I realise that I’ve mentioned a couple of times this summer trip to the Pyrenees, but never really elaborated upon it. Guillaume and I went to a flea market in Paris last weekend, and I bought some antique postcards of Laruns (where we were camping, and, if you recall, Tour de France passed through there at the 200km mark for Stage 16, on July 25th) and Pic du Midi d’Ossau (where we spent two gruelling days walking).

The French are big on “stay at home” travelling – just check out any campsite in summer time for testament to this! But with the coastal choice of the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, the Pyrenees and the Alps for more mountainous options, plus vineyards, farms and forests… well who can blame them, really?

So I thought with all the glum weather here in Paris (the sepia-tones of the postcards weren’t’ enough to shift the grey), it was time to heave out the old photo album and reminisce. Of course, things aren’t like the old days anymore, and looking at the images just requires opening a folder on the computer and electing to view it as a slideshow. How times have changed… Here are some sunny summer holiday images for you all!

I’ve definitely realised that our hiking motto (even though it was just used to covertly stop and catch one’s breath) rings clear, loud and true:

“C’est beau la France!”

Just a cautionary word for any French going to England and any British coming to France – don’t make first-time assumptions according to window dressings.

It’s a small cultural difference, but one that was a source of confusion for me the first time I visited France… but just because the shutters are closed doesn’t mean the inhabitants have fled to Mexico. Just letting you all know…

French window shutters are an invention both magnificent aesthetically and practically. How else can fellow light sleepers have a few more hours in bed of a morning? Plus, they must be a far more efficient way of conserving energy and regulating temperature than curtains. However, I couldn’t shake the distinct feeling on my first visit(s) to France that either no one was home, or they wanted to create the impression that this was the case. I felt almost claustrophobic being on the street when everything was shut, like I was surrounded by walls rather than dwellings. I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the shutters were strange, despite their obvious rustically “French” appeal.

Similarly, and here is where it gets funny, Guillaume never felt quite right on his first visit to England. It wasn’t anything that he could clearly put his finger on, but just that equal awkwardness about the windows – that somehow a more open impression was created somewhere through the psychology of curtains. He felt that English windows lacked privacy as the eye is brazenly invited to wander in to the familial intimacy of the living room.

During the summer holidays, we went hiking in the Pyrenees. On passing through a thermal mineral water town which was abandoned after its 19th century heydays, it was pointed out to me that it was practically a ghost town, that no one really lived there anymore. I saw my chance…“But how can you tell?”

“Well, the shutters are closed”.

I couldn’t help but suppress a smile.