The long road

From 1978 to 2006 at least every other year, first with a group of friends, then with a smaller group, then finally with my ex, I've happily traversed France...  oddly, given how planned some of this may appear, I was happiest just wandering around out of the 'holiday' season - mainly August - just getting up early, driving to what looks like a great place to wander around, have some refreshments, a snack lunch (NEVER borrowing a restaurant's precious table space to do this*), then either a preprandial snooze, a game of Crib or Scrabble, in the shade (I get sunburned off reflected light), finally the serious business of discussing the meal, selecting a decent bottle to split between myself and a companion... then an aperitif and a very sound sleep.

In the early days before the French government forced hoteliers and restaurateurs to treat members of their families as paid employees and (the first in a long series of tax grabs), there were a much larger number of restaurants than there are now.  The quality has declined...  there are two excellent articles which explain the reasons latterly 

And across a greater span of time 

In the SW of France, a lot of restaurateurs and café owners hated Mitterand with the kind of feral passion they would normally reserve for someone who had slept with their wife.  On one occasion, after I'd said "Mitterand" and made various uncomplimentary gestures. ended up with the chap, his wife and I amiably talking nonsense over a bottle of brandy - they were both very kind and patient putting up with my mangling of their language.  If I'd spoken English at them in that intolerable way that middle class English people do, increasing the volume until they can be heard half a mile away**, my acquaintance and knowledge of France, French and two really nice people would never have happened.

**It's no wonder that waiters often just give a Gallic shrug and go and serve someone else or disappear out the back for a Gauloise...  Retribution was delivered on one occasion by someone adding a snail to the salad.  Mrs Shouty screamed and upset their table, Mr Shouty shouted at the waiter.  After a few muttered "désolé" from the waiter and after I'd managed to control the hysterical laughter that threatened to overcome me, I shouted at them to shut up and allow the others to enjoy their meal.  They did, once they realised their appalling behaviour was being witnessed by other English folk.

This is the excellent place in Cahors where these folk paraded their incivility...