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November 12 Saturday Bicycle touring France from Gabarret France to some mansion near the Portugal border We met more of those rude French people everyone told us about. I was out of water, so I went to a house on the side of the road. No one was home. It was getting dark and we hadn't eaten yet, and Sharon, after pedalling a fully loaded touring bicycle all day, was getting tired and cranky. I had planned on asking if we could stay in their yard, but alas, no one was home. Across the road and down a lane was another house, -- or, I really should say, a mansion. I could see a light shining through the darkness, so I knew someone was home. I told Sharon I was going to ask there for water and if they'll let us stay overnight in their yard. Sharon mumbled something to the effect of good luck. Often we don't have good luck when approaching rich folk. The gate was open, so I started riding my bike down a long, bumpy, muddy, broken-brick drive toward the chateau. As I cycled around a corner into the yard, a fellow came out of the house all dirty, dark, and greasy. I was as surprised to see him as he was surprised to see me. I asked for water, and held up my water bottles. He said no problem and took my two bottles. Sharon had decided to follow me down the drive after all. She was just approaching as he was taking my bottles inside. He had asked if I was Espanol and I said Anglais from Canada. The next moment, a woman appeared at the door and says she can speak English. She tells us to park our bikes and come inside. It is raining of course. We are wet. We are muddy. We are probably smelly. Once we lean our fully loaded touring bicycles against a building we head for the front door. Once we are inside, she asks if we would like tea. Soon, we are sipping hot tea and eating upside-down pear cake with our good host Catherine. Her husband, Christophe, has gone back outside to work as we came in, leaving us to visit with Catherine. Their 14-month old baby, Estelle, plays nearby on the floor, jabbering away in French as only a 14-month-old can. Catherine tells us she was in America for a year to help French teachers. Her English is very good. She is a lawyer. Christophe, her husband, has a truck that he uses to pick up empty wine bottles from restaurants. He cleans and sorts them, then sells them back to the bottlers. Catherine insists this is a very lucrative business. I guess when the French drink that much wine, there are a lot of bottles to collect and clean and sell. Their house is huge. It has five large bedrooms that are roughly 600 square feet each with 12 and 15-foot-high ceilings. There are four bathrooms and four kitchens, each with a fireplace. Before Christophe's parents bought the shack, it belonged to one of Napoleon's friends. It was built around the turn of the last century. Christophe's parents live in Madrid. Catherine and Christophe look after this place for them. There are also two apartments in a guest house next to the main mansion. One is rented out. Christophe invites us to stay overnight in the other one. They invite us for supper. That's a good thing about the French eating supper so late ... we're often on time. Creamy vegetable soup, completely pureed with a dollop of sour cream in the center which is stirred in before eating. The main course is spaghetti with mushroom and smoked ham sauce. There is a French name for the dish, which I missed, of course. I also had a raw egg on top as that is what Christophe did and I want to experience it the French way. Grated Swiss cheese, too. Then we had more cheese. When bicycle touring in France, make sure you always save room for cheese. France has 350 varieties, they reminded us. Truffles for dessert; they are kind of a Christmas specialty, Christophe and Catherine explain, that have just begun showing up in stores. Earlier today, we had cycled past a bunch of goose and duck farms. This region is famous for duck livers. It is not paté. There is some big difference here. It is quite pricey -- 500 francs ($140 per kilo). There are lots of signs as we go by the farms reading "Foie Gras," which translates as liver grease. Mmmm. Sounds like a delicacy, for sure. When I started down the drive to this huge mansion Sharon said she thought, "Oh, sure. Some old rich guy is going to tell me to get lost." Well, it was a nice surprise. I hope it rains all night and gets this weather out of its system. They told us it was sunny here last week. They say it is colder in Spain and Portugal. Oh, great. They warn us about our upcoming country. "It's wet and humid. Watch your bikes in Spain. There are crooks everywhere. It is really bad," they say, "since Spain legalized marijuana. People rob to pay for drugs. Portugal is very poor. It is wild in the north of Portugal with small mountains." I'm not sure why, but with this last bit of information about Portugal prompts me to remember that I saw a little deer this morning. I have a confession. I must admit that, I, too, had a choice of a sit down toilet or squat today, and I chose squat. It's better exercise for my quadriceps. Gotta stay in good shape to perform deep knee bends. Maybe that's why those old French people are so sprightly? They have to stay in good shape just to use the toilet. One, two. One, two. Up, down. |
