Ooh La La

Next week I'm off with the family to France. The South of France, to be precise. The land of my ancestors where they know how to pronounce my last name (boo-shay: in France it's as common as Smith). I'm going to do research for my next novel which is in the final stages. If I don't have the best job on the planet, I don't know who does. Having said that, I am likely to be cursed with what they call Le Mistral, a wretchedly cold wind that can blow for weeks. If anybody has any suggestions for bistros, sightseeing, and the like, please post-away. And I'll share with you a story from my first trip to France after college. If I tell you that what they call the first floor is what we call the second floor (their bottom floor designated as the ground floor), you'll guess where I'm going with it. To make it short: lots of vin (wine) at a bar, the need to find the W.C. (bathroom), and me barging into somebody's apartment as five residents were sitting on a long couch watching television. No Wendy, the bar's public bathroom is one more floor up. Duh. You should have seen the sharp looks of surprise on those five faces. Pardon moi!