Waves of pleasure

France was a dream.  I started at the stately chateau where we will all be staying, with flowers and  red wine in the room to send us to sleep and croissants from the village when we woke up.  From there I went from castle to wine tasting to medieval village to wine tasting to a fairytale home of Louis the 14th, lush with tapestries and paintings and lovely objects.  It was like a imagination gone wild come to life.  The kitchen, oh the kitchen…hanging copper pots and bowls of the days fresh fruit and vegetables piled into bowls of gorgeousness.  Another wine tasting with all the glasses set on a barrel rolled out from a cave, where we were seduced glass after glass into drinking lovliness in tastes and colors I have never known.  And then another village, haunted by fabulous antique stores and lovely linens and perfect pastries.  We spent nearly an hour one night I think discussing beautiful, sumptuous cheeses.  That’s how it goes in France. 

I am in Scotland now.  High winds and sunshine.  Clouds, rain and views of magic.  We hiked 7 miles yesterday to the top of the highest mountain on the isle of Arron.  We flattened ourselves against the stones at the summit so as not to be blown off.  At the bottom, I had the pea soup perfumed with tarragon and drizzled with cream, that in an orangery set in the tree branches. 

I like this place. 

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