Pierced in Carcasonne

I've been wanting to pierce my nose since I was about 15. Not sure why I never got around to it in my younger days, but of late the idea has come up again. I love being in my thirties, and I feel like I am turning into myself, if that makes any sense. I wanted to celebrate this great time in my life and this amazing European journey, so in Carcasonne, France, I searched out a tattoo/piercing shop and had it done.
Fritz tells me I squealed like a little girl, but I don't remember that part. It was pretty startling, though.

Since the last time we wrote, from Slovakia, we have been spending time in the south of France with our dear friends Jeff and Joanne Peterson. They are a great couple with a relaxed attitude and a fantastic sense of humor. Jeff had us in stitches a number of times. Here they are in the medieval part of Carcasonne.


We traveled around and saw much of the Languedoc region, as well as Provence. The weather was good, and the poppies were in bloom. We went to markets, visited tiny villages, ate good food, enjoyed the wine, and did our best to speak french.

Here is Fritz in Roussillon, a town famous for its ocher pigments, mined out of the hillside next to town. (You can view his photos of the town, and others, at his photo blog: www.fritzphoto.blogspot.com.)

This was the head of an ad hoc reception committee in the town of Beziers. I had to include him because it is such a sweet story. Our friend Joanne is in a wheelchair, so we had parked in the handicap spot. This fellow came along and started talking to us. As you may know, I speak some French, but I am certainly not fluent, and at first I thought we were in trouble for using the handicapped parking, even though we had a real reason and a permit. After a moment, though, I realized that he was just explaining very thoroughly to us that because it was Saturday, we did not have to pay for parking, and he was very concerned that we might pay when we didn't have to. He went on to tell us all about the town of Beziers, where we should go to visit, and pointed the directions we should go to see various things. I understood about half of what he told us, but got the gist of it all. Then, as we were setting off, he strode into the crosswalk and raised his cane like the sword of an avenging angel, stopping traffic so that we could all pass safely across the street.

We thanked him and said our goodbyes, but his warmth and kindness was exemplary of what we received all through the Languedoc region. People were kind and welcoming, and seemed amused, not annoyed, with our shabby French. Provence seemed a bit more tourist weary, but still friendly. If your ideas of France are formed by what you have heard about Paris, this felt like a whole different world, and we recommend the southern countryside wholeheartedly.

This weekend we are back in Southern Spain, pitching in on an Arts outreach project with OM's ArtsLink, and we leave Monday to visit some dear friends in Morocco for the week. We return home to Oregon on the second, and I have three weeks to get everything situated before I start nursing school at Linfield School of Nursing, in northwest Portland.