We parked across the street and walked to the village of Saint-Jacques des Blats.  The sun was bright.  I watched my husband and his parents headed for the hills as I remained glued staring up at the church tower  standing prominently above the sleepy atmosphere.   Everything seemed closed at 11AM on a Friday.   The sound of a tractor crossing this square surprised me.  I stepped out of its way to let it pass as the driver greeted me, "Bonjour" with a nod.  I answered back, smiling.  I'm always touched by the genuine politeness in the countryside.   

One rainy day, we drove to a medieval town named  Murat.  The clouds descended on the volcanic cones surrounding the city.  Resting at the heart of the Auvergne mountains, France,  this magnificent gem drew us in for an architectural walk under a drizzle reminiscing the life during the middle ages.

I came across this lovely plant in the mountains.  Still carrying and spreading the Hunger Games fever , I convinced my mother-in-law to read the french version of the series. Now, my husband  is very much glued to it. We spent our days hiking in the forests talking about Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.   

I still remember when I said, "J'ai essayé de monter un chameau, un elephant, mais jamais un cheval." (I tried to ride a camel, an elephant but never a horse).   That sent my in-laws in loud guffaws. I was born in the Year of the Horse.  I even designed a glass etched horse partition but I've never been on one until recently.