Every February this village on the boarder of France and Italy hosts a citrus festival. They make structures out of lemons and oranges. This year each depicted either a movie genre or scene from a film. There is also a parade, but we missed that. Zach did see a posse of Cowboys and Indians twirling ropes and riding horses. Welcome to France. He says the French love westerns.
Zach bought a crepe and I bought a hot lemonade (it was cold out) along with some orange shaped candy to take home to the kids.
After seeing the citrus we wandered through the streets until we came to the Mediterranean. There were some pretty crazy signs and the sea was beautiful.
The sign with the alien wind surfer cracked me up.
That night we ate pizza, seeing as we were so close to Italy. There we were, 4 adults and 6 kids in a little restaurant with only one who can (more easily than some) speak French. We were enjoying each others company while the staff watched us intently. Then a large group of what looked like a middle aged soccer/rugby team came in. I thought for sure they would be louder than us. Nope. Not a word passed between them. Were they listening to us? Do Europeans not speak while eating with friends? What gives? I imagine that after we left they continued on with their lives. Which included speaking while eating together.