At this point, I’m a little smug. Well, maybe not smug, maybe just happy. I’m not sure. (See I am French already, I am always of two minds.) I am both. I am happy because I am having fun. I’m on vacation, doing something in a country where I don’t speak the language and I like it – and it’s going well. We’re relaxing. We’re finding ways to make all four of us happy. Maybe not all at once, but each day we try to find a balance. I’m a little smug because I worked pretty hard to plan this trip and so far my choices have panned out. I have a bit of a sensitive spot here, because my family likes to point out how when I come along on a trip, things get so much more complicated because I don’t like to spend my week eating tuna and hot sauce on crackers.
And not this kind of tuna. No, that would be great.
This kind of tuna...
Me staring dreamily at the acrobatic swifts, imagining a vacation without kids
We took the advice of our host, Benoit, when it came to dinner. Tucked away in the back corner of Carcassonne is a little bistro that is frequented by the locals after the tourists go home. We were familiar with this concept, because that is also how things worked in Huntington Beach.
Ken getting the giggles
It was a great dinner. It was long and languorous and softened by delicious wine. The locals were expressive, the wait staff was hilarious, and there was a singer who was so charming that we couldn’t resist buying one of his limited supplies of CDs. The next two evenings were carbon copies of each other, and each night we explored the walled city and promised to return.
And not this kind of tuna. No, that would be great. 
Comments
Post a Comment