A Sunday without success. I had great plans for today. Having rattled around in this apartment the last two days, gradually feeling more bored, irritated and homesick, I had decided as I went to sleep, today I would head into town in the morning, sit in a little café with a coffee and a croissant, read a little and enjoy the lazy Sunday morning. Then I would head back to the apartment and spend a few hours working, with lunch- by which time my food supplies would have run out and an afternoon trip to the supermarket would be a perfect way to while away the hours until tea. Parfait, non?
Non.
the morning looked like this
So then, of course, I had to stay inside and have breakfast here while waiting for the storm to pass over. Two hours of loud clapping thunder, lightning and torrential rain ensued, with my lights flickering- threatening to cut out. At lunch it had gone and the sun was coming out so it seemed a good idea to crack on with part B of the plan. Off I went with my bag, enjoying the freshness of the air and the river that is usually dry, running fast with rainwater. I rounded the corner to the supermarket, and saw immediately- all blinds down, empty car park- it was closed. Intermarché on a Sunday??! Closed? Of course- this is Provence. Undeterred I detoured back on myself and headed across the road, into the old town. One foot under the arch that marks the entrance told me it was a pointless endeavor. All down the street the shutters were closed, doors barricaded and not a person in sight. Sundays are not lazy here- they are dead.
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