Thursday 2 February 2012

The Winter of Our Discontent


I decided to take a little walk through the trees the other day. Being in a forestry district, the difference between a residential street and wilderness is about 20 steps. 
This goes for miles.
During hunting season, which I have been told has been extended into March, due to the high numbers of wild pigs snuffling about, a walk in the forest can be your first step on the stairway to heaven. Fortunately, hunting is not allowed on Wednesday afternoons. Is it a coincidence school is out on Wednesday afternoons? In France it probably is.  I did stumble upon a hunting blind, although I’m not sure what you hide from:
Blind: That garbage is spent shotgun shells.
The only thing I could see from the blind was a bunch of houses across the vale. I’m guessing they don’t get many sleep-ins in the fall, especially on weekends. It would be the hunting equivalent of having your bedroom window face the first tee box on a golf course.

There were a few interesting stretches of trail along the valley bottoms, where moss dominates the landscape.

Filtered?
Another filter? What do you think?

For a long stretch, I imagined I was walking through the set of the Blair Witch Project.  Looking around, everything looked kinda the same, like this:





and this:


















And the sky looked like this:




I might've been a little lost, but certainly not scared. What can a bunch of wild pigs do to a guy? I've heard they're clever but I know they're tasty, so I concentrated on ham rather than the concept of hunting in packs.

I was able to overcome any directional confusion through the use of my Iphone’s google maps application, which got me safely home, eventually. But first, a quick stop at the mall.

The little mall here is like the mall anywhere: a big store and a bunch of little stores where muzac is piped in for the listening pleasure of the shoppers. What caught my attention on this trip was the hard-core rap being played, and the generous use of F-bombs and MF-bombs being dropped by the vocalist. No bleeping out words for these guys. As the song was in English, it appeared that I was the only person aware of the verbal assault. Some might suggest the locals display a high level of tolerance for non-traditional art forms. I might suggest the kid in charge of music that day knew exactly what he could get away with. Nicely done.

It was good I got my hiking out of the way, as it looks like I may have been misinformed about the hospitable nature of the Arcachon winter. Over the next week there are forecast lows of -7c! I’ll admit I am curious to see how the locals will dress under those circumstances. After all, it appears they wear everything they own at +10c. Judging by the air quality on cold days, I guess they hunker down and ride it out at home in front of their busy little wood-burning fireplaces.

So, what does an enterprising Canadian family do when faced with the bleak prospects of a long dark winter? Why, they plan a vacation somewhere warm, of course! As usual, when faced with Perri’s school break, Ann always starts with a simple plan and modest aspirations.  Somehow, the plan unravels. This is how I think her brain works:

"I love the Canary Islands. We should go there.  Easy. The Canaries are not too far away and relatively cheap. Oh-oh. Look at those February temperatures. Daily highs in the low 20’s? That’s not serious heat. And the wind is probably always blowing. I can’t be expected to shake off the chill of winter with anything less than 25c. No problem. I’ll just keep my finger moving south on the map until I hit something else. Hey look! The Cape Verde Islands are cool and they are much further south. They must be warmer. Damn the moderating influence of the ocean! The Cape Verdes aren’t much warmer than the Canaries. Maybe this ocean is broken. We should look at other oceans. Hmmm… Atlantic’s no good, Mediterranean – it’s close, but it’s just a sea, Arctic – definitely not for winter, Pacific – too far (for now), Indian – hello. Why, there are all kinds of warm-looking places along here. Somalia? That sounds warm and familiar but not for the right reasons. Kenya – maybe. Madagascar – very cool, and hot. We should go there; I saw the movie. Wait a second. What’s this tiny island thing off the coast of … of… what country is that? Tanzania? I thought they renamed that one. And this island is … Zanzibar? Well I guess it’s decided. Nothing with a name like that gets ignored."

Author’s note - I’d like to avoid searing comments from readers by reminding them I am within the legal boundaries defined by my artistic license, recently purchased from the local French prefecture in regards to mindreading. I’ll admit with only 20 years of empirical studies on this subject (Ann), I recognize I may not have got it exactly right.

At this point, I have to step-in and admit that Richard actually described things pretty much the way they unfolded in my brain.  However, I am not offended in the least. Actually, I take pride in my goofy, unconstrained, creative thought process because it sometimes leads to some interesting ideas (not always though...)   - Ann

So, we’re off to Tanzania in a few weeks. Like any thoughtful traveller, I was compelled to check the on-line travel advisory websites for hints on safety, health, and money. Interesting. Apparently I can acquire no less than a dozen potentially fatal tropical diseases as well as a few which aren’t, but you’d generally wish they were if you actually caught them. This called for a trip to the travel medical clinic in Bordeaux. I used to believe an inoculation for something like yellow fever prevented the disease. However, after spending the last couple of days feeling like a test subject in a biology experiment gone terribly wrong, I have come to the conclusion inoculations are simply disease ' free samples'. Of course, Ann and Perri feel great.

We had another guest a few days ago and used him as an excuse to visit St. Emilion yet again. The ancient town in the heart of Bordeaux wine country will always make the to-do list for those of you planning a visit. The Chateau we visited for a wine tour lured us into joining their frequent flyers club. Maybe this is the first sign that we have a problem. I prefer to believe we are hobbyists.

One more glance at the weather forecast suggests I may be without golf for more than a few days. Cabin fever is always a danger. The two local sport channels favour European handball and field hockey. On slow days, re-runs of recent ski jumping events dominate the airwaves. Even better, the local movie channel was running a film with French subtitles a few days ago. I was a bit confused because it sounded to my untrained ears as though the film was already in French. And it was. But not the kind of French they understand around here. The film was made in Quebec and the subtitles were deemed essential for viewer comprehension. Perhaps some elocution lessons for the French-Canadian acting community are in order.

As the temperature plummets, it occurs to me our house relies on three or four radiators to heat the whole place. There is only one on the entire main floor. Six months ago I admired the generous use of windows (not the double-paned, high efficiency variety) and sparing use of unsightly radiators. Now I'm not so sure. I also used to wonder why there were so many halogen lights in the house, since they cost more to replace than standard bulbs. Now I see they may be intended as a secondary heating system!

School vacation can't come soon enough.

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