
There are actually apple trees everywhere around here. I was told that it's difficult to do a lot of things in France, but getting your apples pressed isn't one of them. You can just take your apples to the local presser, and they squish them down and give you the apple juice. And boy is it good! We had bought a litre of apple juice to have with our picnic of cheese and bread. Though, it turned out, drinking a litre of apple juice all in one go, isn't such a good idea...



We were also lucky to have dropped into the local pâtisserie to buy an ice-cream as we discovered that this week (du 21 au 29 septembre) pâtissiers celebrate their patron saint, Saint Michel.


Actually, I'm a little intrigued by the concept of patron saints, so did a quick Google search and found that a Saint Michel is also the patron saint of parachutists, strangely enough. Spurred on by the apparent nugget of truth in my mum's assertion that practically every activity on earth has a parton saint, I googled again and found that, by jove, she might be right!
Sensibly, there is a patron saint "against snakes". Umm, actually make that 8 patron saints against them. Which upon reflection is a bit harsh. Why are they against them?? Do snakes have a patron saint? Or even a patron saint for snakes - against humans? (We all know that snakes are more frightened of people than we are of them...)
Then there are patron saints for animals as well as animals with horns, domestic animals, sick animals and animal attacks. There are 3 saints for protection against mice and one against caterpilllars. There are saints for losing your keys, against explosions (Saint Barbara...), against fainting and also stinging nettle rash, which I will have to remember for next time. And Radegunde is the lucky guy who gets to be the patron against scabs. (And they are just a few of the A's!)
Anyhoo, the rest of the day we spent exploring the town which is when I started to develop crytoscopophilia. Of course, I didn't know the name of it at the time. It was just a coincidence that my mum was reading a book later that day which oddly enough contained the name of my nosey condition. It means "an urge to look through the windows of the homes you pass". And it's true. I can't help myself. I stop in my tracks if I've passed an open window, jumped a step back and poke my head in. I mean, the houses are right up against the pathway. It's very difficult not to poke your head in, to see how the "others" live, right??



Although I haven't been yelled at yet, is it a habit that I should try to get out of quickly. But apart from that, I think yesterday was probably the best day yet in France. And today, I'm going to ride my bike around town and try to find some more cool stuff. That's the good thing about French towns. So many little nooks and crannies to explore. (And poke your head into.)
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