Our local village, Valensole

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We’re slipping easily into the Provençal way, my French making such leaps and bounds I have the shopkeepers rattling back at me at a pace that leaves me speechless. Then, embarrassingly, I have to ask Pardon? We’re such frequent shoppers at the local supermarket we even get discount coupons. In the meanwhile Hirsh has earned his hunting licence, he says, having made it his mission to (quite successfully) swat  squadrons of flies that share our apartment with us. In the meanwhile, life’s not too shabby, as is quite obvious.

Lunch on the village square served up a delicious Salade Italienne (no translation needed) but the main focus was buffalo mozzarella, parmesan shavings, and prosciutto, with a delectable drizzle of sweet balsamic. And I loved the classy water bottle. The biscuits were bought at a specialist delicatessen and are infused with lavender flowers, the fragrance clearly coming through in the taste. Quite exotic, and delicious.

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