Rubbish!

It's so very quiet in the country. Not much happens, but when it does — it's cause for excitement. This morning, it seems that two foreigners staying here in Abeilhan put glass containers in their recycling bin. And everyone knows that glass containers go into the big recycling pod in the middle of town marked "Verre." Just like everyone knows that only plastic containers go in the recycling bin one leaves by the curb on Tuesday evenings. Honestly, someone should run those dimwitted Americans out of town on a rail. I think I hear villagers with torches and pitchforks at the front door right now.


Oops, sorry. By the way, the note left behind explains that should we again flout the rules, we will be visited by a sanitation representative for re-education.

In other smalltown news, we had lunch with Liz and Rob, friends of the Goldsteins who helped us out immensely getting settled in when we arrived last week.


We met in Tourbes at La Maison. Lovely ambiance, good food, and delightful company. We highly recommend three-course Wednesday lunches with new friends in the French countryside.


Makes one forget all of one's less-than-green transgressions against the planet.

Dear Abeilhan

Dateline -- 30 July — 2 August, 2009: Mel picked us up Thursday afternoon and took us to his and Sharon's house in Abeilhan, our summer abode for the next two months. Their place is amazing. Three floors, three bedrooms, two kitchens (one on the third-floor enclosed terrace), one car and two dogs.

I present to you Jake and Molly:


Jake is a sweet old guy, and seems quite taken with Vince. Molly is a very energetic and kissy-licky pug. And of course Honey makes three. They get along quite well, and looking after our pack will no doubt be a highlight of our stay. Honey made herself right at home, helping herself to Jake and Molly's toy basket.


We spent Friday, Saturday and Sunday settling in and exploring our little hamlet. Abeilhan boasts about 1,000 residents, a winery, two pharmacies, two bakeries, a very small market (think French-countryside 7-11, even though that's a bit oxymoronic) and a post office that's open for four hours per day, six days per week. Here's a view of Abeilhan from the main road:


On Sunday, we hiked to the neighboring village of Coulobres. On our walk, we discovered that this pastoral paradise is chock-full of tiny towns with wee wineries. We're thinking we may have to venture out for a tasting or two this summer. And even if we don't, we'll certainly take plenty of leisurely walks just to enjoy the tranquil surroundings.


"Land spreading out so far and wide — keep Manhattan, just give me that countryside!" (Hint: Scroll down to the bottom of the BLIP.fm window below, then click the "PLAY" button!)

Exploring Beziers

Dateline -- 29 July and 30 July, 2009: After our epic train trip, it was time to explore Beziers. Despite its tragic history — everyone was killed and the town was leveled in 1209 during a crusade authorized by Pope Innocent III (the irony!) — it is quite charming.

While we may not be known for our good taste, we know what tastes good — so our first priority was to sniff out regional dishes. We discovered a stand selling all sorts of fresh fish and crustaceans, as well as a savory specialty of the area: Tielle Setoise, a round pastry filled with octopus and tomato — sometimes with a bit of squid and mackerel thrown in for full-on fishy deliciousness.


We'll be trying that, for sure, but we dined Wednesday evening on oysters — always a favorite.


Also on our list of local delicacies to sample: a couple of sweets. Poutous, "a delicious treat made from honey" according to the Beziers tourist office.


Then there's Riquets de Beziers made of "two fine layers of crunchy nougat containing almond-flavored" paste.


The candy is named after engineer and canal-builder Pierre-Paul Riquet, who was responsible for the construction of the Canal du Midi. Blah, blah, history, blah. Just let me at that sweet treat. Oh, and one candy shop depicts Monsieur Riquet thus:


He may look like one of the 3 Musketeers, but I'll bet his candy tastes nothing like an M&M-Mars product.

Finally, Beziers is known for its big summer festival: the August bullfights, or ferias, held in the town arena.


As we are close to Spain, these are traditional, bloody bullfights. Please don't tell PETA, but we'll likely go to Beziers for the festivities. We'll partake in the music and wine fountains (yes, fountains!), but we won't stay to see the slaughter. Ick.

Instead, we may go see some bullfights in The Camargue region, where bullfighters "win" by pulling a paper rosette, cork or other token from the bull's horn. In the Camargue, the bull is the celebrated star of the bullring (not the toreador) and dies of old age. Bulls are buried in special cemeteries, with tombstones that note how many bullfighters they gored during their careers.

Note to family: Does this photo of a typical Camargue cowboy look like anyone you know?


Hmm.

Missed Connections

Travel Lie #1: It's not the destination, it's the journey.
Dateline -- 29 July, 2009: Nice, France. We embarked on our adventure to Abeilhan, a very small hamlet in the the Languedoc region, with Honey leading the way to the train station.


A fairly uncomplicated journey (on paper), taking a train to Marseilles then connecting an hour later to a train headed for Beziers. Then a night's stay at Hotel de France in Beziers, where Mel would pick us up the next morning and take us to his home in Abeilhan. An easy, breezy journey to the Languedoc countryside for the summer.

Again, all of that was on paper. Spoiler alert: Not so much.

Honey got us to the station with plenty of time to spare, so we paused for cafe creme and croissants. I'm thinking now she planned it that way. And, yes, I have become one of those gay guys who sits at cafes feeding whatever he's eating to the small dog on his lap. Luckily, guys like me outnumber the guys who are not like me here in Nice.


Honey got sleepy after all that buttery good flakiness.


So much so, she flaked out on our first of two train rides.


The first leg was delayed, but the conductor assured us that our connecting train would be held. We arrived only 10 minutes late, but our connecting train was about to depart. Yikes! Vince and I pushed Honey, our baggage, and each other onto the first car we came to, then the doors clanked shut and the train skibbled down the tracks to Beziers.

Hot, sweaty, weary and cranky (me, anyway), we slunked through about a dozen cars to find our seats. Plush seats, in a first-class car. With a broken air conditioner. For two hours. Again, yikes!

At least we made the connection.

Grabbed a cab to the quaint Hotel de France, where the proprietress insisted we'd been there before. Perhaps we have doppelgangers running around in Southern France somewhere.


Anyhow, the owner was very kind and the room was charming. In fact, it was the perfect overnight pit stop after a hard day of travel. On paper. (Yes, another spoiler alert!)

The rate was a steal of a deal, Honey was welcome, and there was even free Wi-Fi. Wi-Fi that didn't really work. Exactly. Oh sure, I could get on the Web. But I couldn't get email. Or IM. Or a VPN connection to the client I was scheduled to work for that evening. Once again, yikes! Somehow, with all of those connectivity snafus, I was able to get on Skype to let my client know my predicament. Searched for an Internet cafe in town to and found precisely one. That was closing when I got there.

I would rather have missed our connecting train than end up going without a solid Internet connection for our brief stay in Beziers. It was the one connection that I truly needed. And I'm not even really a techno-geek. But sometimes digital nomads run into snags. Besides, tomorrow would be another day. And an easier one. Right?

Variety. Spice. Life. Do the Math.

Tomorrow, we leave for two months in the country. I've been reflecting on our time in Nice and how much it feels like our second home here. The people. The weather. The sights, sounds and smells, all so familiar and exotic at the same time.

Speaking of exotic sights and smells, here's a favorite place we'll miss until we return in October: the spice shop in Old Nice.






Must finish packing and get ready for tomorrow's train trip.

New Horizons

Walking around today, I discovered a new place to sunbathe and swim between the touristy beaches along the main drag in Nice (Promenade des Anglais) and the beach for locals on the far side of the port.



A series of concrete slabs lines a rocky part of the seacoast, and when I saw folks sunbathing there, I wondered how they got into the hazardous-looking, boulder-filled ocean to cool off. Even a chicken needs to refresh when turning around on a rotisserie spit. Not a place one would want to dive in. At least not headfirst.



Then I spied a ladder fixed to the rocks at one end of the row of concrete slabs. Climb in, climb out. Kind of makes the Mediterranean Sea your own private pool. Anyhow, that's where you'll find me tomorrow.

The day after tomorrow, we will consult our compass (and hope there's not some cute kid standing in the middle of it), and head to Abeilhan for two months.




Abeilhan is waaaaay out in the country in the Languedoc region of Southern France, near the Spanish border. It's not even a town, it's a hamlet (the smallest recognized form of communal entity in France). I think "Abeilhan" is French for "Hooterville." Anyhow, the house is big and lovely, and we have invited friends and family to come stay with us while we dabble at living in the French boonies -- er, countryside. If David Sedaris can do it, so can we!

Q & A

Some questions from friends and family have come our way. Here's an answer to one.

Q. What do you do when you're in Nice?
A. Take long walks. It's very relaxed here (as you might have gathered from previous posts). Sundays are especially leisurely, so we left our apartment (we're on the third level, with the little balcony) for a long stroll with Honey.



We hiked past the clock tower that keeps time (more or less) in the port of Nice.



Then we made our way into Vieille Ville (Old Town) Nice, where Honey and I paused for a picture.



Then we hiked up the hill toward the castle that overlooks town. There are some rather bad mosaics that dot the wall on one side of the walk. Vince and I figure someone in the Nice Historical Society had a relative with a glue gun and a lot of time on his/her hands.



Honey was tired after the hike.



But not too tired to meet a new friend.



We ambled back down to our favorite square, Place Garibaldi.



We each had a petite pression (small draft beer). Well, Vince and I did. Honey had water and a Milk Bone.



Yum. Sundays.