By Peter Mayle
During this witty and warm-hearted account, Peter Mayle tells what it really is wish to discover a long-cherished dream and truly movement right into a 200-year-old stone farmhouse within the distant state of the Lubéron together with his spouse and huge canines. He endures January's frosty mistral because it comes howling down the Rhône Valley, discovers the secrets and techniques of goat racing during the center of city, and delights within the excellent neighborhood delicacies. A yr in Provence transports us into the entire earthy pleasures of Provençal lifestyles and we could us dwell vicariously at a pace ruled by means of seasons, no longer through days.
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Extra info for A Year in Provence
Eight? It would have to be balanced on its side to pass through the doorway. We had visions of crushed toes and multiple hernias, and belatedly understood why the previous owner of the house had put a light, folding table in the place we had chosen for our monument. We took the only reasonable course of action open to us, and sought inspiration in front of the fire with a glass of wine. It was unlikely that anyone would steal the table overnight. As it turned out, a possible source of help was not long in coming.
There were three wells, there were established shade trees and slim green cypresses, hedges of rosemary, a giant almond tree. In the afternoon sun, with the wooden shutters half-closed like sleepy eyelids, it was irresistible. It was also immune, as much as any house could be, from the creeping horrors of property development. The French have a weakness for erecting jolies villas wherever building regulations permit, and sometimes where they don’t, particularly in areas of hitherto unspoiled and beautiful countryside.
It was, to use the phrase that comes out in Provence whenever the sun goes in, pas normal. But why? Monsieur Menicucci gave me a token two seconds to ponder this phenomenon before warming to his thesis, tapping me with a finger from time to time to make sure I was paying attention. It was clear, he said, that the winds which brought the cold down from Russia were arriving in Provence with greater velocity than before, taking less time to reach their destination and therefore having less time to warm up en route.
A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle