Stone Walls

The apartment was a great change from Paris. We stayed in an old stone house with an old worn patio overlooking the river, stone walls, steam shower, and best of all no futon (not that the futon was all that bad, there’s just something to be said for a mattress).
Spent the whole week reading and wandering thru the town, beside the river and in the castle. Our host, Madame Portier, was a wonderful lady; she was short and stout with white honey hair. She didn’t speak any English, so I got some good French practice. Most days we would walk to the local charcuterie shop and try some of his wares. My favourite was his dried sausage called Rosette. The only downside of the week was when I lost my newly purchased Parisian scarf. I am convinced that the older gentleman who served us lunch noticed its beauty and claimed it as his own.