As the weather heats up, I find myself dreaming of southern France. Last year we stayed in a cute house with an amazing little yard in Vence, managed by an older couple who didn’t speak a lick of English. We went into the beautiful medieval town center to pick up fresh bread every other day, which we ate with jam, butter, or nothing, because it was that good (though of course the jam and butter were outstanding). We explored old villages, walked along the stony shores of the Mediterranean, and enjoyed the most delicious food. You can’t get that quality of life here.
I gotta find my way back.
(There’s an English version of the song, but that one can go to hell.)