slow on the go
by Rachael
Quend-de-les-Pins, France
There’s something about sun and sand and surf that lends a holiday air to even the mundane task of persuading encrusted-many-days-ago dirt to release its grip on clothing worn until we could find rays to ensure it would not hang, flapping like bats around our heads, dripping forlornly on white plastic coathangers from the roof vents and overhead cupboard handles for day after musty day.
That same holiday air enlivened the re-stacking of the food supplies. It made gluing some falling-apart sandshoes more hopeful. It provided bright prospects for the de-rusting and reassembling of bicycles relegated to the tops of vans for a long wet English interlude. It even made more bearable the next, the umpteenth round of Womo repairs; or perhaps the result of having a working tap and not-falling-down shelf would have been prize enough.
What is it about the sun and sea air that made us, by lunchtime, feel in holiday mode?
Rob wandered off to the sand dunes, thick novel in hand, a bevvy of older children scampering around and before him. I (after catching up on the seemingly-neverending photo downloading and blog post writing) selected my own book and hoped the still sleeping children would remain so for a good while longer. The sea air ensured they did, and fortuitously, when they awoke a Big Brother appeared to whisk them to the top of the dunes and then pull them down again on a plastic bag. A few more chapters to chortle and chuckle through. It was with reluctance that I put the book down (mid chapter, no less) to pick up a weapon for shearing a black-speckled-with-distinguished-silver mane. Dinner interrupted another snatch of reading, but once children were in bed, with the sun setting over the ocean, I feasted my way to the end of Peter Mayle’s “Toujours Provence”, and tasted the preface of “A Year in the World” (Frances Mayes). There couldn’t be more location-appropriate holiday reading for France – though I know I am going to have to read the eighth chapter (British Isles) and the eleventh that we missed (Scotland), before I’ll be able to turn my attention to France, Greece or Italy where we are headed, much less Spain or Portugal, even if *they* are chapters one and two. (Of course, we all know there is a plethora of books set in Tuscany, but these are two I have been gifted this past week and the I couldn’t have asked for a better selection).
All pervasive, this holiday air, releasing you from convention, allowing spontaneity, encouraging relaxation.
By darkness I realise we have entered, not only a new country, but also a new phase of our journey. There may be castles in France, but we will not be seeking them out. There’s bound to be a memorial to Napolean and another to Marie Antoinette, but we won’t be looking for them either. There are world famous art galleries and museums, but, as interested as we are in these things, we will not be going out of our way to find them. I mean to say, we are not even going to Paris!
We will still see poodles and high-heeled ladies, but only by chance. We are taking a leisurely Sunday afternoon style drive across the fields of France, making sure just-sit-here-and-enjoy-the-scenery days are frequent, stopping whenever we want to, dining on fresh bread and a variety of cheeses along the way. All the way to sunny Provence.
Memories of our first baguettes on the trip flood back. It was Laos and we had not eaten one piece of good bread since leaving our homemade staple behind. This one was filled with fromage from France as well as cucumbers split lengthwise and tomatoes thinly sliced. A splash of chilli sauce reminded us we were still in Asia, but we had a taste of France. A taste of flavour and a taste of pace. Slow it was. Super slow. I drag that thought to the forefront of my mind – although only here for a couple of weeks, we will travel slowly through France, not doing much, but experiencing plenty. And hopefully loving it as much as Laos.
PS Dear Kate, Sorry we’re not going to Paris! Love Usxx
Time on the road: none!
Distance covered: 0km
Tags: 2008/09, postcard: France
rayres
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