Tony and I have been climbing lots, with me vacillating between strong and bold (for the climbers - mainly on the closely bolted 11s) and nervous (on the run-outs on dubious rock). I'd say more of the latter. I'd best post this quickly to avoid Tony giving me a lecture about what "Arno would say" (another climbing ref, sorry.).
On the plus side, everything here smells nice. "Fines herbes de Provence" which are a delicious addition to the local French food, it turns out, actually grow in Provence - everywhere. Halfway up a cliff I often find a tuft of thyme or honey-scented rosemary.
Sunday night Tony and I went to a lovely local restaurant. He's now sporting a beard and hair that mostly sticks straight up and out, especially when he's tired. Looks like a cross between the mad professor from back to the future and the Missing Link. I mentioned this only for him to begin ranting about climbing trees and eating worms and making a variety of missing link noises I can't describe. The waitress then came and asked about Australian food - do we eat grubs, she asked. I struggled to maintain composure.
Scene set.
Monday: before siesta Tony purchases hairdressing scissors and a comb. A major investment at 10 euros, given an actual haircut was probably only 15. We take over another campsite and me with evil glint in eye, tell him I've every interest in doing this terribly.
"But I've got pride" says Tony.
"You may not after this haircut"
"Ah bella", he says. "You've never drawn anything but you're still sure you can. You're too proud to do anything badly.".
And that, is a honeymoon reference. Tony somehow understands me very, very, well.
And to keep you amused, here are some random facts about France:
- they sell snail shells in the supermarket
- the snails they eat are sold separately in tins
- they have doggie showers in the campsite; and
- fleuve (pron. flerv) means River. Saying this word makes Tony chuckle.
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