Does "Chabeuil" mean tacky?

Today is Sunday and we are in a tacky little town called Chabeuil. It has an “ancient town” in the middle -- Roman -- which at first glance looks charming and quaint. Then you start noticing that all the people are mouth-breathers and they don’t seem quite right. We sat and had a pression (beer) on the terrace of what at first appeared to be the nicest restaurant in town but ends up being a biker bar filled with people with bad teeth.

Getting here was well worth the trip, however. The cyclists went over the Laval -- a breathtaking series of steep climbs, deep valleys, and roads and tunnels chiseled into pure rock. The views around every corner were très magnifique and on at least a couple of occasions (where there weren’t guardrails) terrifying. It was a stunningly beautiful day and I saw it turn from Summer to Autumn in a 30-minute period of time. Then, when we came over the last pass the topography changed dramatically from mountains and trees to, well, Provence. Since I’ve never been here, it’s fun to see but I’ll be surprised if it compares with the magnificence of the past few days as far as scenery goes.

I should mention that all of the hotels on this trip aren’t three- and four-star and the one we stayed in last night was a good example of the “lesser” variety. At least it has a decent swimming pool -- filled with ice water so the French citizens lounging on the edge can watch the expressions of the Americans when they hit the water for the first time. Très amusing! I expect Norman Bates to come waltzing down the hall at any moment. His mother surely runs the joint and she’s right out of Central Casting. Worst of all, we have washcloths at home bigger than the towels here. Time to move on!

Tomorrow is my next WW meeting. I only had one croissant at breakfast this morning...