This is who we are. The day the funny died. Changes in latitude Changes in attitude. A man can get a lot of thinking done while relaxing in a filing cabinet. One of the thoughts that occurred to me was to check my eurail pass status against the rest of the travel days I had planned that included getting back to Paris. Good thing I did, because if I continued at the current pace, my pass days would run out two days short of my planned stay. I was on my way to Avignon in the morning, and had planned to stay two days and make several short out and back trips to β¦somewhere.
This would be a good time then to get off the pass and pay cash for these trips. I saw that the town of Cavaillon was only another thirty minutes farther on. That was one of the towns Mayle had mentioned in A Year in Provence, so it sounded like a spot to arrive, have a glass and then ride back to Avignon for an early dinner.
There was only a fifteen minute wait between trains in Avignon, so I stayed at the station. When I got out at Cavaillon, there were two inviting cafes just across the street, and nothing in sight of any historical structure, church, chateau or museum that I had to avoid. Several of the patrons were enjoying a robust roast chicken, its ample breast jutting proudly skyward from the plate.
But I made a mental note of what that majestic chicken would look like on a plate in front of me at a later time perhaps. After settling into my hotel in Avignon, I walked back to the main drag and found a cafe offering a fixed three-course menu that included escargot.
Carolyn and I had several times discussed giving snails a try, but we never could bring ourselves to take the plunge. Since this trip was about branching out from Carolyn and I to just I, the occasion seemed to cry out for a small plate of the little slime runners.
