This priestess dispensed three-franc stamps as if they were holy sacraments. When she hand canceled any correspondence, the post office window panes shivered and small children muffled their ears. One morning, the post office manger surprisingly demanded a franc supplement for a post card I had brought. The surcharge was for having written too much, she said. The post office manager held up the post card by a corner.
Wine is cheap.
We're not coming home. For a fresh supply of the town's own post card with views of the Mendon village church, the town crossroads and an Etel River scene, I pedaled 50 meters from the post office to the town's one hardware store. An ancient well decorated with geraniums dominated the narrow courtyard that passed for a parking lot. Madame Rio, whose face was wrinkled like a dried apple, edged out tentatively from her kitchen to greet her customer. Her husband, Jean Rio was rarely to be found at his place of business.