|
30 White Wine In the morning the reflection on the lake of surrounding rocky mountains and pine forest was superb. A town on the hillside was obscured by clouds. Its church bell clanged eerily through the mist. In Riez I bought three warm crusty baguettes and tried out a flat bread that looked like the salted type in Sardinia, but discovered it was sugar. A little square cost the same amount as a whole baguette. I bought groceries at the Intermarché. "Gee, you were quick," Sharon said as I reappeared in less than half the normal time. "Yep," I agreed, "it's a lot faster when you can get your own fruit, vegetables and cheese off the shelf rather than wait in three different lines behind droves of gossiping women." Did I mention chocolate was cheap in France? I bought five bars of flat chocolate for the price I had been paying for one in Italy. The terrain in Haute Alps was flatter. We did one hundred and ten kilometers and Sharon said it felt easier than our shorter day in Gorge du Verdon. We cycled past red, yellow, pink, purple and white tulip fields. Passed rows and rows of lavender fields with a beginning hint of purple. They bloomed June through August. "You'll have to come back and see them. They're so lovely and the smell is delightful," the woman at the tourist office told us. We came across a field of blooming yellow canola with a hut in the middle and stopped to have lunch while admiring the glowing stalks. We sat behind an old wooden building with a cat door cut into the side. Camembert was readily consumed in the agreeable atmosphere. Two Germans stopped for a picnic lunch. As we were leaving, I noticed the man pouring water from a wine bottle into the radiator. "Blanc vin?" I asked. Those Germans really pampered their Mercedes. It was a cloudy ten degrees Celsius. Rain occasionally spat, but nothing serious. The sun tried to peek out near the end of the day as we set up camp. Much of our ride had been along the river or canal. We saw our first train track in a while. And bike lanes ran along the side of some roads. They sure were relaxing. We were at the back of a vineyard next to where the brambles started up the steep hillside. A marshy swamp was next to the hill. I saw a frog earlier, but he must have had a guest appearance elsewhere as I didn't hear him singing in our locality. Many little bugs though--the kind that delighted in flying up my nasal passages and tickling my nose hairs making me snort to expel the little buggers. Sharon, after a dozen dive bombed and chomped her said she remembered why she liked cold nights. (Besides that.) As Sharon washed up with half a pot of cold water, she said she missed Madeleine's bath tub. I missed peeking through the key hole. Sharon thought our pot was like a tiny bidet. I thought the water was the same temperature. For a towel I used a floor mop cloth. They were great--soft, light, packed small and were wonderfully absorbent. For supper we had rice and fruit de mer with clams, shrimp, squid and baby octopus. It wasn't bad as long as I didn't look at it. |
|
|
Book Info