One Things Leads to Another

Today was  glorious, sunny and nearly cool, a day to be out doors, so of course the t.v. programming had to be at odds, broadcasting the only things I want to see during the day.  The morning started with the Tour de France, an amazing climb over the Pyrenees, and picked up at noon with a Jane Austen marathon on Ovation.  Oh agony!  Tues., the Tour heads to the Alps for more amazing athleticism and scenery, and I will have to be there, since it is only three weeks of the year. 

If you want to read some great writing, just go to page 7 of the New York Times Sunday Sports , 7/14/13 by James Dao on the Tour, byline Lyon:

           They are among the most dangerous 200 yards in sports, a rolling scrum of carbon fiber  

     machines carrying men wearing nothing nothing nothing but Lyrca at speeds greater than 

     forty miles an hour (me: they hit 60.) Shoulders bump, tempers flare, handlebars knock. When

    crashes occur, they are skin-tearing, bone crunching affairs."

What a gorgeous country. The little villages, with their creamy stone and twisting streets...  They bring back wonderful memories of "barging" with our children on the Yonne River and canals in Burgundy many summers ago. Their barges are river boats, nicely fitted with bedrooms and small but very adequate bathrooms, a galley kitchen, sitting area, and best of all, an open deck with a dining table and chairs, and bicycles. Hitting the land amounted to only pulling over to the shore, pounding in a stake and tying up with a rope and throwing down a wide plank - we literally walked the plank every time we wanted to visit land.

The children biked down beautiful tree lined lanes into villages to buy fruit, bread and yogurt for breakfast, and we visited markets along the way to find fresh vegetables and dinner.  No matter that the children did not speak French. Everywhere, they were treated with such generosity and kindness that they gained confidence in their language skills.

This was not the luxury barge that comes with a captain. We "drove" it, children included, at a grand five miles an hour maximum, and learned to navigate locks, usually with an attendant. Passing through locks was a requirement that kept me terrified after our son fell off the boat into the icy water, with tons of barge drifting toward him and the stone walls. In the rain. In the almost-dark. Drenching completely his only heavy, warm sweatsuit.  He brags about it to this day. Tie up time was 7 p.m., but the cloud filled skies and driving rain the first day or so made early evening feel like late night.

And then, in the morning, the sun came out and the fishermen returned to the river to provide a catch for the close by inns, snails crept over the paths to town (dinner, perhaps?) and the evenings were long and light filled. No electronics. Only us and the river and the beauty all around us.

Thanks for letting me reminisce. And an hors d'oeuvre I might suggest: Buy a head of endive lettuce, pull off the individual spear shaped leaves, wash and gently pat dry.  Make a couscous (plenty of quick cook or mixes in the store)and add raisins and small peanut halves, some finely chopped fresh tomato and parsley.  You may want to make the couscous a little wetter than you would ordinarily.  Pack it into the endive spears and refrigerate.  That's all there is to it, and it is wonderful.  A magazine on sale right now, the August volume of  Real Simple, has a  great selection of kebabs, miles away from the tired steak/onion/something or other kebabs that are usually part of the grilling vocabulary.

And Happy Bastille Day !