During our French adventures we spend four or five weeks in our compact apartment of about three hundred square feet. It feels like an extension of our home in California but offers some advantages we have not found anywhere else.
First, almost everyone in our village speaks French as their first language. True, we can coax most of them to switch to English if we deliberately start speaking especially poor French, but we try to save that for emergencies.
We can walk about a hundred feet and purchase a fresh baguette, a croissant, or even a bottle of champagne in a pinch – all from our neighborhood baker. When I wish her bonne journée – a good day, she almost always exchanges it for a big smile.
Nine time zones between us and our family and friends in California – think about the possibilities – we can play all day without guilt and still be back in time to contact the early risers.
A reminder of how big the world is and how alike most peoples are – and yes, this includes everyone we have met here – no matter where they began life’s journey.
The as-yet-unexplained fact that I almost never have migraines here in this tiny village. Maybe my brain feels safer. Or perhaps it is the healing effect of the sea.
The opportunity for Jann and me to talk during those long walks and anytime we feel like it at home since we are never more than thirty feet apart. And yes, this actually becomes fun.
Finally, and not least by any means, I get to watch the lovely Jann arise from the bed each morning and be greeted by her wonderful, inviting smile. I can’t think of anything else on earth that thrills me more.
