Dear Alex, Homeowner and Philanthropist

On the road to "the place"

Dear Alex,

We have arrived!

I am standing on your third floor (that is the third floor only for Americans. It is the second floor for my British friends...I know y'all have a hard time counting floors in a building) of your home. You know, it is the house that we are borrowing while we are staying spitting distance from Spain--not one of the other homes that you own. 

I figure that the likelihood of anyone else being this high this early in the morning is pretty slim, since this seems to be a town whose population is mostly too old to climb too high this early in the day. You guys are excluded from this qualification, of course, but your neighbors by and large seem to fit this generalization. This actually works out well for the fam and me because the older generation is incredibly patient with our lame French and always takes the time to listen hard, finish our sentences, and then respond very slowly and clearly. I am in love. 

The balcony...a good place to
stand and watch the world go by
sans clothes.

Because of the town's predominant demographic, and because I can do it, I am starkers on the black iron-wrought balcony that juts off of the home, which also happens to hang over the town’s main road. As an added bonus for someone who is lacking clothing, this home also looks down a side street that sports a now-abandoned hotel, ensuring that there will be no one looking back at me.

We have all of the windows open and the shutters pulled back so that we can take advantage of the breezes that roll down the foothills of the Pyrenees and curl over the valley’s grape vines on their way into this house. The breezes are so intense that, just like you requested, Alex, we have posted heavy objects in front of all of the propped-open, glass-plated doors so that the breezes don’t force the doors shut and shatter the glass.

Please note, Alex, that we have placed the required heavy things in front of the doors.

I figure that should earn us a few good house guest points--propping the doors, I mean--not strolling buff.

People with too many children don't have libraries
that are this cool--shoot we don't even have a library.
We just have bookshelves.

While we have been at your place, we have decided that we need to continue to befriend people with fewer children and more class and money than we have, because that is the reason that I can stand here right now with all of my parts hanging out. And you can't imagine how much I appreciate taking in a view in the early morning in the state that I am in.

The new patio

According to the propaganda distributed by the wine-making cooperative of your tiny hamlet, this place only gets 45 days of rain a year, and we have been fortunate enough to be here for two of those days (or unfortunate, depending on where in the world you are coming from--but since we are coming from the Middle East, just as you will be soon, we consider ourselves fortunate that it has rained) . 

But today, on our third day, the skies are bright blue. Instead of the air feeling muggy and sluggish, it is crisp and cool and enjoyable. This is what your patio looked like early early this morning, Alex!

As I finish this up, I notice that the guy who lives across the way thinks it is a beautiful day, too. He is also naked and standing on his balcony. I wave. He waves back. Vive la France.

We have the place ready for you when you arrive, Alex (don't worry, we'll wash the sheets!). See you guys soon!

Rachel, Tony, and Offspring