While in France this summer my professor and I decided to explore the French countryside a bit more before dinner. We drove up and down and around little Burgundian villages covered in thick green ivy, sprouting up and ’round the sharp peaks of the revered churches and crumbling houses. And then we came across this place. I believe it was a museum, or an art gallery- I can’t quite remember. But we pulled up in the car and there was this man, sitting quietly watching the area; unaware of our car’s arrival until we stopped. We pulled up and started looking around, taking pictures of this beautiful little gem. The curator came out and explained in broken English that the grounds were closed for the day, so we were about to leave. That’s when the old mans wife came outside, smiling, and sat beside him.
Two photographers and a perfect French picture. The rest is history.