It's summer in the South of France and for me that means seasonal allergies. Worse still, my supply of Claritin has run out. (This blog sounds like a commercial so far). The French stuff that I purchased delivers a knock out punch. Not only am I always sleepy, but also very punchy! Even more than normal! I owe apologies to numerous french waiters and hotel staff for meeting their innate rudeness or indifference with something far less than standard Canadian politeness. I'll deliver it to them symbolically later. Maybe from Juno Beach , Beaumont Hamel or Vimy Ridge you ungrateful ... Wait! Stop! There I go again. Time for a nap. That's better.

For the third and final time on this trip around the world we have bid adieu to the Joyal/Christies. In the last year we've punished our livers with them in Winnipeg, sailed the azure and sometimes angry seas of Croatia and, most recently, peddled our way through the scorching, picturesque countryside of Provence. Yesterday afternoon we saw them off from Avignon's City Centre train station. They'll be back in Canada tomorrow. Thinking about them catching a first glimpse of the Boreal Forrest, with its blue lakes and rocky shores glittering 30,000 feet below has me dreaming about our impending return to Shield Country. Less than four weeks until we touch down in Calgary for the Stampede! Hard to believe. Can hardly wait.

Our six day bike trip from Avignon to Arles was dreamy, despite the persistent plus 34 degree heat that followed us around. It was comfortable when we were moving on the bikes, but the moment we stopped the heat would descend upon us like a forest fire, sending us scurrying for shade. On our first day we got lost within ten minutes of departure. At least Colin made us believe we were lost. I had my doubts when he started surreptitiously stopping at cherry and apricot orchards. Hmmmmmm. We gorged ourselves on fresh fruit picked right from the roadside in the Provençal heat. Not a bad start.

Over the next six days we clocked about 125 km on our bikes, chatting merrily as we went from quant village to village. For the parents it was the epitome of relaxation. Easy, flat and sunny. We didn't expect Mira to have much trouble with the distances but we were thrilled to watch Kaya and Shannon push each other's limits through some 30 km plus days. When we all made it up the long hill leading to le Baux de Provence on Day 5, we felt like we'd conquered the Pyrenees or Ventoux on the Tour de France! Thank heavens there was a pool waiting at the end of each afternoon to spur them on until the barn was in sight. Mahri didn't burn off much energy from her chariot during the rides, but she more than made up for it around the pool in the evening.

How to describe the French countryside at this time of year? Other than "damn hot" and "power sneeze inducing", I think my memories will best be recalled through the sense of smell. Don't get me wrong now. The scenery was incredible, the taste of fresh fruit decadent, the heat therapeutic to the bones and the soul, and the sounds of the birds, frogs, beetles and crickets chirping in chorus was heavenly. But the smells! I'm convinced that a blind person could travel this part of the world and take as much or more joy from it than someone with full access to their senses. Of course there is the Lavender which is just coming into bloom here. As dazzling as the purple rows waving gently in the breeze are to the eyes, the soothing aroma that spreads from them is intoxicating. I would close my eyes and breath it in deeply whenever it offered itself up to us. Just thinking about it is relaxing. The scent of fresh flowers, hot, dry dirt, horses, pine trees and ripe fruit dangling enticingly from the orchards (you could actually smell the cherries and peaches) as we rolled by ensured that there was no monotony to our revolutions. Every now and again the shout of "car" from the front or back would momentarily remind us that we were not in some colourful, ridiculously fragrant dreamland. Then it would pass and back we'd all go to dreamland.

Try as we might, we seldom hit the road before 10:00am. That meant we would normally find ourselves searching frantically for a shady place to picnic at high noon. One day we spread ourselves out under a big tree in the middle of a village square and ordered cold beers from the adjacent pub. On another, the only shady place we could find was in a cemetery at the medieval fortress village of Baux de Provence. The flat stone atop an ancient family crypt made for a great table, but we got some strange looks from passers by who commented out loud that only "uneducated Americans would do such a thing." Hmmm, I guess saving their arses twice in one century doesn't allow much leeway! Personally, I'd be thrilled to hear the voices of laughing children above me if ever I was so unfortunate to have my bones stored away for eternity in such a dark, joyless place. On our last day we found a cool spot in the shade under one of the arches of a crumbling Roman aqueduct on the outskirts of Arles. I'm sure the ancients who labored over this once magnificent structure never envisioned two families from the far side of the Atlantic Ocean sipping cool drinks and nibbling fresh baguette stuffed with cheese, sundried tomatoes, buttery avocado and olives in its shadow two thousand years later. Or maybe they did. I took a bit of time to imagine what the life of a family stopping at this place for a rest in the year 2214 might be like. I had to give it up when the words from the theme song of the soap opera "Days of our Lives" started running through my head. "Like sands through the hour glass, so are the," Jaysus pass me a cold beer!

As I write this, we're on a train leaving Paris' Gare de Saint Lazzare en route to Caen where we will visit Juno Beach, the site of the Canadian landing on the beaches of Normandy just a little over 70 years ago. After that we'll follow the path of the invasion fleet in reverse to Portsmouth, England. I must admit that this is the selfish part of the trip for me. I've long dreamed of visiting the D-Day beaches that I've read so much about. In ten years there will be virtually no one left alive who took part in that great and tragic operation to liberate Europe. Not sure how I could ever impress upon the kids the importance and consequences of what took place there and how it shaped our world today. I did let them watch "Saving Private Ryan" last week despite the graphic violence of many of the scenes. They're convinced that the shores will still be soaked in blood when they walk the sandy beaches in their bathing suits tomorrow. In my mind they are as well. But I'm going for a swim, come hell, high water or the nouveau french right wing.

It's Fathers Day! Happy Fathers Day to my awesome Dad who, in addition to (still) working hard for us his whole life, passed on to my brother and I an insatiable curiosity about the world around us, a passion for history and a deep appreciation for the unique, the quirky and the unknown. There is no way that I would be on the tail end of a trip around the world with my kids if he didn't teach us to take risks, think big about life outside our own small spheres of concern and understand our small and brief place in it. I'll be sure to pass on belated greetings to his grandfather, and my girls' Great Great Grandfather, when we visit his soon to be 100 year old grave in Flanders in a few weeks. I've also got a few questions to put to him as to which side of the family I can thank for these damn allergies! Maybe we'll stop a while and have a picnic with him. If any of the locals give us lip, I'll just pull out my best John Wayne accent and say "You're Welcome, Pilgrim."

Bye for now.