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Despite our best intentions and plans, sometimes my husband and I just forget that when travelling in the French countryside, you must be ready to eat lunch at midi (12 noon) or you run the risk of missing out. So we often have a picnic packed which we can enjoy by a river or in a park, at a time when we are ready to eat. Usually, we at least have some snack food with us. However, on this particular Saturday, in July 2015, we were not so organised. We were moving from one accommodation in Saint-Cyprien in the spectacular Dordogne area, to our next in Blaye on the Gironde River near Bordeaux, when we were almost caught out by getting waylaid in our cross country meandering. We had intended to reach Blaye much earlier that day, so that we could explore the markets. Our previous host was such an interesting character that our farewell extended a little too long and we made the choice to avoid the major roads to see the countryside along the way, winding along country roads, admiring the beautiful fields and hamlets. So there we were, somewhere between destinations, midi had come and gone, when we realised our dilemma. We were hungry and struggling to find a restaurant or café. Deep in the heart of rural France there are not as many dining opportunities and weekends are popular for French people to dine out, meeting up with their families or friends for an enjoyable extended meal. It was about half past one when we were driving through a tiny village and spotted ‘Le Chat Noir’ restaurant with cars parked outside. We sheepishly approached and to our surprise we were warmly welcomed, followed up with an explanation that moulés frites was the plat de jour. We gratefully accepted and the chef went off to the kitchen to prepare our meal. The only other people in this little restaurant were a family of several generations enjoying a lively conversation over a bottle of wine. Within minutes we were tucking into our delicious meal accompanied by local wine and exclaiming about our good luck in stumbling upon this little gem of a restaurant and their kindness and hospitality shown to crazy Australians arriving out of normal hours. When we finished our meal, the elderly gentleman and a lady from the other table approached us. The lady translated for him. He wanted to thank us, as Australians, for helping the French in the two world wars. We were the first Australians he had ever met in his 70 years. His speech was heartfelt, telling of the stories handed down to him of the courage and sacrifices of the Australian forces. He then presented us with a bottle of wine as a gift. Emotions flowed as we humbly accepted this most unexpected gift, with thanks to this complete stranger at a chance meeting in rural France and we will never forget this moment. As we left the village we remembered to check the name of the place. Saint-Ciers-d’Abzac. I feel blessed to have made this amazing connection and it cemented my love of France forever.