J'aime St. Saturnin (I love Saint Saturnin)

A recounting from my travel booklet I carry with me.

We made it to St. Saturnin today--one of the few places I've had my eye on seeing in Provence. The town did not disappoint--it turned out to be one of my favorites thus far.

The day is perfect--refreshing, cool, breezy with an intense sun--we're driving with all the windows down--I dangle my arms out the front window. We found an old Paul Simon tape buried in a compartment in the bottom of this rickety van. I turned up the volume and we stopped talking.

Here out amongst the isolated, rural scenes with more wild fields--poppies in full bloom, like a red blanket turning green grass orange.

Curv ing and twisting over hills tops, down roads that only fit one car, but we're squeezing by two--less and less like a road and more just dirt. Large mounds covered with leafless trees, petrified. History tells me it was a forest fire.

The sun is turning us brown with its wholesome goodness, the wind is smoothing the creases from our faces. This intoxicating scenery works its magic on us and the laughter spreads like a contagious disease. Standing out of the sunroof, racing down the hill and screaming.

We rushed the grocery store and left with bags of treasure--hunks of cheese, Provencal wines
and pork chops (which we later smothered with carmelized onions).