Castres, France

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What a week its been. After pushing back the closing date on the sale of our Arizona house, the lender determined our buyer had committed bank fraud--forging documents and even having an imposter pose as her Charles Schwab representative--so the whole deal imploded at the 11th hour. The full story is much more involved, but I'll spare you the details, because the twists and turns of this real estate transaction could fill a novel. Instead, I'll jump to the final chapter, which appears will have a happy ending. We are fortunate to have the world's hardest working realtor, and she had us under contract with another buyer by the end of the week. In much need of a distraction after our real estate roller coaster, we set out to explore the town of Castres and tour a house that's for sale on the outskirts of the city. The highways in France are crazy, narrow-winding lanes that require you to hug the sides of the ditch when cars approach from the other directiion. As a passenger in the car, I can appreciate the spectacular views that look very similar to the rolling green hills in Tuscany. But as the primary driver, Bill's perspective is notably different (and louder). To be fair, our GPS is forever 2 steps behind, stumbling to pronouce street names that run longer than most paragraphs. I love to travel, and pesonally I try to appreciate the journey as much as the destination, but that's apparently much easier to do when you're not behind the steering wheel. However, moods improved significantly when we found that we really liked the house we toured--we just both wish it was more walkable to the city center. We also spent some time walking through the center of town and found it to be another charmer. The Agout River runs through Castres, and the homes and bridges along its path reminded us both of Amsterdam (minus the relentless crowd and kamikaze bicyclists). FUN FACT: the public toilets (in rest stops, gas stations and even restaurants) do not have seats. Usually there a few stalls with porceline-rimmed holes in the floor (not an option for women who wear pants), and one seatless toilet bowl, which is not an option for women with arthritic knees and/or those with diminished strength or balance (hello multiple sclerosis, I kinda thought you'd thrown me your last curve ball). So how does a lady pee when out and about in France (not to mention those non-gender specific times when sitting is required)? I'm told the seats were removed for sanitary reasons, but I can tell you from experience that the no-seat option has not yielded the desired effect. I also plead guilty to having personally contributed to this unfavorable outcome. "Sorry for my piddle puddles, France."
 
 

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