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14 Catherine and Christophe At Mont de Marsan we hit 1000 kilometers in France. We were in a region that was famous for duck livers; we passed many geese and duck farms. It was expensive-500 francs per kilo. Signs on farm gates read: Foie Gras. That translated as liver fat. Mmmm. It sounded like a delicacy for sure. Disclosure time: I must admit that I too had a choice of squat or sit down toilet. And I chose squat. Better exercise for my quads. I had to stay in shape performing by deep knee bends. Maybe that was why the old French citizens were so sprightly. They had to stay limber just to use the toilet. Onetwo. Onetwo. We met more rude French. Sharon had wanted to camp earlier, but I continued. It was almost dark. We hadn't eaten yet; Sharon was tired and cranky. I was out of water, so I went to a house on the side of the road. I planned on asking if we could stay in their yard. But alas, no one was home. Across the road was another house, the size of a mansion. I knew someone was home, because a light was on; the French were not power wastrels. The driveway gate was open. I started down the long muddy brokenbrick drive. As I rounded the corner a young darkskinned greasesmeared fellow came out of the house. We both surprised each other. Holding out my water bottle, I asked for water. He frowned. "Espagñol?" he asked me. "Anglais. Canada." I said. He reached for my water bottle. Sharon finally decided to follow me down the drive. She approached as he took my bottles inside. In a moment a woman appeared at the door and in English told us to park our bikes and come inside. It was raining. We were wet. We were muddy. We were smelly. She asked if we would like tea. Soon we were drinking hot tea and eating upsidedown pear cake. Catherine's husband, Christophe, had gone back outside to work. Baby Estelle played nearby, babbling away in French, as only a fourteenmonthold could. Catherine had visited America for a year assisting French teachers. Christophe, an exarmy officer, picked up restaurants' empty wine bottles, cleaned and sorted them, then sold them back to bottlers. The house was immense. It had been built for one of Napoleon's friends at the turn of the nineteenth century. It had five sixhundred square foot bedrooms with fifteen foot ceilings, four bathrooms, and four kitchens with stone fireplaces. Christophe's parents, who lived in Madrid, owned it. Catherine and Christophe looked after it for them. There were two separate guest houses. One was rented. Supper was spaghetti with ham and mushroom sauce with a raw egg on top. Truffle chocolates were dessert. After supper, Christophe invited us to stay overnight in the vacant guest house. As we laid in bed in the guest house Sharon told me, "When you started down the drive, I thought, 'Oh, sure, some rich guy is going to tell you to get lost.'" |
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