The Pirates of Pezenas

So what's up with the Experimental Expatriate? After a false start last October, it picked up steam in mid-July, had fresh content nearly every day for a few weeks, slowed to a trickle — then nothing for days.

One word: pirates. I was kidnapped by pirates in Pezenas. Yes, that's it. Pirates.

See, it's like this: Our friends Lyn, Trish and Jeff came into Beziers on Saturday so we picked them up at the train. Lyn and Trish are particularly avid travelers — they never miss a minute of the action, even when they're in transit.


They'd been traveling in Italy (Florence and Venice) as well as the Cote d'Azur (Nice), then made a beeline for the Languedoc.

Honey was delighted to have houseguests.


Anyhow, we wanted to show them Pezenas, a town we fell in love with when we visited a few days prior to their arrival. That's when the pirates of Pezenas swooped down on us, forcing us on a tour of the town.

According to the head pirate, the town's name "is derived from the older name Piscenae, probably from the Latin word piscenis, meaning fishpond. According to legend, there was a lake full of fish behind the château. Inhabitants of Pézenas are Piscenois." I'm not sure, but I think he got his info from wikipedia.

We started in the main square at the Droits de L'Homme ("Rights of Man"), a statue/fountain dedicated to French citizens after the revolution:


Then, the pirates made Honey lead the way into the old part of town, dragging Vince along behind.


We found the old part of town very appealing. Just touristy enough, without being tarted up and Disneyfied. Warm weather, no crowds, and lots of beautiful vistas awaited us on every turn of our forced march. If one must be hijacked by pirates, it's best to do so in pleasant surroundings, I always say.



But where would all his lead? Would we be forced to swab the deck? Walk the plank? Would we stop for lunch?


Talented lensman Jeff recorded our captivity for posterity. After he found his camera's "on" switch.


The tour of the old city ended at the old Jewish ghetto in town that dates back to the 14th century. Yes, the sign reads: "Le Ghetto."


I ducked into a bakery and bought cookies for the pirates, hoping they would have mercy and release us.


The scurvy-dog swashbucklers then took this photo and made me promise to include it in my next posting, as proof that no tourists were harmed in the making of this blog entry.