Wow its pretty. It’s like postcard pretty. I chose this place not because of its location, in that it was somewhere that I really wanted to visit, but because the pictures of the cottage and its setting looked so enticing. It does not disappoint.
We follow the online instructions or at least think we do but end up in a loop. “Take the first left” it states, which we are sure we have. On our next loop we see a tiny lane that passes through the promenade, between two restaurants. Surely not, but yes that’s the first left. We follow the narrow road, and yes it is a two way road until we find the carpark and then we literally lug our luggage up the bumpy path. With sweat sliding down our faces, clinging to our skin and oozing from our clothing we make it to the gate. It does not disappoint.
It is as pretty in real life as in internet photos. WH and I have been nearly here before about 15 years ago. We stayed maybe 20ks down the road. It was my first introduction to hanging about in French villages and I am not yet tiring of it.
This morning was my birthday and it was idyllic. I wake to a view that is so typically French beauty that it belongs in a travel magazine. Happy Birthday messages beamed overnight to my inbox from those who I love and love me. A sentimental birthday card from my Mum, that has been carried on our travels to the other side of the world waits to be finally opened. All is well with the world. I am indeed a lucky girl.
We wander to the village market and find a coffee store that sells flat whites. I really miss good coffee and am tired of Nespresso or their look a-likes. There is queue out the Door but I figure that can only be a good thing. I am slightly nervous but then start chatting to an Aussie in front of me. She comes here to this place every year. It’s a ritual she tells me. She says she loves my hat and asks me where I got it and I tell her Greece. She got married there last week, in Patmos she tells me. My mind runs a bit as how and why and with whom but it’s a quick queue so that chat ends and I am left with the fact that people are interesting. The coffee is good. It does not disappoint.
Loaded with our lunch: a baguette, a lemon, a tomato, an avocado, and some incredibly expensive tapenade which is another story or at least a few sentences. The story goes sort of this way, we are both unsure how it quite happened but we were given little tasty bread morsels with yummy tapenades on which we nod to and they get put in a little bag. “Petite, Petite” I say. We have three bags now which are duly weighed and I get my 20 euro out of my purse. When the stall owner says 32 euro, I want to say WTF but I simply nod merci and rummage in my bag for a 50, I can hardly ask him to put it back, so it was purchased and a lesson learned. We shall be eating it for days and WH has already googled and it says it keeps for a week.
We wander back to our cottage and yes, yes, it is up another hill. I am consistently reminded of my Gran whose mantra I have told you before “do it now, while you have your legs”. You are not wrong Gran. I walk in anticipation of burning off the baguette that is yet to be eaten and tonight’s birthday dinner, which will of course simply must include dessert and I can only hope that tommorow I can tell you “it does not disappoint”.