It was a beautiful day in Arles, in the South of France. Kate and I were not yet engaged. We walked through the town trying to find all of the sights where Vincent Van Gogh had painted. The Yellow House, the Bridge, the Hospital in Arles and the Cafe’ de Nuit… Time, and the second World War had taken their toll on some of the sights, but much of the French village was as I imagine it had been during Vincent’s stay.
I was madly racing around photographing the small lanes lined by even smaller cottages until Kate took the camera from me and started photographing an ancient church.
A small group had formed on the front steps of the church, like an organized tour. Being good tourists we thought that we could inconspicuously tag along with the group.
While the group waited at entrance to the church, I admired the view of tiled roof tops and Kate darted amongst the crowd taking photographs of everything.
It was only then that I noticed how well dressed the crowd was. And more importantly I noticed that some members of the crowd were watching Kate very suspiciously.
Suddenly all the pieces inside my small brain fell into place. I quickly started to make my way through the crowd towards where Kate was busily taking photographs.
I arrived at Kate’s side just as the Hearse was pulling up outside of the church.
The locals were clearly used to bad mannered tourists and, under the circumstances, treated the whole incident with very good manners.