Un anno in Provenza di Peter Mayle

It found it hard to associate the idea of ​​a January 1, who also assured us all very normal, with the sun and the sky is a clear blue. After all, though, we were in Provence. 

We were there were several times by tourists, dissatisfied with our annual ration of two or three weeks of warm and bright light. Each time, andandocene skinned his nose and with much regret, we ripromettevamo to come, sooner or later, to live here. 

We had speech during long winters and gray, or green, humid summers, covering with a sigh of nostalgia pictures of market towns and vineyards, dreaming of being awakened by a dazzling sun through the windows of the bedroom. 

And now, almost to our surprise, we had thrown in the company, had bought a house, took French lessons, said goodbye to friends, we boarded our two dogs, and we had become strangers...