Flustered Flamingos and Omnivorous Outhouses

Bonjour Messieurs et Mesdames,




We're back to our normal routine today after a busy two weeks. First we went to Paris, as I described in the last blog post, and then we had the pleasure of welcoming visitors: our niece Heidi, a pastry chef (patissiere), formerly of Parsippany NJ, now working at a Ritz-Carlton in Florida, and Bob and Donna Cynkar from Portland. Donna and Lois shared a classroom many years ago when Lois reentered the teaching profession after a hiatus of several years. Each taught a half-day kindergarten class and the bond which was forged then in the fires of elementary education has never been broken. We enjoyed their visits immensely and had many adventures, some planned and others unexpected, some which brought a smile to the lips of all concerned and others which caused those same lips to tighten in fear and trepidation, some which produced a warm glow, others which precipitated cold sweat. Read on, if you dare!




Bob and Donna were a little late arriving by car, and we were beginning to worry a bit as the hours rolled by (actually, ONE hour), and it got dark, but in the end they were just demonstrating that it doesn't take special talent or experience, ANYONE can get lost on the roads around here. And all this time we thought it was just us. They were at the end of a 4 or 5-week sojourn during which they visited family in Pittburgh and Buffalo and their son who is studying in Madrid, which must have been a letdown after their first two destinations, but they were very tactful about it. Heidi is on a whirlwind vacation of about 10 days. She started in Switzerland to see the same relatives (Kurt and Heidi) who so graciously hosted us when we visited (see blogpost #1), then she was here and now she's in Paris staying with an old friend who's studying there. The joint was jumpin' while they were all here but now we've returned to the usual routine. Mike's 2-week vacation is over so he's back at school, which means, among other things, that I can now get to the computer to work on this blog, pay the bills, reply to e-mails, burn CDs, check football scores, etc.




The weather while our guests were here was autumn-perfect! Crystal clear, chilly, invigorating. We all agreed that we'd like to see the Camargue, so on Sunday we formed a small convoy and drove down. This is a low-lying sparsely-inhabited region a little southwest of here famous for its black bulls, white horses, salt and birds, especially flamingos. We visited the Parc Ornithologique thinking we'd see a lot of migratory birds on their way to Africa but there weren't many. For one thing, the mistral had sprung up and the winds were gale force, so the prudent ones had remained on the ground. The few we saw aloft were being blown across the sky like dry leaves. Fortunately, the flamingos were out in force, wading around on their stilt-like legs, squawking and squabbling.


















































When we had become sufficiently cold, windblown and hungry we drove a few kilometers south to Stes. Marie de La Mer, whose attitude toward tourism is perfectly expressed, I feel, by this statue, which stands (contrary to the photo, it really does stand) prominently in the town square, overlooking the petanque players. Or maybe she'd bet the maison on the favorite and he (almost all the boules players are men) had blown it. The town is on the southern tip of the Camargue, bordering the Mediterranean, and is a VERY popular tourist destination. It seems to have a continuous schedule of bullfights and festivals, all of which draw big crowds. The whole area is home on the range for the French cowboys, or gardians, who have every bit as great a mystique as the American variety. I'm sure they're just as contemptuous of soft city folk as Texas cowpokes are but I venture to assert that none of them has endured the blood-chilling trauma that your humble correspondent experienced when
trapped by a carnivorous french self-cleaning pay toilette like a bug in a venus flytrap! (See below. Looks innocent enough, doesn't it? And check out those blissfully ignorant turistas standing around yukking it up. Oh, wait a minute, never mind. That's Donna, Lois and Heidi.) Anyway, the whole unfortunate incident is directly related to the plunge of the dollar in relation to the euro so cunningly engineered by the present administration. In short, it's Bush's fault. I was just trying to save a few pennies by slipping into the toilette without paying as Mike emerged. That thrifty common sense championed by Ben Franklin. But apparently the toilette has a mind of its own and uses the intervals when it thinks it's uninhabited to perform this weird automated self-purifying ritual, which involves clouds of steam, floods of water and the withdrawal of the toilet bowl itself into the wall for sterilization, and its reemergence, THREE (3) separate times! So just as I was getting all comfortable and meditative, my small self-contained world suddenly burst into frenzied activity. One can't help but admire the ingenuity of the French engineering mind, of course, which has given us the Eiffel Tower, the TGV and the Maginot Line, but I would have preferred to admire from a safer distance. In the midst of the hissing and spraying (sounds like a male cat, doesn't it?), headlines flashed through my mind: "TOILETTE CLAIMS TOURIST", "PEEING PORTLANDER POACHED", "SARKOZY FLIES TO CAMARGUE TO DEDICATE MONUMENT TO MEMORY OF OREGONIAN - CALLS FOR FRANCO-AMERICAN UNDERSTANDING - "AFTER ALL, WE'RE A NATION AND URINATION!" I'm sure I needn't go into too much detail - you have vigorous imaginations - other than to note that (1) I was at a distinct disadvantage, being as it were a captive audience of sorts, (2) Horses aren't the only thing you can't change in midstream, and (3) I'm glad my needs weren't such that I was SITTING on that toilet when it disappeared into the wall behind it. Talk about having the rug pulled out from under you! In the end I emerged uninjured, just a little damp from the steam, with wet shoes, slightly hysterical, laughing edgily. The passers-by gave me that look and pulled their children away, but they're always doing that.

(Note: I recently received an ill-considered request to write less about sports and politics and more up-close-and-personal, touchy-feely stuff. The foregoing should put an end to THAT type of request!)




As if that wasn't enough excitement for one day, on the way home the tailpipe of our car became detached from the muffler and began dragging on the autoroute -speed 120 kph, about 80mph -creating a dazzling cascade of sparks in the evening gloaming for the edification of our fellow travelers. Bob, Donna and Lois were following in the Cynkars' rented Peugeot and got to see the whole spectacular thing. We were able, finally, to find a parking area and reattach things with the aid of, I'm not kidding, a rock which Mike and I used both to reshape the end of the tailpipe and to hammer it back into the muffler.


The next day (Monday) we divided our forces. Bob and I drove to Figueres, Spain, a distance of close to 300 miles, to return the Peugeot, thereby saving a transfer fee of 500 something, euros or dollars. We returned home along the Mediterranean coast via 3 trains and a bus. The pictures below were taken on this trip, including the interesting old husk of a hotel by the tracks. Or is it, as Bob suggested, something left over from the set of Blade Runner? It reminds me of one of the starships from Star Wars - or even more, the one from Spaceballs. We had a 1 1/2 hour layover between trains in Cerbere, just inside France, so we strolled around the village, much of which consisted of hotels and restaurants closed for the winter. As a former waiter, I couldn't help but admire the regal bearing of the serveur who stood (again, it is only my stone-age technical incompetence which makes it appear as if he's lying down on the job) at our side ("Bonjour, je m'appelle Woody and I'll be your waiter today.") and his ingenious method of communicating the day's specials. Chic chapeau, too!

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew dropped our car off at the local Renault garage for repair and took a bus into Aix, where Lois rented a car for our use. Heidi had a ball going into at least 8 patissieries, taking photos, talking to her fellow culinary artists, sampling and buying desserts and other confections. Mike bumped into two of his friends out on their own and joined them for a couple of hours. I don't know what they did and I don't wanna know, but I think it involved candy, crepes, video games and fireworks. I'm sure I'll look back fondly on these innocent pursuits in years to come when they're teenagers out prowling the streets. Hmm. Maybe it's not too late for military school.

On Tuesday Heidi left via TGV for Paris. The rest of us went into Aix to go to the library, run some other errands and have lunch. Bob hadn't been there yet, so we walked around and in the process discovered some parts of town we hadn't yet seen, including the cathedral and part of the university quarter. Speaking of which, the students voted yesterday to go on strike and blockade the faculty offices to protest the new law which reduces financial aid or something (I don't understand the intricacies, given that I read the paper with one hand and clutch a dictionary with the other). (Or rather, I read the paper with one eye and clutch a dictionary with the other. Oh, well, you know what I mean.) They're already being shamelessly gouged by landlords in and around Aix and I guess they've reached the breaking point. The pictures in La Provence remind me of the '60s. Right On, Etudiants!


























These pictures are of Aix. It's a beautiful town in every season.



























I took Bob and Donna to the Marseilles airport at the crack of dawn yesterday and we've received an e-mail from them to the effect that they made it back to Portland safe and sound.
Heidi's living the high life in Paris, and we're readjusting to being just the three of us again. What a relief! All that forced politeness was driving us CRAZY!! It's just not us.

Actually, it's unnervingly quiet around here now.
But it's almost Saturday and the hunters will start blasting away at first light, so we'll enjoy the tranquility while we can. And we hope you do too.

Au revoir.

Tom