Fifteen minutes down the road...the breakfast comes up...things are thrown out of the backpack...the little boy redressed. Adventures can still be had.
We park the car and unbuckle everybody. Um, pee-pee? The question sounds like a confession. Unfortunately, the jeans concur - it's too late. The backpack is once again searched, but no pants are found. Adventures are now debatable.
Still, we are determined. This is our vacation. Our first time in south of France, Provence. We have come to the town of Mansoque and we won't have another chance to see it. I grit my teeth. "We carry on...and keep calm. But I'm gonna need a pastry."
We wander the pedestrian section of town, searching for a pharmacy and a children's clothing store; the kiddo sits in the stroller with a blankey wrapped around him.
I am once again enamored with France. However much she may make you suffer, she repays you for it with her many charms. The stone church, flower-covered city hall, the fountains. I read about the four hands figuring on the armor of the city's shields.
We find a pair of overalls and "astro" blue underwear and nausea homeopathics, mini croissant and pain au chocolate for the kiddo and a giant nutella beignet for me. But the children's playground is occupied by ten or so smoking teens. We opt for a park bench and wait them out. A drunk approaches us for a cigarette, a euro, a phone call, whatever we've got. He assures us that he is nice, just drunk, then finally leaves.
I wipe my mouth. "Ok, that's it. Let's go."
As we drive away, I say, "You know there are just days when you should give up, accept defeat and retreat."
"Ah mon amour," my husband says with the biggest smile. "You're becoming French!"
|Mairie City Hall of Manosque|
|Church at Manosque|