I spent a week hiking thrrough the countryside of Central France. One warm day I was out of out of water and stopped by one of the small inns where pilgrims have lodged for hundreds of years. They didn’t speak English, but were glad to fill my water bottles.

Since it was lunch time I decided to order something because they were so nice. I ordered an omelet (by far the best omelet I’ve ever had) and ½ bottle of wine. As I finished my meal a tour group arrived accompanied by a bilingual guide. The restaurant owner was concerned as to how I enjoyed my meal and had the guide translate.

Greeting the owner, I stood first the first time in over an hour and realized the impact of wine coursing through the body and mind of a dehydrated hiker. A little wobbly I assured the chef the meal was delicious. After paying my bill I staggered out of the courtyard and back to the trail. I made it about 200 meters before collapsing into a farmer’s field where I proceeded to stuff myself with cookies followed by a nice nap while bathed by the soft sunlight of a country French fall afternoon.

From that day on I always left villages with a couple of bottles of French wine to accompany my lunches and dinners and any other occasion else for that matter.