197. Days of wine and roses

8th November 2012. We decided to have lunch out in Bayonne yesterday and we had in mind a place on the banks of the Nive. It was so warm we found a table outside and sat out there in the dazzling sunshine - I had to take my jacket off. We'd had pizzas here before and they were comparable to ones we'd enjoyed in Italy - so we ordered and leaned back, savouring the November day with the help of a carafe of red wine. Looking down, fat grey mullet were holding station easily against the gentle current with lazy flicks of their tails as they waited for any stray offerings from above. After the pizzas, we had pain perdu with ice cream.. followed by coffee. Occasionally we contemplate living up in the mountains in the Jura but then we'd never have days like these. Ernest Dowson said it best:

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:

Out of a misty dream

Our path emerges for a while, then closes

Within a dream.

Slowly, the approach of Christmas is felt. It does seem strange to be thinking of setting one's mind in seasonal mode amid sunny blue skies but we've already ordered Christmas cards from the UK. Sending Christmas cards in France - or indeed greetings cards of most kinds - is not as widespread a practice as it is across the Channel. Here, people are accustomed to send each other New Year cards instead  - usually in the first few weeks of January - so the few card shops there are here stock a limited choice of Christmas cards.

Yesterday I noticed a small group of army officers in combat clothing from the Special Forces barracks across the river standing in front of the War Memorial in Bayonne (above) finalising the detailed planning for the Armistice parade on Sunday. I always try and attend this if I'm able. There's something about the Marseillaise when it's played on trumpets accompanied by the dry rattle of sidedrums that stands my hair on end and raises goose bumps.

12th November 2012. Went down to the river this morning - apparently there's a Monday morning group who go out then. There were a whole lot of new faces there - ones who don't do Saturday mornings. Went out in a coxless IV - I was stroke - and we took it up the river in brilliant sunshine. Apart from the blazing yellows and reds of the trees, it was hard to believe that it was November. Coming back, our wake was gilded by the low sun - absolutely perfect. We did about 11km.

My Banjo for Dummies book arrived this morning - I've been struggling with the 5 string banjo for a while and I think this book might just hold the answer. Fingers crossed! (Hey - maybe that's what I've been doing wrong!)

Banjo players appear to be the butt of jokes - see here for details.

What have I started..??!!    

18th November 2012. Hard to believe that Christmas is next month. We've been incredibly fortunate with the weather in November - it was 24°C on Friday. One November a couple of years ago, we had rain every day for a month so Nature's largesse this time around is very welcome. Had a memorable outing on the river yesterday - with the mild autumn weather there was a large turnout and we were able to put 2 VIIIs and 3 IVs out on the water. In addition, I was paired with a very fit 'regular' (half my age!) in a double sculler and despite all the confusion of boats and people we managed to slip away without getting caught up and delayed in all the hurly-burly - which is not always easy. There was a strong seawards current running as we headed off up-river. I was 'stroke' and right from the start the boat was balanced and it felt good. It wasn't long before all the other boats disappeared from sight as we found a good rhythm. We had a quick stop to remove our warm-up tops and then we set to the task. The boat ran straight and it was soon singing with the stern buried in our bubbling wake. We reached the turn around point and had a drink of water with no sign of any of the other boats. Heading back downstream again, the boat really flew and it wasn't long before we passed the others who were still labouring up-river. We finished with a sprint and all too soon we were back at the 'garage' (clubhouse) after a non-stop row feeling very pleased with ourselves. A very enjoyable 14kms.

Here's an atmospheric shot of a sculler enjoying an evening out on the upper reaches of the Nive: 

At the end of the month, the Loisirs (Leisure) Section of the club is planning another apéro evening at Tipi-Tapa - a peña (bar) in a casemate set into Vauban's ramparts that encircle Bayonne. We had one here earlier in the year and it was v enjoyable.. once we'd found it! It wasn't just drinks - this being France, there were tables laden with charcuterie, cheeses, bread and other bits and pieces. 

I don't know if peñas are allowed elsewhere in France but here it seems that just about anyone can open up a temporary bar. This relaxed attitude towards the serving of alcohol is in stark contrast with the highly regulated apparatus of obtaining and keeping a drinks licence in the UK. I'm sure the UK Home Office would throw a major wobbly if they were to witness the number of bars that proliferate during the Fêtes de Bayonne for example. And yet, in 5 years here, I've yet to see anyone staggering and/or lurching through the streets here. It's not well-considered to be seen to be "off your head" here, unlike the UK where getting "completely relaxed (as a newt)" is a regular weekly occurrence for an increasing number. As I've said before, northern Europeans have a different attitude to alcohol compared to those in the south, where a natural joie de vivre lies close to the surface. Unlike us more buttoned up northerners, here in the south they need little in the way of artificial encouragement for it to emerge. As the sole representative of northern Europe at the club, I will be doing my best to consume avec modération!

Here's Joe Dassin with an old favourite:

      

The clip above reminded me that I mentioned Paris a few posts ago - remember? (Post 188) Well, if you ever do decide to go there, after you've seen all the sights, here's a little-known suggestion for you to tuck away in your hip pocket.

Galérie Vivienne (Est 1823)

Paris has a number of covered shopping arcades that are home to an eclectic range of small shops. There's a list of them here and they are a perfect way of spending a rainy afternoon. (quiet in the cheap seats!☺) These arcades are home to many genuinely interesting shops - and it's not often you'll hear me say that! Specialist bookshops, antique maps, prints, old clock shops, intimate cafés, musical instruments, restorers, curios, objets d'art, the range and choice is endlessly fascinating. (NB: Best in full screen and 1080p HD!)

By the way, if you would like to add a comment about how reading this blog has been a life-changing experience for you (dream on!☺) then  click here, scroll down and give vent to your views (all in a good cause!)  Phrases such as "Laugh? I almost did.." and "Be still my aching sides" won't get used I'm afraid..☺ 

170. Dark nights in the Pays Basque

23rd November 2011. This morning I was at the coiffeurs getting coiffed (that's a haircut to you and me..) by the coiffeuse when I asked her about a nice old house across the road that had clearly been standing empty for a long while. In the few years since I'd first noticed it, it had been looking increasingly forlorn and severely in need of major restoration. Apparently it had belonged to a notaire but, for some unfathomable reason, he'd allowed it to go to rack and ruin. However, over the past few months, it has been finally getting 'the treatment' from a small army of artisans who have been hard at work putting it back in order. The word is that it's going to be a bank and I was told that it had been sold 'à la bougie' (English translation here) at the Town Hall.
  

I had to look this up as it was a new term to me. It seems that this is an ancient method, dating from the 15th century, of controlling the sale of property at an auction. For voluntary sales, properties are commonly sold à la bougie. Whoever is running the auction lights a small candle to start the bidding. This burns until the last bid is made, at which point another candle is lit. Both candles must then burn out without another bid being made, then the final bid is considered as accepted.

There's another of these run-down properties, a large Basque house dating from the '20s, just around the corner from here which is receiving armloads of TLC.. I shudder to think what the final bill will be as there's been a constant to-ing and fro-ing of specialists of all kinds with their ubiquitous white vans outside for at least 4-5 months. The first thing to go was the roof: all the tiles came off, then the whole old wooden roof structure was junked, before a new roof was built and tiled. My guess is that the new owner won't see much change from a million euros. I remember the asking price wasn't far off half a million - unrestored.

With just over a month to go, you'd be hard-pressed to spot any sign of impending Christmas here - I haven't seen any Christmas lights up yet. It's far from the cash register churning event it's evolved into in the UK with the nature, trend and volume of retail sales being reported, analysed and talked to death by 'retail experts' in the main evening news. Here, I see that the Christmas village for kids is being set up in front of the Town Hall from 1st-24th December.

  

I had to resort to ordering some Christmas cards via the internet as greeting card shops are thin on the ground here. In the UK, greeting card shops are embedded in every High Street and there's a card for every occasion. A different story here - there's not much choice when it comes to Christmas cards as the custom is to send New Year cards rather than Christmas cards or, heaven forbid, Happy Winter Holiday cards - don't start me off!

Christmas is more of a family-orientated day here with practically none of the razzamatazz that seems part and parcel of it elsewhere. Christmas dinner takes place on Christmas Eve which is all well and good - until Christmas Day arrives.. It's absolutely no hardship at all for me to sit down to a groaning table on Christmas Eve - the difficulty comes when you're faced with relative abstinence the following day, particularly after a lifetime of being programmed to eat Christmas dinner on Christmas Day! Solution? A French Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve and an English Christmas dinner on Christmas Day - followed by a call to DynoRod^®..!

One thing I do miss about Christmas in the UK is the annual showing on TV of "Where Eagles Dare" - without which no respectable senior programme editor would deem the Christmas period programming to be complete - though I've never quite seen the seasonal link between it and Christmas.. (PS One of the best openings of any film!)

I'm away in the south of France (near Aix) next week for a few days for a meeting with my customer. I've just dispatched an almighty wodge of work (technical term!) to him and so next week, I'm hopping on the TGV to Paris - yes, Paris! - before changing stations and catching another TGV to come all the way back down south again. While we're talking about TGVs, here's a reminder of the current world record holder at just shy of 360mph..(yes, miles per hour!) 

Having looked at all the options (air, road, train) it turned out that this was the optimum method of doing the journey.. It's only when faced with planning a trip like this that you realise just how Paris-centric the transport infrastructure is. (Note to self: need to brush up on how to knot a tie again!)

Looking out of the window in the last few minutes, it seemed to go dark suddenly in the space of a few minutes. As the sun is well over the yard arm I think the time could be ripe for an 'attitude adjuster'..

26th November 2011. A cold and misty outing on the river this morning in a coxless IV. There was a good turn-out and we managed to put out a couple of VIIIs and maybe 5-6 IVs. As we gained the upper reaches of the Nive we entered a monochrome world - not of black and white - with a weak sun breaking through the morning mist and lighting the scene in the palest of yellows. At one point we looked behind us and an VIII was silhouetted against the golden light as the crew turned it around and - as one - we all wished we'd had our cameras with us..  (14km)

Into Bayonne this afternoon with the dog looking for ideas for Christmas. Spotted a few likely candidates - such as these marrons glacés - and one or two other things.

Forgot to mention that SaxMan™ is back in town.. he was standing outside Galeries Lafayette playing another endlessly repeated riff.

Here's something to take your minds off the cold weather.. this was the absolutely mesmerising intermission act during the 1994 Eurovision Song Contest in Dublin.. It took everyone by surprise - and went on to be a global sensation.
Warning: Don't try this at home! (especially not in your slippers!)
This next one launches into a series of Riverdance clips.. I've heard that many people on the internet are reputed to have the attention span of the average goldfish☺but if you haven't seen 'Riverdance' before - stick with it.. you'll be amazed! Step forward to around 1:15..

We saw the 'Riverdance' show in the UK and what an unforgettable experience that was..!

And finally, here's something I found earlier - a magnificent slow-motion clip (1,000 frames/sec) of an eagle owl about to rip to shreds that nice silk tie that Auntie Ethel gave you for Christmas last year - it's best in full screen!

Sweet dreams!

97. First signs of Christmas

15th November 2010. Another addition to my "What makes life worth living list.."

  

It was a beautiful sunny morning today so I walked the pooch down into town and along the river bank only to find the Christmas lights being erected.. and all the chalets in front of the Hotel de Ville are in place ready for the Christmas market.. Christmas has come up quickly this year..

Madame has said she is going to make a Christmas pudding. I must be honest, she made one once in England and it was right up there with one of my dear old Mum's (the benchmark).. In the opinion of your correspondent, a good Christmas pud is the true taste of Christmas. When I was a kid, my father would drench the steaming pudding with whisky or brandy (from the bottle) which he'd then try to ignite - with varying degrees of success. Not so long ago I read that the thing to do is to pre-heat the spirits before pouring over the pudding.. and then all it takes is one match to set the whole thing alight.. I tried it and it works spectacularly well!

The other day we booked a holiday in Andalusia for next Spring - something to take our minds off the wet weather we're currently stuck with..

 

18th November 2010. Meanwhile,  life goes on - despite the frequent rain showers that have been sweeping in from the Bay of Biscay for the last week. Normalement there's something that catches my eye every day but it's rare that I have a camera to hand. The other day was an exception however when I spotted this sign on a gate..

For all you Francophiles out there, you'll be pleased to hear that London now has its very own French radio station.. I know it's been tried before but that was during the war and it wasn't for purposes of entertainment. It's worth looking at the link above - not least so that you may wince at the bluntness of some of the questions (how former President Giscard d'Estaing retained his composure I'll never know).

No, this new French radio in London is completely different and long overdue. I'd like to think that it might help to dispel the fog that traditionally obscures the view of the opposite side of the Channel - but I'm not holding my breath! 

35. Seasonal thoughts

At this time of the year, our thoughts are inevitably drifting towards Christmas. We're going to be staying with family and friends in and around Paris over Christmas and the New Year and we've been thinking of what we can bring them.. One thing springs to mind as a "cannot fail" crowd-pleaser and that's champagne. The famous quote by Tante Lily Bollinger (right) of the eponymous champagne house says it all.. In reply to the question posed by a Daily Mail journalist, "When do you drink champagne?" - she offered this very memorable answer:

"I only drink champagne when I'm happy, and when I'm sad. Sometimes I drink it when I'm alone. When I have company, I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I am not hungry and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it - unless I'm thirsty."

I wouldn't argue with a single word of that.. except to add I wish I could afford such largesse!!

The following summer after Madame and I were married, we were driving back up to England from the Pays Basque after our first holiday together there and we'd been invited to break the journey with P & A, two of her good friends. P was the marketing manager for Mumm champagne.. (you can see where this is going already can't you!) Anyway, we arrived at their lovely house at St-Maur on the banks of La Marne just outside Paris in the late afternoon to find P & A sat around a table in their garden with their two boys. After much vigorous kissing and handshaking, P disappeared inside the house, emerging moments later with a bottle of Mumm and some glasses.

"Pop" went the cork, glasses were clinked, toasts were drunk and Madame and I soon started to unwind after the long hot drive from the Pays Basque. It wasn't long before the bottle was "morte" and P went off to fetch another.. I'd not been accustomed to drinking champagne in quantity before - normally, a glass or two at a wedding, or maybe a bottle between friends... but this was different. P seemed to have an unlimited supply of the stuff in his cellar because when we went inside for dinner, another bottle appeared on the table. And I think another one or two after that. In fact, we drank nothing else from the time we arrived to when we finally (much later) crawled gratefully up the stairs to bed.

With it being available in such quantity, I felt able to experiment with different methods of drinking it. Firstly, the discreet economical sip (as practised at weddings - when there's some doubt as to whether or not there's going to be a refill). Then there's the "go for it" method, taking a large un-English mouthful and gulping it down. Or filling one cheek and squirting it from side to side.. Or, as in a personal fantasy of mine, filling a washing up bowl with champagne and going face-down in it! (one of these days!) The possibilities were endless.. This was another one of those "I could get used to this" moments. The perfect drink on a warm summer's evening.

I remember once overhearing a couple of women re-stocking the drinks shelves at a supermarket in England. One said to the other, "What do you think of champagne..?" to which her friend replied, "Well, it's only glorified apple juice innit.." I must be honest: years ago I never used to be that struck on it because my experience of it was limited to sipping it warm at wedding receptions.

If, for some reason, I had to be limited to only one drink for the rest of my life, it would be champagne. I just wish I could afford to indulge in a bottle* every day as Winston Churchill is reputed to have done.

* Winston's favourite was Pol Roger.

Other champagne-related quotes - but who said 'em? (Answers below)

1. Three be the things I shall never attain: Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.

2. In victory, you deserve Champagne, in defeat, you need it.

3. There comes a time in every woman's life when the only thing that helps is a glass of champagne.

4. Champagne is the only wine that leaves a woman beautiful after drinking it.

5. Champagne's funny stuff. I'm used to whiskey. Whiskey is a slap on the back, and champagne's a heavy mist before my eyes.

6. My only regret is that I did not drink more Champagne.

7. I drink champagne when I win, to celebrate . . . and I drink champagne when I lose, to console myself.

8. The feeling of friendship is like that of being comfortably filled with roast beef; love is like being enlivened with Champagne.

9. In success you deserve it, and in defeat you need it.

10. I'm only a beer teetotaller, not a champagne teetotaller. I don't like beer.

Finally: how not to open a bottle of champagne:

Although why not!! Now where did I put that washing up bowl..?

________________________________________________

Answers:
1. Dorothy Parker
2. Napoleon
3. Bette Davis (from the movie Old Acquaintance)
4. Madame De Pompadour
5. James Stewart (from the movie The Philadelphia Story)
6. Lord Maynard Keynes, on his deathbed
7. Napoleon Bonaparte
8. Samuel Johnson
9. Winston Churchill (sounds like no 2 to me!)
10. George Bernard Shaw

33. Christmas countdown..

25th November 2009. With the erection of 40 or so wooden chalets (aka garden sheds) in front of the Hôtel de Ville in Bayonne - ready for the Christmas market - there's now no hiding from the fact that Christmas is coming. The lights aren't up yet though.

When I was over in England in September, the previously mentioned Major Bloodnok was kind enough to make me a present of 2 large Christmas puddings. They've been sat in the cellar ever since and each time I go down there I'm tempted to bring one up into the light of day and sweet-talk Madame into heating one up. (Fat chance!) She does like them - but only at Christmas. (Rats!) I think that, as a food item, appreciation of them is usually limited to those of an Anglo Saxon origin. We're going up to Paris to stay with Madame's brother for a few days over Christmas and, for a few crazy moments, I thought that one of the Pudding Brothers would make an excellent contribution to the Christmas fare. That is, until the mental image of a table full of chauvinistic Gauls swam across my mind - each regarding their steaming slice of pudding with the utmost suspicion, poking and prodding it with looks of disdain as if it were still alive.. reluctantly tasting a morsel that could be harbouring e-coli at the very least. And this from a nation wot eats andouillette!! No, I don't think I'll bother. The French have a great expression for this: donner de la confiture aux cochons.. or to give jam to pigs!

At the risk of annoying those who live to the north, I must mention the unseasonably good weather we've been enjoying here for the last week (after the storms!). Temps of 24C and today it must be ~18-20C.. with matching blue skies.

With my knees giving me gyp at the moment, it's clear that our Golf is too small for us (ie, me) if we want to visit Tante S, Madame's auntie who lives in the Jura near the Swiss border (830kms away) as well as doing any long trips of exploration into Spain and Italy. After an hour's driving, I need to extend my legs which, in the Golf, I'm unable to do. So for the last few months we've been looking at all the options. We've test driven all kinds of cars and now we've homed in on the VW Tiguan as being the most suitable. With a little luck we should have one in time for our Christmas jaunt up to Paris..

Mentioning Tante S reminds me of the time when she and her now late husband were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary one summer in the mid 90s. They'd decided to have a celebratory dinner and had invited a representative from each part of the extended family (to keep the numbers down to a manageable level) and so we came to be invited. We'd planned our annual visit to the Pays Basque such that at the end of it we could drive up & across to the Jura to arrive in time..

We wanted to avoid the boredom of the autoroutes so we thought we'd simply "straight-line it" across France - going by the Departmentale* roads - thus seeing a bit more of the country. After driving all day on lonely roads through mountains, forests and villages we stopped overnight at a village called Bourganeuf (between Limoges and Clermont-Ferrand) which is as near as dammit in the centre of France. We quickly dropped our bags in a 2* "Logis" hotel in the centre and then went out for a swift leg stretch before dinner. I remember being amazed to find a fish shop still open at 7pm. What's more, the display of gleaming fish on ice under the lights looked as fresh as could be and - remember - this was in a village 200 miles from the coast..!

We returned to the hotel and went into the cosy and heavily beamed dining room. Looking around, it was clear that this was the real France (aka la France profonde). After browsing the menu for a few minutes I realised that this was somewhere that took its food seriously. All the classic dishes were there. Madame often says that food is the second religion in France but I'd go further and say it's the first - as more people go to restaurants than go to church. Looking through the wine list I couldn't believe what I was seeing - most of the wine was priced at somewhere between £200 and £800 a bottle.. There were some fabled wines there that I'd only read about - Château Palmer, Château Gruaud-Larose, Château Haut-Brion and Château Yquem - and this in a un cheval village in the middle of nowhere.. Who was buying this? Needless to say, we had a bottle of something far more modest!

/to be continued..

* Autoroutes (motorways) are A roads.. as in the A63 from Bayonne to Bordeaux (UK equivalents? The M1, M5, M6 etc).

Nationale roads are N roads (as in N7) - these equate to the A roads in the UK.

Departmentale roads are D roads - and are equivalent to the UK's B roads.

Hope that's cleared up any confusion there may have been!

17. Noël

I was just saying to Madame the other day that so far we’ve seen no reference to the approach of Christmas in any of the shops – no towering displays of marzipan or jars of mincemeat or John Lennon singing “So this is Christmas”.. or Easter eggs in Woolworths. (now - unbelievably - closed for good in the UK I heard)

So imagine my surprise this morning when I heard on the radio the unmistakeable sound of 'Jingle Bells'…! It made me think – well here we are with less than 2 months to go to Christmas and still no Christmas Lights.. The French just don’t have a clue do they.. (irony!) I would guarantee that, for the last few weeks, supermarkets back home will already have been fully set up with dedicated aisles for such traditional English Christmas essentials as German Stollen bread, French marzipan, Belgian chocolates, Turkish delight, Italian panettone cakes and the like (we contribute the spuds!).. and deep freezes full of turkeys the size of small boulders..

One afternoon we went into Bayonne to a “Depôt Vente”. This is where you can take things to sell – mainly furniture.. The Depôt Vente sets the price and then takes a percentage of the proceeds. We went there looking to see what they had in the way of armoires. There were some in stock and while they were certainly cheaper than we’d seen in antique shops, it was fairly clear why. I think these are the kind of places that you need to drop in every week to see the new stock as it arrives - except that, like stuffing mushrooms, life is just too short for some things.

After this, it was starting to feel like evening so we came back. Madame had bought some chestnuts so we had these roasted with a cup of tea (living dangerously!).

For the French holiday on 1st November, we planned on going to Les Aldudes - a village buried in the Basque mountain country that straddles the entrance of a valley that, while it runs deep into Spain, is still French. The valley's chief claim to fame is that it produces arguably the best Jambon de Bayonne in the area. And, of course, many of the other products that the Basque cuisine is famous for.

There is a saying that some lofty Parisian food critics are fond of quoting that the only implement needed in a kitchen in the South West is - a tin opener! While this was meant as a clever put-down, nevertheless I think it does hit on a truth. Much of the great products of the South West can be preserved.. Think of confit de canard, foie gras, haricot beans in graisse d’oie (goose fat), rillettes, cassoulet and pipérade (though personally I have some doubts about this last one) et al... There isn't much that can't be put in a can or a jar - but it's none the worse for that. It's possible to buy all these products via mail order too!

Post visit report: Well, we had a great day out today high up in the Pyrenees.. First of all, the weather was supposed to be 3C in the morning warming up to 12C in the afternoon. Anyway, we set off and as we climbed up and up the skies cleared and we were gradually able to see the start of the high Pyrenees in the distance – the mountains near us were only about 2-3,000‘ high – further east, I think they go up to about 9,000’ or even higher. As we climbed, the full extent of the Pyrenees started to unfold in front of us.. and just when we thought we’d seen one high mountain, in the distance behind it, we’d see another even higher one - and in the blue misty distance behind that one, another one..

Les Aldudes

.. and yet another one beyond that. And all the time, the valley sides were getting steeper and steeper as we wound our way ever-upwards.. It was difficult to keep one eye on the driving with all this magnificent mountain scenery around us and at one moment, I thought I saw the pale outline of a snow-covered white peak that was higher than the rest, way way off in the distance and I thought, surely not, a snow covered peak so early in the season but on the regional news when we returned home they featured it too. First snow of the year in the Pyrenees..

Stirring mountain scenery and it was difficult to keep my eyes on the road as the country opened up before us. We ran up the valley on an old single track smuggler’s road that climbed up towards Spain and near the top we pulled over to eat our lunch.. I opened my window and looked out across the expanse of a great deep valley – white farmhouses with red roofs were dotted across the valley floor. It was through rugged border country like this that the men and women of the wartime Comet Line (organised by 24 year old Andrée De Jongh, a brave Belgian woman) famously helped Allied airmen to escape down from the Low Countries, through the occupied zone in France, across the Pyrenees into neutral Spain and home via British-controlled Gibraltar. In fact, in Sare, a Basque village close to the border, I recently discovered a newly placed memorial (below) to Victor Ithurria, a highly decorated and legendary figure who served in the SAS with great distinction during WWII before being killed on 25th August 1944..

I saw some large birds flying around in circles and I realised I was watching vultures (griffon vultures..) circling around in the air currents.. As I watched, I saw one furl its wings and dive down to the ground, followed by another, and another. Soon, there must have been 20-30 of them down there. Whatever was down there under a tree was getting a good pecking. Another British pensioner who won’t stop for a snooze after lunch again! We first saw them here a few years ago when we were up high in the mountains.. I remember thinking at the time, if I didn’t know better I’d swear they were vultures. When we got back to the hotel, they told us that, yes, there were quite a few vultures up in the hills.. Certainly makes you think twice about falling asleep in the sun after a good lunch..

We next came to a small village, ie, about 5 houses together, and one of them was a hotel with a restaurant. Out of interest we stopped to look at the lunch menu… it was £8 for a 4 course lunch…! (these are 1960 prices!) Next time we go up there, we might just try it. Anyway, we continued higher up the valley and soon we came to the border. There was no border as such – just a garage and a smoky café.. (smoking still being allowed indoors in Spain)

The countryside looked spectacularly good in its burnt copper autumn colours under a cloudless deep blue sky. After this, we went to St Jean Pied de Port. This is a very old town in the heart of the Pyrenees where Madame’s father’s family originated.

It’s on the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela in northern Spain. People still come from all over the world to walk the route. It was getting really warm now and after blocking various pavements for a while we found a tea shop and sat outside in the sun. Madame couldn’t believe that she was still wearing her sunglasses on 1st November..!

Main street of St Jean Pied de Port

Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port

At the moment, there’s still that holiday feel to life down here because we’re still "camping out" in the gîte with a minimum of our belongings. I just have the one English book and that’s “Out of Africa” - which I’ve read twice since we’ve been here - as all our books are in storage. As a compulsive reader, forgetting to pack a box of books in the van was a major mistake.

This is "Tarantella" by Hilaire Belloc.. (try reading it aloud)

Do you remember an Inn, Miranda?

Do you remember an Inn?

And the tedding and the spreading

Of the straw for a bedding,

And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,

And the wine that tasted of tar?

And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers

(Under the vine of the dark veranda?)

Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,

Do you remember an Inn?

And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers

Who hadn't got a penny,

And who weren't paying any,

And the hammer at the doors and the Din?

And the Hip! Hop! Hap! of the clap

Of the hands to the twirl and the swirl

Of the girl gone chancing, glancing, dancing,

Backing and advancing,

Snapping of a clapper to the spin

Out and in

And the Ting, Tong, Tang of the Guitar.

Do you remember an Inn, Miranda?

Do you remember an Inn?

There is another verse but I like this one.