I was being particularly culturally sensitive yesterday by not going into work. Apparently it is a tradition here in France not to work a Friday if the Thursday is a public holiday. In the morning I went on a 30k bike ride along the coast, which would have been more fun if I wasn’t shivering with hypothermia the whole time. In the afternoon my supervisor and I took his dog for a walk through the wetlands to the beach.
Milan the dog
Did you know German shepherds are still not popular in France because of residual dislike of the Germans after the Second World War?* When they talk about “The War”, that’s the one they’re talking about. It’s still in the public consciousness, although possibly only for older people. Eric’s wife’s mother was a holocaust survivor, and his ophthalmologist grandfather died from a direct bomb hit while operating.
The walking path to the beach goes over a small footbridge across a canal, which gets closed intermittently during the day to allow boats to go through. The trouble is, the bridge operator is only there in the daytime, and when he goes off, the bridge has to be left closed to pedestrians so that boats can get through freely overnight. The sign says it closes at 5pm, and there was no messing about. We had to run to get there at 5 on the dot, and the grumpy bridge man (troll?) closed it right after us. There were a number of people stranded on both sides as we walked across. I would have taken a photo of all the dismayed people, but that would have been a bit heartless as they were all then faced with a detour of at least 14 kilometers to get back to their cars in the two car parks. Yikes.
Better hurry, people!
On our way back to Eric’s house, we stopped off at the most fantastic supermarket ever – it leaves Thorndon New World in the dust.
In the bakery section, you can get your baguettes at one of three different levels of cooked. I don’t know how people with gluten intolerance or coeliac get by over here, bread goes with everything. Similarly with lactose intolerance, with all the dairy.
I laboriously tried to explain that Eric’s family must be sick of me by now, but he said it was fine (at least I think that’s what he said), and anyway I did help make dinner – well, I peeled the mushrooms – which I didn’t even know was a thing. I learned how to make a new dish – baked camembert with vegetables and ham, which was unfortunately nowhere near as nice as it sounds, but anyway I’ll give it a go when I get home.
Sylvie and Eric and a cheesy slurry.
*This is according to (my understanding of) what Eric told me – and with apologies to Anna. Difficult to fact check.