10/29 Wednesday

Another quiet day with only one important task at hand – get Cathey to her beloved oysters. Off to Sete.

For those of you unfamiliar with The Southern Woman That I Married, be aware that she was born in New Orleans and grew up in a family that bought oysters by the sack (200 or so at a time). When her uncles would begin opening the tasty bivalves, Cathey, her sister and her cousins would get in a line and be handed them as they were opened. If you wanted another oyster, you moved to the back of the line. After her six siblings/cousins had slurped their fill, Cathey was always the last one left. The girl just loves oysters.

Sete has apparently become quite the destination. Construction everywhere. New road configurations that include lengthy parking areas near the long, lovely beach leading into town.

It is my sad duty to report that my initial impression that construction in this part of France had slowed down was mistaken or, at the very least, must be modified. Everywhere there were signs: Land for Building. In some cases there was only the sign in a field. In some, the field had been cleared. In a very few, as is the case with those surrounding our little village of Cazouls, there are actual little cookie-cutter villas going up. It is encouraging that we saw very little actual construction going on, but sad that the French seemed prepared to sacrifice hectare after hectare of vineyards in the name of progress.

It had rained overnight but the sun broke through as we arrived in Sete. It’s a good time to point out that the weather has been kind. Low 60s during the day and low 50s at night with a day or two warmer than that. A bit of drizzle a couple of times and one night of all out rain, but on the whole nothing requiring notice and comment.

The ticket machine for the subterranean parking garage along the canal that cuts through Sete broke just as we pulled up. After several attempts to fix it, they just gave up, closed up, and five or six of us had to back out of the entrance drive. Everybody else made a beeline for the next entrance. I took a chance and went in the opposite direction and found a free, open parking space on the street nearby.

While I was trying to get parked, Cathey and Sharon hunted the best place for oysters. Rather, Cathey hunted and Sharon tagged along. After much deliberation, Cathey decided that the best place was the place where we ate last year, a little restaurant on the canal. Exclusively seafood. No steak/frites. But this was Cathey’s day so Sharon and I made do. Cathey was going to order a dozen oysters and Sharon six. I suggested that they go for two dozen. I had no doubt that Cathey could pick up the slack. I was right.

What about me, you ask? I subscribe to Jonathan Swift’s take on the subject: It was a brave man who first ate an oyster. I’m not that brave. I’ve tried clams on the half shell and found no value in them. I suspect that oysters are just more of the same, so I pass.

After the oysters, Cathey had the seafood soup and Sharon and I had moules/frites – mussels and fries.

There is a term for the grin on Cathey’s face as she finished up her oysters that cannot be used in polite company.

Home and a quiet evening. We did one bit of work, though. We cleaned up around the new electric box, smaller than the old one, exposing some sort of flaky backing that needed to be scraped off and washed up. With the help of a kitchen knife that I found in the gutter in front of the house (?) and Sharon on scrub brush, it doesn’t look too bad.

10/30 Thursday

Cathey and Sharon shopped at a new Carrefour that we discovered on the other side of Beziers – closer than the one in Narbonne but subject to wicked traffic. While they shopped, I applied for a Carrefour bonus card – and was told that my French was excellent – then hoofed next door to the Bricomart, another Home Depot clone. I was looking for a bit of wire mesh to put over the terrace drain that used to clog with every rain. They don’t seem to sell it here. Sharon says that it’s because they have a more laissez-faire attitude toward insects in France.

After lunch, I set out to secure a spare bottle of cooking gas. The spare that we had downstairs doesn’t fit in the space that Graham, our erstwhile handyman who is working on his second Russian émigré young wife, set up inside the kitchen cabinet next to the stove that he installed. The bottle couldn’t be returned at the Champion-turned-Carrefour – the lady was very firm that it came from Puisserguier, the next town over. Fortunately, I found the gasoline station with the bottled gas display right at the entrance to that town and was able to drop off the bottle. But I wasn’t offered a refund on the deposit. I had no paperwork, had no idea how much the deposit might have been, and didn’t know the French word for ‘deposit’ anyway.

On the way back to Cazouls, I stopped at the Weldon, the local hardware store where I bought my drill. They had the screening that I was looking for with the right size mesh, but it only came in rolls that cost 15 euros…too much to pay considering I needed less than a square foot. Then I drove on to the Carrefour/Cazouls for a gas bottle. (This is getting difficult. Our Champion has become a Carrefour, the flagship Carrefour is in Narbonne, and we’ve discovered a new Carrefour outside Beziers.)

There was no one at the display of gas bottles by the gas pumps, so I went inside and asked. Out to lunch. Return in 20 minutes. So I waited along with another gent. Since I didn’t have an empty, there was paperwork to fill out and a deposit to pay. One euro. Made me feel better about failing to get a deposit back in Puisserguier.

My last stop before returning home was at the tourist office. It’s where you can buy time on the internet. My Yahoo spam box was up to 1,000 and the 40 inbox emails were primarily spam as well. My RCN account was similarly stuffed with junk. It’s interesting that you don’t realize the sheer mass of that crap until you’ve missed weeding it out for several days. All in all, I deleted about 1,500 emails and answered three, including a private message from one of the guys in the Chinese Scooter Club.

When I bought my scooter in the States, I went up on a number of internet scooter forums. The most useful turned out to be one based in the UK but that boasted many American members as well. There are useful tips on the care and maintenance of scooters, detailed instructions concerning such complicated operations as setting valve clearances, not to mention the sorts of politically incorrect conversations that a group of (mostly) guys engage in when their principle reason for getting together has to do with oil, gasoline, and concerns mechanical.

A club member from Leicester posted a plea for help before we left for France. He was looking for a particular type of exhaust gasket that only seemed to be available in the States but none of the suppliers were willing to ship to England. I replied that, if he could wait, I would order the gasket, carry it to France with me, turn it over to Sharon, and she would mail it off on her return to England. I didn’t mention that there would probably be a slight delay while Chas, Sharon’s partner, perused to part. He purchases, renovates, and resells classic Vespas. On reading that I was headed for France, one of the American members asked if I was going anywhere near Toulouse. If I was, would I drop off a present to his mother? No. We’ll be staying quite a way from Toulouse and don’t plan to head in that direction. Today, he asked about bringing back some foie gras and some burgundy. No to the burgundy, we’ve already deciding which wines that we’re bringing back and we’re at our limit. But we’d be happy to bring back a couple of tins of foie gras and mail them off on our return. Done.

When I told the girls about the screening at the Weldon, Sharon came up with an ingenious idea. There was an old chip basket in one of the kitchen cabinets that we never use. (A chip basket is what a Brit calls the wide-meshed basket used in deep fat frying.) Why not take off the handles and turn it upside down over the terrace drain with a brick placed on top to keep it in place? Five minutes later and the job is done. What a girl.

At Simon’s suggestion, we had dinner at the Auberge de la Croisade (Crossroad) that night, a lovely little place on the Canal du Midi on the other side of Capestang, where Simon and Julia have their B&B, just fifteen minutes away. I’d called for reservations earlier in the day and knew that English was spoken but I was surprised to find that in addition to the regular menu in French they offered one all in English. Not many restaurants do that although many provide a bit of English translation on their main menu. We were the second party in at 7:30 but within an hour the restaurant was full with all sorts of folks – family groups with young children, groups of lady friends, older couples and younger couples. I was a bit put off at the number of times guests answered their mobile phones – they’re mobiles in France, not cell phones – until I realized that the ambience, inspired by the management, was that of one big family gathering where anything goes.

One grouping was particularly interesting and provided us with dinner conversation for a good portion of the meal – a swarthy Frenchman and three English girls heavily made up with short skirts and high heels. The Frenchman made heavy use of his mobile phone, always going outside to talk. Aspiring starlets? Models? What indeed was their mode of employment? We shall never know but I have my suspicions.

The maitre d’ was a jolly fellow – I have my suspicions about him, too – who greeted many of the parties effusively and with much touching of cheeks and smacking of lips. All in all, the restaurant exuded quite a party atmosphere.

I’ve described La Croisade previously as white linen rustic but in fact the linens were a light mustard color. The place settings were lovely, the service was excellent, and the food magnificent. Standout dishes were the mis en bouche – a salty mushroom puree with a fish stock base – the poached egg stuffed with mushroom salad that the girls had for an appetizer, my foie gras appetizer, Cathey’s fish filet layered with artichoke puree, and my molten chocolate cake dessert with ice cream and whipped cream and toasted almonds. But it was all good. A wonderful find.