In the evening, Peter and I arrived in the little town of Nyons, which is in the Rhone Valley of Southern France’s Provence country. It was hot and we were tired, welcoming a dinner in the town square, called the Place des Arcades.
As we settled down into our chairs at a sidewalk restaurant, we saw that the square was swirling with dancers. Tango music came from speakers in the trees. The music and the sensuous dance of push-me/pull-you lovers spun a dreamlike spell in which we were like swimmers floating in the evening air.
Later, we walked down to the iconic bridge to watch the sunset smear the horizon in violet and carnellian orange. When we came back down the narrow, Medieval streets to the plaza, the dancers were still spinning like cranes that lift their heads and wings in ritualized courtship.