Provence

Once we arrived at the station in Les Arcs and our friends took us through their village and to their house, surrender was inevitable.  These are old friends who have realized their dream of retiring to the south of France.  They live about 1 kilometer out of a small village that is still almost entirely French, unlike their previous home that was near a village where almost 20% of the permanent residents are now non-French.  The terrain is craggy with many outcroppings of limestone; the village is made up almost entirely of the same stone which has a soft pink cast to it unlike the chalky white of the limestone at home.  Their property is on the top of a hill that on one side has a sheer drop of about 50 feet.  It was hot, but their house and terrace have several places to which one can navigate to keep reasonably cool.  And then there is always the pool (see slideshow).  

We went into the village that evening because there were supposed to be several musical performances.  Like small towns everywhere, the French villages are trying very hard to maintain the village without destroying its authenticity, so there are "events" of all sorts.  Their village had a ruined chateau that some hotel group wanted to buy and make into a combination hotel/condo.  The mayor and others said, "no," and, instead, they managed to get government money to build low income housing in the village and to restore the chateau which is now used for public and private events.  We almost crashed a wedding reception, but managed to skirt the edges without making fools of ourselves.  The wedding party later drove through town in a honking procession, the bride and groom standing in a lavender (yes, that's right) Deux Cheveaux.  The music turned out to be a rock and roll group that had a pretty good guitarist and a drumming group that appeared to be like the amateur drumming groups everywhere - more fun for the participants than the listener.

On Sunday, we went to market and to lunch (see slideshow), then home to a nap and a swim and a late dinner.  Somehow it truly feels like the way to live.  Up early to catch the first of several trains back to Florence.