each other ceremoniously with the three cheek Provençal kiss. The dress is informal because they have come straight from work. The builder, the plumber, the hairdresser and the decorator. Monsieur Le Décorateur walks in leaving trails of fine dust in his wake and as he kisses Madame La Coiffeuse, fine white patches appear on her cheeks. He sparks up a cigar and in fine fashion orders his pastis. His grey facial hair is of the classic waxed moustache variety to compensate for his balding pate. The talk is in an accent as thick as treacle and no amount of evening classes back home in the UK is going to prepare anyone for dealing with it.
While one sits at table overlooking the largely car less Cours de La République it becomes clear that again nothing much is happening. The odd car might slip by, the hourly bus drops off a teenager, starlings may steal a crumb from the floor. A few people amble by and greetings exchanged. The pace of life is glacial. It will not suit everyone. Thrill seekers need not apply as the most thrilling things experienced at this time of day is watching the ice melt in your pastis, counting the types of bread bought at the nearby boulangerie and thinking about what dinner should be.
Dîner If bread be the foundation upon which France stands, then wine is surely its life blood and Provence provides some of the country’s finest. Yes, we know of Bordeaux and Burgundy. Vines roots like drainage, and river valleys and their slopes make for good vineyards. The Rhône flows down from its source at Lake Geneva and joins the Saône at Lyon. Then it takes a north south line down through Valence, Avignon and Arles before reaching the Mediterranean. Look at the wine shelves in any supermarket or wine outlet and you will spot
A DAY IN PROVINCE - BENNY GOODMAN
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