A Peak in Provence: Part 7


For the first time I hold my own in a little shop, buying souvenirs.  The man behind the counter is patient, and I sort of understand him as he sort of understands me.  I know if I stayed longer, the language would begin to seep in.  It already has.

I walk the streets alone for the first time, silently saying goodbye to the people in the cafes.  A stooped old woman walks by with a cane.  “Bon jour madam,” I say.  She stops, responding with a wide, toothless smile.  “Bon jour madam.”


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