It's begun hailing again in Maastricht--the 2nd time 3 days. This time it's coming down so quickly that our patio is white with unmelted hail. Thankfully we've made it back from our bike ride in time--from the pinging sound and the way people are scurrying for cover I don't think Ellie would be happy about being pelted. Ah--Dutch weather. I love Maastricht. When I go away I always come back with a new appreciation for it and insight into what makes this a great place to live. This time I appreciate how people speak English so easily and even eagerly, how restaurants are open early (in France we had a real problem eating dinner before 8pm--too late for a 2 3/4 year old and a pregnant mama given that the lunch hour ends 1:00 or 1:30ish), the cafe we frequent so often (Coffeelovers, for you Maastricht veterans), the quirkiness of the Dutch and the ease of living (demonstrated just yesterday when I needed to have Ellie's throat looked at and a doctor 2 blocks away cheerfully and promptly got her in and expertly managed her care). I have decided, however, that I don't so much appreciate the weather. I ran into another American who said that while she loves Maastricht, she just can't go any longer with weather that is either threatening to rain or raining (and no gentle spring rain here--it's always accompanied by a wicked sideways wind). Giving up on the Netherlands, she's booked their last month in Europe in Provence just so that she can see the sun before she goes home. I get that. Even in Minnesota, when it's bitterly cold, we get to see the sun. But it's not guaranteed here. However, there's a sort of Dutch stoicism about it all and an ability to just get through it, assisted by things like rain suits to go over your regular clothes so you can bike through downpours and some crazy biking skills that enable you to hold an umbrella (and your groceries and even possibly a cigarette) as you bike home with a child or two in tow. The older female generation is still known to don the occasional rain bonnet--the plastic thing that ties under your chin that I associate with old ladies at church who still have their hair washed and set once a week. I have now acquired an appreciation for the rain bonnet's utility and will admit that during a huge deluge, with rain sheeting in my face and my eyes squinting to see where I was biking, I enviously eyed a woman's bonnet as we waited together at the red light. See--that's what Dutch weather weather will get you--wanting to wear a rain bonnet! This is the kind of red flag that sent us packing for Provence in search of restoration of mental health . . .
So where was I about Provence? Well, I'll cut it short and say that we'd like to return, preferably when lavender is in season. The mountains, the ancient ruins, the villages, the food, the landscape and the sun--it's a place to return to for sure. Here are some more pictures. The top two are in Avignon, famous for the bridge and the song. That's what's left of the famous bridge (part was taken by a flood way back) from the view of the gardens of the Pope's palace. You would think that the beautiful Avignon carousal would play the song, but no. It played an organ version of The Chicken Dance. The third picture was taken on the way to Vaison la Romaine, just of the countryside and a typical little Provencal village off in the distance. The last two are at Vaison la Romaine--the 1st is of an old, but renovated, Roman arena that the village still uses and the final one is of Ellie and I hiking up to yet another medieval castle, she's saying--"Why do I have to go to all this old stuff?"
Hey--it's stopped hailing and it's a bright blue sky. Maybe we'll venture out to Coffeelovers. Cheers!
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