Wednesday, 13 January 2010
Snow in the South of France
2b bounced round full of the joys of a fresh fall of snow and the knowledge that everything would be closed and that for the day at least it was a forced holiday. 'We're going to walk round La Cité' he announced and before I knew where I was I was sliding along the cobbles and taking in the spectacular sight of the Medieval Bastide towering menacingly above us. The tiny church under the ramparts chimed prettily on the hour, huge piles of soft virgin snow lay in drifts and where the moat was you could imagine you were walking in a never ending bowl of freshly whipped egg whites. It was utterly invigorating being virtually the only souls wandering through the arches and exploring the tiny streets when during the summer months you can barely move for bodies jostling for space as they soak up the culture.
Everyone else had sensibly made their way to Les Halles, the covered market place, where they were tucking into a plate of delicious freshly sliced cured ham, chorizo sausage, creamy cheese and a robust homemade paté. Partaking too of an agreeable chilled rosé added greatly to the ambiance and feeling of wellbeing.
Dangerous razor sharp icicles hung from the high rooftops overhead, fat grey pigeons huddled closely together in tiny alcoves, their eyes tightly closed whilst the few tourists that there were looked bemused and vaguely bewildered.
I took lots of pictures of course, I'm wondering if there will be ever be a day when I shall trip along with a luscious fat expensive handbag dangling from my arm rather than a compact little camera.
I doubt it, I'm really not that sort of woman.
As you can see here