Last day in Port Camargue

May 28, 2008
What a surprise when I was in the hotel lobby at the Wifi (pronounced “wee-fee”) station to post my last blog and heard one of the desk clerks say “Madame McGee?” There was a phone call for me, and I immediately froze a bit, as so few people know where I am, that I worried there was some kind of bad news. But who should it be but Marie Paule, asking if the hotel that she and Jay picked out for me was to my liking, and making sure to say “goodbye.”

I lucked out again today and made my excursions before the rain came returned. I took the bike to the North Beach, looked at the beach shops, and bought some French bath salts. The food stalls had big iron bowls of paella that looked very inviting, but I don’t know, something about cooked shellfish and yellow rice sitting out for hours waiting to be served didn’t sound like a good idea to me.

Then I walked to the breakwall and had a picnic of baguette and cheese, and an orange. I tried to sit in the sun, but the sun really didn’t want to come out, so I decided to deposit my beach bag in the hotel and explore a bit on the bike. It appeared that the man fishing in the photo above was looking for his lunch.

I went south and found a lovely area around the Lac de Salonique—a short of wet-lands-like-lake with two small islands of what appeared to be sea gull colonies. (The sea gulls here are ENORMOUS—buzzard sized when on wing.) If I were to come into money and be able to buy a condo here, this is the area I’d like to live, with a southern exposure, an undisturbed lake view, and easy access to the beach. Let’s add a roof garden to that, just for fun.

I continued riding and found the South Beach, which looked and sounded like real beach. Except for one hopelessly optimistic couple in bathing suits, it was deserted. After appreciating the salt air and the sound of the waves for a while, I made my way back to the hotel and sat on the terrace and read, until the breeze cooled and the sky turned a darker shade of grey. My laundry (which still isn’t dry from two days ago) had to go inside again, and I gave up and put it in front of the electric heater in the bathroom to dry so I can pack it tomorrow. (Laundry and food, laundry and food…)


May 29, 2008

Dinner last night was very good, but maybe because my expectations were high, it wasn’t quite as good as I had hoped. The meal started with a Kir and the chef’s appetizers: crusty bread and a selection of tapinade, salmon mousse, tiny balls of mozzarella in basil and olive oil, olives, and a little tiny cream brulee-like thing. The entrée, Soupe de Poisson was as described the other day, but very strong, so I didn’t eat much. When I told the head waiter it was “plus forte,” he rather condescendingly said to me in English, “well, yes, fish soup is strong,” as though I didn’t know what I was talking about. The main dish was exquisite—a French rendition of crayfish in a wonderful cream sauce. I didn’t have room for dessert, but again the chef sent some little bites: a tiny macaroon, a tiny home-made marshmallow, a jellied, candied fresh pink grapefruit bite, and a chocolate mousse bite.

Back to my room to watch a thunderstorm roll in. This morning I walked to town to buy a croissant and have a café au lait. One of the only places open was a bar with a bunch of men sitting around it drinking coffee, wine, beer. I don’t like going into those places because of the proprietary male energy that pervades. There's 10% unemplyment in France, and I suppose that's why these guys are sitting around (you never see women sitting around. I ordered my café au lait, and a men leaning on the bar laughed and said “olé!” Had I had more French, I would have told them that when he came to the US, I’d be glad to remark on his English, too. Instead, I smiled in a good-natured way I didn’t feel, and went to my table.

It’s another grey day. I leave for Paris in an hour. I hope the sun shines there.