War and Peace

The Frog  Fair was really great fun.   Hundreds of visitors crowded into St. Géniès de Fontedit.   There was a real carnival atmosphere, with brass bands, drummers and, inevitably, the cooking of frogs.   Here is the man preparing to cook the little buggers.   15 minutes later this counter was 20 deep in people waiting for half an hour for their frog lunch .   I stuck with chips.

Off we go on our travels again!   Poor old Mistress R. Soul will be blowing a gasket if we don’t rest her soon.

But so much to see and so little time.

We let Johnny and Maz rest on their first evening here as they’ve been before and were here for longer this time.   They bought us another flamingo gift in exquisite taste.  Blow up ones to hold our drinks when our dip pool is set up for the summer.   If all goes well (ha, as if that’s gonna happen) the pool will be ready for revellers next week!

However, big plans were made for Monday and Thursday.

The only request we had received from Les Fromages (aka Maz and Johnny) was for a Brocante or Boot Fair.    We  discovered there was to be one at Bouzigues (I know faithful followers, we have been there several times, but sans Brocante).    It was a beautiful setting with stalls set up along the sea front, very friendly stall holders and a great variety of stuff.  Money was spent by all.   Our purchase finally proved that we have no idea of the worth, nor aesthetic value of anything.   We’ve hidden the lamp we bought for 10 euros!

Gazzie and Johnny feasted on oysters and us women on chips, all washed down with  an excellent pichet  of white wine.   Our host/ waitress was, we all agreed,  the kindest, smiliest, nothing-too-much- troubliest that we have ever met.   A total joy to spend a short time in her company and gaze at the sea.

To give our guests an extra treat we decided to take the car ferry across the Petit Rhône.   Unluckily there was a cafe serving beer at the ferry terminal.  The weak willed men went to get one. The ferry tooted to go and in the time it took to pay for the blooming beers, the ferry went.     This  free ferry runs every half  an hour and we had things to see.   So we drove  all the way back the way we came.

Gazzie and I had decided to take our friends to Ste. Marie de la Mare.    When we visited in February we saw a pretty little town, with odd cone shaped white houses and six people:  gentlemen of a certain age playing Boules in the square.

We had heard that next weekend was the festival day of Ste. Sara Kali, (the Black Madonna) patron saint of gypsies and that gypsies from all over Europe go to Ste. Marie to watch the ceremony of taking her statue into the sea.

Five days in advance of this, we thought we might see some preparation.   As we drove in,  the car parks were full of caravans and trailers.  Instead of six people there must have been six thousand milling around the square.   We amazingly found a car parking space and as we left the car we were met with a wall of noise;   ear splitting recorded music and thousands of laughing, shouting voices.   And many, many armed police.

We hurriedly walked away from the cacophony into a quieter area and in complete contrast found this gypsy singer/guitarist playing to a small but appreciative audience.

 

 

It’s all about bulls, horses and maleness.

In the sea front bars, the young men, carefully coiffured, their muscled bodies gleaming with body oil, drank beer, played guitars and paraded themselves loudly in front of the young women ( I only took a quick glance) .   The very air appeared to be laden with testosterone.

 

“Gazzie,”  I said quietly, “can we head home?   I fear if I stay here a moment longer I shall start to grow testicles”.   With a horrified look downwards he jumped in the car.

 

The drive home seemed very long and like weary children we fell indoors and ate pizza.

On the Tuesday we were back to French class.   Have I said before I love this class?  We sit in Bérènice’s dining room conversing in pretty awful French, while her three cats put paws over their ears and hide under the chairs.  We are such a mixed bunch but we laugh till we ache most weeks.

Home to Johnny’s asparagus risotto, with wonderful asparagus from the farm shop. Where, incidentally, Gazzie buys his red wine in a 5 Litre cubi at a cost of  7 euros.    And says it is wonderful.   Mmmm

Wednesday found us back in Beziers.   I had to have an ultrasound, so our friends wandered around Beziers while we experienced  another part of the French Health system    It was a very modern building, with free parking. We were seen early and whilst my doctor had no English  and I little French, we seemed to manage.   Though Gary said he did look surprised that I had all my clothes off when he was only looking at my stomach.

Ten minutes later we left with my x-rays, his observations on what he had found and were lighter by £75.   Fair do’s    At the moment we can claim back three quarters of that.

Gary translated the doctor’s observations, Then looked up the medical terms on Google, put on his doctor’s uniform on and told me what he’d found.   Basically water retention we think!   We go to our doctor next week.   £25!

We met up with our friends, had lunch in the lovely Café Des Arts, home and then tea with an artist friend of ours.   Funny but over here you don’t seem to have tea for tea, but wine and cake.   And tea lasts from 4 till 8!

And so, dear patient bloggees, we arrive at the last day of our friends’ visit.   They are to go home Friday lunchtime and I have my Creative Writing class in the morning.   We had planned what we hoped would be a lovely surprise for them.

We had booked a lunch cruise on the Canal du Midi.

 

It was so calm, so relaxing and the weather was kind enough.  The two young French people (Andrea and Jerry) who run these cruises do a range, which includes one hour canal cruises and evening cruises with dinner and gypsy guitarists.

We had a lovely cold buffet lunch with lots of variety and a wide choice of drinks  Just a perfect way to spend two and a half hours.

 

 

Home to Prawn Curry

Purrfeck!

Oh.   Scenes from a French idyll.

I am beginning to wonder if the village of Neffiès is actually a fantasy.    Like a French “Brigadoon”.    Of course we had to take Les  Fromages there to see the murals   We met a few people on our way to the church.   Every single one smiled and said “ Bonjour”.

Silence fell as we wandered about this exceptionally pretty village.   Then  we heard singing.   Into a patch of sunlight beside the church came a mother and two tiny little girls, holding hands and singing on their way home from nursery school.

Collective intake of breath and holding back of tears.