Once the guests went back to wherever they came from, things got quiet around here. I'll admit upfront there have been no amazing or life-changing incidents nor pulitzer prize-winning photos in the last couple of weeks (see previous postings for examples), and this may cause some ... lack of focus in today's blog.
The house becoming quiet reminded me the entire region will also be getting pretty quiet and most of the people I've been seeing since I got here at the beginning of July will be going back to wherever it is they're from. Apparently, this little tourist burg rolls up the carpets at the end of August and goes to sleep. For those of you who know me, you'll know I'm a bit of a high-twitch personality. Things like near-death experiences, which occur daily on the roads around here, or buffets of semi-nudity on the local beach are the kinds of things that keep me alert. If all of the crazy drivers and open-minded women go home, what am I to do?
Speaking of open-minded women, I feel compelled to mention the nice young lady from New Caledonia we met at the tapas bar a couple of weeks ago. Keep in mind there were four of us enjoying some wine and finger food when this very bubbly young lady, perhaps half my age, asked Ann for her shoes. Sadly, there is no hidden meaning here, she was barefoot and required shoes to go into the bar. A few bottles of wine later and the same young lady was insisting we all take our clothes off for a midnight swim in the ocean. I was all for it, in my head, but outwardly I supported Ann's concern for our position on the maritime food chain. Needless to say, common sense and Canadian puritanism won the day, although the two members of our group with a Y chromosome went home quietly disappointed. I want to be clear about not suggesting Arcachon has become a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah. I have yet to read in the local paper of any incidents where people have been trampled by groups of naked revellers rushing to the surf to participate in ritual midnight swims. Although if it were happening, I'm not sure I'd figure it out unless there were photos.
Back to the topic at hand: what is a boy to do? I'm sure all of you yoga enthusiasts, and you know who you are, have been wondering when am I going to find my way back to my happy place. As the saying goes: "the winds of bliss are always blowing, we need only set our sails." In my case, the rigging seems to be all tangled and I haven't figured out how to weigh anchor. I finally found the group who occasionally does yoga on the beach and I was disappointed, to say the least. It appears to be run by a well-meaning retiree who may not have actually taken yoga, nor seen yoga practiced. My best guess is she had a friend explain the basic postures over coffee sometime and she has decided this qualifies her to lead others. Yikes. Now I know you helpful readers are screaming at your monitors for me to grab the bull by something convenient, hopefully the horns, and march down there to lead the class myself. That would be fine, as I expect I could mime my intentions, lacking sufficient French vocabulary. Also, I doubt anyone would miss the point of me pushing the current instructor off her mat and tossing her into the surf. However, this sort of behaviour is frowned upon in most yoga circles. Any advice on this matter would be greatly appreciated. I will continue to search for a local yoga solution that will better suit my needs.
Topic change: wildlife. There appears to be an extensive variety of spiders currently inhabiting our house and surrounding territory. The most visually unsettling species has a disturbing habit of appearing on our bedroom ceiling just moments before I turn off the light, usually directly above the bed. I haven't established whether we are in some sort of spider hotspot or this is typical of the area. For one of our cats, this situation could not be better as she is constantly on the prowl for ways to supplement her diet. Most spiders tend to provide some feline entertainment, however briefly, before being consumed. The other cat has also adjusted to the new culture by catching and eating geckos, much to the delight of our guests. Spiders and geckos, although interesting, can not hold a candle to the cat-sized hedgehog we saw on our way home from dinner last week. I had no idea a hedgehog could reach such proportions. Once again, I was cursing myself for failing to have a camera under circumstances essentially parallel to a yeti sighting. I look forward to the day one of the cats brings a hedgehog home so I may establish some link to reality by providing appropriate photographic evidence. Also, there have been no signs of wild boar although I've been told the forests here are lousy with them. Perhaps I should look into hunting as a hobby. Everybody likes shootin' stuff.
I have decided to forego the story of the fellow on the plane back from Paris who I watched photograph everything from take-off to landing, including the in-flight magazine, on the grounds that a only a thorough description of events could properly convey the kookiness of the situation. Also, I will deny the rumour that the chicken I purchased, and prepared, before roasting for yesterday's dinner magically turned into a duck by the time I had begun carving it. If there is a lesson from this mythical situation, patently not true as I was saying, I would say it is important to read labels before purchasing food. The duck was fabulous.
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