It was more of a working vacation, in Southern California, clearing out an apartment for sale, which is always more work than a person anticipates.

Some visits with family, with whom we did a sort of relay of bedroom-crashing. Thanks to all of them for their wonderful hospitality.

Got a baseball game in, the Angels losing at home to the Astros 4-2. Boy, are the Angels a bad team — their regular lineup has about three big-league hitters in it, total: Trout, Pujols, Calhoun.

The plane ride back was the typical horror we have come to expect, even on transoceanic flights — economy class packed out in the now de rigueur 3-4-3 arrangement. Perfunctory service, 11 hours (counting the one spent on the ground) in the plane of listening to kids cry.

Change planes at CDG, another jammed ride, this one to Montpellier, but a ride of only 80 minutes, so survivable.

And then the reward: The rolling, vine-covered hills of the Languedoc.

California is losing its allure, at least to these expats, who are natives of SoCal. Crowded freeways. Expensive groceries. Ruinously expensive housing. Bitter politics. Homeless people.

It was nice to be able to watch the NBA semifinals (and other live sports) on TV, but that is not enough to tie a person to SoCal in his or her retirement.

Not when a slow-motion, low-stress option exists in the south of several countries in western Europe.

We rolled into our town, population 700, and moved into a new apartment. The photo, above, is the view from the balcony of the one-bedroom, third-story apartment we plan to be in for four months.

Tomorrow we will take a walk over the one-lane roads south of the city, and check on how the grapes are doing. How big should they be in early June? Big enough to notice, I would think.

It is good to be here, letting the air-travel stress fall away and embracing the tiny town where we already recognize this and that resident, and say a merry bon jour! to everyone we meet as we head into the vineyards.