17th July 2012. What retirees get up to in the Pays Basque! (part of a series). I'm involved with an association concerned with Comet, the WWII escape & evasion network for Allied aircrew that was very active in these parts. Each September there's a long commemorative weekend in the Pays Basque attended by people from all over.. (there's even one lady who comes all the way from Australia..) We re-trace the route the escapees/evaders took in crossing the mountains to Spain. This year, we are going to walk an inland route that we've not done before that was used from 1943 onwards.. It started from Anglet quartier Sutar and ran along the Nive before heading for Ustaritz, Larressore, Espelette where it crossed the border in the vicinity of Dancharia in Spain. For the commemorative weekend in September, this will be walked over two days. Last Monday, a small group of us did a "dry run" of the mountain element of the second day's route with the aim of finalising the route details. Three of us from the committee & two wives were to be guided by the son of one of the wartime passeurs.
In a slightly ironic twist, Madame and I often do our shopping at Dantcharia - now a major shopping centre - and to get there we follow the exact same route as outlined above - except we use roads. What was then a hazardous and physically demanding journey conducted at great risk to all concerned is now a simple 30 minute car trip with no passport control at the unmanned frontier. How times have changed.. I never make this journey without thinking of those former days.
We started at 9-ish near Itxassou and headed up a grassy track that quickly
turned into a stony one that went up and up and up. We had to cross
marshy ground and fight off pesky flies (what wouldn’t I have given for a
rolled-up newspaper!) before we eventually struggled up the eastern side of what felt like a 1 in 1
slope (but probably wasn’t) to the very top of the mountain ridge and suddenly the whole of the Basque coast was revealed before us in the sunshine.. We were presented with a stunning and unforgettable view of the western end of the Pyrenees seen through the blue mountain air and it revived our spirits. From our vantage point on high, we watched heavily-winged vultures describing lazy circles in up-draughts of warm air as they scanned the slopes for morsels of food.. (aka hill-walking pensioners!)
From the summit of Artzamendi
There were pottoks (wild horses) with foals and even some wild
cattle and calves on the lower slopes.
To the south, the Pyrenees unfolded and faded away to the south east in a distant blue haze. The temperature was around 25-27° with a soft breeze to keep us cool. We walked along the ridge until we hit the very milestone (#76) that the wartime escapers aimed for that indicated we were on the border. To focus on why we were there, one of our number read a few words and then his wife sang Hegoak in her lovely Barbara Dickson-esque voice.
True to the spirit of Comet, this was followed by the opening of a bottle of rum punch.. Florentino Goicoechea, the legendary Basque guide, used to fortify his groups of evaders in a similar fashion so we were in good company! I just had enough to rinse my teeth - as they say.
Someone pointed out the farm far below where lunch had been arranged for us. We set off again and we arrived there at 2pm. First, some hearty bean soup then the waitress brought out a serving dish with a mighty omelette made with at least a dozen farm eggs covered with slices of mountain ham.. served with salad. Did that hit the spot or what! A carafe of red wine sat largely untouched - at least initially! - as we had to make the return journey back to the cars.. After some Basque cheese and black cherry jam (traditional here) and coffee we set off for the return via a different route.
We got back to the cars at 6.45pm and once home after a shower and change, a long pastis and something to eat, I started shivering so I went to bed early. I was tired physically but not mentally and I couldn't sleep.. Getting out of bed the next morning was a real struggle!
Overall though, a great day and despite being at the height of the tourist season we saw but a handful of other people all day. Incredible views up there and I can understand the euphoria the WWII escapees must have felt after their long dangerous journey from N France, Belgium or Holland. They had to do the crossing at night though which became increasingly tricky as, according to our Basque guide, the Germans deployed some of their crack Alpine troops in these frontier regions in an attempt to combat unauthorised cross border activity such as this. The result was that the passeurs took their charges down from the high ground to the valley bottoms and ravines which offered more cover against prying eyes. Many of the tracks we used were clearly formed by rushing water in the rainy season and the going was difficult at times both going up and descending with loose and broken rocks, fissures and occasionally treacherous swampy ground - as one of our number found!
25th July 2012. Heard this morning that another couple of 'yomps' over the mountains are planned in August to finalise and mark the routes prior to the September gathering here. Looking forward to this!
The Fêtes de Bayonne kicks off tonight with the tradition firework display at the Pont St Esprit in front of the Town Hall. These displays are usually right up there - in terms of noise - with the first 20 mins of "Saving Private Ryan"..
Meanwhile, the town is starting to fill up with white-clad hordes each with a red neckerchief and red sash around the waist.
11th July 2012. Since the beginning of March, our usually leafy avenue has resembled a Beirut film set as, amid clouds of dust, various teams of workmen have re-laid mains electricity supplies to houses, replaced water mains, telephone connections, the curb stones and more besides. Previously, most of these vital services had been strung up on various poles and the road was festooned with sagging cables and wires - all these have now gone underground and swish new street lighting has appeared. Today appears to be the end-game as a monstrous tracked machine made its slow way up and down the road excavating the road surface down to a depth of ~9" or so, spewing out a torrent of muck forward into a waiting lorry. With the road newly re-surfaced, new pavements can't be far behind. Phew.. it's been a long time. I have to say though that, where they've finished, the work has been to an impressively high standard.
I spent the morning loading programs and tweaking my new PC making sure everything is where I want it..
Meanwhile, the madness that is San Fermin continues:
Never argue with someone who has a 48 inch neck - especially if he has a friend..
Or this.. At least this Scotsman was correctly dressed!
12th July 2012. Another wince-making image from Pamplona.. from the "Too Close For Comfort" Department..
Best to avoid eye contact!
It's a nice sunny afternoon so I'm off out on my bike..
Alain Afflelou
Les Arènes, Bayonne
Best news of the day? Alain Afflelou, president of Aviron Bayonnais Rugby, has declared that he has withdrawn his sponsorship worth 500,000€ of the Fêtes de Bayonne because to continue to do so would, in effect, mean sponsoring the bullfights that take place during the Fêtes. I wish I could offer my congratulations to him in person on taking a principled stance against this most cruel, degrading and barbaric of activities - I wouldn't dignify it by calling it a sport. Well done Monsieur Afflelou! We live only a few hundred metres from Les Arènes and I see whole families (incl. children) going there to watch the fights. Bullfighting has no place in France - and what grips me is that the Town Hall here uses our local taxes to subsidise activities, including the corridas, at Les Arènes. (Factoid: Bob Dylan is playing at Les Arènes on July 20th)
I've mentioned before here my interest in the Comet Escape Line that was very active in these parts guiding escaping and evading Allied aircrew to safety during WWII. A couple of years ago I walked part of the original route from St Jean de Luz - Ciboure - Urrugne - over the mountains - wading across the River Bidassoa into Spain and on to Sarobe Farm, Renteria and safety. In 1943, this route was fatally compromised by the capture of Andrée De Jongh, Comet's inspirational founder, and others at Bidegain Berri farm, Urrugne. Under new leadership, it was decided to abandon the coastal routes as border security had been stepped up considerably and so several inland routes were developed - none of which were documented at the time for obvious reasons. Jean Dassié, the president and guiding light of the present day local organisation here has painstakingly reconstructed what is considered to be the actual inland route used. Next Monday a few of us will be stepping out on a dry run retracing that same route. It's planned to take about 6 hours after which we will retire to a local restaurant.. ("What else!")
Many years ago we were down here in the Pays Basque on holiday and the owners of the small hotel where we always stayed gave us some complimentary tickets for an event at Saint- Jean-de-Luz known as Toro Piscine.. It sounded unpromising - the ingredients were a lively young bullock, a sandy arena with a small pool in the centre and some local youths itching to strut their stuff. Unlike the despised corridas, this was more or less a level playing field and no-one was hurt, no blood was spilled. It turned out to be quite hilarious as the makers of this short clip also found:
25th June 2012. On Sunday morning I went out in the car to take the dog for a run on the beach at Anglet and I noticed that the Adour was unusually active with traffic. A tug was sending up two powerful jets of water high up in the air and I could hear ships sirens and hooters being sounded. I continued along the banks of the Adour to a point where the river narrowed to the port entrance channel to the open sea just in time to see a small flotilla of pleasure craft (and a traînière - seen briefly at 02:11 on the video below) escorting two coastal working sailing boats that were gliding down river on the tide. I later found out that the event was the Escales Marines de Bayonne.
Looking up river, I was surprised to see the majestic sight of a 3 masted barque, the "Belem", that was also making its way out to sea. A few minutes later it slid silently past right in front of me and it dawned on me that this was the first time I'd ever seen a full rigged ship under sail. I've always been interested in pioneering technology of the kind that produced steam locomotives, cars & motorcycles from the twenties and thirties, early clocks, biplanes and much else. I found the close proximity of "Belem" to be an unexpectedly moving sight and it started me thinking about how our world had been discovered using small ships like these. I have to say I was completely transfixed and spellbound by the "Belem" and it made me realise that yes, today's ships may well be faster, more efficient & reliable, independent of the winds and all the rest of it but, like so many other advances in today's world, I think we've lost something indefinable in the process - perhaps that sense of continuity with our history.
Once we've discovered something that makes previous technology redundant, we are usually quick to junk the old. What struck me so forcibly about the "Belem" was that there are so few visible traces remaining of the age of sail. Sailing ships were very labour-intensive and many crafts and trades were necessary to build and support them. When the ships disappeared so largely did the associated small industries. All of which makes the re-birth of the "Hermione" (mentioned further below) even more remarkable.
By the way, if, like me, you too are fascinated by windjammers and barques, then I would unreservedly recommend that you read Eric Newby's "The Last Grain Race". In 1938, 18 year old Eric signed up as an apprentice on "Moshulu" - a Finnish 4 masted steel barque - and sailed out to Australia to pick up 5000 tons of wheat, returning to the UK via that southernmost tip of South America - feared by generations of sailors - Cape Horn. The only Englishman on board in an otherwise largely Scandinavian crew, he had a wonderful ear for dialogue and he painted an unforgettable picture of life at sea under sail. (now sadly out of print, you can find a used copy online via the usual suspects) Arriving on the main deck of the "Moshulu" berthed at Belfast, after reporting to the First Mate, without further ado he was told "op the rigging" to the top of the main mast - all 185 feet of it.
Here, he describes a storm in the Southern Ocean:
"We were cold and wet, and yet too excited to sleep.. watching the seas rearing up astern as high as a three-storeyed house. It was not only their height that was impressive but their length. Between the greatest of them there was a distance that could only be estimated in relation to the ship, as much as four times her entire length, or nearly a quarter of a mile."
Newby goes aloft into the fore rigging:
"At this height, 130 feet up, in a wind blowing 70 miles an hour, the noise was an unearthly scream. Above me was the naked topgallant yard and above that again the royal to which I presently climbed ... the high whistle of the wind through the halliards sheaf, and above all the pale blue illimitable sky, cold and serene, made me deeply afraid and conscious of my insignificance."
This photo (left) gives an idea of the size of "Moshulu". Imagine climbing up there on a dark and stormy night..!
Unlike many other big sailing ships, "Moshulu" escaped being lost at sea and also she also managed to avoid the breakers yard. She is now a "fine dining" restaurant (ie, expensive) in Philadelphia - which is pretty ironic, given how poorly the crew of "Moshulu" were fed in Eric Newby's time.
Here's a romanticised view perhaps of those vanished days of sail:
And some footage I've found that shows it as it was - cold, wet, highly dangerous, physically demanding and definitely not an enterprise for the faint-hearted to take on lightly!
Finally, a modern day replica of "L'Hermione", a famous XVIIIth century 12 pounder Concorde class frigate of the French Navy has just been launched at Rochefort.. (slideshow here)
Here's how this immense labour of love was realised:
4th July 2012. For the last few days I've been sweating until all hours over this latest batch of work and I finished the first run through of it early this evening. As it was a warm sunny evening - and as it was that time of day - I went downstairs to the cellar to see if I could find an old bottle of gin as I suddenly had a craving for a long G&T. Yes, there it was, gathering dust next to a 5 year old bottle of tonic water. Aah, that hit the spot even though the tonic was a bit flat.
I must mention last week's weather - we had temperatures of 37C with high humidity. It was too hot to be outside so we battened down the hatches to keep the house cool.
7th July 2012. A steamy morning on the river today.. had an outing in a mixed VIII. Did 16km but to be honest it wasn't an entirely satisfying sortie. It felt as though there were a number of people in the boat who were dancing to a different rhythm to the rest of us. Which leads us to one of the oldest rules in rowing - it's always someone else's fault!
Next week, a group of us are going to a rowing club in Les Landes for a day of single seat sculling on the wide open spaces of the lake at Soustons. (above) The reason we use this lake is that it is highly likely that some will take the opportunity for an early bath.. but as the lake is only a metre or so deep, it's quite safe - in comparison to our own river - the Nive - which can flow very quickly depending on the state of the tides. With this being France, an email has gone out to all those attending regarding the all-important provision of lunch.. Some of the girls are bringing foie gras and the men are asked to bring wine.. No egg & cress sandwiches here!
After a quick shower and change at home, we headed out to Zugarramurdi (in Spain) for lunch. This beautiful Basque village has a macabre history involving witchcraft, the Spanish Inquisition and auto-da-fé. Happy days! However, luckily for us, none of these were present today and so we enjoyed a superb paella in some hot afternoon sunshine with a welcome breeze. In fact, it was all-you-can-eat but I ran up the white flag after one serving. The car registered 32C on the way home.
8th July 2012. The annual fiesta of San Fermin at Pamplona started yesterday - and here's a clip of the running of the bulls through the streets this morning.
Question du jour: You have two choices - it's either the three minute dash through the streets of Pamplona hotly pursued by 600kgs of snorting prime Spanish beef that has dibs on your backside - or it's up the rigging of a four masted barque and out on to a steel yard high up above a lonely dark ocean. What's it to be?
This is no time to take a breather..
Seen enough? Right - "op the rigging!"
I've had a stressful few days with my PC - it was taking increasingly longer & longer to boot up, plus there were innumerable system lock-ups, repeat instances of the dreaded "Blue Screen of Death" (right), disappearing mouse pointers, mail program crashes, go slows, you name it. Today was the last straw though. After spring-cleaning my hard disk, defragmenting it, scanning the hard drive for malware and/or viruses (none found) and generally getting it all gussied up, this morning I experienced yet more disappearing data, mouse pointers and a final Blue Screen etc.. and I thought enough's enough. I've felt at times as though I was being nibbled to death by ducks.. I couldn't risk losing all my work. Numerous problems - if each one taken was singly they weren't too difficult to solve but coming all at once - well, I'd had enough and so I went down to our local computer store and picked myself up a real bargain of a PC - plus 100€ cashback..! The only problem is that it came with an AZERTY keyboard. Nothing is where I'd expect it and I'm having to re-learn all my painfully acquired typing skills.
10th June 2012. Back home last night after a much-needed break in the Alpes de Haute-Provence followed by a few days up in the Jura. We'd booked at one of those charming country hotels at Xxxxxxxx - set in its own beautifully maintained grounds - that France seems to specialise in. It was a slightly old-fashioned, traditional hotel but it was none the worse for that. It was a welcome reminder that we were in la France profonde. After a hot (34°C) 9 hour drive from Bayonne we were more than ready for dinner in the cool dining room.
Sadly, this is where I have to say we were disappointed. Not by the friendly welcome, the personal service, the impeccable table setting or the comfort - no - of all things it was the food. There's been a creeping malaise in French restaurants over the last few years and that is the ever-more prevalent practice of buying-in pre-prepared meals. Running a restaurant in France today has become increasingly expensive - taxes, staff costs, cost of produce - such that many restaurateurs are having to cut corners wherever they can to maintain their prices at a reasonable level. We've noticed that where an affordably-priced restaurant features a comprehensive multi-choice menu, it's almost a given that they are using pre-prepared meals bought in from a company like Brake (I'm ashamed to admit that it's a British company*). Every meal we had at the hotel had that familiar reheated appearance and taste of institutional food. So now, if you see a Brake's delivery van parked outside a restaurant that you were planning to visit, you know what steps to take.. (Whoever said, "Bloody great big ones!" would be right!)
* (Edited to add: The American food giant Sysco completed a $3.1bn takeover of Brake in 2016.)
Traditionally, one of the great pleasures of travelling within France has always been the opportunity to sample the different regional specialities - which was why we were disappointed to be offered these anonymous products from a food factory kitchen. A depressing subject. I'm reluctant to name the hotel because we gave the hotel top marks in every other respect.
Moustiers
Over the next few days we explored the local area - starting with Moustiers(right) which is rightly famous for its faïence pottery. It would be fair to say that I don't usually wax lyrical about pottery shops but the Bondil shop caught our eye with its range of stunningly original hand-painted designs that featured, among others, 18th century hot air balloons (Montgolfières) - & no two designs were alike. However, all this came at prices that would make even a banker wince.. (3 figures for a plate for example).
The lady in the Bondil shop had spent some time in Sheffield (UK) of all places and was very chatty. She was only too pleased to provide us with the full fascinating history of faïence pottery but despite this and the undeniable temptations of the shop we left empty handed. (Definitely somewhere to visit following a major Lottery win). After this, we wandered around Moustiers' picturesque streets, where the dog was happy to discover the pleasure of quenching his thirst in one of the many preserved traditional lavoires we found in the region.
The jewel in the crown of the region is unquestionably the Gorges du Verdon.. (apologies for this jerky link). The Gorges du Verdon isa spectacular natural phenomenon that, if I'm anything to go by, few people have heard of. Second in size only to the Grand Canyon, the Gorges du Verdon is over 20 kilometres long and, at
its widest, is 1.5 kilometres across. In some places the canyon is 700 metres deep. It was only in 1905 that a French caver led an expedition through the gorge
for the first time. The trip took a little less than four days and the
expedition concluded that the area was definitely inaccessible to humans.
Gorge du Verdon
However, the situation has changed somewhat since those days. Today, there are two roads along the top of the gorge with numerous lookouts - such as Point Sublime, La Palud sur Verdon and Pont de Lártuby - for visitors to gaze at the wonderful rock formations and glittering emerald green waters far down below. There are several footpaths that take you to the banks of the rivers. The sheer scale of it all took our breath away.
A propos of nothing, I noticed that the black ants in this area were a good ¾" long. That's all!
One day, we stopped at Saint-Laurent-du-Verdon and walked east in blissful solitude until we reached the lakes and waters of the Verdon. We saw only a couple of other walkers as we walked through the unspoilt countryside, with its profusion of wild flowers, the unfamiliar sight (nowadays) of butterflies, fields of red poppies and rocky outcrops with the smell of wild thyme in the hot dry air. Dragonflies hummed about our feet. In places we were up at around 1,000m (~3,000ft) close to the tree line. Many of the stunted trees (oaks, juniper, pines) had been formed into wind-blasted shapes by the Mistral - the northerly wind that funnels down the valleys that reportedly has the power to unhinge people. This was wild country.
The cliffs were pockmarked by ancient caves where troglodytes had once lived. If living in a cave ever becomes a lifestyle choice again, then I can't imagine a better place for it. It looked to my unexpert eye that the limpid green waters below would be well stocked with fish.
We reached a lake and the dog explored the full range of possibilities open to him. Living by the sea-side, it was a novelty for him to be able to drink the water. He stood up to his shoulders in it staring into the middle distance with a happy expression, with water draining from his chops..
The trail had been marked with a very occasional stripe of yellow paint on a rock or a tree - far less intrusive than enamel signs and pathways bordered by fencing. We could have got lost if we'd tried hard enough - which really gave the impression of being out in Nature, as opposed to being corralled.
After a few hours we were back in the village and the dog was dry again. We headed off back to the hotel past fields that were planted with row upon hypnotic row of lavender for the perfume industry - the classic postcard image of Provence.
At the hotel, we changed into swimming things and headed down to the swimming pool. It was here that the pooch learnt a valuable lesson in life.
He's always been used to entering water - ie, the sea - via the shallow end.. Taking one look at the inviting waters of the pool, he suddenly threw himself into it with a wild frenzied leap - only to discover that it was about 4 feet deep! After a depth charge-like entry splash, he erupted from the depths with eyes like dinner plates! Not all dogs can swim instinctively it appears. He was vertical in the water flailing at it with his front paws and making no headway. Madame managed to grab hold of him before any damage was done and pulled him out.. He won't do that again! Luckily no-one else was about.
Another day we headed south to Cotignac, a photogenic village with a open air market. It turned out to be an impossibly attractive and archetypal Provençal village and, perhaps predictably, it was full of northern Europeans. We walked by market stalls laden with the local produce - cheeses, wines, spices, charcuterie, countless varieties of honey, bread, fruit and veg of course and then the olives, nuts, tapenades etc etc. It was like a cornucopia of everything we like..
All too soon it was time to leave Provence and head north for the Jura. We set off and came across the delightful small town of Gréoux-les-Bains. Unfortunately we didn't have time to stop and explore - that will have to wait for another time - but it's in the book!
This song by Françoise Hardy came up on the radio as we were leaving the Haute Provence via winding hill roads - this catchy ever-so-French 60s record seemed to capture the mood of the Provençal landscape perfectly.. All legs and cheekbones, Françoise epitomised French cool in the 60s for many (well, for me really!)
As the sun rose high in the sky, we started casting around for somewhere to stop for lunch. After days of eating reheated dinners, we wanted some real food. South of Grenoble, we spotted a roadside
restaurant with a few ubiquitous white vans parked outside: Chez Robert et Maguy at Chauffayer (Haute-Alpes). A mother and son
operation, she looked after the tables while the son cooked. The restaurant was minimally decorated - all their effort clearly went into the food.. The
choice was either soup or soup - followed by filet mignon or faux filet with
gratin-dauphinois & green salad.. We ordered 2 faux filets. The steaks were rare and tender and the gratin was deliciously
home-made.. some cheese was eased down with a small carafe of red. Coffee. This
was the kind of food we'd been looking for.. How much? Think there were a few
euros change out of 30€. Aah.. that was more like it. Highly recommended.
Baume-les-Messieurs
We arrived in the Jura where we were staying with family. We took our hostess out to the 9th century Benedictine Abbey at Baume-les-Messieurs - quite rightly classed as one of the most beautiful villages of France acording to this. Situated in what could be called an idyllic location (with no fear of exaggeration) in a secret gorge with 600ft high limestone cliffs all around, the ancient Abbey reminded me of the breadth and depth of France's rich cultural and historical heritage - perhaps only equalled, if not surpassed, by Italy.
Again, Lady Luck smiled on us at lunchtime. While looking around the Abbey, I'd noticed a doorway intriguingly marked "Gothique Restaurant"..(now sadly closed it appears). We stepped inside to find ourselves in what had once been the former medieval Abbey kitchens. It was like passing through a time warp.. The charming serveuse showed us to a table while we gazed all around. Strange music played in the background - it sounded like some modern standards being sung in the manner of Gregorian chants ("Yesterday" was one I remember)
The 18.50€ menu was as follows:
Terrine maison à
l’aspérule odorante et figues, brioche maison aux cèpes,
crudités de saison à
l’huile de noisettes
Quenelles de
carpe maison à la reine des prés
Gateau tiède au
chocolat, sauce caramel, glace vanille
artisanale et craquelin au pralin
As it was a treat, we had a bottle of Vin d'Arbois red.. which was excellent too. In fact, we brought some home with us.
I've had quenelles de brochet before but never carp.. One of the best lunches we've had.. and if you're ever in the vicinity, treat yourself. It's one of those memorable experiences that come around all too seldom. Edited to add: I've just read that it closed in September 2014. Great shame..
We also visited nearby Château-Chalon (officially one of the most beautiful villages in France) - a splendid hilltop village perched up on the cliffs overlooking the vineyards that produce the very special Vin Jaune (yellow wine) that this region is famous for. Apparently it's illegal in the US..(?)
Here's a long & interesting video about Vin Jaune:
Tête de veau
Finally, together with some relatives who lived locally, we went out for lunch at a nearby restaurant. I spotted tête de veau (calf's head) on the menu. This is one of those legendary French dishes that could easily be used as a nationality test.. (eat it - and you're in.) I read somewhere that it's Jacques Chirac's favourite (he cannot be serious!).
I decided the time had come to take the plunge so I ordered it as my starter. I have a rule that I don't normally eat food that moves or wobbles. When the waitress brought the first courses out I fixed my plate with a beady eye as it seemed to be wobbling - in fact, it was wobbling. Tête de veau is normally served with a sauce gribiche. My dish seemed to be composed largely of square chunks of a nameless gelatinous substance that were each a good ½ inch thick with a few strands of meat attached. I ate the meat and was unable to proceed any further - despite much vocal encouragement! The waitress very kindly let me off the hook and offered me a replacement starter instead. No prizes for guessing how I answered that one. In self-defence, mine didn't have anything like the amount of meat as shown in the photo above. As I said to someone, this dish would be OK in wartime.. and best eaten during a blackout!
Here, you can see how the dish is prepared - not recommended for readers of a nervous disposition!
Saturday, 16th June 2012. Down to the river this morning for a hot & sweaty outing in a mixed VIII. Not having rowed for a few weeks, for a variety of reasons, my hands quickly blistered up, but a few more outings should harden them off again.. It was so humid out on the river that my ears were dripping! I got up at 6am to paint a new door for the cellar before the temp started climbing. Just finished fitting the door with new handles before putting it back in place. I have to say that French door hinges (above right) are brilliant.. To remove a door, all you do is take hold of it and lift straight up.. and off she comes. Re-fitting it is simplicity itself.. a 5 second job. Just locate the upper part of the hinge over the lower and jiggle the door around until all three hinges are lined up and bingo! Door hinges in the UK are still the prehistoric variety (above left) - at least they are to my knowledge. Removing a door in the UK was always a fiddle.
Can't remember if I've featured this clip before - it will give your French a good work-out.. Jean-Luc Petitrenaud (TV foodie) goes to Biarritz..
21st June 2012. The weather hasn't settled yet for the summer - on Tuesday it was only 15° or so. We went to Irun in Spain yesterday - it's no more than 20-30 mins from here - and the town was clearly readying itself for the Fêtes de la Saint Marcial (which takes place from 27th June - 1st July) as most of the shop windows were full of red and white. The car said it was 32½C as we headed back into France around lunchtime. At that point we decided to turn off and stop at the Buvette de la Halle at Saint-Jean-de-Luz for a spot of lunch. We managed to find a table in the shade - phew - it was hot there.
Today's all set to be another hot one!
23rd June 2012. Another hot morning on the river today - I had an outing in a mixed coxless IV and we made progress after a shaky start. For some reason, the boat wanted to turn to the left all the time - but despite that we had an enjoyable sortie. Did a sweaty 16km and when we returned, the 'responsable' decided it would be a good day for an apéro.. (never knowingly refused!)
If you've never been to Paris, here's a reminder of the greatest city in the world. There's nowhere else quite like it - so if you haven't been - what are you waiting for? If you're married with kids - park them with the in-laws and go - just the two of you. It's one of the very few cities that, even if you visited it every year for the rest of your life, has the power to remain endlessly fascinating. You'll thank me for this!
Find a little restaurant somewhere.. and then who knows what might happen..
