Drive for an hour to a neighbouring town and you might as well land on the moon. So close, yet worlds apart. Honeyed stone. Wider streets with central gutters, room for the cars to roar past without clipping your shins. Except the cars probably do not roar in this genteel place. Tidy facades, with shutters the colour of money.
The vendor at the brocante is selling a très rare postcard for 15 euros, a stack of identical postcards in his other hand.
Lots of looking today. A cool drink. Beautiful surroundings and a breathtaking view across the valley.
But non, merci, no postcards.