On these dreary winter days, I find myself day-dreaming of the mellow sunshine of Provence, in Southern France.
The air is different there. It is infused with a light that cannot be captured in photographs; the most realistic, literal, depictions of it are the paintings of Van Gogh or Cezanne. The air is almost a living being of light and warmth wrapped close around you, lying with you skin on skin. It has its own fragrance, one like nothing else in the world, but if I smelled it anywhere, I would know it. It is a mixture of baked grass and dry, ochre dirt, warm fennel, the spicy scent of olive leaves, the sharp, tangy sweetness of lavender, and the warm scent of waking in the early morning after a dream.
This is the part of France where Northern Europe meets the Mediterranean, so the markets are vibrant and full of color–a symphony of fresh produce. You can fill–and lose–your senses in the melons of Cavaillon. They are the size of a young breast and as sweet as the promise of new love.

There is a stereotype that the French are haughty and rude–especially the waiters. I never found this to be true. The French (and their wait-staff) are proud, and–like most Europeans–they do not share the compulsive or compulsory cheeriness that Americans think of as “being nice.” They are to the point and professional, but, like us, they have things to do and places to be, and their patience can be taxed. Some, of course, are rude, but some are sympathetic, just like people everywhere. The folks at the tourism desk in Cavaillon who helped us find bicycles to get to Gordes were patient and went above and beyond. Paris is, for the most part, less patient with tourists–having lived in Nashville (“Music City, USA!”), I remember just how annoying those pasty, indecisive, lumbering road-blocks could be, and I understand how easy it is to lose patience with out-of-towners. Outside of Paris, however, many of the French are very kind, hospitable and helpful. In southern France, they are also more laid back.

There are 2 things that I found hard to get in French restaurants: wifi and the bill. Europe in general is less attached to smart phones & pads than we are–you mostly see Asian tourists using them. Although there is good, high-speed internet, it is usually in specific places–homes, offices, schools, and Irish Pubs, not showered about as free wifi. There is “fast food” in France, but most French restaurants and Cafés are not fast. Waiters are really quick to seat you, and to get your drink order (and give you bread), but then leave you time to order, bring your meals as they are made, and then disappear.
I believe the two are related.
The reason that there is no rush on the final bill is because there should be no rush to finish the meal. Imagine this: you are sitting in Avignon, in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. The neighborhood is beautiful. The restaurant is beautiful. The food is amazing, and the company you are lucky enough to share your food with are both beautiful and amazing. Why should you rush? If people must rush in life, they should be rushing in order to eat amazing food in beautiful places with beautiful and amazing people, not rushing that in order to go sightsee. Have some more wine! Try a bottle of Pastis. Enjoy the conversation. Smell the beautiful air that is Provence. Live.
So, why, if you are in the most perfect place in the world, do you need to check your iPad, your kindle, your iPhone, your Android, your nook, or any other albatross binding you to another place? How could you not be completely and totally in the moment? How could there be more interesting people than the ones you are with?

We have our wifi, they have their wines. We may have one some big wars, but we have lost a very important one.