I dearly wish that I had had the wherewithal to prendre un photo of the cows that ran me down, but alas, stampedes do not lend themselves to portraiture.

Fortunately, I have words.

Do you remember the days before the touchless car-wash? Do you remember its predecessor? The one with the big, sudsy brushes that advance on you and engulf you, while you sit helplessly in the car and wait for it all to be over?

Wait, let’s back up a bit.  And by “back up,” I mean, reculer, in case you didn’t know.  But of course you did.

My day started with to-die-for jam (peaches and spice) and conversation around the breakfast table at a farm in the Southern French Alps.  I learned that the French drink tea out of rather big bowls, and that parapente is the French word for paragliding.  More on that later.

Scene Two: I am in my rental car, fiddling with the GPS, and then setting off ever-so-slowly down the winding mountain road to my first activity for the day.  I am leaving early, so I have plenty of time to get lost or have some other disaster befall me, both of which, of course, happened.

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