Petanque Is Fun

Now I know why the crowds of old men gather daily in the park-- even under the greyest of skies-- to play round after round of boules. Now I also understand why it always reeks of urine in the bushes nearby. After a perfectly French Sunday lunch (Pierre's perfect courses of aperitif with mystery-meat pate, roast beef with vegetables from the garden, cheese, homemade plum tart, wine, wine, and another bottle of wine ) with Vincent and Marielle, we partook in the perfectly-French pasttime of Sunday afternoon petanque. Rolling balls repetitively across the dirt for hours? I had my doubts. But boy, was it fun. Especially after three bottles of wine. The gentlemen in their cute, little caps-- all smiles, but all serious as they use sticks to carefully measure and determine the winning ball-- also imbibed plenty of tasty French vine (judging from their frequent disappearances into the bushes).


Image Via Petanque Postcards