Provence Arrival

Despite sitting on the tarmac at JFK for three hours (how many travel-related posts have started with that phrase, I wonder?), we arrived in Nice only about 90 minutes behind schedule.

It was a warm morning, the palm trees were waving in the breeze and the water was a brilliant blue. Amazing yachts were in the harbor and opulent villas peered down from the hillsides. It was idyllic, to say the least.

Our mission, however, was not to relax on the Côte d'Azur, rubbing elbows with the beautiful people . Ours was a much more challenging task: race to Marseilles, pick up Jacquie and Rob (who would be landing there shortly) and get to our place in Provence before the sun went down - oh, and find something to eat somewhere along the way.

Off down the autoroute we went, stopping only for a sandwich and a coffee, the memory of our mediocre airplane meal long gone. The road was smooth and the signs easy to follow. Before we knew it we had arrived at the Marseilles airport and, after a bit of wandering around, found our travel companions standing on the curb, looking only slightly worried that we might never arrive.

After a false start that nearly led us in to the heart of downtown Marseilles, we got pointed in the right direction for Saint Jean de Serres - the town nearest the little farm that awaited us. Several more wrong turns later, during which I nearly went backwards down a major French highway and almost got us killed navigating one of many roundabouts, we made it to our destination - Mas de Puech.

The place was deserted. A soft, warm breeze was blowing, but everything else was silent. One could have mistaken it for a scene from a movie, one where all human life had suddenly disappeared, leaving nothing in the dusty countryside but farmhouses and vineyards. It was definitely off-season. But the fact that there was a key in the door reassured us that we were indeed expected.  

We roused the largest spider in France as we were opening the shutters to let in the late afternoon light. Other than that, we settled in pretty easily. We had the place to ourselves and it was a lovely place indeed.

Thinking back, I can hardly believe our luck. We had crossed an ocean (and the country of  France one-and-a-half times, the first on the plane and the one-half in our car), staged a successful rendezvous despite arriving in two foreign cities that are roughly three hours apart AND (this might be the best part) found the only grocer in all of southern France open on Sunday, which just happened to be a mere 10 minutes from our home.

Despite the exhaustion, hunger and thirst I felt at the end of that day, I couldn't help but realize we were in for one hell of a good time.