panhandlegirl
the woods are lovely dark and deep but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep
that's what happens when you stop by the woods on a snowy evening
YOUR DAILY JOURNAL
by compound complex 1320 Replies latest jw friends
-
-
BizzyBee
Tossed salad and scrambled eggs - yes! But eggs into the salad?
Brings to mind one of my favorite travel memories.......
The Bees are riding their tandem through the lush farmlands of Bordeaux. They’ve cycled many miles (or kilometres) since they set out that morning from the city. It is a very warm day, but the road is flat and straight and the countryside is idyllic. As mid-afternoon approaches, the sun grows warmer still and, slaking their thirst often, they have consumed all their water. But their destination is only a few kilometres away - a quaint hotel in a bucolic little village. The prospects of a cool shower, clean dry clothes and food and drink beckons and they push on. The description of their accommodations found on-line promises "panoramic views of the countryside." Wait a minute! Is that a steep incline indicated on their tattered map? Why, the turn-off from the main road looks straight up! and up!
Sunburned from the relentless rays - not much shade in miles of cabbage, spinach and strawberries - thirsty, sweaty, tired, legs aching with the effort of even a slight upward slope, they press on. Now the ascent begins in earnest: legs pumping slower now, against the weight of a bicycle loaded with two passengers, a pannier each (the sum total of luggage packed for three weeks in Europe), bike tools, innertubes, etc., and the EMPTY water bottles.
The road becomes a narrow cobblestone path with charming cottages on either side. The top is nowhere in sight. It is now time to stop pedaling, dismount and push this monstrously heavy bike up the hill - Mr Bee guiding and pulling with the handlebars in front, Mrs Bee pushing from the rear, face seriously flushed and pulsating with the heat of (what feels like) a thousand suns. Finally, she’s for it. Done. She spies a garden hose on someone's back step and sits down. Oh, salvation! She can almost feel the coolness of water on the back of her head, the sweetness wetness in her parched throat. She turns the spigot and - NOTHING. She desperately turns the knob this way and that - still nothing. This is a vacation month for the French - is it possible that people turn off their water in the middle of summer when they go away?
In the meantime, Mr Bee is several yards further up, stoically carrying on with the mission to reach the top of this Everest. With her last shred of will, Mrs Bee rises to her feet and plunges upward, not to assist him, but to take herself towards water, wherever it may be. By now breathing is difficult and heat stroke seems imminent. Her face is beet red and will remain so for quite some time.
At long, long last, they reach the summit - a large circular plaza ringed with demure little shops - charcuterie, boulangerie, pastisserie, tabac, la poste, cafe – but not a soul around. And then, there to their immediate right, the hotel! Sweet mother!
The proprietor comes to the door, greets them in the French manner, that is to say, coolly aloof, and proceeds to show Mr Bee where to store the bicycle. Mrs Bee asks for a glass of water. Yes, yes, in a moment. No, you don't understand - I. Need. Water. Right. Now. Do you not realize that your hotel is on top of the Himilayas and we just arrived by bicycle and the temperature is 110 in the shade and I am about to expire? Is my face not the color of a ripe plum? Water, s'il vous plait!
The water he brings in a tall tumbler is exquisite, but after the first gulp, it is sipped slowly since nausea is a very real possibility. By the time the glass is finished, a cold bottle of beer seems oh so civilized. Never has a brew tasted so good.
Then it is time to go upstairs (up!) to the room and take a long, cool shower. Never in the history of showers has one felt so divine. Mrs Bee actually begins to entertain the notion that she might live, even though her face is still that lovely shade of red one associates the inside of a ripe watermelon.
Thus fortified, they inquire of their host about restaurants. Restaurants - oh, no, those in the plaza are all closed for the week-end, even the boulangerie, even the tabac, and the cafe. Hmmmm....no wonder the plaza seemed so quiet and deserted - some sort of holiday or because it is August or because it is Sunday. They are, after all, in a remote rural area, not the big city. And the hotel only promises a cold breakfast; it is not a restaurant. The innkeeper can recommend restaurants in the neighboring town - accessible by car, of course. We implore - But we are on a bicycle! Please, can you feed us? Absolutely anything would do - ? He relents and says he will check with his wife.
The Bees are shown to a patio with overhanging fruit trees situated on the roof and the large hillside behind the hotel. Apparently there are no other guests and they luxuriate in the quiet peacefulness of a golden sunset and the view - indeed "panoramic" - of the pastoral valley below. A chilled, crisp white Bordeaux and two wineglasses are delivered to their table by the innkeeper and he pops the cork. Never has a wine tasted this delicious. One could cry.
Next, he brings baguettes and a variety of cheeses on two small plates – a hard, nutty Emmenthal, a soft Brie, a knob of Roquefort, a wedge of Boursault. Contentment reigns.
But then, here comes their host with the most exquisite golden brown, glistening omelets, stuffed with succulent mushrooms, and dusted with minced herbs. This is accompanied by a lightly dressed salad of fresh mesclun, more warm baguettes and sweet butter. The combination is absolute perfection. Never has such a modest meal tasted so good. More wine, please, monsieur!
They are sated, but the final course is yet to come. Warm open-faced French apple tarts – brushed with an apricot jam glaze and topped with a sphere of vanilla ice cream. Heaven! Never has – well, you get the idea.
The next morning, they come down for breakfast and notice the framed yellowed clippings on the walls of the dining room. Their hosts had previously run a 4 star restaurant in the city and were both renowned chefs in their former life. They had given that up to run a rustic little hotel in a small, quiet village at the top of a long, steep hill.
#
I’ve often tried to recreate the meal they served us that day, but something was always missing. Perhaps one has to be at the very end of one’s physical reserves, exhausted and then revived to truly savor such a simple meal.
-
panhandlegirl
ND, thanks for the quote, I will have to look it up
PanG.
BizzyBee, what a lovely story, but I was parched by the time we got up that mountain! Thank goodness I had an open bottle of Villa San-Juliette Merlot at the ready.
PanG.
-
Quentin
Omelets, love em. Great story Mrs. Bee, yours too Tailesin.
Took my grandson Quentin to the Zoo Sunday. Cost a fortune ( $100 ), but was oh so much worth it. After the Zoo went to Barns and Nobles. Quinn found the book Call of the Wild by Jack London, Quinn had read White Fang, Terry joined us at Starbuck's, where we had several hours of pleasant conversation.
Quinn is nine. I was proud of him because he sat and listened to two old geezers talk about movies, TV, women ( nicely mind you ). Quinn even contributed to some of the conversation. On the way home Quinn asked me what was my favorite part of the Zoo. Told him it was watching how much fun he had. Wonderful way to spend a Sunday, I wouldn't have cared if it cost $200, it was worth the time and effort.
Next weekend I'll take my sixteen year old grand-daughter for Olive Gardens and a movie. Heh, heh, heh she calls me the Old Man. Says I dress like a Mafia Don, should be an interesting day.
-
compound complex
TUESDAY, 1 May 2012
Thanks, Nancy, Panhandlegirl, Mrs. Bee and Quentin, for your entries.
Wonderful stuff! I want to go to both France and the zoo, but not necessarily on the same day ...
CoCo
-
NewChapter
She woke this morning with the Doors plucking the strings in her brain: The future's uncertain, and the end is always near. She recommits to enjoying the day, if not for herself, then for those who love her. She pledges to finish that story for her readers so they are not left hanging. She will make happy memories, not for herself, but for those who care and may need them. She will give her dogs extra belly rubs and absorb their unfettered joy. She will have the kitchen sink installed, not wanting to leave a mess behind. She smirks at her own morbid thoughts as Pink Floyd takes the pick and plays Shorter of breath, one day closer to death.
Ah, but to the outsider it all seems so depressing. They have not come to revel in the peace of reality and the freedom it bestows. They want to tell her not to think like that, but if she didn't, she would live as though it was just another day, and not leave them some special gem should she have to bow out early. Rejoice because you are breathing. Rejoice with her and make each breath count. She will do it for them, so that they don't have any regrets. Because she will not.
-
panhandlegirl
She is one week into her new age." I need to make some changes in my life." she says to herself. Who else can she say it to; the dogs? They are good listeners. They greet her each morning with eyes wide open and their spirts high. The little one, Tony, is so assertive and cannot enjoy the moment, his attention is always directed towards the poodle; wants to make sure he does not receive any attention. His attitude reminds me of some people I have known, but he is such a devoted dog. They both are. "Okay" She thinks, "I need to replace the carpet in my bedroom with hardwood floors. I can't believe Jesse locked the dogs in there for a week while I was gone! What was he thinking? My beautliful plush gray carpet is now ruined!" She goes into the kitchen to brew some coffee before taking the dogs out. She returnes to her desk and as she peers out the window, turning her eyes from the computer screen, she sees around twenty bicyclists pedaling down the highway; all of them dressed in gray and red and wearing head gear.Traveling behind them is a car pulling a trailer with the words "Eat, Sleep, Bike" written in red, with a paint brush it seems, on the side of the trailer. "WOW" She says outloud to herself, "that's an interesting sight! I wonder who they are and where they are heading?" She recalls that only a few months ago she just happened to look out the window to see one of those fancy bus-like travel trailers slowing down in front of her house as if to turn into the lane beside her house. She saw an 18-wheeler behind the travel-trailer traveling at a high rate of spead and said to herself "Why is that truck passing the trailer on the wrong right side where the is no road?" "DAMN! He's trying to avoid rear-ending the trailer." She stares transfixed as the 18-wheeler drives through the ditch in front of her house, bearly missing crashing into the travel trailer which, in fact has turned into the lane. The 18-wheeler crosses the lane and stops, scarcely avoiding the pine trees lining the far side of the ditch. The 18-wheeler stops. She quickly puts her shoes on and darts out the door, taking the porch steps two at a time. The truck has stopped with the truck side facing the bottom of the ditch. It is leaning dangerously, nearly jack-knifed, but still upright. When she gets to the truck, man is already climbing into the passenger side of the truck to aid the driver. Within minutes, the police and EMS arrive to help the driver. She recalls that the driver was seriously injured, but he survived. "I never know what I am gong to see when I look out my window onto this highway", she say to herself, for now, I need to go see about that hardwood floor."
-
compound complex
Thursday, 3 May 2012
Thank you, NewChapter and panhandlegirl, for your beautifully crafted and compelling stories!
CoCo
-
nancy drew
Both those stories
-
nancy drew
Going to ocracoke island for 3 days