even farther than beyond! (5 of 8)

Ha- Kumihama -tata
what a wonderful place! (1)

It means no worries for the rest of your days. Ha- Kumihama -tata! It's our problem-free philosophy. Etc. You know the lyrics pretty well, no need to waste more time on this. Sing it along until you feel dizzy but please don't stop reading.

in the background, between the Kumihama bay and the sea: the hamlet of Sh.

Leaving Nagano and the Japanese Alps after an intense and somehow disturbing two-week Helpx (see the previous chapter in Spanish if you're interested - and remember the small flags at the bottom of the page are here to provide you with an automatic and often quite poetic machine-translation of all our contents from English, Spanish and French into French, Spanish and/or English! Give it a try: it's as entertaining as walking half-drunk through a wax museum or having a serious conversation with your friend skipping all vowels and using only consonnants: it's quite fun, it's perfectly doable, it's a bit weird and it's generally free...). Anyway, with the rain pouring over the past two weeks, most of the landscape along the train trip was flooded, the rivers out of their beds and the rice fields, covered in mud like hippies in Woodstock*. We had a short stop in Kyoto before catching one of the only "limited express" trains of our stay in Japan. We remember thinking "wow! what a fancy train!". Then, it all went very fast: after about ten-to-fifteen minutes (just long enough to ride through the outskirts of Kyoto), the controller came to check our tickets, which we handed with a smile. He then asked for the limited express extra fee voucher, which we obviously didn't have (because we didn't know there had to be one). He kindly asked us to pay for the extra amount for the two of us, which was substantially higher than the total amount of cash we carried with us. We waved our credit card with implorant smiles, only to be showed some signs in bold letters "limited exupuressu voucheru mandatory" "onuly cashu on turainu" "no cureditu carudo" and "fureeloaders willu be pubuliculy shamed and kickedu outo". It was like the "no stairway to heaven" scene in that alltime classic movie.

just one of these fancy, anime, neo-classic, steampunk-inspired limited express trains

And so it happened: we got publicly shamed and kicked out at the next stop. While Wallis waited on the platform, mumbling something like "I knew it, I told you so, I saw it coming" in at least four languages, Futuna went to the station lobby in search for an ATM and came back with cash (just in case) and two coffees with milk from the closest seven-eleven: a magic balm to sweep all pain from the face of Earth... We let our Helpx host, Atsushi-san, know that we'd be there a bit later than scheduled and soon got on the next regular northbound train. We waited for a connexion somewhere,  most probably Fukuchiyama, noticing the inquisite looks of "how did those two gaijin get lost enough to end up here?" while trying to blend in... We got on the local train #Istoppedcountingthemlongago, enjoyed the ride and soon disembarked on the platform in Toyooka's station. There, we met Atsushi-san and his daugther, the lovely Yuzuki, who were waiting for us. And as the day was fading over the rice paddy fields, we drove back to their place, but not without a stop at the supermarket so our hosts could buy (for us!) all kind of western delikatessen: softbread, Nescafé, milk... and bentos for our first lunches! We'd soon discover the bentos and Western food were "just in case" we wouldn't eat local but ended up enjoying each and every day, the best possible homemade Japanese cuisine!

courtyard side: never has a soundtrack been more accurate: sitting on the dock of the (Kumihama) bay!
garden side: just a 100 meters from here in the opposite direction, magic and infinite, the ocean!

Despite our efforts to take responsibility on our subsistance and meal-cooking, Atsushi's parents - Oto-san and Oka-san - couldn't help spending hours daily to prepare the most incredible, beautiful, tasty and healthy food! Each single meal, from the first breakfast to the last dinner, was worth a Michelin star and an Instagram award-winning picture! And we'll let you imagine how embarrassing it must be to wake up at 5am, silently making your way to the toilet downstairs in the dark, only to find Oto-san in the kitchen stir-frying vegetable tempura and slicing fresh fish he'd just fished, setting it all on tiny plates with rolled omelet, umeboshi and pickled onion and daikon so we'd find it ready for our breakfast at 7 sharp. Life at Atsushi's by the Kumihama bay was, since the very first minute, like living in a dream. A top-of-the-list Helpx experience that could only be challenged by our unforgetable stay in the Ariège at dear L. & R.'s, while un(t)raveling around in the TRANSITion!, back in 2014 - when we were young and fearless, ha ha ha.

the local food chain: straight from the bay to the boat ; from the boat to the kitchen ; from the kitchen to our breakfast table!

That's the first big deal with Helpx: from one day to the next, without any previous contact (if you except the emails and/or the exceptional skype conversation) you find yourself working, chilling, eating, sleeping and sharing hours of time everyday, while living at - and within - a family of complete strangers. Hopefully, if things go well, they won't be strangers for long. But, you know, in your own country, with your own cultural codes and tacit rules, it's already quite a challenge. Now imagine doing this in a far away culture living on an island, whose language half your party barely understands like a 5 y-o does, with nothing but Engrrish to communicate. Well, landing at Atsushi's was the smoothest, nicest and hom-iest one can dream of. In the few emails we exchanged before actually getting there, we spoke of helping with the oyster and cockle farms, at the platforms on the bay, as well as giving a hand at fixing the dock and its cabin, both damaged by the recent typhoons. We were super curious about the former and super enthusiastic about the latter, so the perspective to get up at 07:00 and start the working day at 08:30 was just great. We were given a (full) traditional room with rice paper walls and rice straw tatami floor, in the old part of this still guesthouse, that had been a family-run hotel for decades.

1- enlarging the concrete posts/stakes inside some old PVC pipes ; 2- replacing and fastening the main beams ;
3- checking it's all even-ish and preparing the slat flooring ; 4- end of the second day, we'll finish tomorrow!

Our first job was to help fix (understand: rebuild) the peer/deck/dock damaged after the last typhoons. A bunch of Atsushi's friends were around to take care of the job and there was relatively little we could actually do by ourselves. Not decided to follow our "senior" Helpxer's** advice to just sit and wait for the dinner, we asked for something we could do and were given the cool task to renew the Oysta' Garage, a funky old little shack used to store all kind of oyster gear, tools, surfboards, life-jackets, plastic boxes, trays, buoys, broken down engines, stuff and such. Only rule for the job: id has to be cheap, upcycling and recycling as much as possible, being creative and solving problems with what could be salvaged around! Futuna could never had dreamt of anything cooler than that! So first of all, we emptied and dismantled the whole thing, removing the rusty/rotten pieces and taking great care to ask Atsushi-san, for each and every single found item/artifact "Astushi-san, can we throw this away, kudasai? When we were done the first night, it was looking like that (upper right pic). The next day, we pretty much face-lifted it with new sheets of galvanized steel, set some shelving inside and left a good pile of random stuff everywhere around, "to be sorted over the next few days... By the end of the second day, it looked like that (third lower pic).

working on, inside and around the funky old little shack, doing our best to give him this fresh look back again. And the night comes on...

(interlude)

And the night came on, it was very calm. 

I wanted the night to go on and on.

But she said, Go back to the World.

(end of the interlude)

After these first few days, we finally got to take the boat to the oyster farm's platforms on the bay, but that would take us way too far and too long for this first post, so we'll save it for the next one... which is coming soon, we promise. For now, let's ring the That's all folks! and we'll leave you with just a few more pictures to share the beauty, serenity and peace of this tiny little place on earth. Water, light, clouds, moutains, trees, wildlife and... a golf course in the distance! An amazing gift for the eye and the soul, every hour of the day : just Kumiha-magic!

the daily life of our heron neighbours : when there is a fish, there is a way ; stormy weather, silent contemplation and a bad moon rising...

Take care

and see you soon!

Love,

W. & F.

___________________________



* About the typhoons, the rain and the flooded valleys of the Japanese Alps: here's a picture taken from the train, somewhere between Nagano and Nagoya on the day we traveled to Tokyo. The forest was literally sweating moist, its head in the fog, its feet in the river roaring out of control, carrying mud and trees... if we couldn't see herds of tanukis floating and flowing down to the sea, it's probably because we fell asleep and failed to spot them, not for any other reason!

** About R. Dush (yes, Dush. I changed a letter to preserve his privacy and avoid getting sued), our co-Helpxer. He'd deserve at least a post just for him - which I do not exclude to write someday... When we first met him, we both saw nothing but an old TEENAGER in the classic Grunge outfit: dirty jeans, timberman shirt and curly hair down to his shoulders. While talking to him - better said "while listening to his travel adventures and little pearls of wisdom", we got to correct his estimated age-range from "early TWENTIES" to "early THIRTIES", only to later discover he was (much) older than that. Nothing in his whole person could have made you consider he was a grown-up, though. Not his attitude, nor his empathetic abilities, nor his tolerance, nor his dispositions to understand or adapt to another culture, nor his curiosity about others in general. Well, most of him was sticking firmly to what his "values" were, especially when they implied him doing nothing and looking how the Universe provided for him. Anyway, he happened to be the proud author of a "best-selling" book about a so-called "spring of eternal youth" he'd discovered through a 10-year "extensive research" in the "field of health and aging", taking him on "a journey to be forever young". Excuse the quote marks. The dude was actually in his mid-FIFTIES and not only looked like a teenager, he also totally thought and restlessly behaved like one! We had quite some interesting argu-versations on such varied topics as "homeopathy", "vaccines", "cattle breeding", "the immune system" or "created diseases", on which his "10+ years extensive research" gave him impressive knowledge and insights**... Fascinating! Stay young forever, R. Dush! Refuse to grow! Keep rocking! The sky is the limit! Wooooo!


** Absolute sarcasm intended here, everybody (but him) would probably have understood this! ;)

How sick does it get?

Warning: this (angry) post was written a while ago, just after one of the visits we had to make to Barcelona, in some particularly tragic and difficult circumstances. I wasn't sure I would ever publish it, since we try and share fun, enthusiastic (and hopefully inspiring) ideas and insights about our un(t)raveling journey on this blog. It's not a matter of being insincere with our experience(s), but rather a decision to focus on what's positive. Or at least constructive.

While re-reading this post, I edited it a little bit and now feel most of the anger is gone. I hope what's left is the grotesque absurdity of the reality depicted here... In case it's not and you find that meaningless and/or sad, well, I apologize. Sometimes, our mood dramatically changes the way we look at things...

 After leaving Barcelona and living outside for almost two years, being back there changes a lot one's perspective. One becomes aware of how awkward it all is. I'm not going to argue with all the city's unofficial watchdogs: I've done that too much and I'm not interested anymore. So let's write it in bold letters before even starting "Barcelona is beautiful, amazing, vibrant, cosmopolitan, hype and fascinating. In two a-words: absolutely awesome!" Got that on tape? Fine, cause I won't repeat it. Even if they send me more of these crappy blog posts written by brain-washed tourists (or robots?), which list:

welcome to a world where arrogant ignorants run the official story-telling...

- "22 reasons why Barcelona is the coolest place on earth and we should all leave our current city to go live the dream there - reason #17 will blow your mind!" or essaying on
 - "17 things you didn't know about the Catalan culture that totally rock (#7 they have an alternative Valentine's day called Sant Jordi and #15 they do amazing human towers called Castellers)" or such...

I promise I won't ever argue again: "your" city, whoever you might be and however (il)legitimate your self-appropriation of it might be, "your" city - I say it loud - is the bomb! So now, do what you please with it: turn it into the Disneyland you want it to be, raise the housing rentals as high as you can, paint every single traditional place with the attractive colours of neo-vintage, globalized, post-modernity bullshit, turn each genuine neighbourhood into a hipster-on-a-bicycle, lactose-intolerant friendly zoo, fill the streets with French bulldogs' poop, organic f---ing quinoa fairtrade stores and moustache artisan hair salons, build an empire on sunscreen and icecream, on appart-hotels and brothels, on Sangria Familia and Parque Güays. I don't care. I'm done with Barcelona. Let's say it's not Her, it's me. And She deserves better than me anyway: I do not own a smartphone, I hate soccer with my guts and I ain't gone to Sonar, Primavera Sound nor Champañería ever. Not even once! Okay, that felt good! Now let's get to the point...

No need to rub your eyes with dirty hands, you're not dreaming...

When you come back to Barcelona after a while, I reckon you start to see stuff you wouldn't have noticed on a daily basis. And it's kind of like the Sixth sense effect: you start asking yourself "Is it normal?", "Can they see it too?", "Is it me or this is sick?" and so on. It may start at night, while walking the Eixample instead of taking the great Nitbus adventure - waiting hours to finally get your shoes puked on by a random global twenteenager on a dirty stinking bus. So, yes: you decide to skip that and just walk home. You'll eventually come across the average mob of dead drunk clucking turkeys dressed in their weirdest, colourful gala outfits. Don't worry, they're harmless, just keep walking. At some point you'll find yourself alone, breathing the fresh air from the sea. Give yourself in to some window-licking and you may run into that:

a famous brand of ropa interior proudly introducing their swimsuit collection for the summer!

...the swimsuits are actually floating in bubbly water...

One would have thought: "an insanely touristy Mediterranean metropolis, by the sea, with beaches and sand within walking distance, even surf stores and (quote marks) surfers! The swimsuit industry has to be flourishing. So, selling a swimsuit in July must be easier than stealing a wallet on Las Ramblas. No need to bargain, no need to oversell nor develop powerful rhetoric, no need to push too hard on the customers. Selling swimsuits in Barcelona in summer must be like selling mosquito repellent in Angkor Wat during the monsoon: you just don't bother advertising! You basically wait for people to find you and crawl at your feet begging you to sell that damn' flask of DEET. At any price! No, I don't need no receipt, sir. No plastic bag either. Please, Just sell the damn' bott... pschhhhhhhht!"

Well, apparently for this famous brand of socks, stockings and tights, it's not that easy. I assume they hired an AMEN (Area Manager for External Networking) who generated a SeISM (Seasonal Internal Strategy for Marketing) before surrounding himself with a multi-tasking diversely-skilled team of FUCKITs (Freelance Underpaid Creative Kids and Innovative Trainees) in order to set up some STiGMAS (Strate-Targeted Graphic Media and Advertisement Scenarios) that eventually brought them to rethink the ViCEs (Visual Concept Elements). And this brilliant crowd came up with the ground-breaking conclusion that the classic human-sized plastic dummy with hips and lips, tits and wigs was not quite enough convincing to exhibit and sell their crap; a crap that (as you read this) is being mass-produced by slave kids somewhere in China or Sri-Lanka, in some maquiladoras that are even bigger than Barcelona itself.

...while a mirror underneath lets you see just how it'll fit your lips!

So they designed this: huge cubes of plexiglas, pretty much like fish tanks or aquariums, of roughly the third of a cubic meter and full of water (so let's say an average of 300L each; there were SIX of them - we're already talking of a good 2.000 litres in just ONE store), with a bubbly system to make it sexier (???). The swimsuits themselves are hanging on those hollow minimal plastic shapes of hips and breasts, floating in the middle of the water tanks as if worn by invisible transparent yet gorgeous and pneumatic mermaids! The backside and bottom of the water tanks are covered with mirrors, making sure you won't miss any perspective on the dear bikini you're about to dream of all night long, until you come back the next morning at opening hour to purchase your own. Cherry on top of this sceno-graphic (oceanographic?) design that will sure enough turn MoMa and MacBa installations into hardly more than supermarket shelves: the sophisticated indirect lighting by neutral spectrum bulbs which results in virtually no shades at all... So, a long story made short:

"if we really do need all this shit in order to sell a bikini in the middle of summer 

in a warm and sunny city by the sea, I have to tell you I sincerely believe we are screwed

and there must be something rot in the relationship between supply and demand".

Keep walking, don't take it too seriously. If it wasn't a huge waste of man power and resources (energy, time and material), it could be just another trendy eccentricity, in the line of the whole fashion industry which desperately looks for new morbid thrills: skiny models, freak models, dwarf models, amputee models, skin-diseased models... What will be next? Corpse models, maybe? Okay, that's another debate and I might not have the time to deal with everything right now. Let's move on... Walk another block and you'll find this:

O lord, won't you buy me, a color TV?

"I want a 65" curved Samsung TV" [Come in and make it true! 0% mortgage]

I don't even know what a 65" curved TV looks like. Why would you like it curved in the first place? Back in the 90's, the Progress struggled hard to convince us we needed flat screens. Why do you want us to dream back with curved screens? What's the big deal here? Is curved becoming the new flat? Did I miss something? Actually, I know it's curved in the opposite direction. Of course, I can see that on the picture just as you do. But, hey! Let me entertain myself for a while pretending convex and concave are just concepts. All this for what? To basically watch some overpaid ignorants talking about some other overpaid ignorants who happen to be running the world or chasing a football? Seriously... Now, is it because the news are twisted that we need curved TVs? That would make some sort of sense in a Lewis Carroll novel...

So, if you let me just try and develop one idea: their point here is to get us into buying new stuff. It's not a scoop: it's been around for decades. What tickles here, is the feeling that it's getting harder and harder for them to get us into buying new stuff. The exponential law seems to apply here too: the more we buy (and the more they need us to), the more they need to invest so as to make it happen. Look back at our fish-tanks with water, bubbles, mirrors, plastic shapes and expensive light bulbs: compare this to the cost of producing one industrial bikini and you'll either want to laugh or cry.

not having any friends had never been so much fun!

But this is not even the worst. The worst is the volume of new useless crap they keep inventing every day, just to make sure there'll have something indispensable to sale tomorrow. Not long ago, and I'll finish with that, we randomly discovered an endless series of Youtube videos called "7 awesome things you didn't know existed" or "7 totally cool inventions that are available now" or something like that. There are many of them, each one presenting 5+ useless things on their way to totally necessary! Interestingly, most of these were "designed to make the world a better place" and "with a vision of global change" or any other equivalent piece of ready-made bullshitting. Surprisingly, they all address some needs of just a tiny fraction of the human kind, who is comfortable enough to worry about how to monitor every aspect of their daily decision-making with the ultimate goal of eventually getting rid of all decision-making. Another common aspect of all these is they are all intelligent and connected. They can be anything from an intelligent lunch plate to an intelligent bike handlebar; from a connected showerhead to a connected gloomy sleep-stalking cocoon. They're all going to change our lives because they're intelligent and connected. Through a free-app that you'll download right after your purchase, and once connected to your smartphone or your tablet or any other device like your smart bracelet, they will take care of everything. So, they basically will: expand your (any) experience far more ; advise you and make your (any) task easier and more enjoyable ; track and use all your (any) data to get to know you better ; learn to know you and decide for you what it is that you really want at every moment ; be each time closer to you and more intuitive ; make everyday life safer for you and the people you love. And, cherry on top: the only limits here are those of your imagination. Of course. It couldn't be less than that! I remember reading once about the difference between technology and progress. And I believe there must have been a slight confusion here, at some point...

why just spray him when you can instagram him too?

 So, before I resign from modernity and willingly go back to cave-age, here are some brilliant examples:
- Drumpants: the intelligent soft pads that you stick under your trousers' legs and allow you to play a drum pattern with your bare hands on your lap, as you've done unplugged for the last 20 years (I'm still trying to quit). But what's new here is the underwear pads send the impulse - via bluetooth - to the Drumpants app on your smartphone and you now do not only look like a retard, but actually can record you and sound like Phil Collins!
- Eva: the intelligent showerhead that knows your favourite water temperature depending on the day, the hour and your habits, adapts the flow to your current activity (more if you're soaking, less if you're shampooing), lets you know when your shower is getting longer than your current favourite schedule and sends a report data sheet - via bluetooth - to your smartphone, so you can monitor the water you've saved for the planet during this very shower, the last week and the last month!
 - Whatever they're called: the (many) intelligent sleep-monitoring systems that know your sleep and wake-up time day-by-day, adapts the room temperature, sprays some essential oils, picks the exact forest sounds track you want to listen to if it rains, lets you know when it's time for you to wake up based on your latest r-e-m phase, turns on the coffee-machine - via bluetooth - and sends a report data sheet to your smartphone, so you can monitor how well you've slept this very night, the last week and the last month!

don't watch your ride, feel it!

 - The Defender: an intelligent pepper-spray that exclusively includes a mini-webcam, takes automatically a picture of your aggressor while your pepper-spray his face, sends it to your smartphone - via bluetooth - where the free app you downloaded right after purchase will take care to send it by instant message to the private security company you've hired upon purchase, or the Police, or your cousin - if you've chosen him as your official rescuer, so they can come pick you and identify "him". "You're sure he gets what he deserves". Sweeeet!
 - SmrtGrips: some intelligent bike handlebar grips that ring and guide your cellphone when you're looking for your bike ; vibrate on one side based on where your gps wants you to take a left or a right turn (so you don't really need to bother anymore with the itinerary. plus, as they get to know you, they can directly determine better routes for you based on the track preferences of all other users connected to the online community in your neighbourhood!) ; alert you by sms if your bike is being stolen ; warn you by whatsapp if one of your kids is cycling off the safety zone you've defined around your own bike (so you don't really need to check on them) and, if stolen, immediately contacts - via bluetooth - any other users' device passing by, so you're sent a GPS track report to your smartphone and you can go retrieve it. The question is "How come you got it stolen in the first place, since the app was supposed to warn you before?"

"come on baby light my fire" (that was an easy one!)

 - Soundtorch: an intelligent (?) loudspeaker featuring an intelligent (??) gas stove. Since it is intelligent (???), the gas stove reacts to the sounds that you're mixing - somehow via bluetooth, because a microphone would be too low-tech - and delivers some intelligent (????) funky flame waves just halfway between your turntable, your glass of whisky and the tight nylon outfit of that hot chick bouncing her ass by the subwoofers. A great idea to finally bring an open flame experience in the world of the drunk living-room nightclubbing! It's so brilliant I may faint!

And... that's all folks! The future is way too sexy for me, I'm afraid. I'm heading back to my mountains where I can live like a hermit in a cave (well, hopefully, like two hermits). Metaphorically speaking. Or not?

ils ont testé pour vous: l'Un(t)raveling...

... une rencontre camarguaise et une contribution de G. à ces colonnes!

Mercredi 8: temps lumineux au départ de Bélaséra, mais en roulant vers l'Est, nuages de plus en plus menaçants contre lesquels le soleil se bat aussi bravement et vainement que G. contre l'assoupissement qui l'assaille jusqu'à la gare de péage de M. où elle reprend le co-pilotage avec le sérieux et l'efficacité habituels.

Levant émincé sur son lit de cresson et cheval blanc en sauce camarguaise.

Aux abords de St. G., recherche d’un coin « idéal » pour casser la croûte, recherche toujours délicate car l’«idéal» pour F. est un banc sur la place de l’église d’un village, alors que G. rêve d’un bucolique tapis de mousse sous un arbre à la ramure bruissant sous la brise… Pour cette fois, ce sera un bord de chemin en terre détrempée par les intempéries des jours précédents, une demie fesse posée sur un vieux poteau électrique en équilibre instable, entourés d’herbes sèches et piquantes… En fait d'herbes, ce sont des moustiques particulièrement agressifs voire venimeux au vu des impacts sur bras, mains et chevilles – d’où un départ précipité après un échange de civilités avec un local ravi de causer à «des Ariégeois».

Nid propret camarguais, faïence et ferronnerie d'art.

Une dizaine de kilomètres plus loin, grâce au ballon accroché au portail et à la clé cachée sous le pot de fleurs, c’est l’installation dans un charmant petit nid propret: bois lasuré et pierres apparentes, dallage, jonc de mer et linge de maison dans une harmonie de blanc, taupe et ocre, couronnes de bienvenue, cages à oiseaux en fil de fer, poules et lapins en céramique, bouquets séchés et… encore des moustiques! Petite sieste avant l’arrivée de W&F, en furgo et en fanfare. Puis goûter, bavardages et promenade dans et autour du village.

Jeudi 9: beau temps et grand vent, autant aux Stes-M.-de-la-M.: belle cathédrale fortifiée, lumineuse à l’extérieur et sombre dedans, entourée de sa nuée de vendeuses de médailles miraculeuses, et de tous les attraits d’une station balnéaire ordinaire (cafés, restos, boutiques de fringues et de seaux en plastique…), que pendant la traversée de la Camargue sur une piste empierrée, malaisée, nid-de-poulée et longeant des lambeaux de Vaccarès où des flamands roses en ligne sur un pied posent pour la photo tandis que de rares taureaux, moins nombreux que les panneaux mettant en garde contre leur présence, partagent la lande poussiéreuse avec quelques chevaux d'un blanc sale. Pas la moindre maison de Gardian en vue, pas un champ, ni même un seul pied de saladelle… Vous avez dit Camargue?

Brochette de flamands façon Vaccarès et son panaché d'ex-voto, sucré-salé de nuages et algues.

Casse-croûte de plein vent à la terrasse d’une auberge fermée au bord du Vaccarès, puis P. St-L.: grand vent, mer démontée, kite-surfers, embruns iodés et exfoliation naturelle au sable! Les maillots et serviettes emportés en passagers clandestins par une G. toujours aussi « adolescente » (sic.) et rêveuse restent dans le sac!

 Vendredi 10: toujours du beau temps alors que tempête et inondations sévissent dans le Gard et l’Hérault. Les B. de P.: voitures, cars, touristes, échoppes « aux saveurs/ couleurs/ senteurs… de Provence », beauté des murs en pierre et de la vue sur les Alpilles, mais à mille lieux du souvenir flou de G. d’un lieu rocailleux et désertique.

Bouquets d'arbustes méditerranéens à la mode des Baux, leur vitrail Renaissance à la grand-rue.

St R. de P.: agréables allées de platanes, vieilles rues et belles maisons aux ferronneries intéressantes, mais toujours les boutiques-à-touristes « provençales » et étonnamment, quelques difficultés à se faire servir à manger à 13h30. Au détour d’une rue, une caverne d’Ali Baba retient longuement l’attention – et suscite l’émerveillement de – F. Puis visite d'A. enfin, sur le chemin du retour : après avoir longé un Rhône tumultueux et boueux, surprise lumineuse des arcades dorées des arènes surgissant sur le ciel bleu en haut d’une ruelle en pente. L’amphithéâtre bien protégé de ses hautes grilles (et accessoirement d’un sas d’entrée!) et la longue allée des Alyscamps: ombragée, apaisante (et accessoirement payante!). Les vers sont sur les lèvres, mais plus l’auteur : il faudra attendre l’internet pour retrouver Paul Jean Toulet le Palois (dont on peut voir le buste au Parc Beaumont de Pau) et l’intégralité du poème. Souper revigorant et mérité, autour d’une marmite de moules à la catalane façon W&F*.

Gratin de vieilles pierres à l'arlésienne, sa salade gallo-romaine et sa fondue d'alyscamps.

Samedi 11: malgré une matinée maussade, départ courageux mais tardif vers Le G. du R. : grand soleil, pas de vent mais hélas ! pas de maillots cette fois…Délicieux casse-croute sur les roches plates d’une digue, entourés de mouettes et goélands, puis départ précipité pour A. M. en raison d’une virulente attaque de moustiques. Touffeur moite sur le bourg médiéval fortifié, fête foraine, décibels, odeurs, grouillements humains, difficultés (encore !) à se faire servir un petit café. Retour au gite, au calme, aux activités de chacun, réconfortantes tagliatelles à l’émincé de poireaux accompagné d’un petit rouge des sables local.

Dimanche 12: ciel menaçant et gros nuages noirs, mais retour sans encombre à Bélaséra et reprise des activités normales. Poursuite de la course contre la pluie, effrénée et désespérée, pour Wallis et Futuna...

Impasse de lapin chasseur, croquants de vieille brocante et son coulis de plus de 40 ans de complicité.

* et à la demande générale, la recette des Moules façon W&F:

pour 4 personnes, on se procurera:

- 2,5 kg (généreux) de moules (on compte 500-600 g par tête et on arrondit),

- 2 beaux oignons, 1 carotte, 1 branche de céleri,

- 1 bouteille (ou brique) de vin blanc de cuisine,

- 100 à 120 g de bleu d'auvergne, de fourme ou de roquefort,

- 2 gousses d'ail, 1 feuille de laurier, sel, poivre et un doigt de crème fraîche liquide.

Mettre au fond d'une grande cocotte du beurre ou de l'huile d'olive (ça c'est culturel, ça se discute pas...) et éventuellement un talon de jambon coupé en dés, voire du chorizo. Y faire dorer l'ail et la feuille de laurier, puis ajouter l'oignon coupé en fine rondelles et laissé quelques minutes au sel. Ajouter ensuite la carotte et le céleri émincés et laisser mijoter sans couvrir.

Wallis & Futuna après avoir préparé et mangé leurs fameuses
moules (ça se passe de commentaires...)

Pendant ce temps, laver (brosser et arracher le byssus) les moules en écartant toutes celles qui sont cassées, ouvertes ou qui ont l'air vides (légères). C'est long et pénible, et sans cette étape, nous on mangerait des moules 3 fois par semaine...

Couvrir le fond bien doré de vin blanc, peut-être pas toute la bouteille mais pas loin (le reste se boit au goulot pendant la cuisson des moules, de préférence avec une grimace de dégoût). Quand l'alcool s'est évaporé (au bout de quelques minutes), on peut jeter le fromage "bleu" en petits morceaux et les moules puis laisser couvert un petit quart d'heure. On soulèvera le couvercle de temps en temps entre 2 lampées de vin blanc pour vérifier que les moules s'ouvrent et que l'odeur est envoûtante.

Couper le feu, verser le doigt de crème et bien remuer, puis servir accompagné d'un gros vin rouge, de bon pain et/ou de riz blanc. Voilà!