Fifth Day

Fifth Day

Bonjour!

            What a night!  The storm lasted the entire night.  High winds buffeted the area with heavy rains alternating with a light drizzle of fine mist. What a thrill to be outside in such weather and most thankful to be under a shelter!

            During the night another camper arrived guided in by a carload of noisy teenagers.  Apprehension rifled through my veins unsure if they had the intentions of the teenagers in “Rebel Without a Cause,” a classic James Dean movie.  Happily, they drove back down the hill soon after.

            Morning arrived with the skies evenly split between storm clouds to the east and clear skies to the west.  Whiffs of wind gently shake the limbs of a large oak flushing the drops of rain from its leaves.  Dark green moss covers the base.

I plan to stay another day.  It would be foolish to cycle in such weather and this campground fits me perfectly.  I will bike into the Office de Tourisme for suggestions about sites to see and to check the Wifi.  I also will replenish my food supplies.  I will pack along the essentials and leave the rest hidden in the shelter.

Another point about this trek is being by myself and reflecting on my life’s journey.  I can do this on the bike or in a campground or on the side of the road. 

By midmorning the storm clouds have won the battle and totally blanketed the entire area.

I coast into town all down hill.  The lady in the Office de Tourisme could have been cast in a Harry Potter film, a wisp of a woman, rail thin and less than 5 feet.  Her school marm spectacles are perched at the very end of her nose.  She is wearing a horizontally black and white striped blouse, which on anyone else would add pounds, but because of her thinness, she can get away with it.  She struts about like a marionette on wooden clogs that add inches to her stature. 

After posting a blog, I check on the Warriors and welcome the news of a third victory.  I was nice to hear that Steph had an outstanding game.  They can close out the series on Monday night at Oracle.  Go Warriors!

The Saturday morning ritual of farmer’s market is in full swing.  I bought enough food for a fortnight, cheese, ham, tomatoes, radishes, onion, pear, apple, bananas, figs, and a carrot.  Not wanting country styled bread I opted for two baguettes at the bakery.  I made a big mistake on the ham.  Judging the size of the ham in the glass display case I asked for 8 slices.  However she already had a ham twice the size in the slicer.  I will be eating ham for the next couple of meals.

I found shelter beneath the town square, a large stone structure supported by arches on four sides.  At Le Bistro I ordered my first café grande, as delicious as ever.  Under the shelter I corralled a table and chairs.  On my right were a father and son being playful with one another, sparring and giggling.  My first thought was a divorced Dad on visitation.  They were similar in the eyes but totally different in color.  His hair was dark brown and curly.  His complexion was swarthy.  He wore a brown leather jacket over pants that looked like a Persian rug.  The son was blonde with features perfect enough to rival a young Jackie Coogan.  The boy had on a black trench coat that fell below the knee.  Together they looked quite stylish. 

A grandfather appeared with the features of the father.  His hair had long disappeared with wisps of gray above the ears.  Next came the grandmother and then an Aunt.  They greeted the young boy warmly with kisses and hugs.  With the tableau complete they took off.

Eymoutiers is a pretty little town with a host of shops lining both side of the only boulevard.  LeBistro is doing a steady business both inside and in the square.  A large black dog with splashes of white on his nose and chest roams the square looking for handouts.

An elegant elderly couple sits down nearby and is enjoying a sweet with their café grandes.  They sit tall and erect, prim and proper.  Both are well groomed with white hair.  Both have on rain slickers.  She has on a skirt with red emblems inside white circles on a blue background that hugs her thighs.  Her walking sandals accentuate a nice pair of well-tanned legs.  He has on the customary blue jeans and trainers.  He puts on a pair of glasses to take a picture of madam on his I-Phone.

Three young ladies and a younger lad, the son of one of them, have gathered at another table.  He looks totally bored among the spirited chatter and frequent laughter.

A most interesting couple almost immediately replaces the elegant couple.  The deeply lined face of the man reflects a difficult life.  Stringy gray hair tumbles over his shoulders and a bald spot is apparent on the back of his head.  He sports a two-day growth beneath his nose and on his chin.  He wears a brown canvas raincoat with a cape attached.  He slouches in his chair giving off the comfortability and assurance of an eccentric barrister like Kuntsler or Rumpole

His companion is probably his age but looks a decade younger.  Her dark curly hair is speckled with gray.  Her windbreaker is navy-blue.  She goes, is sent, into the bistro with an order.  With her gone he quickly takes out his smart phone, checks for messages, and then sends several text messages. 

The waiter delivers their order and they engage in friendly banter.  Soon after a boy in a sweatshirt and baseball cap worn backwards stops by for a friendly repartee.  The man might have been a teacher although the entrenched worry lines indicate a more stressful life.  Two more couples stop by to say a quick hello.

At school, one day, I asked a student who was wearing his baseball cap with the brim at the back where I could find such a cap.  Embarrassed for me by my lack of awareness, he shyly explains that this was simply an ordinary cap worn backwards.  When he caught my broad smile and the twinkle in my eye he knew it was being had.

A solitary man sits at another table nursing a cigarette and a beer while exploring a guidebook.  The other couple also light up cigarettes and I feel the need to move.  I tuck away my groceries in the saddlebag and head for the church.  It is quite nice for a village this size.  It has half of the square footage of those in Limoges but it is significantly taller.  There is a nice rose window over one of the portals. Deep hollows indent the stone steps into the church telling of the thousands that have entered this sacred ground over the centuries.

By the time I return to the Town Centre, the town has nearly emptied.  Only a few of the stalls remain.  The rest have been dismantled and hauled away.

Patches of blue are peeking through the fields of mottled gray.  As the day wore on, the blue gradually overwhelms the gray.  Our civil war springs to mind.

I manage the climb back into the campground without stopping or walking.  There I have a delicious lunch of bread, tomatoes, onion, radishes, cheese, and ham.

Shortly after lunch a car drives up and deposits a gnome like creature.  She is quite small and walks with a stoop.  Her rounded face breaks into an infectious smile.  She pulls out her cleaning supplies, mop, pail, and cleansers and heads out to scrub down the showers and toilets.  While she works I wash my clothes and hang them out to dry.  The sun is warm and the wind is brisk.

The first campers arrive about 5:00 in a car and set up their drab green pup tent.  They are a young English couple living north of here in a villa own by the man’s family for 30 years.  He was a journalist for the BBC and is now engaged in writing his first novel.  She is an interior decorator and loves to do bike touring.  She has done several trips with others and by herself.  She cannot be more than 30, has dark hair and eyes.  Olive green hiking shorts cover her thick athletic legs.  They are heading to Marseilles.

One of the campers from the night before returns, says hello, and then leaves.  A second camper, a white Citroen, pulls in.  The lady is perfectly coiffured with golden blonde hair.  She is wearing an attractive rose-colored sweater with two paisley scarves tied loosely around her neck.  Black pants and white tennis shoes complete her ensemble.  The man is balding down the middle with thick sides of gray.  He is wearing a black sweater with blue and white trim over his blue jeans and sandals.

The campground attendant arrives promptly at 7 in her small white car with black roof, no back seat, and barely room for two.  She is absolutely poured into a black pair of spandex stretch pants and topped with a tight fitting black blouse.  The outfit matches her black hair and deep-set black eyes.  She is quite attractive.  Of course being young equates with being attractive.

The French nose contrasts with the Roman nose.  Whereas the Roman nose is broader, the French nose is more peaked and petite.

Avoir!