The tiny village where I grew up is still beautiful and remote. A few years ago, we hired a small cottage on its outskirts and walked to a vast waterfall called the Loup. Today, Cam suggested this might be a good place to have lunch. We parked not far from the cottage and followed the overgrown path across the hill. The ravine is well-hidden – only when you are very close do you begin to hear the roar of the water and then, as you come round a slope, the ground falls away before you to reveal the multitude of torrents, crashing down onto a series of black rock steps before disappearing into the tree tops far below.
The path winds its way gently down to a stone shelf at the very top of the waterfall, and there we sat, right on the edge, and had lunch.
I’ve enjoyed picnics in some very beautiful places, but this was surely one of the best. There, with our hands trailing in the water as it sailed out over the precipice, with the foam and mist below, and the long valley stretching out towards the distant mountains, we had the best table anyone could wish for.
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