I keep wrecking my back. When I stretch, when I yawn, when I sneeze. It's debilitating and it subtracts from my feeling of youthful immortality. I was led to believe that it was a hereditary stress disorder but I'm the least stressed I've ever been. Maybe my adult spikes are finally starting to poke through my back skin. I have been looking especially robust back there...
THE LAZIEST DAY OF THE TRIP happened yesterday, and it was almost the laziest day ever until I decided to go along with the proposed activity. The older set and I (three eleven year olds and a twelve) went to the zip line park outside of Carcassonne. Jasmine sat shotgun and barked directions at Alison, the American mother of Harrison all the way there. Jasmine knew the zip line park well.
We parked next to a wooded area, paid, and got strapped into some serious harnesses. Two thick ropes with carabiners at the end now dangled from our fronts. We also had a a removable trolley on our hip that made the zipping possible. After a short training session we were free to explore the tree tops. And I was shocked. I looked up. Young children zipped through the trees, screaming. They were traversing tight ropes and clinging to dangling metal stirrups. If you weren't clipped onto a wire with one of the carabiners, an easy slip of the foot send you to a swift, neck-breaking death. Does this kind of thing exist in the States? We're talking about nine year olds taking their lives into their own hands.
We did the missions-- Harrison lagged behind. There was a bit where we zipped over a lake. In the advertisements there were pictures of people dipping their heads in the water on the way over. I tried to reach but the water level was too low. Global warming.
The most challenging bits at the end were the only parts to actually shake my confidence. One section had us tightrope walking, no strings attatched. I was surprised I made it. I kept thinking of Man on Wire, the Oscar winning documentary about the insane man who tight-rope walked between the Twin Towers. When I made it across I decided I needed to see it again.
Alison, the mom with us, was supposed to go shopping and leave me to look after the children, but after she saw how terrified her only child was, she spend the next two hours desperately yelling at him from the ground. She gave him tips and kept yelling at me to wait up for him. Her neck was probably sore from looking up so much.
On the last zip to the finish the French people working the park had a surprise: a bucket full of cold water. I was in a karate kick position, intending to surprise the German Shepherd in my path, when I felt a wet slap on the side of my head. The Frenchman had nailed me. "You're welcome," he said, laughing. We were all laughing.
We finished after an hour and a half and got ice creams and cokes. I was mystified by the dangerousness of what we'd all done more than anything else. It would have been so easy to die.
Back to the house-- a quick dip in the pool, opened The Girl Who Played with Fire. We had an early dinner reservation at a local restaurant. A dog greeted us at the door. Taxidermied animals greeted us at our table. We all ordered theduck special-- steak frite for the kids. The duck came in a large bowl with rice. It was delicious. It was only 7 euro each- the cheapest dinner outing I've had in France. At the table we all gossiped about people I hardly knew. I ended up eating most of the duck. We skipped pudding and decided to have cheese at the house.
The kids scattered and I lingered in the kitchen. Karin, our beautiful, blonde, gentle hostess suggested I might like some cheese for dessert. Or rather, she "knew" that I'd like some cheese for dessert. The allegation was too true. She opened some new Roquefort and introduced me to something crazy: putting butter AND cheese on bread-- at the same time. She said she wouldn't do it with any cheese, but the sharpness of the local Roquefort was complemented by the creaminess of the French butter incredibly. She emphasized the fact that it was French butter. The Roquefort was made from goat and the cheese from cow. Together we did some serious damage to the Roquefort and when Karin floated off to bed I decided I better put it all away.
I played with the youngest until it was time for bed. I learned that any mention of the words "balls" "willy" or "fanny" would make the little one laugh to the point of tears. We were all exhausted when we finally went to our separate chambers, full and warm from food and laughter. During the night a storm came but I didn't hear a thing. When I woke up I could smell that it had rained. It was still gray over the neighboring vineyards and the whole manor smelled like wet earth and stone. I thought of riding Ginger, then I made a cup of tea. Teddy and I talked about the adults and books I resolved to have another lazy day.
-ALUKEALONE
I was commiserating with a friend at dinner over how bad French directions were when he pointed something out to me that would change my life. I started talking about how the French are always telling me to go right: I was translating "tout droit" as "all right", or "stay right". Dave, who spoke fluent French, laughed. While "tout droit" does indeed directly translate to "all right", in French it actually means "straight on". This is why I never heard a French person instruct me to go "tout gauche" and this is probably why I kept getting so lost for the first two weeks on the road, going around in circles.
YOU LEARN SOMETHING NEW EVERY DAY!
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