The two round hills just over from the river from us are known - even on official maps - as les Fesses de Charlemagne: said emperor's buttocks (he having founded the Abbey here). As we digested our frugal lunch of leftovers, we became aware of a strong smell of wood smoke, and saw our friend Josef running down the street. Shortly afterwards, the siren sounded from the fire station. As we headed out, the air was full of smoke, and as we climbed the bridge, the valley was filled with a kind of blue mist. The local pompiers have a hefty 4x4 truck, and it was soon scrambling up the path. Next in line were the two Grumman Trackers based at Carcassonne. 1950s airframes designed for carrier-borne anti-submarine warfare off US Navy carriers, they have been re-engined with turboprops and equipped with fire retardant tanks. They made a number of passes before dumping the red glop on the hillside, presumably to assess how the combination of wind and terrain would affect their approach. Very impressive flying, considering the huge trim changes that must follow the release of so much fluid, and the need to climb sharply afterwards to avoid crashing into the hillside. Between them, they seem to have it under control. The Trackers, refuelled and reloaded, came back to check, but headed out again straight afterwards. Meanwhile, another fire engine had arrived to help with the damping down.
So, we no longer have du feu aux Fesses, which is probably as well at our age. And, having washed off the spots of fire retardant that blew our way, I'm perhaps not as retarded as I was some minutes ago.
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