As Christmas approaches this week, we’ve decided that our time here in the Vaucluse has come to an end. And so, we are heading to Nice on Sunday, quite a bit earlier than we had originally planned. If you’ve been following along, you’ll already know that we came to this village with very high expectations. We have new friends here that we met back in May on a short visit. The wine here is some of my favorite in the world. The landscape is stunning. The villages charming. The people unbelievably friendly.

So why leave so soon?

It won’t surprise a lot of you to learn that it’s because we’re restless. Perhaps even bored. During the month we’ve been here we have been to Carpentras, a bigger town close to here, four times. We’ve been to Arles. We’ve been to Orange, an even bigger city, twice. We’ve been to Avignon, the biggest city in the area, twice. And we’ve just returned from Montpellier, a huge metropolis, after a three-night side trip earlier this week. More on that below. These are the biggest towns in the area, and these don’t count the numerous small villages we’ve also visited: Vacqueyras, Gigondas, Aubignon, Le Barroux, Suzette, and Vaison-la-Romaine.

I had the privilege to visit Eric Bouletin, vigneron of Roucas Toumba in Vacqueyras, to taste his incredible wines

Our routine has gone something like this: We stay home for a day or two tending the fireplace, listening to the maddening howl of the mistral, a fierce wind that has shaped this area for millennia. I cook comfort food for us in our tiny kitchen. I drink very good wines. We watch YouTube and Netflix. We read, but only just a little, because at some point I can no longer sit still, until I am bursting with anxiousness. Then we get up the next day, look at a map and say, “Want to go there?” Each place we choose is larger than the one we visited before. When I say we, I mean me. I think Chien-hui can stay put for a few days at a time before she becomes interested in seeing something else, but not me. I need Roman ruins, vineyards, museums, restaurants, walking, the sea, and dare I say it, I need stairs. I’m still a big boy but my pants are very loose now. I had to order some smaller ones just yesterday.

I spoke to my aunt and uncle, Kathy and Rich, about this recently and they responded by telling me, “Duh. What did you think was going to happen? You are a city person.” I have proven this to myself now, without any doubt. My romantic vision of us joining a community in the villages of Provence has crashed and burned, though certainly through no fault of the people or the place. In fact, I am in awe and envy of how they live their lives, and I’ve written about that. Their generosity and hospitality will be a part of my memories for a lifetime. They are happily snug in their villages, periodically getting together, or running into each other at the markets. But the thing that I must admit is that I can only stay at home for a few hours a day before I seek out some kind of culture and to do that here, one must drive quite a distance. I want it all to be within a few meters of my front door. I had the same issue in Federal Way, Washington, where we last lived. I spent a lot of time on the highways driving back and forth between there and Seattle or Tacoma, or Bremerton. Okay, lesson learned, or rather, confirmed. So, we’re pulling the ripcord here and we are hopefully floating gently into one of the most exciting cities in France: Nice, on the Côte d’Azur.

I mentioned above that we just returned from Montpellier, about two hours away on the southwest coast, in the Occitanie region. This city delighted and surprised us both and we left very taken by it. Neither of us knew much about it other than it is the fastest growing city in France and that it is a university town. Both of those things are very true. The city pulses with motion and energy. There are young people everywhere there, and from what we’ve read they make up about 20 percent of the population. But we also saw people our age and some even older. There are beautiful shopping districts with high-end stores and that always tells you something about the demographics of a city.

The center of the city is the old medieval section and surrounding that are the more modern parts. We stayed in one of the more popular neighborhoods in the old city called L'Ecusson in a very charming hotel called the Hotel du Palais, a three-star, family-owned place with a friendly and welcoming staff, where they serve a terrific breakfast. The baguettes were perhaps the best we have eaten in France (You must realize that is saying something). After we asked where they got them, we then hit that boulangerie up, which was conveniently down the street.

Des Reves & Du Pain (Dreams & Bread), in Montpellier, is our vote for the best baguette in France thus far

Montpellier has beautiful streets, a gorgeous 500-year-old botanical garden called the Jardin des Plantes, a stunning opera house, a walkable open plaza (Comédie) surrounded by cafés, restaurants, and fountains, one of the best museums we’ve seen (Musée Fabre), a stunning cathedral (Cathédral Saint-Pierre), the oldest medical school in Europe, a huge law and political science school, a Beaux-Arts school, and we luckily happened to be there during their Christmas market.

I always light a candle for my Mom in French cathedrals

One of my favorite artists is Pierre Soulages, who has en entire section at the Musée Fabre

We ate some great food—of course we did—and we fell in love with a coffee shop called Coldrip, which is staffed with college-aged people who treated us so well. Their coffee is easily Seattle-worthy, but even better was that we had several great conversations with two of them both times we visited. No “likes” or “umms” here. These are interested, interesting kids who can carry a conversation and hold their own. One of those conversations netted us their perspective that Montpellier is a city of culture because there are so many students and that brings in music, art, food, and cool events, all at an affordable price. ( I just reread that and I sound old.)

The other great thing about Montpellier is its location near the Mediterranean. On our last day we went out to the sea where there are several little beach communities. There are marshlands fronting the Mediterranean that you need to cross to get to the beaches, and these are so beautiful. Perhaps you’ve already visited or seen YouTube videos, but they are full of pink flamingoes and there are wild white horses roaming free. Sadly, there was no place to pull over and grab some photographs. The beach towns themselves really reminded me of where I grew up along Mission and Pacific Beaches in San Diego. We walked out along the jetty in Palaves-les-Flots for some amazing views back onto the marina and the waterfront. Then we drove north to La Grande-Motte, a more upscale beach town, where we had lunch near the water. I went to the restroom and by the time I returned Chien-hui had learned the entire life history of the owner of this restaurant. This guy was from Spain, had been in the military, had lived in Thailand for years, then Los Angeles and Miami. I don’t know how she got that much information as I was only gone for a short time. He looked like a bouncer and somebody you wouldn’t think of messing with, but he was a sweetheart. She has that effect on people. Near the end of the meal, which was superb, we were inside paying the tab, and he started telling us that he wished he lived in the United States because there you are rewarded for your hard work. He said that here in France, every time you get ahead, the government comes in and smashes you back down with high taxes. He made a gesture with his palm facing the floor and jerked it up and down like a trash compactor.

Palaves-les-Flots, a beach area in Montpellier, feels like where I grew up

Remember last week when I wrote that the grass is greener everywhere? As we drove away and began the two-hour journey back to our village house, in our tiny rental car that gets 55 miles to the gallon, we noticed the immaculately kept streets, the newly paved roads, the logical roundabouts, and the great signage. We considered how much he was paying for health insurance for himself or his employees (Answer: not much, if anything). We commented on how there is no tipping in France, and how his employees can afford to work for him and invest in creating great food and building his business while making a living wage. While we were eating, we saw a group of school kids walking hand in hand with their teachers and chaperones, whose parents were not paying for school or the lunches that are far superior to anything our kids eat back home. We also saw seven- and eight-year-olds touring the museum a day earlier and nobody seemed too uptight about the copious nudity or religious violence in the art that they were absorbing. Nobody was going to shoot those kids here, presumably. He’s right, of course, you can work hard in the United States, and you can become fabulously wealthy, and it’s very easy to see how immigrants come to our country and within a generation or two they and their offspring are doing extremely well. Perhaps launching a technology business or even advising the president.

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