The Secret World of the Ardeche
It is art that makes life, makes interest, makes importance . . . and I know of no substitute whatever for the force and beauty of its process.—henry james
Except for the cats that wandered in hope for a vole, the southern Rhone hilltop town of Castillon du Gard was silent. I was waiting for Matt Kling and Amy Lillard, American transplants to this area, whom I had met through the usual means these days, the booming wine community on the Internet. I liked what Amy had to say, and she liked what I had to say. There I was in France, propped up near my suitcase, sitting near the one open café, which was adjacent to the church, fascinated by a swaddled man who was probably on his fourth drink of the afternoon and who picked his nose without apology.
Cute, I thought and then pondered the couple who was about to fetch me.A little over a decade ago, Amy and Matt had hooked up at Ker- mit Lynch’s Eurocentric wine store in Berkeley. She worked. He shopped. They married. Francophones forever, they headed east to Paris in.
Why not? After all, they were young, fluent, and free.