Lovely crabstick salad!
(Note spare wine.)
Al and I did the Corme Royal ‘randonée pédestre nocturne’
last year. Then, it was our first
time. Tremble. This time we knew what to expect,
which is never quite the same experience.
We set out just as the match I’d been waiting for all day
began. Andy Murray stuffed a tennis
ball into his shorts and threw the other one up to serve. Bugger! I thought. I wonder whether I could just sit here and… No chance!
The tickets had been paid for, it would be a serene family outing. Not to mention a nice bit of exercise.
Outside, the temperature was still in the high twenties at
7.30 and we’d put on jeans and long sleeved tops against the mozzies. There was Al, my husband, Alfie, our teenage
son, and yours truly, already too hot and just a little petulant.
Up to the recreation ground we went, stepping out
enthusiastically. We collected our
tickets, tied them to our clothes with a thoughtfully provided red ribbon, and waited to be released
into the French countryside in staggered groups (there were over a thousand of
us, apparently).
France in July. There were sunflowers everywhere. There were also leggings filled by thighs and bottoms of all shapes and sizes, and merry banter
together with the odd gasp from people who passed by (we are slow walkers and
enormously tall).
Bathed in the fragile tranquility of wide open spaces invaded by we walkers, and keeping an eye on the dust that rose from children who kicked it up in front of us, we entered into the spirit and smiled our way onwards. The first stop was for sangria (very nice and very strong)
accompanied by salty biscuits. Alfie
got squash – poor Alfie - the expectation of a Coca-cola on ice had been strong within him! Still, it was
a nice way to start our adventure and we set off again rehydrated. Al and I felt distinctly loosened up, living on
alcohol fumes from the bottom of our plastic cups, and raring to sit down and have another drink.
The conversation was football oriented and so I went into a
daze and thought about my current work in progress, imagining clever twists
that would be forgotten by the time I got home. The views were most lovely and the air simmered up gently. We were all looking forward to the
starter before long. The previous year there had
been a delicious tuna salad. This time,
we were handed a nice looking mayonnaise coleslaw which turned out to be mostly
sliced crabsticks. I tried not to think
about it – I was hungry. Alfie just ate
bread and attempted to hide his disgust (not very successfully). Al said he hated crabsticks, although he
didn’t really need to say anything (see above photo). The highlight
was being served by an authentically rotund Obelix, complete with two-horned
helmet and an air of French pride at representing all that is good about
France’s cartoon heritage.
"Encore du vin, Monsieur? Madame?"
"Bah, ouai!"
By this time Al and I were fairly tipsy, taking pictures of a caged gorilla, a playful caveman, and each other. We were all enjoying the evening in spite of the after effects of the fishy dish. So when we came to a field in which there seemed to be various games being organised, we plunged in on the basis that we were in for a penny and in for a pound. We were intrigued by one game in particular. It seemed to be a variation on blind man’s bluff, involving the enforced participation of a goose. Politically correct? Not in the slightest. Several men and women wearing blindfolds were groping around for a goose that had been shown to them beforehand and then (much to our relief) removed. How wonderful to have the welfare of the animal at heart, we mistakenly thought. Moments later, the games master set down the bird, who was pounced on and almost throttled by an over-enthusiastic competitor. We lost the ending of the video (divine intervention?), but have the first part here. Very funny (see for yourself). Note: the goose was not actually hurt. There were another four geese - so they could have a rest between bouts. (Hmm.)
French Quacking
It was still light when we arrived to sample the main course
and were handed a plate of ham and dish of beans. And more wine. We sat on
hay bales and were entertained by backward facing horn players, some of them
new recruits by the sound of it.
Fabulously different and all in good fun. (See video.)
Darkness fell and there were stars. We walked on through woods marked with
luminous paint where a tree stump or rock may have tripped a walker. The crowds had thinned and when
we came to an enormous cornfield I found myself alone. Al and Alfie had gone on ahead spouting
names of footballers who had been bought and sold for millions of pounds, which was, apparently, quite normal. I savoured the solitude, enjoying the sound
of the wind in the corn, until I started to remember scenes from ‘Signs’ – you
must know it. Of course I wasn’t
afraid. There are no such things as
aliens. I just had an urgent desire to
walk a bit faster, that was all. Al and Alfie were waiting for me at the end of the
field. They'd had the same thoughts –
Mel Gibson swinging away with a baseball bat.
By the time we saw the lights of the village I was on the
verge of getting tired of walking through heaps of stinking dried grass,
wondering whether I should have eaten all those crabsticks and beans and sure that this walk had been much shorter than the previous one (not complaining). Al and Alfie investigated the desserts at
the final stop, but left the slices of fruit tart alone in the end. I think they’d been hoping for a nice ice
cream or chocolate mousse. It was
getting on for midnight and I made hot chocolate when we got home just for a
bit of sweetness to end the day.
We were tired and clammy, but very glad to have gone. Andy Murray won his match and I had the
chance to watch Federer make mince meat of the poor chap a couple of days
later.
Many, many thanks to all the folk who organised the food and the
fun. No doubt the English giants will
be back for more next summer.
fromage et vin - delicious
HAPPY DAYS!
