Modest progress

I have to say that I've rather enjoyed being chauffeured around during the last week or so.  The bumf they gave me when I left hospital said not to drive for two weeks, and I reckon I can live with that, having (a) sold the car, and (b) not had to worry about a glass of wine with lunch.  Glad to report that the money from the car sale is safely unter Dach, and that the DVLA has refunded the road tax.  Of the new car, no word since the sighting on the docks at Emden.  When we scrounged our lift home, the salesman told us that they no longer did number plates with the GB flag and the twelve EU stars: Post-referendum, they decided not to re-order the same.  Well, I've found a purveyor of stick-ons, and just hope that we shall remain EU members for as long as I own the car.  After which, I shall continue rhetorically to fly the flag anyway.

Question, cycling child to cycling mother, as I went out to check the mail box just now: 'Mummy, how old do I have to be to get a smart watch?.  The answer petered out after 'They're expensive...'.  Correct answer was, of course, '..when you earn enough to buy one'.  But then, I brought all mine up with realistic expectations.

Nursie pronounced the wounds to the knee healthy when I saw her on Friday, but was surprised at the technicolor bruise.  I gather from other ortho veterans that spectacular bruising is normal, as is the initial anxiety about DVT.  Well, I'm exercising assiduously, and shall put up with the compression stockings for another few days, as instructed. 

Saturday was fine, so we went down to Rye, one of our usual destinations when we feel the need of some fresh sea air.  The William the Conqueror served up a decent lunch, and then we headed along to Dungeness to buy dressed crab, scallops and a couple of fillets of plaice.  First two gone, last-mentioned frozen. 

Our next trip to the seaside will be a sad one.  Barbara's funeral is to be on 7 October (why in the name etc does it take so long hereabouts?).  Reports are of her being found with a cigarette in the ashtray and a part-heard gin and tonic on the table.  There are worse ways to go, eh?

Progress?

The bandages are off, and the healing seems to be going well.  I'm aching a bit more today, and am a bit disappointed that the stiffness I'd been attributing to the bandages is still there.  Still, three days on, I ought to have more patience.  It was amusing to find the surgeon's artwork on my thigh when the bandage came off: an arrow pointing at the knee wot wanted knifing, and a smiley face.

Rather grim news: it seems that Barbara was not found until some time after she had died.  I almost wish we hadn't been told that, not that she'll have known anything about it, I hope.  No word yet of funeral arrangements.  A reminder to keep in daily touch with frail friends who live alone.

The weather brightened up for a while today, so I took myself and some canvases up to the summerhouse-studio.  There's a narrow wall in the sitooterie where the sparky insisted on leaving two ugly plates over junction boxes.  On a whim a while back, I bought three long, thin canvases from Fortnums, and am working up some ideas for a triptych.  Nice to get the palette knife and a brush flying again.

Today's agenda

Early start: having very nearly arrived late last time at Benenden, we left at a hideously early hour this morning, so we were there soon after 06:30, and I was into the preliminaries soon after 07:00.  Glossing over the boring details, we were home soon after 13:00.  I'm bandaged-up and pretty comfortable, though not sprinting up and down stairs just yet.  They advise me not to drive for two weeks, so that ought to tie in, roughly speaking, with the delivery of the new car which is now evidently on the docks at Emden.  I'm looking forward to that and to improved mobility in somewhat unequal measure.

Tales of travels and transport

As I write, we’re pitching up and down on the Bay of Biscay, a couple of hours out of Bilbao.  We used this same vessel three years ago from Santander, and I don’t remember it being quite so sporting a ride.  

We’ve had an enjoyable short stay in the Basque country, where as I’d mentioned we rented a little flat on a smallholding up in the hills near Bilbao.  The property, called Urresillo Landetxea (rural goldmine, we’re told) was serviceable, and at €100 a night, came with two bedrooms, a satisfactory living room and outdoor barbecuing and eating facilities.  The furnishings were a touch shabby, but I guess one man’s shabby is another’s rustic, which fitted with the image of the place.  The welcome was warm, and the location was idyllic, with a pleasant outlook across the wooded hillside, and bags of peace and quiet – apart from the landlords’ rowdy poultry.

The blurb on the place led us to expect a conventional oven as well as a microwave ditto, so we’d brought a Carrefour ready-made lasagne with us.  (Almost as good as home-made, I should add.)  The microwave was the only oven, alas: we were fooled by an errant comma in the blurb.  It was a bit disappointing done in the microwave, but adding a handful of lardons livened it up a bit.

On our only full day, we headed for the coast, visiting Bermeo and Bakio, and taking in some fabulous coastal scenery in the process.  We took a walk along the front at Bakio, watching a couple of dozen surfers out on the beautiful rollers.  The day was hot – it got up to 39.5° a few times, so the air conditioning was very welcome.  Bakio was pretty much closed down for the season, so we dropped in to the airport for a lunchtime salad before doing our last bit of shopping.  

Dotty excelled herself for much of the time, and when asked to take us to a branch of Fortnums, couldn’t have been expected to know that we wanted one with a car park.  Her second choice was closed for rebuilding.  At that point, we took advantage of what would otherwise have been quite a detour to go and have a look at the Biscay Bridge doing its stuff.  This transporter bridge took a couple of loads of cars across as we watched, and one brave soul was walking across the high-level walkway.  

At this point we decided to head back towards the flat, and find a supermarket closer to home.  One the way, Martyn spotted a Lidl just after we had passed the corresponding highway exit.  Dotty proceeded to get us thoroughly lost on the way there, and we finished up navigating by sun and common sense.  We stocked up with some of our familiar Navarre rosé at half the UK price, plus a few other local wines.  We had to call in at the adjacent (and unusually smart) Aldi for the Txakoli, the white wine of the Basque country – Romae ut Romani, n’est-ce pas?  Dotty then regained her composure and got us home correctly.

She was back up to her tricks on the way to the ferry port next morning, leading us via country lanes to a blocked-off entrance to the highway, which we could have found by our usual route, had we but stopped and thought for ourselves for a moment.  The morning traffic was not fun, since there was a small matter of Bilbao between us and the ferry port.  Had I hair, it would have been standing on end.  Well, we got there safely, and were soon loaded on board, rather more promptly and efficiently than in Santander last time we did the long crossing.  

[Next day] The crossing is long and pretty tedious, and this time, a lively swell on the Bay of Biscay made getting around even on two capable legs quite difficult.  Once horizontal, I found the movement not unpleasant, but we both appreciated the smooth water after we’d rounded Cape Finistère (which gives its name to our ship). 

Having docked around 09:00, it took another 50 minutes to get out of the docks.  The A27 was dreadful, so we struck out across country thanks to Martyn’s local knowledge, and were home, shopped, soon after midday.  Fed and watered, and the car emptied, we headed for the local car wash.  Having been quoted a pretty dismal trade-in on the Tiguan, I contacted one of the car buying web sites, which quoted a sum little better, hence I ignored their offer.  Ten days they came back and improved it by a grand, which the fellow in their local shed proceeded to knock back by £700 on account of chips and scratches.  We met somewhere in the middle, with the result that we are now, for the time being, a one-car family.  

This left us with a small detail: how to get home.  There is a bus service nearby, but the next bus was due more than an hour after we got to the stop.  Never short of mischief, we ambled into the SEAT dealership to tell them we wouldn’t be trading the Tiguan, to find that they now have a couple of Atecas, including a demonstrator.  I shamelessly suggested I take it on a one-way test drive to Forges-l’Evêque, to which our friendly salesman sportingly agreed.  Problem solved.  Plus, it’s a nice car, and I’m looking forward to getting mine.  Minus a pedal, and plus 40 horsepower.

All of which has helped to keep one’s mind off tomorrow’s agenda.  Watch this space.

Happy week, sad ending

We've had a delightful few days' visit from Pam and Geoff, who had been in the Var for a few days' reunion of Pam's Collège d'Europe year.  It's always a pleasure to have their company, particularly when, as this time, we get to introduce old friends to newer ones.  We got together on Wednesday at Le Somail with the Coopers and Chota, and had a good chomp and chatter together - plus as always, a canal ride on Ruud's boat.

Intimations of mortality come thick and fast, however.  P&G made a trip on Friday to Lamalou-les-Bains to see Hartmut, who is making very limited progress.  On the same day, our friend Barbara was found dead in her flat in Brighton.  A heavy smoker, she had suffered from emphysema for years,  and we thought we'd lost her four years ago when she collapsed after neglecting to eat properly.  Well, she came out of that one, moved to a new flat and was eating well when we last saw her in the spring.  Little more is known at this point.  There will no doubt be a commemoration of her life, when we shall learn more.

We've been on the road for a couple of half-days.  After P&G left yesterday and the house was closed up, we headed out to our overnight digs in Lurbe-Saint-Christau, which is in the foothills of the Pyrenees south of Pau.  Dotty, having perhaps learned a bit about the kinds of roads we like, routed us south from Tarbes and along some lively mountain roads in the Béarn.  In the process, we had to contend with kids in luridly painted souped-up Saxos, 106s and the like competing in the Rallye du Béarn.  We'd to make a lengthy detour at one point, following a Basque in a cherry-picker truck.  We think he had been coaching the rally entrants.  On a clearer day, the views would have been stupendous.  As it was, they were merely magnificent.

We'd stayed in the hotel at Lurbe once before, and thought then that it was a touch over-priced and up itself.  Still not cheap, it was generally more welcoming this time.  Dinner was good, and we treated ourselves to a nice bottle of Madiran.

Today's drive took us south and through the Somport tunnel, affording superb views of misty Pyrenees in the early morning light.  There is talk of re-opening the earlier rail tunnel, but if they're serious, there's a lot of work to do on the line south of Bedous.  There's also the matter of re-locating the scientific experiments installed in the tunnel to exclude cosmic radiation.  So, not in my lifetime, I think.

From Jaca to Pamplona, it was a succession of vast, parched, stubbly landscapes.  Had we had more time, I'd have stopped and taken photographs.  But we preferred to crack on and get to our flat for a snooze, neither of us having slept well last night.  We paused for a soft refresh in the Castle Square in Pamplona, and have made a mental note to return when I'm more mobile again.  From there to Bilbao via the edge of San Sebastián, the road becomes distinctly sportif.  Signs by the roadside warn you that it's a mountain highway, and of the need to observe the signage.  Pffff.  For one thing, the signage  is confusing and inconsistent, and for another, nobody pays a blind bit of notice anyway.

Our digs are in an old house in the forest to the east of Bilbao, and seem satisfactory.  It's certainly quiet (apart from a nearby cockerel, whose help we may need to be up early enough on Tuesday to get our ferry from Bilbao).  We'll probably do some gentle exploration of the nearby coast tomorrow. Provided the shooting I can hear outside gets no closer...

City of culture

The latest cultural event is in progress.  (Les Abracadagrasses do not count.)  The current one is Les Pages Musicales de Lagrasse, and, if last night's concert was anything to go by, it's of the highest quality.  The Brahms I could take or leave, but the Beethoven was very good.  The second half was of Franck and Ravel works, including one of my desert island discs, the Chorale N°2, played very well by young Thomas Ospital on the rather over-powered organ, but with a sensitivity to registration that I haven't heard in the church here before.  It's all too easy to deploy all the reeds and mixtures, which leads to an uncomfortable, deafening experience.  Thomas got it right, maintaining complete clarity throughout, with appropriate and sparing use of the blazing reeds.  The concert ended with Franck's rather repetitive piano quintet, which I know only from an ancient Clifford Curzon performance on LP.  I found it rather tiresome - maybe Curzon omitted a few of the repeats!  The concert was very well attended, despite tickets at €25!

We are entertaining tonight, so took a ride up to Carcassonne on Friday for provisions.  Since I hadn't yet seen in the metal a car of the kind I've ordered, we looped round via the SEAT shop to find that they had a demonstrator out the front and another example in the showroom.  It seems OK: plenty of room front, back and boot (though our boot will be smaller, to accommodate four-wheel drive and a spare wheel).  It's a touch lower than the Tiguan, but no less easy to get in and out of.  You can't see a damn' thing out of the back window, but that's modern cars for you.  The bells and whistles on the one we're having include a camera in the back end and a screen on the dashboard, so that may help.  I think ours is being built this coming week, so it should reach us some time in October.  Surprisingly, in the five or ten minutes we spent in the showroom, we were not pounced on by a salesman, far less offered a test drive.  Probably as well, since the demonstrator had a superflous pedal and a funny stick thingy in the middle with numbers on it.  We don't do stick thingies these days unless forced to.

Earlier in the week we took a ride down to La Franqui for lunch at our usual watering place.  We perhaps unwisely went for the mix tapas, which were obviously bought in from the cash and carry.  Thick, chewy chapelure, flavourless chicken goujons and chips that once cooled were inedible.  We'll probably go back, but that's another dish off the list, following from the grotesquely over-salted moules on previous visits.  I suppose we keep going back because it's pleasant to eat looking out over the sea, and the patron recognises us and is welcoming.  Eggs and bacon next time, maybe.  I was not keen to do the winding narrow Corbières roads this time, so we spent a bit of time on what used to be the N9.  I'd read that there was now legislation prohibiting payment for sex.  It doesn't seem to be enforced on the N9, where at least two ladies of the afternoon were out on the game, and doubtless others a few paces back into the garrigue.

Temperatures in the thirties make it easy to sit and do little other than reading and scribbling a bit for the blog.  The countryside is utterly parched, and the peace and quiet are broken from time to time by the drone of the Trackers overhead.  Nights are a bit uncomfortable, but the fan in the bedroom is discreet and efficient.  We've been for a few strolls round the village, including a visit to the café at the Abbey with neighbours Anne and David.  (We hadn't been there before: it's very pleasant and shaded, and lacks the traffic noise of the Prom Caff.)  But I'm a bit fed up that I can no longer do the hikes in the hills that attracted me to the village in the first place.  Well, perhaps help is on the way: we'll know a little more in a few weeks' time.