We figured that since St Mihael was the next major centre “on the list” for those on the great migration north, and since they would take at least several hours longer than we, there was a good chance we’d find a spot. We were absolutely correct on both counts and a near empty dock on our arrival became something of a log jam by mid afternoon.
Feeling a little on the side of smug about all this, we happily lazed away the heat of the day watching our washing dry, delaying our usual perambulations until the evening’s cool, taking an early tea to fortify ourselves in readiness for our pre-nocturnal outing.
As we wandered among the dying embers of the setting sun, on the far side of the village we re-discovered a tiny little square that verged on quaint. There we found a little twilight farmer’s market and our heart rates quickened at the prospect of what we may find. Had the empty boxes on all the stalls, save for the odd wobbly zucchini or withered rhubarb leaf not given us a clue, the contented stall holders idly chatting over beer and wood fired pizza certainly did.
“Perhaps you should have been here a little earlier monsieur”.
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