Cockadoodle Doo or Cocorico?

 We stood in the middle of the road, having walked together 13 miles that day and Claudine grasped my forearm.

"Mais non! It doesn't make sense. It doesn't sound like that at all!" she insisted. 

This passionate response from my French friend came after she asked me what we say in America for the sound a rooster makes. 

Maybe I didn't sell it to her, I think, and I make a crowing sound like "Cock a doodle doo!"

"Non, it's cocorico. It sounds just like a rooster!" she insisted. 

"It sounds like a drink," I insisted. "I'll have a cocorico in Puerto rico."

We were both bent over laughing as we continued walking down the road, the sun shining on us after walking five and a half hours so far. We had started that morning in Figeac, France, in the Lot region. We'd left behind the more extreme mountain climbs in the Aude for rolling hills and homes built of bleached stone with carefully sculpted roof tiles. We planned to walk four days along one of the many trails that lead to El Camino de Santiago in Spain. In France, the routes are called Chemin de Saint Jacque de Compostelle 

On Tuesday we dropped the car in St. Cirq la Popie, our ending point, and we took the bus back to Figeac. We found a restaurant in Figeac, eating dinner at 8 p.m. When we opened the menu, we nearly fainted at the perfection. I had told Claudine on the bus that I hadn't eaten foie gras or duck since I'd been back in France. Then we searched for a restaurant that served foie gras. We ended up at La Puce a l'Oreille in Figeac. Starting with foie gras then moving on to magret de canard (duck). 

"If we eat foie gras for dinner every night, we'll gain many kilos before we get home," Claudine pointed out before taking a bite of the starter and pausing for the sheer pleasure of it in her mouth. 

If ever there was a meal fit for the word sublime, this was it.  The setting, the service, the food. Surely we were ready for our hike the next day. 

The jovial host at the B&B saw us off after coffee and croissants. We stopped at a bakery for a baquette sandwich -- jambon sec, butter and lettuce. The bakery server cut the sandwich in two so we could share it later. And, voila, we were off. The trail would be 21 kilometers from the Figeac to Corn. 

Corn is a strange name for a town, but in France, they don't call corn corn. They call it maïs with two syllables. A fairly steep climb took us out of Figeac, but the entire hike, 15 miles, we only climbed about 1400 feet, which we struggle up in 45 minutes leaving our town.

Hiking long distances in France is very different from the United States. We don't carry tents and sleeping bags. We don't pack our bags with beans and rice to eat over a fire. We walk from town to town and sleep in a gites or B and B. We have dinner in a restaurant or at the host's table. 

After a few hours of hiking, we ventured through the village Faycelles and stopped to take pictures of the irises lining stone steps. At the top, we stopped for coffee and a panoramic view of the valley and river below. 

Two hours later in Beduer, we walked into town to find that the only store near the trail had closed at 12:30. We couldn't buy drinks for lunch, but we had our water and our sandwich. Claudine had brought along two pain au chocolat from the day before, so we had those for dessert as we sat at a concrete table by the cathedral with a view of a nearby chateau. We chatted with hikers from Canada, from Nantes and Orleans France. Most of the hikers on this trail are from France. 

During our six hour hike, Claudine had declared it "French speaking only" so that I could practice my French. Walking and following trail markers and trying to speak only French, it was a challenge. But by the end of the day, I wondered if I'd be able to speak English when I called Earl later. 

We walked a few kilometers outside of Corn to our BnB, thinking we would never get there. Stopping to take pictures of a field of poppies. A climb up to the BnB and we were greeted by a giant white Great Pyrenees dog with deep woofs.

Finally, after 15 miles, 22 kilometers, we could take our shoes off our tired feet. Rinse the salt of sweat from our bodies and enjoy another great meal, this time of cucumber in creme fraiche for starters then couscous with lamb and carrots followed by gelato. 

A Moment in Time

For the past six months, I’ve taken a picture on the last day of each month of the bridge and river on my way home from a walk or run. 

Sunny January but the trees that aren't conifers are bare

February things began to sprout

March and the mountains start to look green

April going out like a lion with rain

In May the river was lined with flowers

This is a sad June picture, overcast and the water severely down,
 but some rain is predicted this week

This last picture is the view from the bridge, back toward where I usually shoot the picture. The road isn't really visible, but you can see the cemetery that borders the road. 

On July 2, I was walking across the bridge and caught this fisherman in action. 

I won't get to take pictures on the last day of the month for the next few months. We're headed back to the States to spend some time with Mom and Dad. Dad is freshly out of the hospital and we have no reason not to go help out, except that we may miss some parties, and even I'm not that selfish. 

Hopefully, we'll get to enjoy the summer fêtes in France next year. 

This year though, we'll get to enjoy August in Florida. 

French Bread Secrets

It’s true that many places in France have baguette vending machines. Baguettes are iconic in France, and a meal isn’t a meal without bread. 

The vital vending machine

This morning, after an hour-long hike before the temperatures rise too high, I stopped at the bakery and saw a woman filling the baguette machine. 

I knew I needed to peek inside to learn the secrets of the baguette vending machine and share it too. 

The young woman politely stepped back and let me snap a picture while juggling the bread and pastries I had already purchased. 

Et voilà! 

The inner workings

Baguettes lined up in a row waiting for customers to put their 1,20 in and have a baguette slide into their hands. 

Birthday Extraordinaire

Last week I celebrated a birthday. Not a milestone birthday, but everyone made it feel so special. 

Starting with my friends Claudine and Ray who couldn’t be with me but made a giant sign in the sand. 

I began the day with a run then showered and met friends at the cafe for coffee and viennoiseries (breakfast pastries) but since it was my birthday, I got a l’éclair au café. Normally that would be an after lunch or dinner pastry. 

Next, we were off to Narbonne Plage. No sit-down restaurants were open but we found a bar that served paninis and fries as we sat on a swinging seat and sipped our Aperol spritzes. 

Afterwards we headed down to the beach for a walk and some sand time. It was sparking and not too windy. I only put my feet in the water. 

Next we drove to Narbonne and walked around the old city. The square was full of people soaking up the sun.

 A Roman road rests in the middle of the square, about 8 feet lower than today’s plaza. 

This is a picture of the road from a previous trip to Narbonne.  

This road originally ran from the Mediterranean to Briancon in the Alps. 

Next we explored the cathedral in Narbonne which is always striking. 

No filter. That’s how blue the sky was. 

We got home in the evening in time to chat with all the kids and mom and dad back in the States. 

Some amazing gifts included an espresso maker, an olive tree for the terrace, some luxurious bath gels, a blooming hyacinth, a silk scarf and robe, a sparkly green plant, a bottle of champagne and the pleasure of spending time with my amazing friends. 

Just another birthday in France. . 

Living Under a Vaccine Passport

Tuesday morning, Earl and I drove to the city of Castelnaudary. 

Beautiful flowers fly above the streets

We parked in the lot across from the hospital, and I went in for my first French mammogram. But before I could enter the hospital, I needed to show my pass sanitaire. The pass sanitaire is a vaccine passport. If you haven't been vaccinated in France, forget visiting the hospital for yearly exams like mammograms or colonoscopies.  

Here in France, we are required to show a Pass Sanitaire. That is a QR code that proves we have been vaccinated if we want to eat in a restaurant, have coffee in a café, or enter the square to listen to live music. 

Cappuccino is available with the pass sanitaire

The rules began on August 9th and since then, surprisingly, cafes and restaurants have been busy with patrons who willingly pull out their phones and show their passes. France currently has a loophole that people can get tested every three days and show their negative tests. The Covid tests are free for French residents now, but in October, residents will have to start paying for them, 50 euros per test. That is in hopes of convincing people to get the vaccination instead of getting regularly tested. 

There are many French people who are upset about the requirement. There are even some restaurants and bars resisting. They don't ask to see the pass or they don't scan them. 

A music fete this summer where our pass sanitaire was screened before we could enter the square.

One cafe owner said "We hate to ask our friends for their pass." Then she hesitated and said, "But a coffee, that's not really a necessity, is it?" And that's the point. You don't have to go out for a coffee. You want to go out for a coffee or for a drink with friends. 

Here in France, we know what it is like to forego those pleasures. From October 30, 2020 through June 9, 2021, restaurants and bars were closed for dine in, whether outside or in. We didn't sit and drink with our friends. No music played in the town squares. We were lucky to wander through markets with our masks firmly in place to buy the necessities -- food only. Clothing and trinkets were not included in the markets. 

Now, it's our turn, the vaccinated, to go out on the town. To raise a glass and celebrate that we have survived the initial phase of a pandemic. 

A kir perhaps

In Esperaza, a town know for its free spirits, the Gendarmes patrol the market, reminding people to keep their masks up firmly over their mouth and nose. 

This picture truly captures Esperaza

Earl and I sat for a coffee one Sunday, listening to music nearby as two guys played the didgeridoos. The waiter came out to take an order of a nearby table. The woman sat smoking a cigarette. The waiter asked for her pass sanitaire. She said she didn't have it. He said he couldn't serve her. She protested, waving her cigarette in the air. No, he insisted and she reluctantly left the outdoor café. Her empty table was quickly snapped up by someone who was vaccinated. 

I heard a French official explain that for a year and a half, he and his daughters had been isolating to avoid the virus and to avoid spreading the virus. Now they have their vaccines. It is their turn to go out to restaurants and movies and music festivals. Those who aren't vaccinated can isolate, staying home to avoid getting Covid. 

A Weekend in Spain

 We journeyed to Roses, Spain along the Mediterranean for a three-day weekend. (That sounds so posh, doesn't it? Just running off to Spain for the weekend.)

A sunrise picture on my run

The trip started as a comedy of errors. We planned to leave around 8:45 a.m. Derrick, Earl and I have all had our vaccinations so we didn't need a Covid test to get back into France after the weekend. Kris, who turned 36 on Friday, hadn't had his vaccinations yet, so he needed a test. However, when he got to the lab at 8 a.m., the lab wasn't starting Covid tests until 9:30. We settled in our garden (we live near the lab) for coffee and tea, and some birthday chocolates for Kris. He  had been scheduled last minute to get his first Covid vaccine (which the British call a jab, and the French call a pique) between 9-9:30. Since the office is south of us, the schedule was perfect to get a Covid test then drive south for the vaccine and continue on to Spain. They considered driving down for the vaccine, then back to Quillan for the test. I contacted our always helpful doctor Cat Harrison and she said Kris could arrive later, so we didn't have to drive back and forth.

I went with Kris to get his Covid test. It's an awful birthday present and he dreaded it so much, but he only needed me to help him fill out his paperwork. Then we were off, stopping in Axat for his vaccine. He came out several minutes later with blood all over the arm of his shirt. None of us could figure out why he bled so much. 

But we put it behind us and drove toward Spain. It's only two hours away from our home in Quillan. We skirted past the big Pyrenees mountains that still have a smidgen of snow on them and crossed into Spain. No one stopped us or asked to see our Covid vaccine proof. 

Our first stop in Roses, along the Mediterranean, was for lunch. We had reservations for 1:30 and were a bit late once we parked and checked into the hotel. Derrick had surprised Kris with some old friends of his father's. Nicole and Dave used to have a place in Roses and Kris remembered vacations there with his father, who died this past year. So when we showed up for lunch, Dave and Nicole were waiting. 

The lunch was a harbinger of the weekend to come, because most of it was spent sitting at a table eating. 

My iPhone put together a video of my pictures, and you can see that food figures prominently. 

We probably spent six hours a day at meals - three hours at lunch, three hours at dinner. 

I did have a swim in the sea, and even though it was the end of June, the water was cold and took my breath when I first dived in. 

We had a brief swim in the pool as well. 

And one of the highlights for me was an early morning run along the shorefront to the jetty and then I returned to the hotel along the beach. 

On the Saturday of our visit, Spain allowed people to take off masks when they are outside. So that was nice, to be able to ramble along the streets without a mask. 

Friends Jo and Matthew traveled to Spain on Saturday and we went to dinner with them that evening before returning to the hotel for some music and dancing. We loved watching the older ladies dancing by themselves or in pairs to the DJ's music. 

We returned home via Cadaqués, which is a village along the Med that looks similar to Greek villages with whitewashed buildings and blue shutters. It's a very quaint place where we enjoyed another lunch, maybe only two hours. 

The bougainvillea growing on the buildings was amazing. 

Although officers were standing along the toll booths, they didn't stop our car and ask for our proof of vaccine. So Kris' covid test went unchecked. He was negative, anyway. 
Having breathed in plenty of sea air, we returned to Quillan. 

Anniversary Outings

 On Wednesday, Earl and I celebrated our 31st anniversary. "Celebrated" is a bit of an overblown statement. 

The highlight of the day came in the afternoon, following a few hours of teaching. Jim and Theresa picked us up in their VW Golf with the snazzy red mirrors and we zoomed about 45 minutes south of here to Maury. Well, past Maury and the more heavily visited wineries there to MA, Mas Amiel, another winery, with a difference. 

The winery has jugs, known as dame Jeanne, setting outside in the sun. I'd always thought the sun was bad for wine, but apparently this winery has different theories. We would be the judge of that!

The dame Jeanne wine jugs sitting in the sun.

Vineyards and wine jugs and the hills beyond. 

We wandered in and looked around the showroom before walking up to the counter. Most tasting rooms have wine stewards who speak English, and this one did as well, although he got hung up a few times and we encouraged him to say it in French, thinking we would still understand. They usually ask what kind of wine we like. They serve the wine from weakest to strongest taste, so usually whites and rosés, first, followed by reds. Earl and I are red wine drinkers, but we have been won over by a few rosés lately. 

Post tasting. After each wine, we swish the water in our glass and pour it into the bowl. 

He started us with a mellow rosé. I've found that people frequently want a rosé in the summer, so knew we would buy a bottle for 8,90 euros. Then he moved onto fortified wines. Fortified wines are similar to port, they are mixed with other, stronger alcohol. The fortified white would work well as an aperitif. 

The four of us. 

The fortified red we tasted first, although it had Theresa's favorite label, purple and blue, did not win us over. A 2012 fortified wine was so smooth, but pricey. 

Then we moved on to the oxidized wines, those that sit out in the sun. They were labeled for their age --20 years old, 30 years old, 69 from grapes grown in the late 60s. The 20 tasted good. The 30 tasted like raisins. But the 69, oh, the 69, tasted like heaven in my mouth. 

The wine steward did a good job selling it, pointing out that it's like buying a good bottle of whiskey, you only drink a little and on special occasions. It lasts for years. 

As we were checking out, the steward gave us a gift of a bottle of wine since it was our anniversary. I figured it was a throw-away bottle they kept to hand out free, but Jim found it on the list and pointed out it was a 30 euro bottle of wine. That might not be much to spend on wine in the States, but anything over 10 euros seems expensive when you live in the land of free flowing, inexpensive wine. 

Chairs outside the tasting room. 

Us outside the tasting room

We drove home through the sunshine, admiring the mountains and the endless undulation of trees around us.

The lane leading up to the winery.

 We stopped to harass our friend Steve who we saw along the side of the road preparing for a time trial on his bicycle. It's fun to run into friends miles away from home. 

Then we walked to a nearby restaurant for a simple meal with Jim and Theresa, sitting inside because the weather had taken a turn to the chilly. 

Not a bad way to celebrate living in France and that day 31 years ago we pledged our love in front of our friends and family.  

A Miracle Day

Fourteen months. That’s how long it has been since I’ve seen my parents. 

And it has been a harrowing year to live across the ocean, knowing that a pandemic was attacking and killing thousands of people in my parents’ age group.

That’s why it seems like a miracle that today, I got to hug them again. 

Reunited

I know, I know. It isn’t safe to travel now. The odds of getting out of locked-down France, into Spain and onto a flight to Florida seemed low. But my parents have both had their vaccinations and Earl and I have had our first shot, which the doctor said should give us about 85% coverage. It was a risk we needed to take. 

France locked down nearly a week ago. We got our negative Covid test results Thursday morning and our friends Jack and Jules drove us an hour to the train station in Perpignan. 

There we caught a train to Barcelona, which takes about an hour and a half. There were about 5 people in our train car. Spain is more open than France, but people are all wearing masks and staying distant. 

We took a walk from our hotel Thursday evening, finding a Starbucks (the one decadence I miss from the States) and sitting near La Sagrada Familia, the Gaudi designed cathedral that is still unfinished, to drink our coffee. 

No crowds taking pictures this time in Barcelona

We got take out from a Turkish restaurant and carried it back to our hotel room. In Spain, restaurants are allowed to serve people until 5 pm. Then they can offer take out dining from 5-10. Their curfew is at 10, which makes France’s 7 pm curfew seem pitiful. 

We had a breakfast buffet at the hotel. It felt weird to eat inside a restaurant. There was only one other person in the big room. The buffet had hand sanitizer and plastic gloves at both ends to limit the spread of virus. 

Only one other person was eating breakfast

A taxi picked us up at the hotel and we walked into a very empty-feeling airport. There was no one in line in front of us so we quickly checked in. I hadn’t been allowed to check-in online because the first question American Airlines asked was whether we had visited South Africa, Brazil, China, Europe, etc, recently. Since we were flying out of Spain, you can guess the answer to that question. Answering yes meant we couldn’t check in online. 

There were many helpful people at the airport. I always feel guilty saying “no hablo espagnol” and being satisfied with “hola” and “gracias.”

Our plane looks so small from here. 

When we got on the plane, we realized how fortunate we were to find a flight going abroad at all. This flight from Barcelona to Miami had only 29 passengers on a flight that could take more than 200. Thanks, American Airlines for not canceling. 

The flight attendants offered us our choice of seats (not in business or first class, obviously). 

Fellow passengers were few and far between

We had snacks and lunch and little cups of ice cream with a plastic spoon. 

In case you've forgotten what an airplane meal looks like.
Noodles and sauce, salad, cheese, bread and chocolate cake for dessert. 

If only it had a wooden spoon. 

I finished reading a book and watched a French movie about a woman hiking with a donkey, hilarity ensues. 

We landed in Miami because it seemed a better option than hanging out in airports and transferring to another plane. Instead, we reserved a car to drive the three hours to Mom and Dad’s. 

We return the car to a nearby town Saturday morning and then we’ll quarantine at Mom and Dad’s for 10 days. And if all goes well, we should get to see those well-loved sons of ours in Ohio, one of whom we haven’t seen in 14 months either. 

My heart is full at the miracle of it all. 

A Two-Hour Drive to Albi

 Continuing to make the most of my days off work, we traveled to Albi, France on Monday.

I didn't know much about it, but Earl swears it was on our original list of possible cities to live in. It seems a bit north to have made the list, and we didn't actually visit it, so if it did make the list, it sank to the bottom to be forgotten by me. 

Instead, we focused on the Aude and the Gard regions of Occitanie, closer to the Mediterranean. And we ended up living in the Aude, so named for the river that runs through our town. Albi is in Occitanie, but north of Toulouse and in the Tarn region, so named for the river that runs through it. 

These days, we just itch for any place to provide some variety during the time of Covid. Our friends Sue and Steve drove because they were taking along their adorable puppy Elwing.

I read from a tourism site as we drove (yes, I'm that obnoxious person in the car). Albi, the Albigensian Crusade was named for the town, has the largest brick cathedral in the world. And we were struck by all the brick as we pulled into town, searching for the best place to park and explore. 

View of the brick Cathedral

As soon as we entered the square, of course, we were impressed by the brick cathedral, St. Cecilia built from 1282-1480. The men were quick to point out where the color of the bricks changed as the cathedral was constructed. I pointed out the plainness of the brick compared to the gothic entryway. Lots of gingerbread or bric a brac or gewgaws. Whatever you want to call it.

A close-up of the stone entryway with its climbing details. 

You can see the clash between the brick and the stone entryway. 

The city is also famous for its timbered buildings. So many old houses leaning precariously but holding onto the timbers from hundreds of years ago. 

Timbered buildings and a brick arcade

Our first stop, of course, was for take out coffee. Something we only get in Quillan on market day. Then we wandered the city. There's a section with some expensive shopping. 

Sue and Steve posing with the Albi sign, the cathedral behind them

We found some quaint squares where people live in houses getting close to 1000 years old. 

Steven insists the tiny house at the side was the smallest ever. I say it probably connected to a bigger part of a house. He pointed out it has its own house number. 

The morning was chilly, but the sun came out in the afternoon

We had a choice of several places for lunch. We were debating crepes or Chinese and in the end chose Chinese. They're even giving out bamboo utensils at French restaurants these days. Something that would have been unheard of before. 

Chinese noodles to go. We're always in search of take out food. 

I had egg noodles, chicken, broccoli and mushrooms with teriyaki sauce. If you haven't eaten out for five months, you can understand how important these meals are. We found a bench in a square overlooking a fountain and enjoyed the food. Earl and I shared an Orangina. The sun had come out. 

We thought we would head to the car, but I had checked the doors of the cathedral and it was supposed to be open from 2-5 p.m. (that's 14h to 17h). I thought we'd just have a peek inside. Living in France, you sometimes get a bit blasé about churches, seen one, seem 'em all, but, WOW. 

The cathedral was amazing on the inside. 

3 D painting, or maybe trompe l'oeil, meant to fool the eye

Just took my breath away

So, if you get a chance to see the inside of St. Cecilia Cathedrale in Albi, do it. And to think, we nearly left without looking inside. It's also one of the largest painted cathedrals in the world. 

We walked back to the car, glad for our day of exploring  in Albi. 

Even the bridges are brick

Hope you are having adventures where you live too.