After a fairly restless night with La Traviata rehearsals continuing into the small hours, we rose late and mooched about. Several cups of tea, an interesting chat with Catherine and a shower later, we were ready to start on a long walk. Down at the tourist office we received the bike track map and various bus timetables, the news that the La Traviata tickets were out of our reach and assistance with the telephone. Wonder of wonders, we now have a registered phone and it works. We sent a message to Marie, the daughter of the Primats, who is working near here and who has stayed with us twice in
All tasks done, we headed off beside the
All along the
We had our lunch on a bench facing the river, watching cranes, conveyor belts and shipping of all kinds and sizes. We had fun starting our French studies in the ‘A’ section of the dictionary, where we discovered that many, many words have English relatives or twins. Abattoir is one and sprang to mind because we passed a sign which said that there was a vet in fifty metres and an abattoir in one hundred. For every word in the dictionary, there are two or three different usages and it is easy to see how language develops and grows. What is difficult to understand is how one language is one thing and another is another, with only an imaginary line of the ground to separate groups and with that line vacillating with the latest power plays and invasions. Language must be such an important part of identity that it is preserved and passed on, despite some aspects of it changing and becoming a potpourri. The relationship with French and English is no surprise given that at the Battle of Hastings in 1066, King Harold II of
A flock of seabirds squatted in the mud flats, taking flight just as we approached. Swarms of fish fascinated us with their ‘school’ behaviour at the inlet of a creek. It is amazing how rigid is the discipline in staying together, with frantic swimming to catch up by little groups who had been led astray by a non-conformist or a fool. In the shallow water, it was easy to see how they would appear to a predator as one very large and ever moving creature. Snails hugged the shady side of a metal post to shelter from the heat of the day. We strolled on for a few more kilometres until the path left the river and wound beside a road with some distinctive houses, but predominantly very similar to beach town roads anywhere. The holiday and rental homes could have been in Rosebud in
A small road led us to the beach where all was very orderly – a neatly mowed wide grassy area with a hedge cutting the restaurant and relaxation spots off from the sands and winds of the beach. The beach itself was actually even neater with four kilometres of straight flat sand of a regulation width with a raised boardwalk with lights on it running along behind. The beach is regularly rolled to take out lumpy bits! Rubbish bins stood to attention at regular intervals and French families obediently swam between the flags. The surf can be treacherous with strong undertows and it certainly looked as if the water dropped away steeply from the beach. We walked for ages along the promenade, noting the very occasional nude sunbakers and the lack of beach cricketers. We looked, as if at a tableau, everything and everyone was so orderly and quiet. It was nothing like an Australian surf beach which is always noisy with seagulls, shouting, wind and waves, the sand scarred with high tide debris and trails of seaweed.
Now and then along the promenade we passed swim and dive schools and cafes, with some of the signs amusing us as English speakers seeing some of our words or words like them obviously with different meanings.
The end of the beach, before the rocky cove with the lighthouse, was the scene for teenagers and young people with large groups cooking themselves in the sun and others playing intense games of beach volleyball.
We were hot and fully clothed so the
We were proud of or stamina and fitness but really such a hot day would have been better spent in the water or under a shady tree with a book. Keith had arranged for us to go to the supermarket with Jan, and since he had added a walk to the post office to the day, he was now too tired to go. Jan and I set off alone, armed with my shopping list which featured many feminine need items. The supermarket was a step above that, being a ‘haute marchee’ (high market), and every kind of shop in one gigantic space. Jan gave me some language tips on the way and I helped him with his language. We both had our back packs for our purchases. Once in the door, the task of finding departments looked pretty daunting, although not impossible, but when Jan suggested we do my shopping together first and then his, I agreed. Truly, I had forgotten the nature of my list, and it shows what a kind man he is, that he assisted with every item. Sometimes he required an explanation from me of what some of them were and what they were for, as well as what my personal taste was, and I am sure that it was not only his knowledge of English vocabulary that was increased that night. It was also a work out for me since I explained it all in French. You can’t pay for this sort of language lesson. We took ages, more than one and a half hours, to shop 300 metres away. When we returned we met Keith at the gate ready to send out a search party.
After all that excitement it only remained to put everything in our allocated cupboard and fridge shelf and retire.
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