We woke early. Earlier than our alarm and we walked in a desultory fashion to get our breakfast. The only different today was yogurt instead of fruit cups. I piled my tray high with breadrolls and jams until the staff asked me to leave something for the others. I almost asked why they would want it but bit my tongue. We ate in silence, an island of quietude in a room that filled to capacity mere minutes after we walked in to the deserted chamber. We stashed away honey this time, not quite ready for the wholesale plundering recommended by Dawn and Julie, but not all that far from it anymore.
We headed south and found a supermarket to stock up on food, after which we had to backtrack roughly ten kilometers before we could cross the autoroute, a path that forced us to do a huge U across the French countryside. We joked that we were writing a huge word across France. The path let us see the beautiful marshy park on La Rochelle’s east side and pass through a series of innovative, and very ugly, apartment complexes. The must be a French law demanding that anything less than a hundred years old be ugly enough to peel paint.
We stopped for lunch at a roadside turnout, a few picnic benches above a horse trough. Heather’s strange charm worked it’s magic once more and before we had begun our second sandwich an old man on bikeback appeared, as if out of nowhere, and began to regale us with his life story in French so fast and idiomatic that I caught maybe one word out of ten. Pausing only to pull down his pants, step back five paces and pee in plain view, he proceeded to explain exactly what was wrong with children these days, why the Germans are so rude and what he wanted from Santa Claus. Why he even thought we could understand him I don’t know as we spent the entire conversation nodding and sidling towards out bikes. At the first break in the stream of words we leapt astride out bikes and pedaled faster than we’d ever done before. We should thank him really, we made it to Rochefort in record time.
Typical for us we came into the city on the industrial side where we were greeted by long ugly warehouses, the garbage dump and huge piles of timber ready to be shipped, reminding us strongly of our trip to Prince Rupert. Our campground proved to be on the far side of the city and is less than inspiring. Not even the huge concrete ship that served as washrooms impressed us. But there are other people camping here and we feel less alone than we have in a while. We set up camp and watch the sailing school on the tidal river beside us. Tiny boats with tiny sails, close enough to see the sailors. It was great fun to watch them tack across the current and gasp in surprise as their tiny boats capsize. Getting them upright by jumping up and down on the keel is a tactic I would have never thought of.
Suddenly remembering that today is Saturday and that stores are closed on Sunday we bike to the Intermarche to stock up on food. We are stopped by a bevy of grotesque youth at the front door, celebrating the mall’s version of Halloween. They are fascinated by our bikes and ask us questions in French that we cannot hope to comprehend. Finally they loose interest in the inanimate and turn their curiosity to the riders, puzzled by our stilted language skills. They swarm us like flies. Remembering guidebooks warnings about pickpockets in groups I clutch my wallet with determination but there is nothing sinister in this group, they are merely fascinated by the aliens in their midst. Finally we manage to break away and find refuge in the crowded supermarket.
The seafood counter is once again a wonder. I don’t think I will tire of seeing fresh clams and oysters and fish lying on a bed of ice. Too bad we have no way of cooking them.
For the rest of the evening we settle on the campgrounds dock and read and feel the tide go out beneath us. The sea of grass across from us barely moves and everyone going down the river waves cheerfully as they pass by. The sun has begun to set so early now, our days circumscribed by the arc it cuts across the sky. The sun dies spectacularly this night, a blazing fireball extinguishing itself in grass and water. The clouds are thin lines, like surf on a liquid sky, coming in slow languid waves with no breeze to blow them on. The water becomes a golden fire as we sit. We don’t turn away until the only light left is a faint glimmering between the grasses. Tonight felt very peaceful, a tranquil rest undreamed of at the youth hostel. We worry less about the future and bathe in the now. I think we will stay in Rochefort for a couple of days at least. I can’t speak for the rest of the city, but it is beautiful by the river.
We are, I must admit, a little nervous about the coming of Halloween. We don’t want to get caught up in mischief with only our tent to shield us. But it is a few days away and it remains to be seen if we will still be here, or in the youth hostel at Saintes. We have thought about going out, dressed as Canadians…on bikes.
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