Looking for austerity in 12th century France, I found decadence in 21th century France. What else to call the Jacuzzi at the campground in Taradeau that is exclusively to our use and as long as Julie thinks that underwear is not acceptable as swimming suit, exclusively mine. More than large enough for me to stretch in, 37ºC, a powerful engine that splurts water at massaging speed into my body. Heaven.
This campground turns out be the best we’ve seen. Did I mention the jacuzzi? The owners live here permanently as do quite a few local people in bungalows that look more weather resistant than Merlin. The owners are very friendly, lending us, for example, the necessary French electricity transformer that we left stupidly enough at the last place we stayed.
It is quiet. Except for the guy in the bungalow next to us who likes to play genuine hardrock at 7 in the morning. I am sure he thinks it was not loud enough, but I could just hear it and even at that soft level it was unbearable. Have I said that I like any music. I lied. I do not like hardrock, I do not like people showing off their virtuoso skills on electric guitars, I do not like people shouting when they sing, and I definitely do not like to be reminded of the existence of these things at 7 in the morning, and surely not in the Provence.
The roads are pretty far away and it is hardly a buzzing village where we are staying. Which is good.
The area itself is beautiful in the way that most of Provence is beautiful. Rough but of the accessible kind. We’re in a valley between two mountain ridges. The one to the North is covered with pine trees of the umbrella type. From a distance, looking only at the tops of the umbrella tress, it looks like these mountains have been covered in a nice fluffy woolen blanket, probably to protect them against the cold.
Soon they will be too warm though because the weather forecast is 16ºC for monday. Today, after the freezing night and cold morning it went up to more than 10ºC (50ºF), very bearable in the pleasant sun.
Started reading in The culture of the Middle Ages, by Jacques le Goff. It is one of the books that many people in Holland have in their bookcase and never read. Le Goff was a guest of the book show of Adriaan van Dis when this book was published in the middle eighties. It became a bestseller, but it is pretty intense and dry stuff. Promised myself I will read 50 pages a day and won’t go to Italy before it is finished. Everybody realises that this is punishment, considering the fact that everyday we stay here longer, I will have to suffer again in that bloody jacuzzi.
28 nov
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Nigella says
Blimey Joost you are prolific, I can’t keep up, I will read this later (cos I have a day job).
julierezac@btconnect.com says
Hey, Nigel. Miss you and yours. Loved to see you being called Nigella by Han. Take care with the stimulants, Han might think. Flavigny is in my mind, and all the stories we have to share afterwards. I thought of you when I wrote not appreciating being woken by 7. Nigel is halfway London by then. But still, you would not have appreciated this music at that time. Julie and I share happy laughs about your reactions. And we’re having a great, great time. I agre there is too much to read. But there is one decent sentence hidden there, I feel. Ah well, keep up the good work. It is well worth it.
Nigel says
Best sentence: “a powerful engine that splurts water at massaging speed into my body. Heaven.” So jealous. And of you being in Provence. We love it. You must go to the Gorge du Verdon. And the village of Bauduen – that’s where we go every summer. Hope no more hard rock. I hate that stuff, where is the music in such a noise? Like the idea of you and Julie laughing at my reaction. Tell her someone else drove on the lawn last week – A LORRY! Grrrrrrr.