Each year as I arrive in the US for three weeks reuniting with the kids I dread the adjustments which are required. The six hour difference takes a mild reset of nature’s clock. Monetary differences need rethinking as does tipping and taxes on damn near everything.

First of all let’s establish the reason for this blog. I left Quillan with a bitter taste in my mouth. Six weeks later I arrived here with an entirely revised outlook.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. In fact it wasn’t supposed to end. Life in Quillan reminds me of The Truman Show. We expats exist in a bubble of smiles, bonjours and cheek pecking, of dinners, aperos and fetes in the squares, of coffee in the morning and drinks on market days, of gatherings on special occasions at the restaurant of choice.

I used to watch only one biking event each year from my recliner in our home in Michigan. Not to insult my friends who elevate biking to greater heights than most sports fans, I would normally enjoy viewing baseball which is as slow moving as sport can get rather than bicycle racing. However, the Tour de France kept me spellbound as the racers climbed impossible mountains, sped through hairpin turns, and passed through neat ancient villages.

Quillan is a welcoming place. In this blog, I’ve taken note of the interesting architectural elements added by the city over the years.

During the last months as the curfew followed the lockdown and the lockdown followed the curfew and still the end to the Covid pandemic is nowhere in sight, conversations with friends have often morphed into debates about the merits of the great cities of Europe. Jules and I have been fortunate to visit a number of them but Lyon is our favorite.

This blog is a salute to those expats who have found a niche within the society of the Haute Velley and applied their knowledge, skills and passion in filling that void. Quillan and surrounding villages will thrive or wither on the quality of the local workers and artisans.

Within a short drive there are numerous good wineries. Here's a suggestion on the makings of a great day trip.

Observations from across the pond: eggs, gas prices, small towns, and dog poop. A trip to America highlights the many striking differences between living in the US and living abroad.

Several years ago, Ju and I met Olivier Lacourt. We were dining at the Platanes for the first time and the greeting from the smiling face who seated us was genuinely warm. The food was good, but the service was exceptional and made the night memorable. Many visits later, after witnessing Olivier serve groups of twenty or more as well as intimate date nights, the conclusion is clear - he is the best waiter ever to serve us.