Encore Provence [antikvár]

Second Impressions I think it was the sight of a man power-washing his underpants that really brought home the differences, cultural and otherwise, between the old world and the new. It was a cold, still morning in early winter, and the pulsing thump-thump, thump-thump of a high-pressure hose echoed through the village. Getting closer to the sound, it was possible to see, over a garden wall, a laundry line totally devoted to gentlemen's underwear in a stimulating assortment of colours. The garments were under attack, jerking and flapping under the force of the water jet like hanging targets in a shooting gallery. Standing some distance away, out of ricochet range, was the aggressor, in cap and muffler and ankle-high zip-up carpet slippers. He had adopted the classic stance of a soldier in combat, feet wide apart, shooting from the hip, a merciless hail of droplets raking back and forth. The underpants didn't stand a chance. Only a few days before, my wife and I had arrived back in Provence after an absence of four years. Much of that time had