The Amorous Adventures of Pif

Romance is in the air. That, and rain. When it really starts coming down, we head for the local cafe, which is t he hub of the village, as Peter Mayle has predicted. And, as predicted, the cafe is bustling, filled with tourists hiding from the sudden downpour. The menu listed ice cream and booze, so we got both.

At the table near us, a romantic dog interlude was unfolding. Pif, a spaniel belonging to a local man, and looking shockingly like his owner, had sniffed out a mysterious lady, an exotic beige stranger, who was resting on the cafe floor while her owner sipped cafe au lait and dried off.

Unable to contain his enthusiastic admiration, Pif kept trying to inch closer, to properly introduce himself, while the tourist in question appeared more interested in a quick nap and the occasional dropped cookie crumb. Pif's owner kept trying to contain his charge, but it was a losing battle. Finally, as the other clients thinned out, the beige beauty's owner allowed for a rendez vous.

Pif approached joyfully and some energetic sniffing began. Things seemed to be looking up. But then...being the flighty lady of leisure that she clearly was, the babe decided that mingling with the locals was not on the day's agenda. Truning her well-formed tail to Pif, she went back to snoozing under the table. Pif looked defeated, and returned to his table, still glancing sadly in her direction. What had he done wrong? Where had he come short? It was the same thing endless singles ask themselves during last call on a Saturday night.

But who could blame Pif, who was just a representative for his nation's love of romance? As the rain petered out to a drizzle, our waiter, and English-speaking French man who had spent ten years in New York, convinced us to return to Bonnieux next summer. He would help us find a place to stay at a reasonable rent. He also was willing to provide other services – “If your husband can’t come,” he told me, “I’ll teach you French.”

Ooh-la-la.