More advice: during the month of August, the major cities of Provence are to be avoided. While beautiful, charming and filled with cultural attractions, we found them crowded, hot and difficult to manage with a car, where finding legal places to park is a nightmare and traffic jams abound. In fact, we took the decision to leave Vaison la Romaine without seeing one Roman ruin after spending 45 minutes maneuvering through a traffic tie-up leading to the weekly market.

In Aix-en-Provence, a verbal "altercation" with another driver over a parking spot was later "rewarded" with a parking ticket stuck to the windshield. The advantages to the cities, however, are the amenities you won't find in the small towns such as cyber cafés, American Express offices, museums and laundromats.

In Avignon, hot and bright with not a cloud in the sky, we visited a special exhibition at the Palais des Papes that intellectually not one of us could understand. I hope that we were the only ones who were so mentally disabled. In Arles, we sneaked into the ancient Roman amphitheater just before closing long enough for a brief view of the arena and to take snap shots of the interior structure.

In Aix-en-Provence, where the Cours Mirabeau is inaccessible to cars due to a complete face-lift underway, we found respite in a cyber café and then later in a courtyard café for a soda float (if you want one in France, order the Coke and the ice cream apart then make it for yourself and expect your waiter to stare at you with wonder and disgust!).

We especially enjoyed the open-air markets which move from town to town. St.-Rémy-de-Provence has the area's most famous and is likely the largest assortment of Provençal products. My favorite stalls, absolute feasts for the eyes, are of spices in open bowls, mounds of olives of dozens of different varieties, hand-woven baskets of all shapes, sizes and colors and scented soaps, body care lotions and fragrances.

Provençal tomatoes are firy red, juicy and sweet. You can buy garlic bulbs and red peppers on braids to hang in your kitchen. To dress up your dining room, don't leave without a set of printed tablecloths, place mats and matching napkins in Provençal yellows, blues, greens, oranges. It is impossible to leave empty handed.

All in all, however, we found the smaller villages to be the most beautiful and agreeable: La Fontaine de Vaucluse (the source of the Sorgue River), Eygalières with it's evening festival and parade, Nyons known for its olive oil and tapenades, Carpentras with the oldest synagogue in France, built in the 14th century and still accommodating a congregation.

Our last two days in Provence we drove east from the Alpilles to the Luberon. We were very pleasantly surprised to find the chambres d'hôtes we had reserved from Madame Françoise Herry, Impasse de la Cordière, to be in one of the prettiest villages of the Luberon -- Lourmarin. It boasts of the 15th century Château de Lourmarin, which is the burial spot of writers Albert Camus and Henri Bosco, and has a two-star Michelin restaurant, Moulin de Lourmarin.

The traveling open-air market comes to Lourmarin every week, enabling us to buy any goodies we had missed in St.-Remy-de-Provence. From this home base, we were in direct route to the hill towns of the Luberon, my favorite picturesque part of Provence: Bonnieux, Oppède-le-Vieux, Ménerbes, Gordes, Roussillon.

In Bonnieux, I was the only one willing to climb all the steps to the top terrace where a 12th-century church still stands. Angelic singing coming from within the church could be heard clearly from just outside the door and a smallcrowd had gathered to listen intently.

Cars weren't allowed into Oppède-le-Vieux, so we parked in the lot and trekked up the snake path in the deadly heat. The girls rested under the shade of a tree while my friend and I forged up the hill into the tiny town. We never got much further than the café in the plaza (one of the two!) exhausted from the heat and the climb. If we hadn't been demoralized by the heat, we would have climbed up to the summit where a 13th-century church still stands and affords a magnificent view of the Coulon Valley, the plateau of the Vaucluse and the village of Ménerbes.

Ménerbes was made famous by Peter Mayle in his tale titled A Year in Provence, the trials and tribulations of an Englishman and his wife who have set out to retire to an old stone Provençal home in "peace." Tourists flock here now, but the charm remains and we lunched on big beautiful salads in an open terraced restaurant with a view of the surrounding hills and farms. Steep stair-stepped narrow streets make up the center of the city of Gordes, leading to breathtaking views of the cliffs and environs. Boutiques of Provençal products abound. Tourism has made its mark on Gordes. My fondest memory there is of the tiny wood-carved tiger cat I found as a gift for friend and associate, Linda Thalman (WebFrance International) and the refreshing ice cream cone I had on a shady terrace of a café overlooking the renaissance château.

In Roussillon, the red and orange colors of the buildings of ochre stone are breathtakingly rich and vibrant. Ochre is a mixture of sand and oxidized iron used as a base for paints. This is France's most important region for the production of ochre and yields annually about 3,000 tons. The perfect gift from Roussillon is a palette of paints for a budding artist. I took a ton of photos then came down with a 24-hour virus. Great timing.

Our last morning in Provence, we high-tailed it to Nice to catch the ferry to Corsica. Months in advance, I had booked our places on the Corsican Ferry line (by actually going into their Paris office near the Louvre) mainly to insure a spot for the car. I had heard from friends how limited the places were in the peak travel month of August, so it was imperative to reserve ahead. The ferry prices in August are at their highest, but a smaller car reduces the fare, so I was sure to reserve a car under the four-meter required maximum length at the lowest price.

Finding the ferry once we arrived in Nice was simple -- just follow the signs to the old port and you can't miss the boat! With time to spare, my friend had a redo at a nearby hair salon while the girls took off to explore the old port. Ferrying to Corsica was a simple and easy two hour and forty-five minute trip. Another bit of advice: do not board without picnic foods or assume you'll starve as the food was either sold-out or not worth eating.

The ferry docked just next to the Citadel in Calvi, the major port on the north side of the island. A 20-minute drive along the stunning coast took us to our destination in Ile Rousse to meet both an old friend from Germany who had come to join us and the host of the bungalow I had rented for all of us.

Ile Rousse (known as Isula Rossa to the Corsicans) is a pretty little city with a small port, a long stretch of beach, open-air cafés and restaurants and classy shops, not to mention an Italian gelati stand we regularly frequented.

The bungalow proprietor, Franck Radet, is a young Corsican/Parisian who came to me for help to develop a Web site about his bungalows and that's how the idea for this vacation got started. Franck's family built the bungalows as a personal family refuge in a heavily foliaged spot three kilometers from the center of Ile Rousse in the direction of Monticello.

Entering the property was the biggest surprise of the entire trip – two kilometers through a wealthy hilltop area of spacious elegant homes then one kilometer down a single lane pot-marked dirt road with twists and turns that were a challenge for even the most skillful driver. Once rolling through the gates of A Vignaccia, you were in a paradise of trees, flowers, shrubs, stone and wood bungalows with a cool blue pool, a rattan swinging chair from a tree and of all things, a Ping-Pong table. Our bungalow consisted of a large room with a bunk bed and a double bed, closet, chairs and stone fireplace (never to be lit, of course!). Adjacent was a sheltered long narrow outdoor "dining room" and "kitchen," well equipped and perfectly comfortable. This became our morning and evening home for seven days of relaxing meals, newspaper reading (we were glued daily to the International Herald Tribune for news of the U.S. presidential election) and not-so-deep philosophical discussions.

Our second night, we tested the barbecue grill with brickettes from the closest "Super U," dried brush from the ground to get the brickettes started and marinated chicken thighs (lemon, olive oil, salt, pepper). It took an hour to get the coals hot, but once the chicken was on, we had a hard time keeping them from flaming up. Needless to say, the chicken eventually cooked to (near) perfection.

Over the course of the week, we tested four beaches between Calvi and St. Florent on the cape, avoiding the beaches in the cities, opting for more natural spots but with at least one restaurant or food stand. Dale "doesn't do sun," so she spent her days reading at the bungalow while we were lizards on the beach. Which beach was our favorite is a tough decision to make.

East of Ile Rousse, the beach was a coarse sand very much like sesame seeds that didn't stick. The water was warm, calm and the color of aqua glass. Parking was close to the beach and there was a lovely little restaurant that served a big salad with large fresh-cooked shrimp. I had dreams about that salad and couldn't wait to go back for a second round.

West of Ile Rousse, we discovered a beach accessible by a long narrow dirt path, bordered by rock formations, with finer grained sand and lots of nudists. The water was even clearer, cleaner and greener. A restaurant and a snack bar sat high above the sea on one side of long stretch of beach and getting to it was a test of agility.

One day we drove from Ile Rousse to St. Florent across the Agriates Desert. Let me restate that: I drove while my friend held on for dear life, leaving her knuckles white and her life flashing before her eyes while the girls snoozed or played "Tetrus" in the back seat. The road is winding on the edge of an unprotected cliff, although smooth and not dangerously narrow. I loved every moment pretending I was Mario Andretti.

St. Florent was a beautiful city, but the beach there was not our favorite. Time and again we found the beaches in the towns to be more spoiled, more polluted, more teeming with debris. Dale continued on to Bastia on her own while the four of us lizards baked in the sun. When she returned late that day to retrieve us, she reported the road was "treacherous," but she lived to tell the tale and raved about Bastia's beauty.

The day my friend from Germany left us, we dropped her off at the tiny island airport near Calvi and then took a 3-hour cruise to the natural Scandola reserve and into the Gulf de Porto on the west side of the island. Scandola was the first natural reserve in France with a double purpose: to study both earth and sea. Massive rock formations of volcanic origin create a dramatic landscape of colors and shapes against the aqua blue sea. The clarity and purity of the water encourages a wide variety of sea life.

It's a bird-watcher's paradise as exceptionally rare birds are found here. Grottos abound along the coast and cruisers and yachts are moored while their passengers swim or float on rafts nearby. I had found a seat at the very bow of our ship and it was all I could do to keep myself from jumping into the cool green water for a swim at Scandola. Would they have hoisted me back in?

Corsica is a perfect blend of France and Italy. The architecture is simpler in style as in Italy, but isn't quite as laisser faire. The cuisine is a blend of traditional French and pastas and we found the restaurants to serve a good quality for very reasonable prices, about 25% less expensive than dining in Paris.

People watching was a major sport of ours -- the tanned young and old alike, with or without their swimsuits on the beach, then "dressed-to-kill" and laden in jewelry in the evenings. The tourists of Corsica were mostly French and Italian, some Germans and some British, but we never ran into another American. I suppose that's why so many of my American friends ask "Where's Corsica?!"

Leaving this beautiful island was a sad day for all of us, when we realized our dream vacation had come to an end and we had no idea when we'd be able to return. Before boarding the ferry, we climbed to the top of the Citadel for a last view and spotted a black yacht with a tall black sail gliding along the water. It stood out against the landscape of the blue sea and the other boats in the harbor (naturally white) like a falcon against a Montana sky.

The ferry took us back to Nice without a hitch and then we drove to Cannes for just one night before hitting the road for the long haul back to Paris the next day. One night in Cannes was enough: hoards of well-dressed vacationers, fancy cars, big modern hotels, apartment buildings, casinos, neon signs, glass-walled cafés -- people seeing and being seen and not our scene at all.

We clocked ten hours to Paris with just a few pit-stops along the way, back to the cool, gray weather, the majestic Eiffel Tower and the calm of a Sunday night in August. We had enough time and energy to return the car to the Gare de Lyon, get a bite to eat in a brasserie and reflect on what already seemed like a dream before landing in our own sweet beds.

Adrian Leeds grew up in New Orleans, attended the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City, spent a year on a kibbutz in Israel before settling into a career and family life, first in Knoxville, then in Los Angeles. In 1994, she brought with her to Paris more than 25 years experience in marketing and public relations, first with Levi Strauss & Co., then with television station promotion, broadcast advertising sales, media purchasing, advertising agency account management for her own firm as well as others, not to mention a daughter.  She is currently in the Marketing and Public Relations division of Western Web Works representing WebFrance International.  Adrian says that she was compelled to write this article after spending hours upon hours researching the credit card situation online and "onphone!" Adrian wants to ask, "Do the credit card companies want to discourage inquiries?" To read more about Adrian go to her web site http://www.westernwebworks.net/