A trip to Arles, famous for its Roman amphitheatre (which was later filled with houses and became a sort of mini-town before reverting to bullfights in the 19th century), Van Gogh and his sunflowers (we passed the Yellow House where he lived briefly with Gauguin in 1889) and the annual Rencontres International Photography Festival (due to start next week and with which I had a dalliance in April).
While the girls went to a playground, Patrick and I wondered the streets and popped our noses into the beautiful church and cloisters of St Trophime. We then drove to Les Baux-de-Provence, a picture skew village huddled around the remains of a ruined castle, both clinging to a rocky outcrop. Bit touristy, bit Mont St-Michel, but I'm fine with tacky souvenir shops as long as there's steep cobbled lanes, cafes and chapels.
My French is coming back to me. Nice to be able to string sentences together without having to think too hard.