Our days in \"port\" at La Rochelle were not unlike any of our other city stays. A little tourism, no bicycling, writing and updating the web. We were struck by the beauty of the town and the port and had a picture postcard view of the old port, its ramparts and the gothic lighthouse. Connecting to AOL to upload our pages to CruzIO reminded me of my days working in Eastern Europe. Had to disassemble the telephone and wire the computer into it because the phones were attached directly to the wall. A small price to pay to be able to stay in a place with such a view.
One afternoon while Andrew was writing his passage I hit the town to shop for a picnic. We wanted something special to go with the Mouton-Rothschild we'd bought a few days before. I was surprised when our hotelier couldn't direct me to a traiteur (a fancy french delicatessen) nearby. I thought a city of this size in France must have one or two?! Walking around I stumbled upon the market square. It was perfectly preserved with its permanent structure of cast iron, brick and glass standing in the center. I picked up some fruit, foie gras, smoked sliced duck breast, a cannelloni, some tiramisu and a baguette.
We sat on our balcony and gorged ourselves on the meal and the view. While we ate the tide receded at an alarming rate. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to take a before and after photograph. Within 30 minutes the little harbor below us was nearly emptied of water. Earlier we were wondering why there were so few boats and so few moorings. Our answer came as we saw that there was more sand than sea at low tide. Now we understood why there was a lock at the entry of the other little harbor which held its water level 25' higher at low tide.
We went to a sad little bar after dinner that night. The guide pitched \"ambiance techno\", but \"ambiance triste\" probably fits better. Five sourfaced frogs sat quietly drinking beers in barstools that promoted bad posture. Perhaps it was too early, after all the sun had just set an hour and a half ago (it was nearly 11:30) and it was Tuesday night. On Wednesday we had a very late start. Andy and I went to the market square for breakfast and were surprised along the way how quiet it was in the downtown area. We stopped to ask someone the time fearing we had gotten up too early.
It was a few minutes before nine, not so early. As we came closer to the square things heated up. It was market day. All of the vendors from the country side had set up their stands in the square, along a road that led to a canal and in parking lots. After snarfing down a couple of pastries we went in search of fresh squeezed orange juice in the market having tired of the terrible canned stuff. No luck, but we did manage to find some bottled grapefruit juice. Becoming comatose it was time to find some coffee. Stopped into a café accustomed to serving the workers of the market the barkeep was gossiping with her girlfriend, a butcher and a vegetable clerk.
She was clearly a lesbian, dressed far more butchly than the french boys and her display of her teddy bear in a leather jacket was a dead giveaway. Returning to the Hotel after our outing it was difficult to get started. We'd grown complacent after only a day's rest. Watching the wind whip the flags of the harbor against the direction of our intended travel did not help motivate us. We packed our bags and I put the telephone back together and we hit the road. We began our day along a canal with a bike path the sun beaming and the wind bearing down on us.
Tough riding, but glorious to feel warm and see the sun. Stopped a few kilometers down the road to assemble a little picnic and sat down to eat it at a war memorial in apark. Just as I was smearing goat cheese on my baguette some goofy germans wanted us to move so they could photograph the monument. Strange, not only because they lost the war, but because it was such a bad idea for a photo. The winds picked up even further after lunch and we were happy when the road would be protected by a hedge or building for a few yards so we could pedal in peace.
Those moments were few and far between for most of the day was spent riding through open fields of spring wheat. I had an epiphany while staring out into a field watching it wave and swirl in the wind like the pelt of a furry animal. The wind blowing the fields of grain evoked the brush strokes of Van Gogh and left me wondering whether life was imitating art or vice versa. Riding into a little town we stopped at a little bar/café and watched a video game's demonstration loop while sipping an Orangina. It was called something like \"Rage in San Francisco\", an automobile race, it sat unused.
The graphics were amazing, had nothing like that in the arcade when we were kids. Behind the bar was a pencil drawing of a very ugly dude with the word \"Wanted\" above and \"Patou\" below. Just as we spun around to ask the barmaid who was Patou we saw him just behind her. Seated at a table, chin in hand was the dwarf smiling at us. \"Is Patou the boss around here?\", we asked. She answered, \"yes, in a way.\" While she ironed table linen and asked us questions about our journey he would grunt a few unintelligible syllables, sounding more duck than human, and she would reply sweetly to him.
We couldn't understand his language but she could. It was good to see a handicapped person in france outside of a home where they normally hide them away. Later we were riding along and saw in a distant field kites dancing above the wheat. On a whim we decided to divert towards them and watch for a few moments. Watching someone entertained by the wind seemed a great diversion from it. Five kids sat in the field flying three kites. They were the fancy kind with two strings that make it easy to navigate the kite into doing loops, dives and swoopy turns.
The kites more interesting than the video game we saw earlier in the bar. We were just a few yards behind them having a snack and some water watching their show. They'd look back at us curiously but never approached us. It was at that moment that I realized I missed the curiosity of the kids in the states. Almost everywhere we would stop we'd have kids asking us a hundred questions about us and our journey. French kids were just not conditioned to do so. They'd stare but keep their distance and curiosity to themselves. Adults too keep their questions guarded and stare at us in amazement as we pass.
The look at us like we are some strange invaders, a perplexing new technology, marauders or some combination of the three. Soon we came across the Venise Vert (green Venice), the swampy region that was our goal for the day. The low-lying terrain criss-crossed with canals. We had begun the day along canals and now we were ending it beside them as well. We stopped at the tourist office in Arcais to find out about our lodging opportunities and the sour-pussed clerk nearly beheaded us when we asked her for some advice right in front of a sign that said \"l'acceuil est le sourire de la France\"
(the welcome is France's smile.) Seemed a poor excuse for the lack of real smiles in France. Arriving a few moments later at the gite (bed and breakfast) the host grinned and welcomed us. It was literally the first French person besides the barkeep and Patou that had smiled at me all day. We knew we were home for the night. She showed us our beautiful country room and made us a deal which included free rental of a boat to navigate the canals with before dinner. I sat back and enjoyed the late afternoon while Andy paddled our launch through the canals of Venice Vert.
It was so green it almost hurt my eyes. Even the waterways themselves verdant with the algae growing in them. When we returned her husband had returned and offered us a glass of his homemade beverage of wine and cognac. Within a few glasses I was woozy and ready for dinner. There our disingenuous server brought us a tasty meal of sliced duck and a terrine of fish quickly and officiously. Later back at \"the ranch\", our hosts were fascinated by our computer so Andrew gave them a tour of our website. They showed us some of their digitized photos and gave us one of the commercial harbor and chateau behind it.
Within a few minutes of arriving in the room the pages of the book I am reading became blurry and I faded off to sleep awaking to the birds chirping and the sun beaming in the window.