Amusing Interlude

November 8, 2024

This is the point in the blog for looking back at the costs of all the fun. This involves copying all the numbers from our little notebook into a spreadsheet, so they can be totalled and analysed. The main reason for doing this, from our point of view, is to see what we are letting ourselves in for when we plan to do yet another trip, and maybe to see from analysis where costs could be trimmed, or maybe where costs are fine, and we can go crazy next time. For example, are we spending too much on souvenirs or building admissions? Or is there room (in the wallet, if not in the belt) for even more patisseries?

To do this kind of work, I need to go find my spreadsheet template in the cycling files. This time, while scrolling down to it I stopped at a little story I had written, basically extracted from our 2017 blog "Grampies Go On Their Knees". I re-read this story, and found it an Amusing Interlude. It also seems a bit relevant to our experience this time, particularly with regard to Spanish prosciutto style ham.

So while you anxiously wait for me to type in all those cost numbers, you might enjoy re-reading this as well:

The Grampies Flunk "French Restaurant 101"

2017 had shaped up as a hard year for us. Although both 69 years old, and styling ourselves the "Grampies" we still expected to easily romp all over Europe, even while riding our somewhat goofy "Bike Friday" folding bikes. But now Dodie's left knee had become a real problem, and at times she could barely walk. The thing was, even when she could barely walk, she could still cycle, if slowly. We responded to this by launching a more than 4000 km trek from Paris, out east and down to Avignon/Arles, and then to the pilgrimage site in northern Spain: Santiago de Compostella. And back! No use being a pilgrim if you never get back.

We started in mid-March and had made it to Santiago, even if it meant often pushing the bikes up the steep climbs of Galicia, the hilly region of northern Spain where Santiago is situated.

But now it was the end of May, and we found ourselves crawling up the Atlantic coast of France, battling 40 plus degree (100+F) heat and traffic, rather than hills. With the heat and the knee, we were basically getting nowhere. But we did get to the town of Rochefort, a little south of La Rochelle.

We had spent the day desperately looking for an ice cream stop, but on this whole coast this was nowhere to be found, at least not by us. Seasoned cyclists are always able to find ice cream, which is the most basic pedalling fuel. But on the Atlantic beach side of France, in the broiling sun, we were striking out.

This was bad for the ego. Having fought our way to Spain and back we were now "home" in France. Or at least, having been born in French Quebec, we should have found Rochefort a piece of cake, even ice cream cake. (Rochefort was a major departure point for colonists to North America in the 17th century).

But the best we seemed able to do in Rochefort for a place to stay was an Ibis hotel. Ibis is the plain vanilla of hotels in France (did I say "vanilla"?)

Because Ibis is just that kind of chain, there was naturally both a Burger King and a McDonalds across the street. Were they the best we were going to be able to do? Well McDonald's does have ice cream - sort of. Well now, Google did show us another chance - a place called "La Pataterie".

"Pataterie" appealed to our Quebec heritage. There, potatoes are always called "patates". In stuffy France on the other hand, they are "pommes de terre".

At 6 p.m. I went to the Ibis desk just to have them point me towards the restaurant. Only casually I asked if they knew when dinner was served there. The answer was 1900, which as usual I had to translate mentally, and to fully understand that there would be no dinner for another hour. Oh well, that was a bit better than in Spain, where dinner would be at more like 9.

At 6:54 p.m., suitably starved, we reported to the front door of the restaurant, to find it locked and the place apparently abandoned. I decided they were probably closed for Mothers' Day, but Dodie spied some slight movement within. Only at 7:00:00 did someone appear from inside to unlock the door. OK, so we were in, but really to be locked tight and most lights off in early evening is so unusual for a restaurant, at least where we are from.

Our next problem was with the menu. It did have pictures, and was much simpler than is often seen when written in chalk in front of a real French restaurant. The problem was the liberal sprinkling of stuff we don't like, throughout the offerings. This time, unusually, it was Dodie that was struggling - with the olives, chevre, lardons, gesiers (gizzards), and such. The waitress was very patient, returning several times until Dodie could settle on a choice. She went for "Burger Provencal " but she said hold most of the "Provencal".

While we waited for our orders to arrive we noticed that our paper place mats had the kids' menu, plus puzzles to amuse the kids. Ok, so what could a kid order? Well, that part of the menu had some technical terms that baffled me -"bout'chou", "pepites de cabillaud panees", and "savoyarde", for example. Our years in Quebec had not prepared us for this level of gourmet terminology!

Next there were the kids' amusements. Some I was ok with, but what to do with others seemed elusive. I am not sure if this was because of some subtle cultural difference, because French kids are just smarter than me, or because on the road your mental powers may dull in some areas - like Mommy brain. Dodie was having the same problem with her sheet, which had a little different puzzles than mine.

You can be the judge. Have a look:

Our meals came. Dodie's burger was not in a bun, but rather enclosed in potato patties - ok. But the burger itself was raw, or raw except for a semblance of cooking on the surface. We thought about going to find the server to ask for some cooking activity, but kind of lapsed into waiting for her to come by on her own for the North American standard "How's it tastin'". This never happened, leaving Dodie just poking at the pile of raw meat on her plate.

After all her indecision, Dodie had gone with a safe "burger", but had forgotten to specify that it be cooked. Rookie error for France veterans. When the server did come, Dodie pointed out the raw burger. The lady said the equivalent of "What's your problem? It's cooked "a point", "and anyway, why didn't you tell us?". Dodie's reply that no one was to be seen did not impress the lady much.

Later we looked up "a point". "A point" means "perfectly cooked". But in France, perfectly cooked is literally not cooked. What's more, there is almost nothing you can say to the kitchen to get them to cook beef to the point found normal in North America. That much cooking is literally not in their vocabulary, so forget it.

Ok, I changed the subject, but still cemented our status as crazy tourists by asking the lady to explain the kids' menu to me. It seems a bout'chou is a little kid. A savoyarde is a baked potato, and cabillaud is a species of fish. Of course.

As for the puzzle, the top line is coq, lit, K, l'eau (chicken, bed, K, water) making the word in French for a kind of poppy -coquelicot. The second line is pas, rat, so (step, rat, and the musical note), which equals parasol. Got it? You qualify as a French 8 year old!

We did realize that any problems we were having in this restaurant were unique to us. Actual French people would find everything totally normal. Maybe it was just a random restaurant flunk out for the Grampies. We could have better luck in Nantes or Paris! Or not? Should we stick to McDonald's, that we sort of understand?

Actually, the story has a happy ending, because we succeeded at last with the ice cream:

The ultimate joy of cycle touring!

Postscript: On this current trip we uniquely delved into American fast food, in Spain. So we gathered experience with Popeyes and Five guys. Could be material an amusing story I could publish in another eight years. Also our friend Michel from Nantes has armed us with the antidote term for burger "a point" and that is "carbonisé". This seemed to work, on a couple of tries this time in France!

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