This was a real week of vacation…enjoyed immensely and lived fully. I divided my time between going to the beach, either the rocky one by our place, or the massive expanse of wave-flattened sand at Le Gros Jonc; biking around our part of the island; walking, up to 4 miles a day; going to the spa for various activities: swimming in the pool, taking aquagym classes, broiling in the hammam. Beyond that, and falling asleep at roughly 9.45 each night, there was one other main activity: eating. Typically, in the morning, I would peruse the best stuff at the poissonerie, and bring that home to cook, or, even better, drop by the Cabane de Marie, a brilliant new eaterie just 150 yards from our house. The cabane has been there for years, but sitting idle. This summer, a chef has taken up living there, and he and his wife operate a barbecue, very simple but with such quality products available, and under his expert direction, the results are nothing short of perfect. The grill is used to perfectly roast fresh lobster, and the burner on the side is administering perpetually boiling pots of mussels or vanneaux, small scallops. Or clams. Or crevettes gris, which are whole tiny shrimp, slightly dried out, and eaten entirely up to the pointy stuff around the front of the head. There are raw oysters, and if you are a Marge Simpson type, there are sausages on the grill too. Ice creams for the kids, and two fridges of drinks—soft and alcoholic. Our man at the helm is prone to offer shots of rum. But, mostly, we drink Le Royal, the tart white whine produced on Ile de Re. All the vineyards here give their produce to a collective production, and thus there are 4 wine products made on Ile de Re: a red (Le Gouverneur), a blanc (Le Royal) and a rose (Rose de Dunes); also a Pineau, which is a kind of fortified beast too strong for me. I am not a consumer of rose, and I don’t find the red that inspiring, but Le Royal is an excellent accompaniment for the local seafood. So, the team at La Cabane were happy to grill for a small fee whatever we brought by—an enormous Dorade Rose, a fat mullet (haha), each grilled with herbes de Provence and drizzled with beurre blanc.
Despite the fact we never had a fully scorching summer day, and frequently were drizzled on, I managed to take a dip in the ocean almost every day, at least for a quick run of strokes, even this morning in between rains I was out, the only one in the water (which makes me nervous, I much prefer the buddy system for my plunges).
I did watch the Olympics occasionally, as much cynicism as I can fire in the direction of these expensive and media swallowing diversions in times of war and starvation, the expression of human potential and the cohabitation of all the diverse people of the planet for the purpose of celebrating the individual and team achievement is inspiring, and I found myself interested in whatever sport or activity was on—sailing, handball, gymnastics…all were inspiring. And tho' I didn’t see Usain Bolt’s victories, I did see many a Kenyan obliterate the competition on the track, male and female, most inspiring.
No owls this year. The usual cast of lizards, bats and birds around our place. At La Cabane we encountered an enormous orb-weaving spider, striped like a wasp, with an abdomen as big as an olive. We found a mouse in its death throes, apparently poisoned. We traipsed thru the fields and climbed on crumbling German bunkers from WWII. This reminds me, when we were at La Cabane drinking an apparently bottomless and free aperitif of Le Dunes, the mayor of the village told me in French, after a lengthy critique of the Iraq war, how much he likes Americans. I said, I like them less and less collectively, the further we dig ourselves into our pit of political/industrial/cultural ineptitudes, and thus my current Eurocentric lifestyle; and he said in all seriousness, that the sacrifices of ‘44 and ‘45 still give the world a huge debt to les Americains.
One night Dom and I each woke up around the same time. A flash...what was that? And the answer: a cannon blast of thunder, less than half a second later…so 1km away, or less. The storm erupted, and of course I love storms so I opened the shutters and watched the firefight.
And what of my daughter? For her, Ile de Re is heaven. Sleeping in, bathing optional (i.e., I think she has been hosed off once in the last month), clothing optional, with the entire beach and all the fields at her disposal, and two grandparents to see to her every whim, she couldn’t be happier.
A couple of days left in my Ile de Re vacation, and it looks like the next days will be stormy. No worries. I will be under water no matter what.
Love
KS
La Noue, FRANCE
