This was a day of retracing my steps.
Past the pylons and nuclear power station.
Past the idle men in the bleak cafe with cigarettes dangling from their lips.
Past the dust and dogs and tourists and traffic with an overwhelming
sense of desolation which clung to me.
I tried to console myself with the joyous anticipation of where I was going.
Even a large melting scoop of chocolate fondant ice cream
didn't help with the sinking feeling.
I stopped in Thuyets to stretch my legs and to escape an estate car packed to the gills with inflatable dinghies and blonde children which sat on my tail and refused to overtake me.
I did my usual wandering about but was still out of sorts. Feeling disgruntled, disenchanted, disappointed but unable to put my finger on the reason for this black cloud, I passed through an arched opening and made my way past a few men playing boules.
I perched myself on a low stone wall and proceeded to slice
cheese and tomatoes for a very late lunch.
The boules players took their turns at throwing, measuring, shaking their heads.
I received an occasional glance, a "bon appetite" and wondered if perhaps I shouldn't be
there with my opinel and blue enameled plate.
Maybe this wasn't a park but perhaps somebody's private garden.
After a very good throw, a gentleman sauntered over and offered me a coffee.
Expecting something tepid in a plastic beaker poured from a thermos flask,
I was surprised when he emerged from the chateau
with an elegant white cup and saucer, milk jug and pot of sugar cubes.
He introduced himself to me as the previous mairie of Thuyets.
We posed for photos while his friends called out what I guessed to be
"put your arm around her"
"kiss her cheek"
Then we said good bye.
Opposite the fountain, a man wearing only a yellow vest was on his balcony
whistling a disjointed tune. He rattled the many bird cages hanging
amidst a jungle of pot plants. Then poured the dregs from their feeders into the road,
refilled them with a jug and clicked their doors shut.
