Adam and I recently returned to Bassac, the village in southwestern France where we kicked off our 10 months of traveling last November. For three months over the winter, we occupied an old stone house that belongs to Pam and Fred, friends of ours who until recently, lived on a sailboat in San Diego.
It was really fun to be back in the sleepy village where for three months we started and ended the day with the shutter ritual; where our days consisted of bread from the boulangerie, epic games of backgammon, books on French history, long walks through barren vineyards and hourly tolls of the town’s abbey bells.
In that time we also traveled to Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin and Prague, we drove through southwest France, my mom came to visit and we drove to Normandy – but when in Bassac we spent the short winter days in a medieval town in heavenly isolation.
This time around, Bassac felt familiar and yet entirely different – this time we had the pleasure of being accompanied by my parents, of visiting with Pam and Fred and witnessing the astonishing transformation of France in bloom.
Remember these pictures of the countryside in winter?
And just when you think a place couldn’t possibly get anymore picturesque. . .
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