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15 Practical Pizza After having a hot bath, I braided Sharon's hair. It must have been a French braid. Sharon and I were a couple of minutes late walking across the courtyard. I told Catherine the standard excuse for lateness during winter in Canada: "We had trouble getting our car started." After toast and tea we all went to church in Christophe's fulloptioned MP car he had bought secondhand when stationed in Berlin. Our first ever car ride in France was very luxurious. The amount of leg room to stretch out was tailormade for basketball players. With her red hair band, four teeth and a chunk of bread baby Estelle was as contented as ever. At eleven she had a two hour nap, after sleeping twelve straight hours through the night. The only familiar sounding part of mass was when everyone sang Alleluia. Sharon confessed it made her homesick. Afterward, Sharon and I talked to Father. He asked us, "Do you know it is winter? I can't believe you are out cycling at this time of year." But there was no snow, and it was warmer than Gaspé had been. (Gaspé folks had told us: "Next time come in July.") Back at the chateau Catherine talked about American culture and how it had invaded all aspects of food, clothing and entertainment. Catherine was an American basher. She told us, "Young people in France think America is great because of what they see on tv." But Catherine, having lived in America for a year, didn't have anything to recommend about the American lifestyle. We hadn't seen clothes dryers. Catherine said they existed, in fact were quite cheap and most families were getting them. It was the electricity to operate the dryer that was expensive. Catherine said, "They're quite practical-easier than hanging clothes up to dry." The French seemed slow to adopt nontraditional ways in some areas of technology. Catherine agreed France was behind in some things. For example pizza arrived only a few years ago; Italy is right next door. Catherine said, "Pizza is so practical. It's fast to make. The French are adverse to new food-especially if it's fast to prepare." I asked about the washroom's short basin. "It's an honest to goodness bidet to wash your feet in," Catherine said. "No one uses them anymore, but people are so used to seeing them, everyone still puts them in when they build their house." I asked Catherine what "merde" meant. She said, "shit," and couldn't believe someone had said that to me. Well, he was drunk. At least he hadn't said "merde tête." That was why I wasn't supposed to say merci-took the luck away. Maybe the luck came when stepping in it? Catherine fussed over us, treating Sharon and me to a special lunch. We started with fish liver spread on bread. Main course was sumptuous tender roast mutton with green beans. We drank water. Christophe explained they only liked to drink expensive wine and couldn't afford it at every meal. Sharon and I found even the cheap wine to be excellent to our neophyte taste buds. The walnut tree in their yard provided soft fresh nuts for dessert. Christophe had cycled the area many times. He plotted little used roads for Sharon and me to follow. Leaving at two, we followed Christophe's directions to Peyrehorade. We crossed the Ardor River and pedalled along the narrow one lane road by the river. When the uncommon car happened along, it pulled over and stopped, waiting for us to pass. Talk about feeling like a god. There were many bike riders taking advantage of the flat terrain and sunny weather. We passed kiwi fruit trees and horse ranches. A wall encompassed Bayonne's old section of city. Two stately church towers dominated the Basque fisherman region's skyline. Red and green trim dominated the colour scheme on fishermen's houses. In Anglette we found an open gate into a closed campground. A heavy chain and padlock hung on the gate, but the lock lay open. The washrooms had been broken into; porcelain toilet bowls had been smashed. In absolute blackness, about halfway down the campground, we camped between trees. |
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