“The French don't snack. They will tear off the end of a fresh baguette (which, if it's warm, it's practically impossible to resist) and eat it as they leave the boulangerie.” — Peter Mayle I am awakened by the morning breeze that carries the slightest hint of pine and I open my eyes to the early light rising just behind the mountain. Above me is a fresco from the 12th century and I feel that maybe this should be a museum and not part of the apartment my wife and I have rented for the week. The blue of the ceiling adds a sky like quality to the room which used to be the Arch Bishop’s private chapel when he was in residence. Below me on the floor is a ring for a very heavy chain and I begin to wonder about its purpose until I realize that some riddles are better left unexplored.