Three Scourges of Provence: Scourge #1

Historically Provence has three scourges: parliament, the Mistral (a wickedly stubborn cold wind) and the Durance River. Only the Durance River has been tamed with dams and canals subduing its wild torrents. The Mistral continues to blow as it will and parliament, well, parliament remains parliament.

After a week of Provençal life, I would add three additional contemporary scourges.

Scourge #1: Dog poop that befouls unsuspecting pedestrians. Sure it's no fun to pick up a steaming hot smelly deposit but, if you're going to take your pet out for walks, clean up after it; it's a public courtesy. So we think and legislate in Canada, apparently not so in France. Consequently, you need eyes in your toes and peepholes in your shoes.

In Johannesburg, I had the honour of steeping in fresh dog poop in M's parents' garden. Unsuspectingly, I traipsed it across the clean stoep, into the house and onto the Persian carpet before M's Dad noticed and stopped me from progressing any further in my poop journey.

In the Kruger Park, I stepped in a big dollop of bird poop and traipsed it into the kitchen with me. Again M's Dad noticed asking, "Who stepped in the poop?" As I was the only one in the kitchen, he answered his own question, "You again?" So I just know you're wondering if I made it three in a row in Provence.

We stuck our heads into a church in Nîmes and a dear old lady was finishing up washing the ancient floor. She motioned for us to come in, but we declined, not wanting to walk on her still wet floor. "Nous regardons seulement," was my polite reply. "We are only looking" as though we were window shopping for churches. It was the best I could say.

Turning back, I noticed a smear of dog poop at the entrance and the offending mound just steps away. Oh! Oh! M and I hurriedly checked our shoes. Relief: it wasn't me. Double relief: M hadn't walked the dog poop onto the still wet clean floor of the church. His response on observing the mushy muck under his shoe: "Vreselijk!" Dutch for "Yuk! Yughh!" And it is. It may not be so bad if all the culprits were Yorkshire Terriers but Rottweilers and Bullmastiffs are in a league of their own.