The Rice House

Holiday in France: September 18 to October 3, 1999

Sunday. Sept. 19. Sens (our stopping place for the night)

Our flight from New York to Paris was the usual Tower Air fiasco. [Note: Tower Air has since gone bankrupt].  Luckily Ginat slept through most of it except the long pre-take off delay to locate forty-five missing meals. The rest was the usual broken earphones, misdirected reading lights and inedible food.

Back on earth, we found Charles DeGaulle Airport in Paris to be jammed.  Signs to the car rental area were confusing, and our mounds of baggage made negotiating the hordes of arriving passengers perilous.  We were carrying two weeks of American shopping sprees with us which were bound for use in Israel.  At the car rental counter we were upgraded to a Citroen Xantia with mercifully large luggage space. 

Ten minutes after driving off we were so lost that it was all we could do to find our way back to the airport grounds and start over again.  Speed limits on the autoroute were posted at 130 km per hour (about 70 mph) but cars routinely whizzed by us at 150 and 180 kph.  Next to them we felt like we were still parked in the garage.  It was overcast or lightly raining most of the three hours that we drove.

Our initial destination was Sens, the first town appearing on our map south of Paris.  We stumbled accidentally upon the tiny village of Saint Denis de Sens, not realizing that these were two entirely different places.  It was a captivating rural village that charmed our socks off.  We drove around the entire place in just under five minutes without finding a single person to ask directions to a grocery for dinner vegetables.

Finally a woman directed us to the real Sens.  By the manner in which she was dressed we realized it must be Sunday.  This confused us even more, because having missed a night flying east from New York we were lost in both time and space.

We finally found our vegetables in a tobacco shop on the far side of town.  Then we headed back towards a sign we had noticed on the main road marked “Camping.”

The camping fee was an economical 47 francs, or about $7.00.  This was the only time we had the option of foregoing the luxury of a shower to save a few dollars.  The site had one essential feature—a large metal overhang.  It provided precious shelter to cook and sleep as we got our first taste of an early autumn downpour.  It rained all night while we snuggled warm and dry in our sleeping bags, wide eyed with jet lag.

Monday: Sep 30, Dijon

Sheldon finally gave up on sleep at 2:00 AM and began cooking.  After a 6:00 AM nap we set off to explore the graceful town of Auxelles.  Narrow streets with adjoining buildings flush against one another led to a city square with church and squire.  We bought a few porcelain spoons in a Vietnamese food shop with delectable looking displays.  Ginat’s French was polished enough to seek directions and mediate negotiations.

We then drove an overpriced toll road to Dijon where we wandered aimlessly amid commercial streets full of glitz and hpe.  We explored a boring crypt and cathedral with mounting hunger, sorry that the macrobiotic contact listed in our international directory was no longer there.  Thankfully we found a lovely campsite to cook our dinner and enjoy a hot shower.

Tuesday, Sep 21, Macon:  Sheldon’s 64th Birthday

We woke up to a fine rain and cooked under the awning of the closed campsite kiosk.  Our tour book lead us to the Cote d’Or, a series of delightful Lilliputian villages extending south on narrow rural roads.  The rolling countryside was awash with row upon row of vineyards stretching to the horizon in exquisite symmetry.  Each village centers around its wine industry.  The fields were full of townspeople and imported workers cashing in on the opportunity to cull the vines.  With good luck we were passing through just at harvest time.

We photographed some grape pickers working at the side of the road.  Talking with them, Ginat mentioned Sheldon’s anniversaire.  We were immediately toasted all around and treated to glasses of Burgundy’s best.  We joked and laughed together, and were introduced to the workers, many of whom were retired railroad men.

 

Our next stop was a cave—French for a wine cellar.  Ginat explained that we only wanted to see the wine-making operation without buying any wine (chutzpah!).  We were treated to a wonderful demonstration of wine making from vine to bottle.  A youthful worker demonstrated the machinery for de-vining the grapes, pressing and ferementing the fruit, and storing the resultant wine in great wooden barrels in the basement under controlled temperatures.  His gracious patience and enthusiasm made our visit ever so memorable.

We continued along the Cote d’Or to Beaune, stopping as we pleased,  and pleased wherever we stopped.  We were impressed by a tenth century church (what was happening in the tenth century?), awesome in the simplicity of its soaring naves.  We stopped occasionally along the road to taste sweet black pignon noir grapes that melted in our mouths.  Unfortunately their heavy spray melted our intestines and mood for a while the next day.

We found an ancient chateau hosted by an octogenarian proprietor who claimed ancestry dating centuries back.  She showed us portraits of forebears painted by forebears before them.  We shuffled across the wooden floors on her castle on felt foot pads.  She apparently was in a hurry to eat lunch and hadn’t had time to dust in several hundred years.

We escaped from the nearby town of Beaune as quickly as we entered, shunning the seduction of numbing tourist eentrapments.  Our goal had been to visit the glorious Hotel Dieu there, but its outrageous price of admission convinced us otherwise.  Instead we thrilled to the Haute Cote de Beaune, a high route in the foothills of the Massif Central overlooking the wine country.  Finally we settled ion a campsite near the town of Macon (no, not in Georgia), once again dodging rain drops.  Friendly people gave us a tour of their mobile home as we swapped recommendations of the best French onion soup recipe.

Wednesday. September 22. Aubens Camping

Overhead foliage kept the nightly raindrops off our tent, but we sweated in our down sleeping bags in the unseasonably warm weather.  In the morning we drove back roads towards our next destination, St. Etienne.  We purposely avoided the industrial city of Lyon, preferring the rolling farmland surrounding it.

St Etienne was listed in our directory as home to a macrobiotic restaurant.  With no clue as to its whereabouts, we entered the city and began asking passers-by for directions.  Our guardian angel appeared at that moment in the form of an elderly woman who offered to accompany us along the complicated street grid.  Ginat navigated and translated, squashed into the back seat among all our suitcases and backpacks while Sheldon drove.  We were saved hours of certain frustration in the maze of one way and dead end streets clearly designed before the advent of automobiles.  After twenty minutes in the car our savior got out and turned around to walk back to our starting point!!  Who says the French are snobby?

Unfortunately the restaurant had closed its doors the previous July, but the adjoining health food store offered a wealth of top quality macrobiotic products.  We compared notes with the shop owner about our macrobiotic experiences. She noted that interest in health issues is more widespread but less profound than in years past.

We continued to a nearby shopping mall in search of camping stove fuel.  We found the same color-coded parking lots, crowded stores and bored clerks of any mall anywhere.  The man behind us in the check our line sported a shopping cart creamed full of wine bottles.  He told us that each year he replenishes a fifteen year wine supply in his cellar.  Vivre le vin!

Our next stop was the attractive town of Puy-en-Velay, perched above two extinct volcanoes.  The first peak houses a cathedral of immense proportions, complete with recorded organ music playing in the background.  The twisting cobble stoned streets leading up to its gates were brimming with nuns and pious tourists adding to the town’s charm.  The second crest hosted a statue of Notre Dame with 256 steps up to its nose.  We found the town so appealing that we walked its streets for the entire afternoon.  Afterwards, we found out that it was the spot chosen by Michio Kushi for his first macrobiotic conference in France many years before.

From there we aimed for the nearest camping spot.  Campgrounds are so plentiful in France that a tourist information agency doesn’t even list sites in the region.  There are simply too many.  Road signs for campgrounds are in evidence everywhere throughout the country.

Thursday, Sep 23, Vaugine

The night was cold, windy and wet, but we stayed dry in our little tent.  WE cooked breakfast under the awning of the campground bath house.  Our destination, Aubens, was plagued by the same dreary weather.  In the midst of a heavy downpour we realized that our good friends Richard and Isa Gombin live just to the southeast in the tiny village of Vaugine.  Richard and Isa were Ginat’s first macrobiotic teachers nearly twenty years ago in Jerusalem.   We called them tout-de-suite and were invited for dinner.

On the way there, we passed through the Gorge de l’Ardeche, an enormous canyon with striking vistas and vast expanses.  Luckily the rain stopped long enough to reveal breathtaking views of deep valleys and beautiful rock formations.  Each time we stopped along the route to admire a view we ran into a different group of Israelis, each, like us, enjoying their holidays abroad.

We came back home in the afternoon to cook Shabbat dinner.  Isa made an incredible seitan dish in a tagine pot, a gift from Moroccan friends.  The pot is made out of fired clay and has a chimney-like lid that lifts the steam up and off the food below it.  Ginat was in charge of boiling up carrot tops which she ground with crushed sesame seeds.  She also served a pressed salad of grated celery root, sautéed leeks, hiziki salad, and a kanten pie for dessert.  All this was preceded by a Shabbat candle lighting ceremony crafted to suit their needs, replete with double-cheek kissing nine people.  We were exalted as we sat down.  We appreciated how Richard keeps the spirit of religion alive in their lives without getting carried away by the technicalities.

Richard and Isabelle had their house built ten years ago according to their own design specifications.  They had lived in Paris before that, and wanted a more natural setting to raise their growing family.  All the children are macrobiotic from conception.  Joel is seventeen years old, Davide is thirteen, Esther is eleven, Jonathan nine, and Anna is six.  Isa treated us to wonderful home-cooked meal of simple and elegant cooking.  We spent a genial evening together, content to be friends, and then retired to our tent in the back yard for lack of space indoors.  We were excited to see the effects of a macrobiotic lifestyle in daily practice for over twenty-five years.  They are a happy family, stable and lively.  The children are well disciplined and get along wonderfully with each other.  There is no bickering, whining or crying, and all help out as needed.

Friday, Sep 24, Vaugine

We spent a wonderful day with Richard and Isa touring the surrounding towns and villages.  In the morning the children get themselves off to school, the older ones helping the younger to dress, eat and clean up.  In the early morning Sheldon and Ginat set off alone to explore Vaugine on foot.  We chatted with a local craftsman who sells handsome welded iron figures in Paris and on the internet.  Returning to the Gambins we were surprised that a neighbor had sent over an 8 x 10 inch color photograph of the village church as a present to us aftr only a brief greeting as we strolled by.

We all went together to the neighboring town of Petris for market day.  The streets were lined with vendor’s stalls of fresh produce and other staples.  One stand specialized in mushrooms of tantalizing size and shape.  We bought some olive wood pieces as gifts (olive wood to Jerusalem is like coals to Newcastle, but they were lovely carved items).

We then continued on together to the town of Aix-en-Provence, an enchanting community of wide boulevards and appealing shops.  We had lunch in the local vegetarian restaurant and later tasted imported beer on the square.  Aix (pronounced “X”) was home to Cezanne, who depended on his father’s support all his life and finally died penniless.  Today his house is a bustling tourist attraction.

We came back home in the afternoon to cook Shabbat dinner.  Isa made an incredible seitan dish in a tagine pot, a gift from Moroccan friends.  The pot is made out of fired clay and has a chimney-like lid that lifts the steam up and off the food below it.  Ginat was in charge of boiling up carrot tops which she ground with crushed sesame seeds.  She also served a pressed salad of grated celery root, sautéed leeks, hiziki salad, and a kanten pie for dessert.  All this was preceded by a Shabbat candle lighting ceremony crafted to suit their needs, replete with double-cheek kissing nine people.  We were exalted as we sat down.  We appreciated how Richard keeps the spirit of religion alive in their lives without getting carried away by the technicalities.

Saturday, Sep 25, Esparanza Camping

We left the Gombins early Saturday morning before they awoke, headed for the medieval City of Carcassone.  We were awed by massive stone walls surrounding the old city.  Inside the gates we were engulfed by mobs of tourists and bombarded by hawkers of glitz and shlock.  We about-faced on the spot without bothering to see the chateau or walking its towering ramparts.

                        

We turned south once again, following the Route du Pays Cathare in the beautiful Pyrenean foothills.  The Cathars were a purist sect persecuted in the thirteenth century by papal forces intolerant of their extremist philosophy.  The  Cathars maintained that “only the world of spirit was good, while the material world was irredeemably evil (National Geographic Traveler).”  They were wiped out ruthlessly then; today they are a source of national pride.

As evening approached we slipped into the camping site near the town of Esparanza to make dinner and relax.  It was the Fete de la Ville, the day of the year when the village celebrates with a festival and open air dancing.  We walked back to town to join the merrymaking, only to find that it didn’t get started until after 11:00 PM.  The two weary campers hiked back to their tent and crawled in to their sleeping bags for the night. Meanwhile the campground was having a party of its own.  The reception hall was filled with happy Frenchmen drinking wine and talking loud.  By the time we left the next morning, there was no one in sight to bid us au revoir.

Sunday, Sep 26, Prades Camping

The Cathar Route was filled with chateaux, and we chose several to visit.  The first was a massive stone fortress perched at the top of a thirty minute climb by foot.  Sheldon maintained that it held out against the Papal forces by pouring down hot oil on their trespassers’ heads.  They must have finally run out of oil because all that was left at the top was an expanse of stones with a grassy center.

From there we followed narrow, twisting one-lane roads into the Pyrenean Mountains in quest of the Abbey de St Martin.  We traveled several hours on breathtaking back roads past charming villages and awe-inspiring views.  The road twisted and turned at dizzying heights, delighting us at every bend.

Still a distance from the Abbey, we chose a municipal camping site on the way where we could walk into the town after our shower and dinner.  Consistent with our experience, these small towns roll up their sidewalks after dusk, leaving us to wander darkened streets and enjoy the night air.  The spoken language was either flat-accented unintelligible French or the regional/ange d’Cc, a Latin derivative that never progressed past Roman times.

Mondav. Sep 27. Ax-Ies-Bains Camping

We continued on back roads to the Romanesque Abbey de St Martin, chosen from the guide book for its alluring solitude in the high mountains.  We climbed by foot up a paved approach path that twisted in tight serpentine curves at an incredibly steep angle.  We strained and puffed for forty-five minutes through deep woods, stopping doubled over to put our hearts back in our chests.  What dedication these monks must have had to build this place!  It was strenuous in the extreme. 

Half way up to the abbey was small stone chapel, captivating in its stark simplicity.  One could envision the austere lives of the monks in this retreat sans electricity, furnishings or any amenities.  Far below a small village lay spread out in the green valley.

Arriving at the summit with pounding hearts we discovered that the reception building was closed and no tours offered.  We strolled around the grounds, sighting only a single nun but many maintenance men doing repairs.  Luckily we were able to strike up a conversation with a dashing young man from Gabon who invited us to stay for the 11:00 AM mass. He told us that about twenty-five to thirty inhabitants live there year round in vows of silence.  They are joined by about a dozen lay workers.  There is no resident clergy, so our little group of devotees waited patiently until a young priest finally arrived and clanged the bells for matins.

The chapel was an intimate affair of stone arches and too few benches.  Many of the young people sat around on the floor, eagerly participating in the robust singing and drumming.  It was a treat to see such spirit and dedication.  We ducked out when the sermon began, hurdling back down the steep embankments, exhilarated and ravished at the bottom with the exertion.

Our next destination was the principality of Andorra.  Much to our delight the road wound through the mountain passes from freezing France to sunny Spain, where the clouds lifted for a few hours.  Spectacular views accompanied the rough mountainous terrain.  Signs and radio station broadcasts were in Catalan along both sides of the border.

We passed through two walled villages on the way, actually driving through their massive portals and traversing the narrow streets by car.  This was a much better experience than Carcassone, sans tourist hype.

Andorra, a tax haven for bargain hunting tourists and residents was a disappointment.  The city was densely built with unattractive, tall buildings and little charm.  It was overcrowded and uninviting, so we drove through without stopping.

The road from Andorra back to France climbed tremendously to a freezing wind-swept summit.  We stopped for gas at the peak and serviced by an attendant dressed in a heavy down jacket with mittens and a fur hat. The wind nearly blew her off her feet.  After that we descended for many kilometers until the weather was mild enough to stop for the night.  We went into the local town after dinner and once again found it pretty well closed down.  It was a resort town boasting thermal baths and great spas, but perhaps we caught it off season, post summer and pre-ski.  Even the grand hotels on the main square were still and dark.

Tuesday, Sep 28, St Gaudens

We progressed at a leisurely pace along the twisting mountain roads, avoiding a herd of cows led by a primeval woman.  With such steep terrain there is no place other than the road for the cattle to walk.  We negotiated posted fifteen percent grades in second gear.

Our snack supply had dwindled to naught by now, so we scoured the tiny village of Massat for rice cakes.  Several shop owners told us to forget it—there was no demand for such an item.  In the spirit of Zen explorers we were delighted to find an actual health food store in this out of the way place. 

It was run by a young German woman who had moved to the Pyrenees fifteen years before in search of a quiet, low-keyed lifestyle.  She was content to sit in the confines of her little shop day and night, now even curious to ask us about ourselves when Ginat told her we were visiting from Israel.  Her store was well stocked with quality macrobiotic items, organic pates and spreads, and about ten varieties of top grade rice cakes.

We stopped for a hitchhiker as we let town even though Ginat had to wedge herself into the back seat among all our suitcases and backpacks.  Our visitor wore an eagle feather woven in a thin long braid of hair.  He described a commune back in the hills where new age folk lived the simple life, and spoke of his distaste for city living and civilization.  His goal was to work as little as possible, and spend his time traveling around and “just being.”  We enjoyed his brief company and managed to photograph him as quid pro quo for the lift.  At first he objected because he said the camera steals the soul.

In the next hamlet we came across a traveling butcher on the road in his meat wagon.  People know which day to expect him and come out to buy their chops.

We arrived at the macrobiotic retreat center of Rene Levy in St Gaudens by mid-afternoon.  Rene Levy was one of the original disciples of Georges Ohsawa, the founder of modern macrobiotics.  Rene still follows early macrobiotic thinking as opposed to the more modern ideas espoused today by Michio Kushi and other world leaders oof macrobiotcs.  Levy’s center is in a pastoral setting where as many as one hundred-fifty people come in the peak season to learn and practice his macrobiotic lifestyle.

Only about fifteen individuals were present when we arrived, excluding several full time staff that has been there since the center’s inception about twenty years ago.  We were delighted to find our good friend Stephanie Dishal there with a mutual Parisian friend named Collette.  They had arrived by train from Paris a few days earlier.  Both of them are our students in Israel.  We took a tour of the grounds and then walked to the small health food store in the nearby town. 

All the guests participate in cooking the meals together under the tutelage of Monsieur Levy.  Rene demonstrated what he wanted done and then left it to his assistants to supervise the preparations.  We met some interesting people, including a young Basque woman full of life and charm, and a couple from St Sebastian, Spain who were reeling under the husband’s recent diagnosis of Parkinson’s Disease.  There was small store on the premises with some rather unusual jarred food as well as a journal published in Paris by the famous Madame Riviere, another Ohsawa protégée.

It was interesting to see this different way of relating to macrobiotic issues.  Ohsawa had a samurai approach to health and healing.  He focused on matters of personality and discipline in encouraging people to take responsibility for their health.  He was strict and much more extreme than Kushi.  For example, the Spanish couple was put on a three day fast consisting exclusively of roasted brown rice in order to kick start their systems into self healing.  The wife was supposed to support here husband by joining in with his regime.  Those who can maintain such severity often see clear gains as long as they are closely supervised while they make the transition to a regular macrobiotic diet.

The food Levy presented differed dramatically from our own macrobiotic practice.  Whereas Kushi excluded many items from daily use for people recovering their health, Levy advocated a much wider variety of foods, including nightshade vegetables, white flour products, and raw miso as a snack.  He discourages overindulgence in sea vegetables.  Unlike Kushi, Levy doesn’t use any tofu or tempeh, very little seitan, and recommends eating beans only a few times a week.  Although he preserves food in jars, he doesn’t use refrigeration.

Rene Levy is a commanding personality. He places himself at the hub of activities while remaining somewhat aloof and unapproachable at the same time. Every morning and evening he lectures for several hours, expounding on ideas of yin and yang, correct macrobiotic practice, aspects of illness and whatever other topics cross his mind.

These sessions were a virtual United Nations of interpretation, with each nationality clustered together for simultaneous translations following every sentence.  There were groups from Italy, Germany, England, Spain and France during the evening session we attended.  The babel of languages was thrilling.

Ginat asked Rene why many newcomers are not able to stick with a macrobiotic diet.  His answer was concise and well put.  He explained that macrobiotics is not symptomatic medicine directed toward a particular condition, but rather a change of orientation.  A person progresses according to his individual level of understanding.  If he is seeking sensorial pleasure he will heal only on that level, meaning hardly at all, as he bases food choices on their taste.  If, however, someone is pursuing the highest level of human consciousness, called supreme judgment, then he can truly experience transformation, which is the key to health.  We can appreciate his accuracy and attention to detail.

We retired to our tent in the parking grounds and agreed to leave right after breakfast.

Wednesday, Sep 29: High Pyranees

We hightailed it back to the highway right after breakfast.  We felt much better as we approached the incredible City of Lourdes.

Our first impression of Lourdes was of intense shlock.  Row upon row of souvenir stores displayed every kind of kitsch conceivable.  There were bottles of holy water next to miniature statues of Mary over bits of earth from the Lourdes chapel beside cans of air (!) that the Pope breathed on his visit.  Beyond this gross bombardment of bad tase, the Lourdes cathedral beckoned in the distance.

The cathedral is located at the far end of a vast ellipse culminating in majestic rising spires.  The extensive grounds were filled with physically challenged of every description. People in wheeled carts were being pushed and pulled by white capped nuns.  A little boy struggled in leg braces as his father held him up.  One man lay prostrate in his bed, wheeled slowly toward the cathedral.  People on crutches were attended by sisters of mercy on every side.  It was an incredible scene of pain and hope.

As we entered the basilica a mass was in progress—the same 11:00 AM matins we attended on the mountaintop Abbey de St Martin.  The church was packed with many hundreds of people kneeling before their seats.  The crowd was so huge that communion was orchestrated into long lines headed by priests dispensing wafers.  Nobody seeded to object to our flashing camera shutter—in fact, they turned to us with hand shakes of good will and blessing.

We didn’t see anyone actually experience a miracle cure, but by the size of the crowds, Lourdes holds out great hope. 

In his book, Holistic Health Through Macrobiotics, Michio Kushi explains:

About two million people visit Lourdes every year. Approximately thirty thousand of these are sick and seeking relief from their illness. For many, going to Lourdes is their last hope. Naturally, the pilgrimage to Lourdes involves a tremendous amount of mental preparation along with the investment of time and energy.

 

Many people suffer from yin disorders that develop because of the over intake of extremes such as sugar, fruit, soft drinks, chocolate, spices and chemically treated foods, or from repeated use of drugs or medication. These yin extremes are especially harmful to the yang parasympathetic nervous system. A small number of people with this condition experience spontaneous remission at Lourdes.

 

The rigors involved in making the trip, plus their strong confidence in the possibility of finding a cure, make the parasympathetic nervous system more yang [strong]. Some of these patients participate in the religious ceremonies at Lourdes, including plunging into a cold spring. Being in cold water produces a rapid contraction of the parasympathetic nervous system, contributing to the overall yangizing effect of the experience. Once the autonomic nervous system returns to a normal balance, the person's symptoms may quickly disappear.

 

According to some investigators, the longer and more difficult the trip, the better the chances are of this type of remission occurring. Some researchers point out that there have been no documented cures of people who reside in or near Lourdes.

 

Another type of spontaneous recovery occurs when a person is experiencing yang symptoms resulting from the over consumption of eggs, chicken, cheese, meat, fish and other foods from animal sources.  A person with this condition often keeps his emotions and feelings inside and cannot express himself freely. When someone is tight and tense, they feel better when they experience some type of emotional release such as crying. An overly yang condition disturbs the normal functioning of the yin sympathetic nervous system, producing a variety of symptoms. For many, the religious ceremonies and pageantry at Lourdes generate a great deal of emotional intensity. In this environment, a person can easily let go of egocentric attachments and submit to the will of God. For some people, the emotional release triggered by these experiences causes the sympathetic nervous system to suddenly release, thus producing remission.

The power of the terrestrial in the garish souvenir stands outside Lourdes balanced the splendor of the celestial offered within. It was a memorable experience.

We lunched at a roadside pique nique, rejuvenating our spirits yet again in the beautiful Pyranee mountains. The ride was spectacular. We climbed a road along a rushing river flanked by towering green mountain peaks. Our goal was a hike in the Cirque de Gavarnie, a waterfall astounding in its majesty.

It took until mid afternoon to arrive. We quickly donned our boots and hiking gear and headed off into the setting sun. We chose the path less traveled on the far side of the river for a little privacy. Unfortunately we missed the bridge cutting back across. We wandered in lush pasture land, following tell tale signs of donkeys who we thought were used to transport the less able bodied to this wonder of nature.  It appears that the donkeys also got lost. We began fording multiple branches of the rushing river trying to return to the marked path. We finally had to admit that the current was too deep and too strong as we clambered along the bank searching for a way to cross. We contemplated the falls from afar like Moses beholding the Promised Land. We nevertheless enjoyed the isolated beauty of our surroundings as evening set in.

  

As night fell on our way back down the mountain, we stopped at a macrobiotic bakery listed in our directory. It was a home-based business in a tiny village high in the mountains. The bread is baked entirely by traditional methods, using whole grain flour and no yeast. The narrow wood-burning brick oven was longer than our living room, with a protracted pizza shovel to reach to its depths. Despite our current vow of a bread-free diet, we couldn't very well leave without buying a loaf. We devoured half of it before we even found our camping spot, and then threw the other half away

Continuing down the mountain we found a cui de sac construction site off the main road that looked like a perfect spot to set down for the night. Ginat cooked dinner while Sheldon went off in search of a telephone for an update on Healey's pregnancy. We wondered if she might possibly be in the maternity ward. But Sheldon returned with the good news that we hadn't missed the big event. With little else to do, we crawled into our sleeping bags for another early night of deep sleep.  It was one of only two times that we pitched our tent outside of an established camp site.

Thursday, Sep 30, Biarritz

The mountains were mystical in the rain and fog as we set out to fulfill Sheldon's life long dream to see where the bulls run in Pamplona, Spain. The road there was cut deeply into the side of a steep mountain like a scary story book. In one small town along the way we came across a cow eating the grass on the city hall lawn. Further along we passed a group of shepherds culling a flock by brute force. They grabbed each sheep by its horns and propelled it out of the corral. We stopped in the middle of the road and watched for fifteen minutes, undisturbed by any passing car.

We enjoyed incredible vistas as we criss-crossed the mountains once again. The temperature undulated with the topography from seven to twenty degrees centigrade.

Once again the Spanish sun shone down on us as we crossed the border, but this time only for a short while. The rain in Spain fell everywhere, keeping us car-bound Our only walk the whole day was a sortie across a large dam spanning a shimmering aquamarine lake with roaring waterfalls on one side.

Pamplona turned out to be the biggest disappointment of our trip.  It was ugly and gray, and not very tourist-friendly.  We were spoiled by the omnipresent information offices in every neighborhood and hamlet in France.  Here we drove in circles unable to get our bearings.  Ginat’s Spanish was enough to take directions, but the town held little of interest.  Finally we discovered a bronze statue of a bull chasing two terrified men.  Other than July 7^th when the festival takes place, Pamplona has little to offer.

Cutting our losses, we turned north back toward the French Atlantic shore. For one last time we thrilled to mountain terrain along the precarious roads, deeply forested and lush.