THE DAY IT SURFED AND TRAPPED BUGS

The Day it Surfed and Trapped Bugs

THE ANTS IN FRANCE are good at what they do. That is, infiltration into enemy zones. I am threatening. I embody all that is man. I am a lone, sun-soaked bully who's been growing some callouses here and there and I'm not afraid to kill with my bare hands. 

They're strong in numbers and they took to the toiletry section of Wendy (my right saddlebag) like French people to the bakery. I emptied its contents and the ants were panicked. I zipped them in for the rest of the day. While they were dying I was riding waves on a surfboard!

The morning was slowish. I got my baguette and pain au chocolat at a bakery down the road. Both breads were disappointing. After almost two weeks I think I can begin to tell good bread from bad. Not enough butter in the croissant. Tasted like yesterday's. 

I just realized that I didn't have coffee today. 

Instead I went surfing. There are about a billion places to take surfing lessons in Hossegor, France and the one I had planned to surf with turned out to be the most elusive. I opted for one right on the beach. I got thrown in a class with a bunch of cranky pre-teens and ONE kiwi kid who was somewhere in my age group. We hit it off because we had to. Neither of us was good at French. (or English?)

We did, however turn out to be the best students. After a while I started catching waves, surprising myself every time. These were by far the biggest waves I've ever attempted and although terrifying, I found myself craving to learn more. Our "teacher" Hugo, who did nothing more than push us into huge waves and give thumbs up, had a large dragon tattoo on his chest. I told him I was reading the book. 

After two hours my arms killed and it was time to return ourselves anyway. We went up and hosed off. My Kiwi compatriot said he'd be there same time tomorrow. It was a date. An international friend date. Only he was staying in a house on the beach and I was 5 miles outside town in the woods with a pack of thick-wristed drunks. I can feel a guest room in my near future...

Then I got internet and (sigh) another burger. Wi-fi and cheeseburgers seem to go hand-in-hand here. After that I resolved to get some color on my torso. Presently, my legs and arms are about three months ahead of my chest in tanning years and it was time to get to work. Aside from my nipples, the darkest part of my chest was the rosy red ring around a massive whitehead.

Because the people here really seem to take tanning seriously. Not just tanning, but relaxing in general. Tanning and relaxing are friends, which is probably why I'm a pale dude. I mean seriously why would you want to lie directly in the sun for long periods of time? You can't read, you can hardly speak, breathing becomes difficult. You can't even sing clearly in the hot oblivion of the sun. This songbird got burned. I thought I was doing good, but the burning feeling on my legs right now says otherwise. Its so bad I don't even want to look-- like my final term grades from NYU. 

After "tanning" (so stupid) I headed back to the tent, but not before getting more lost than ever. I got another baguette from the same mediocre place and ended up eating the whole thing (with Nutella) before dinner, which would be the worst I've had in France. 

Before showering I took note of a sign for a restaurant near the campsite (surprising considering how rural it is) and I resolved to get a beer there later. It was in an industrial park type of place and was clearly a converted warehouse factory space. I sat down, and a man who looked like a modern Jesus showed me just how frustrated french people can get. I wanted a beer, but I had to eat, too. Then I moved seats because they were all in the sun. Then I wanted a sandwich but there were only plates for dinner. So I ate some fried meat for the second time in a day and read my book. The beer was good, but it didn't stay cold for long in the sun. The sun goes down at 10:30
Here. Sunburns are possible pretty much until you fall asleep. At the end of the meal I'd trapped a big yellowjacket in a cup on the table. I'm sure modern Jesus loved that. 

I organized my tent. This is the first night aside from Paris where I've slept in the same place twice. The guy with the tight watch and puffy hands walked by my tent in flip flops and I noticed his ankles where as thick as his thighs. Nice guy though--puffy, yes-- but nice  

Maybe if I hang around this dump long enough I can have the puffy legs and arms-- A LUKE ALONE. 

Oh yeah and the girls here have really big boobs.