then should we be going?
On top of all the tumultuous thoughts, I fell this morning on the last step of our concrete porch, landing on my left knee and my telephone. The screen cracked on my phone. The bone under my knee, that one that kind of sticks out, is really sticking out now and has turned purple. It swelled up like a bump on someone's head.
That just gives me an excuse to sit in a recliner and give all the confusing thoughts in my head a chance to run amok.
Do I take the plunge, take a chance, selling the house and travel around France and other European destinations? Or should we play it safe and find a way to hold onto our little, but expensive, house?
Thank you for joining this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.
This is one of my favorite pictures from our most recent trip to France.
My friend Leah is an artist and she tells me that I should take pictures of the things the sun is lighting up, but I keep being drawn to pictures with the sun.
The sun had dipped low in the sky, but darkness was still a long way off, so it probably wasn't technically twilight.
The pyramid and fountain outside of the Louvre.
I'm on the home stretch of finishing all the preparations on the house. Hopefully after next week once we have the house on the market, I'll have more time to devote to blogging.
Thanks so much for playing along with Dreaming of France. Please leave your link below and visit each other's blogs to share your love for France.
Thank you for joining this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.
I almost took the day off today as we're coming into the home stretch of prepping the house for sale, but I thought I could at least put up a picture, to remind you all that I'm still dreaming of France, which is why I'm getting the house for sale. Soon, I'll be free to move to France.
The golden light, the dark blue sky, the French flag.
This was a shot that I took as we walked home one night.
Thanks so much for playing along with Dreaming of France. Please leave your link below and visit each other's blogs to share your love for France.
Some of you may have noticed that my blog posts have been a bit sparse recently.
That's because I have been working like a dog, actually, not like a dog, because frankly most dogs just lie around panting all day. I have been working like a short-order cook in a busy restaurant, trying to get our house ready to sell. Why? So we can move to France next year.
I have not been in this alone; my husband is also working hard, and he has a number of jobs to do that I cannot, which leaves me to tackle things that are within my ability.
My biggest job has been painting every room in the house.
For weeks now I've been telling my friends that I'm busy painting the rooms in our house. I'm sure they are thinking, how long can that take? It's a small house.
Just let me say that it's a much more complicated process when preparing to move.
Last week, I finished our bedroom and the hallway, which completes every room.
Painting each room required multiple steps. For example, in our bedroom, the first step was winnowing belongings and packing up others. Since we moved here, I've had a lingerie chest in the corner of the room. And it held my lingerie along with running clothes and socks.
I had to get rid of some clothes in my main chest of drawers so that I could combine the belongings from the lingerie chest. I also stored winter clothes and donated a bunch of things that I don't wear regularly.
A nearby neighbor took the lingerie chest off my hands -- she paints furniture -- and I moved my chest of drawers into the other upstairs bedroom where we are shifting for the sale of the house.
The next day, I moved our bed into the new room. I did need help from my son and my husband at different points to get the bed put back together. Then, of course, I had to wash the sheets, make the bed.
But the real work came in the old room as I sorted through the boxes and storage bins that had hidden under the bed. Come on, I'm not the only one who just runs a dust mop or vacuum under the bed occasionally and then is shocked at the amount of dust under there.
Once I'd figured out where all of that stuff needed to go, then I had to clean. Sweeping with the broom first and then mopping.
The only item remaining in the bedroom was my husband's chest of drawers. I moved that into the middle of the room and figured I'd cover it while I painted. I can't move it into the other bedroom yet because there's a desk that needs to be moved out and into this room.
Exhausted, I shut the door on another day of not painting.
Each room has been equally intense, as I put away items we plan to keep and make runs to Goodwill with the things we are giving away. Even giving things to Goodwill isn't as simple as it should be because I have to make a list of everything so that we can take it off our taxes.
In addition, I've been teaching two classes and starting next week I'll have three classes.
Spencer, who is living at home since college graduation while he saves up a nest egg, asked last week if I was not going to go to the grocery store again until we moved.
We have all the basics, I explained. Milk, eggs, bread. "What do you want that we don't have?" I asked.
"Cream horns," he said.
You know those quasi pastries that look like a long shell filled with cream. And it's not even good cream. Since I've come home from France, spoiled by those delicious coffee eclairs, nothing else is tempting.
A couple who used to live in the neighborhood reached out to us. They want to move back. Would we show them our house even though it wasn't ready to go on the market?
That took two full days of cleaning the main rooms so we could walk them through it. My husband and children did not appreciate my suggestions that they eat outside, but I threatened them if they took any food out of the kitchen or even thought about cooking.
The couple ended up not taking our house, but I thought I'd show you the fruits of my labors.
Some glares from the lights and windows, but you can see our Shaker-style cabinets, black granite counters and porcelain tile floors.
Here's a view of the other side of the kitchen.
Here's a shot of the dining room and living room. The walls have been removed between each room.
And here's a shot straight into the light of the living room.
We fell in love with this house because of its openness and the windows. It's a Craftsman-style house built in 1924. The floors squeak and tilt a bit in the corners, but the thick trim around the windows and the moldings along the ceilings are not something we would sacrifice.
Here's our former bedroom, now turned into an office. I opened the shutters and I'm looking into the treetops as I write this post.
You might be imagining that we are finished, but I have to admit that the laundry room, the basement storage room and the garage have yet to be tackled. Of course, they are the worst.
I had hoped to have the house on the market next weekend. The painter is coming to finish the trim outside.
The bathroom guy is coming to regrout our white subway tiles. Then more bathtub guys arrive on Thursday to reglaze the white cast-iron tub. Everything should be ready by next Saturday, if I just buckle down and clean some more.
Wish me luck.
Thank you for joining this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.
I'm always up for a book or movie set in France. Since our anniversary rolled around and gave us a chance to stop working on the house for a few hours, I suggested that we go see Paris Can Wait with Diane Lane. Of course, we probably remember her from Under the Tuscan Sun. That woman gets around to European countries!
Lane plays Anne, wife of movie producer, Michael, played by Alec Baldwin, who is always attached to a phone -- emotionally remote. The two are leaving Cannes to fly to Budapest for Baldwin's next movie, but Anne's ears are bothering her and the pilot advises against flying.
In steps Jacques, one of Michael's business partners who volunteers to drive Anne to Paris. They think they'll be there by the evening, even though it's a 9-hour drive on a good day. As Michael flies off to Budapest, Jacques begins the French education of Anne. It starts with a relaxing lunch right in Cannes, and a bottle of wine just for her.
Jacques, played by Arnaud Viard, proves to be a caring travel partner, stopping to get drops for Anne's ears, reserving two rooms for their overnight stay instead of one. Slowly, Anne is won over and decides that Paris Can Wait.
The movie is full of contradictions. Jacques is this charming gentleman, but something feels slightly sinister. He has Anne pay for things, saying he'll give her the cash when they get to Paris. She overhears him on the phone trying to convince someone to give him a loan. He gets her to confide in him and he tells a story about his brother dying that seems a little off.
Everyone who reads this blog knows that I am crazy about all things France, even so, the movie felt a little too tour-guide-ish to me. Jacques would tell the history of each monument or mountain they came upon.
I enjoyed the movie, but it didn't sweep me away. The plot was too shallow, and in the end, the movie doesn't even resolve itself. It felt like a television show that I'll need to tune in to next week to see what happens.
Go see it if you love French food and countryside, but don't make the mistake we did of the cushy recliner seats. You might just fall asleep.
Thanks so much for playing along with Dreaming of France. Please leave your link below and visit each other's blogs to share your love for France.
Thank you for joining this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.
During our trip to France, we planned to visit different markets. We lost a bit of steam during the final week, enjoying hikes and long lunches rather than traveling to various villages.
One morning, we had limited options for markets and we decided to drive to Caunes-Minervois.
The description we had read talked of a full and lively market, so we were a bit surprised when we arrived to find just a few carts set up. Not even a haircut caravan like we found in Roquebrun.
We bought a few apples to give the mule the next day on our hike. The apples were a bit shriveled, making us even more disappointed in the market, although it was late in the morning.
We kept imagining that we were in the wrong place, that we hadn't found the right market.
Spotting signs for the tourism office, we went to figure out where we had gone wrong.
The very nice woman shrugged off the incorrect market information and instead focused on the benefits of the town.
It's know for its special red marble and a Romanesque abbey. We hadn't missed the fabulous market: there wasn't one.
With a map in hand, we decided to explore the village.
You can see the marble on this fountain. I'm not sure why it was dry.
We wandered through the stone streets and I took a shot of this Medieval building. I'm not sure it is a castle or the abbey.
Once again, it was getting past lunch time and we became nervous about finding a place to eat. We headed toward the main road, but didn't see any restaurants. Back into the meandering old part of town, and we saw a bus full of people heading for a hotel restaurant. We had already looked at the menu and the prices there and decided it wasn't for us, but we felt jealous of that busload of tourists filing inside to eat.
We consulted the map and changed directions.
Finally, we rounded a corner and found a restaurant. I could see that the indoors was a bar and several tables with umbrellas were set up outside.
I asked one of the servers if we could get lunch and he answered, "Of course."
We settled under a big red umbrella and every picture I took has a red hue to it from the reflection.
Earl looks tired in this picture, but I actually think this was the one time we got a bit tipsy at lunch. We started with an aperitif -- kir au vin blanc, which is kir in white wine. Then we had a half pitcher of wine. We had to sit at the table for quite a while and walk around the town taking pictures before we were certain we could drive back.
The food was mediocre, but we sat under the red umbrella, eating, drinking and watching people. There was a community table where locals came, some joining for lunch, others for coffee or wine. How nice that men and women alike greeted each other and sat at the community table.
Because I could see that inside the building it was a bar, and some cafe/bars frown on having women inside, I sent Earl in first to use the "toilette."
He came back announcing that it was fine, clean. He told me I could even go in the other outside door to avoid walking along the bar. So I did, but when I got to the women's restroom, I saw the sign that women needed to ask for the key. I trudged to the bar and requested the key. I'm not sure why the women's restroom needed a key and the men's didn't. Was it to discourage women? Was it so it stayed clean?
After our meals and dessert and a coffee, we walked around town some.
Near the parking lot, canals had been built using the red marble and sending trickles of water from the river throughout the park area.
Along with the canals were series of statues. Some of the art seemed abstract while other statues were more realistic.
I think this one was called "the kiss." I know, not an original title.
This was some sort of wild cat, maybe a jaguar -- plus Earl, of course.
And here I am, by the riverbed, map in hand before we drove to Carcassonne to search for a chocolate shop. There's only so many days we can go in France without buying chocolate.
This isn't a village we plan to move to. I'd probably give it two baguettes.
Thanks so much for playing along with Dreaming of France. Please leave your link below and visit each other's blogs to share your love for France.
Thank you for joining this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.
Just a short post because I'm in the middle of painting the final bedroom in preparation to sell our house.
Here's a picture from our final days in France during this trip.
I always wonder how people in other countries celebrate weddings.
As Earl and I were walking along Rue Mouffetarde, we heard singing coming from a bar. We assumed it was a rowdy singalong bar, like the Irish bars that I went to in Washington, D.C. during grad school.
But as we walked back up the road, we saw that the singing was coming from a restaurant where a young couple celebrated their wedding.
Here they are greeting or saying goodbye to a casual couple outside the restaurant.
As you can see, the groom is high fiving the man by the stroller, and the bridge is beautiful in her ball gown wedding dress.
And to think, lucky couple, they live right there in Paris.
Thanks so much for playing along with Dreaming of France. Please leave your link below and visit each other's blogs to share your love for France.
Please excuse me for this brief tirade, but I feel like people are not connecting some dots in the James Comey/President Trump episode.
Some lawmakers seem to have seizing on the fact that President Trump said, "I hope" you can make this Michael Flynn thing disappear.
That wasn't an order if he said "I hope," they claim.
How can we prove it was an order?
Well, Comey didn't make the Flynn investigation disappear.
So Trump fired Comey.
How are Republican lawmakers skipping over that part of it. The president told Comey what he hoped happened. Comey defied him. He got fired.
The FIRED part is the important connection.
See, that's how you can prove that it was obstruction. Comey didn't do what the president wanted so he got fired.
Then Trump said firing Comey had relieved so much pressure on the Russian investigation.
Now back to talking about France and raising kids and beautiful weather.
How could a city that looks like this be rejected?
This is Sommières. We visited here in the evening, after checking out Uzès and the Pont du Gard, so we didn't get to see the market. The bridge in the photo was built by the Romans.
We parked near the river and didn't notice until we were returning to the car that there were signs warning of inundation when the river ran high. Luckily, that didn't happen during the few hours we explored the city.
I should have taken a picture as we drove across the bridge above which goes straight into the city gate. But, I was driving so I didn't get a picture.
Here's the gate from up close, looking back toward the bridge rather than into the town.
I know! I was excited too. I said to Earl, "It has a portcullis!" A portcullis, in case you didn't study castles with your boys like I did, is the grill that comes down to close the entrance. I'm sure the original medieval town had a drawbridge too.
As we walked toward the gate, we passed several bars where townspeople gathered. They looked a bit rough.
Once inside the gate, everything was magically transformed and Sommières' toursity side became apparent, even though not many tourists meandered around. The shops were for aromatherapy and new age items, perfumeries and luncheon restaurants that had long since closed.
We walked past the big old church and headed to the heights to see the 11th Century castle. It was closed, but the view from above was worth the hike.
Here's part of the castle tower.
Part of the castle was in ruins so we explored that section and ran into a group of young men playing boules nearby.
A man in his 20s came up the castle road alone and sat on a bench while Earl and I explored. I got a creepy vibe from him, like why was he sitting alone and not looking at his phone?
Earl said he was probably just enjoying the peace and quiet. When we started to walk down the road, the man followed. My husband has a habit of wandering off to look at things, leaving me alone, but I stuck close to him and nothing happened, so maybe I imagined the sinister vibe. It's the only time I've felt unsafe in France, other than sometimes in a big city like Paris.
After we hiked back down the road, we ordered sandwiches to go (à emporter) for our dinner once we returned to the apartment.
The gate as we left the walled city was quaint too.
I had a distinct feeling as we left the village that it wasn't the right one for us in spite of its beauty.
The wide division between the tourist areas and the local areas made me uncomfortable. The occasional flooding made me nervous; we'd probably buy a house that ended up covered in water, and it was one of the few times that I felt unsafe in a small city.
But, it's nice to sometimes know for sure that a city can be checked off the list. I'd give this one two baguettes out of five in my rating system.
Clara Beaudoux
is a Paris-based journalist for the France Info news network.
The Madeleine Project has been wildly popular in France.
You can follow her on Twitter at 
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