the last night chez Camp Provence

We have returned from the ochre-colored village of Roussillon. Pictures will follow! Now we are preparing for our last evening here. I was lucky enough to get the laptop for a few minutes, Judi the inveterate hostess is preparing a bacon covered lamb roast for dinner, and I hear someone's shower running. The cheeses and sausages are sur le table ready for picking, and soon it will be cocktail hour. I must get cracking on the packing. I could have brought less. Next time I will know. A few of my must haves from America will end up in the trash to make room for the few French items I have bought.

Occasionally some of the French phrases or pronunciations learned from Mmes Jacumin and Clifford have come in handy. My poor attempts at this beautiful language inflicted on the patient shopkeepers and efficiently pleasant restaurant folk have been quite wonderful for me.

In the small world department, in Roussillon today, I detected an American southern accent. I listened another moment before asking, "Well, where are y'all from?" Alexandria, Virginia as it turned out. They trusted me enough to hold their camera to take a photo of them, we exchanged a pleasantry or two and went about our ways. A very few minutes later, I heard a French artist in her shop include the word "Charleston" in conversation with a male visitor. Another bit of listening led me to the conclusion that he indeed was from South Carolina. I made eye contact and said, "Charleston? Greenville." A little introductory chatting and ... what about that! Here in this lovely provincial region in the south of France.

But I must say...the French have it all over the Americans.