Sixth Day

Sixth Day

Bonjour!

            As they used to say in the small airports, there will be no flying today.  The area is totally socked in with bad weather, layer upon layer of gray clouds.

            My deep sleep was briefly interrupted at 10:30 when car camping couple decided to do their dishes and utensils.  Their chatter drifted over the clatter.

            I would still like to do a day ride into Nedde. Posters throughout town advertise Nedde as La Cite des Insectes.  The ride would be 20 km over and back, just enough to loosen up the legs.

            Little wonder that this campground can ill afford a full time attendant with five campers the night before and 3 campers last night.  Being on a hilltop the spaces are on different levels and are well spaced.  Well-pruned trees form columns along the roads and paths.  Flopsy and Mopsy come bounding by, darting this way and that way.  Their fluffy white tails and short ears highlight their light brown fur.  The few birds are of the wren variety, small with a mixture of brown feathers.  A stray dog ambles by.  He has the squat and elongated oval body of a daschund but his long scraggly hair makes him look like a tiny musk ox.

            With the stores closing at noon on Sunday I head off to pick up a few items, nail clippers, bread, jam, wine, and hopefully a stocking cap.  My closely shaved head needs to be covered.  It may say June 12 on the calendar but it feels more like the early days of winter.  If any moisture falls today, it will come in the form of snow.

            Both the bistro and Office de Tourisme are closed.  The streets are nearly empty of people and it is nearly 10:00 in the morning.  I cross through the village to the Casino Super Market.  There I find everything except the stocking cap.  In its place there are cookies, chips, and a bag of hard candy.  I also buy my first bottle of red wine, a Bordeaux from Saint-Emilion.  I searched high and low for the liquor offered by the man from Niort but to no avail.

            Passing back through town a older man sporting a brown tam and Wild Bill Hickok handle bar mustache came reeling down the street in his vintage white MG, top down.  Family groups are out walking, the middle generation pushing single and double strollers.  This is such a wonderful scene in the villages of France, entire families enjoying Sunday together. 

For the umpteenth time I see a tall unshaven man with unruly hair dancing in every direction.  He is obviously not interested in any dress code and his jacket and pants are ill matched.  His blue jacket is well worn and his wrinkled pants looked like they were pulled out of hamper.  His brown sandals are untied.  He shuffles along the boulevard trolling a better groomed black Labrador on a five foot piece of linked chain.  Yesterday, the dog was tied to a post while he was in the bistro.  The dog yowled loudly every few minutes.  This morning I saw them leaving the Casino and now they are visiting with friends along the boulevard.

            Back at the campground the Citroen has left and the young lady is cutting her partner’s hair, a dark, curly, bushy mane.  He sports a thick beard that also could use a trimming.  Their clothes reflect the low temperature.  Both have on sweat clothes with blue bottoms and gray tops.  She has a red scarf wrapped jauntily around her neck.  When they leave I have the realm to myself, the master of the hill ready to take on all comers.     

            “Being in a hurry is sad because it means that you are unhappy where you are at.”

            The first invasion that I cannot repel is the cleaning lady who turns the corner with pail and mops and a friendly salute and a smile that lights up the world.  This has to be the easiest job of her day.  How much mess can five people make?

            After wine, chips, cheese, and a short nap, I tried for my ride to Nedde.  I was halfway down the hill when I noticed the oncoming cars had their windshield wipers on, not briskly but steadily.  I quickly turned around and cycled back to my haven.  I would not mind getting wet except there would be no way to dry out.  Wet and cold would not be good.  A heavy mist clouds the entire valley.

            Eight o’clock in the evening and the rain is coming down steadily.  My fingers are crossed for tomorrow.  I would like to cycle north to see an abbey where there is a campground nearby.  One advantage of the cold is that there is not a concern about refrigeration for the cheese and ham.

            I just received word that Fr. Maria Capitola S.J. has passed away.  I last visited him three weeks and he was sleeping peacefully.  He was 92 and very much wanted to join his younger brother Paul, also a Jesuit, who had recently died.  Mario was a respected colleague for over 30 years.  He taught physics and was one of long line of dedicated Jesuits who worked 24-7 for their students.  Their “boys” meant the world to them.  Both of his parents immigrated from Italy.  They settled in Utah and opened up a restaurant in Brice.  During the war Mario wanted to fly but because of his poor eyesight was sent to navigation school near Milwaukee.  After the war he had a chance to attend Marquette.  He was impressed by the Jesuits and decided to join the Order in the early 50’s.  He brought all of his technical background to the classroom.  To help with the budget he would salvage electronic odds and ends from the local Army surplus.

            The beautiful camp host has returned to collect the fees.  There is only one other camper, a white Reneault van.  These camper vans are quite small even tinier that my VW Westy.