Briefly, a Saturday as still and as hot as can be imagined, but through the stillness, three German tourbuses and the local Boulangerie's fortieth anniversary. Free croissants and coffee at dawn, and local wine to go with the roasting sausages later. Sounds like bedlam in a town this size but that is without taking into account the civilized nature of the people. The Boulangerie simply made more money than usual and there was continuous gentle chatter drifting from that direction from about 8am to 8pm. I bought some Moutard de Benison, which is a sweetish jellyish mustard spread. Excellent with croissants. Croissants are, by the way, a habit easy to fall into. I remember that when my brother and I decided to give our mother breakfast in bed for mothers' day many years ago, I thought a croissant would at least make the thing presentable, whatever else we managed to bungle. And if I'm not mistaken, she had a croissant every morning for years afterward.
In any case, tomorrow I'm up at six, and if they're open, I shall certainly buy a croissant.
As to the tour buses, the people in them gently and geriatrically disgorged and proceeded to sit the whole day. Towards evening an accordionist, presumably brought along with them, played while they continued to sit. It made a most pleasant sound in the quiet dusk. He played extremely well, and it was all folk music.
Fred and I went for a walk that went up the side of a nearby mountain. I was told to keep him on the lead no matter what, but I couldn't be doing with that, the poor boy. So he went off into the woods from time to time, which meant either a very steep ascent or a very steep descent, but he'd pretty good on those stubby legs of his. Though once I really thought he was gone for good and I was glad I'd taken a photo of him (note: one problem with my otherwise excellent camera is that it doesn't take the picture of what you clicked the shutter on. It takes the picture of what happened a second AFTER you pressed that button. No good for action shots) because it gave me a good story: Wanted to get good shot of Fred running through long grass, and he kept running. Je suis tr่s desol้e). He went waaaay up above the trail and got smaller and smaller through the trees and suddenly it was only cliffs above me and I kept seeing rocks, large-ish and small, tumbling down the cliffs toward me. That wasn't so good.