Up Up Up I drove in the darkness through country that was getting darker and colder by the mile. When I found the little village called St Alvere, this was the place, lit up and warm and so welcoming. I drove to the door to make sure it was the right place and a sweet couple hurried out smiling and waving me in. By now it was maybe 11pm and what looked like the whole neighborhood had gathered here.
Hungry? asked the sweet woman. Oui. She set me a little table in the corner and the sweet man went into the clearly closed kitchen and a few minutes later came out with the most extraordinary food – an omelet like I never had before or since or could hope to again and fried potatoes and toast and jam. It was beyond a dream.
Then I went to sleep in this tidy but funky Funky room, bathroom down the hall, on a pre-WWI mattress and with linens from the sweet woman’s grandmother’s hope chest.