Tapas and GPS

Adding the photo I tried to download yesterday. . .

Yesterday we went to Gordes and encountered a market—mostly arts, fabrics, crafts.  We bought some lavender honey, though I can’t seem to locate it now that we’re back at our house.   Today Cindy took a walk in the morning down the path along the canal that lies at the side of the house.  In the meantime, I had breakfast and read while Phil showered.  We decided to head to Pont du Gard—a no miss for Cindy; and since it was a beautiful day—sunny and warm, we couldn’t pass up the opportunity lest the October skies open up as they sometimes do and spoil the walk along the Roman monument.  

On the way to Pont du Gard, we presumed we’d find a suitable place to eat lunch.  And we did find a Flunch at a Carrefour shopping center.  Instead of stopping at 1 in the afternoon, we kept going, presuming we’d come across another.  Alas, we did not.  We arrived at Pont du Gard, presuming we’d be able to find a bite to eat at the café on the other side of the river.  Alas, we did not.  The café was only serving drinks and ice cream—and at an exorbitant price.  I can’t imagine what we would have paid for lunch.  While Cindy made a visit of the new exhibit called “Shrub Memories,” a walk showing botanical features of France—both ancient and present, we went to the cafeteria on the first side for water and a Twix bar.  Cindy joined us for a drink and we left in search of the Flunch.  

The stiff British lady of the GPS in the car directed us back toward Lagnes in a different direction, so we never passed the Flunch place—or any other place like it until we were finally back at the house to decide where to go in the late afternoon to appease our hunger.  Gordes won out as the closest.  So off we went, famished and only to find that the restaurants did not begin serving dinner until later.  We stopped at La Trinquette, down a cobbled footpath, the likes of which would be virtually impassable in the rain.  We enjoyed a bottle of wine and tapas, “les petits pots,” little pots of tapenade and other treats.  We stumbled back up the hazardous street to returned to Le Provencal where we overdid it with pizza—too much pizza.

The return home was fascinating.  As we approached Lagnes, the lady directed us onto the kinds of little roads where you pray not to find another car as one of the cars would be doing a lot of driving in reverse.  And the sides of the road were impenetrable stone walls.  We came across a man walking his dog who stared at us as if we were an apparition.  And then another who gave us the same incredulous look.  Evidently, those roads are not well traveled.   

So finally home sweet home.