Day 13: France

Content warning: This one will have the “A” word in it.
10/6/'10 Day 13:
The captain offered me breakfast and got my picture as I took off. I hope he sends it to me. I paddled on glassy water with a light breeze slowing me down. I cut straight across a shallow bay and four hours later I was turning into Narbonne Plage (43.168229, 3.185048). I stopped for lunch and, despite an improvement in the wind’s direction, I decided to try to work out my Sabbath accommodations.  Maybe I would take the train to a nearby Jewish community.
After a lot of walking around and a stop at the supermarket I had plans. I would sleep on the side of a hill in the woods next to the town (43.172912,3.174274). On my way up the path I noticed spots where a boar had torn up the vegetation.
I spoke to the marina captain to ask if I could leave my boat here (I'm writing this at the dock on a curb) for the weekend. He didn't speak any English.
I tried “Kayak” and then a “moi, Barcelona.” Now I was stuck. I went through my French lexicon. Guillotine, corporal, soup deux jour, wait! That was it! “Deux jour!” and I pointed down.
The captain understood that I had kayaked from Barcelona, and that I would like to stay here for two days. I think.  He looked at me like I was crazy for kayaking like that, but then smiled and said that it would be no problem for me to leave my boat here. At least, I hope that's what he said.
I made camp off of an out of the way trail near a pretty lake. The spot I had chosen was one of a few places where there was no significant undergrowth. After a sabbath meal in the quiet woods I was asleep by 7:00pm. I sleep in a sleeping bag in a bivi sack on a pad. While warm and comfy, I can't see very much of what's around me, nor am I free to move my arms. I become giant caterpillar like. Later this became a scary problem.
I woke in the dead of night when a twig snapped very near me. It could have been a chipmunk or a squirrel. Then there was more movement and bushes being pushed aside. If it was a chipmunk, it was a hundred pounds of chipmunk and it was very near coming at me. I assumed it had big tusks and could gore.
I couldn't see it. I didn't want to get the flight or fight mechanism to go wrong, but I needed it to know that I was there. I sat up slowly. The sounds stopped. There was a deep throated growl huff. It was not dog-like, it was, “I can eat you dog” like.
And then it went off in a different direction. It moved through the underbrush with all the finesse of a giant pig.
For the next few hours I had my head and arms outside of my sack to ward off any more monsters in the night.  I wore my whistle and was ready to use it.  All I got for my efforts was a little cold.
The next morning I meant to go about my business, but going to the bathroom without toilet paper in a pine wood is a pain in the ass. (That was it, there will be no more.) I found a porta poty near a construction sight that solved the problem.

I stood for a while and watched fish leap above the surface of the water as the sunlight painted the mist and the water a gold that was prettier then any metal I had ever seen.
I went for a walk in the French countryside. Thick pine woods and dense brush covered rolling hills. Occasionally I saw some kind of nut or a small patch of pretty white flowers. People would occasionally come out of the bush all beaten up but with mushrooms to show for their efforts.
There were hiking paths that went along ravines with views of the sea. There was a marsh with softly colored grasses that seemed to go on forever.
For a while there were hunters also. They had many dogs running through the underbrush and they would call out to them in French. They had shotguns.* I asked one hunter “Is it dangerous for me to be here?” and he said “Oui oui.”
I moved on in a different direction rather quickly.
I passed vineyards with fall colors they stood out in sharp contrast to the coniferous woods.
I passed a farm that was displaying the largest pig I had ever seen. It was a beast that was moving stones with its snout and rooting around in the dirt. I couldn't begin to estimate its weight except to say that it was certainly much heavier then I.

I drank from a hose on the farm, I had been walking for a while.
And then there was a true treat for my eyes. Chateau Laquirou stood over a huge stretch of vineyard. The field had many portions, each in its own glory displaying a different aspect of fall. Standing at the center of the field was an island of ancient trees surrounded by a weathered stone wall.
At the head of this agrarian masterpiece was a small collection of old French houses. There was a steeple and vines up the sides of the cottages.
I felt that this was Europe, this was a thing I had come to see that I had never seen before. It was a fresh sent for my soul and it was good.
Tomorrow their is another small craft warning. The forecast for this week is bad.

* Not the dogs, I don’t think. ~ ed.

Day 12

Day 12:
I began today, again, cutting knots out of Moe's line and retying him. I made breakfast, packed up my stuff, and was on my way just before sunrise. Rather than head out to sea I went upriver, inland.
I felt a tug on Moe's line. This was the first tug I ever felt, and, as it turned out, the last. I pulled Moe in to find that he had picked up some grasses from the bottom of the river.
“You're mocking me, aren't you?”
“...”
“You know Mo, you're gonna have to start catching some fish. Otherwise, you're just a drag.” I was too hard on him.
I got to a bridge, and underneath it there was a sign “maximum speed 5 knots” (42.805752,3.03066). In front of the sign there was a fence through the water. The inland water way had been closed at this end. I pulled over, climbed up on the rocks, took my boat out of the water and got back in on the other side. It was a pain in the neck, but I wanted to paddle inland.
The view of the lake and the birds and the mountains was nice. I had assumed in planning this trip that most of my views would be like the New Jersey coast. I am delighted to have been wrong. This area, at least, features occasional villages dotting a vast empty land. Grasses, hills, trees, and nothing more make up most of the scenery. Such was the view inland from the lake. Between the lake and the sea was a tourist town.
My chart was barely adequate, but I managed to find my way. There were lots of canals into the south Florida-like neighborhood to my right that were not marked on it. Still, I managed with some trepidation. (Incidentally, the water level is much lower then it was when the Google maps pictures were taken. There are lots of islands that are neither on Gmaps or on my chart.) So I asked a fisherman if I had the right way. He told me no and sent me climbing over a sand bar with my boat. I paddled for a ways on the other side, until I was convinced that I was going the right way the first time, turned around, climbed back over the sand bar, and was back on my original correct path.
That is, until I got to a dead end (42.838134,3.035327). I saw a man walking his dog on the street above and called out to him. He told me that I would need to go over the road to get back out the the sea. The road was not on my chart.
As I began to try to get my boat up on the road I dropped it on a rock. That was bad. I think the boat was OK, but I still haven't done a good check. Another man walking his dog saw me and offered to help. I gratefully accepted.
The man's dog was medium sized white curly haired dog that looked as though it was bred to live on a pillow.
The man to his dog (translated from French) "Sit.”
The dog (also translated) "Whatever.”
The man said again “Sit.”
The dog sat and the man put down the leash to help me with the boat. The dog got up to come take a closer look. The man said to his dog “Sit.”
And the dog responded “Whatever.”
We crossed the road and put the boat in on the other side. We had to stop twice so that the man could try to do something with his dog.

I only had to climb over one more obstacle before I was back at sea. (42.85588,3.032709)
On my way out I managed to ride the wake of a sailboat for a while. I moved fast. The boat, which I struggled to stay just a meter or so behind, was small and manned by two sailors who spoke no English. I don't know if it seemed odd to them that there was this kayaker paddling just behind them for as long as he could. The sailors and I made a couple unsuccessful attempts at conversation. Once they were out on the open sea I could no longer keep up.
Paddling on the open sea I put Moe back in the water, having taken him out in contempt. Since the first episode he had twice more picked up reeds from the bottom, and not even hinted that he might like to pick up a fish or two.


As my day approached its end I paddled along a sandy expanse that was much more then just a beach. It went way back, it's smooth surface was broken occasionally by a stream snaking it's way out to the sea. One giant piece of driftwood, half the trunk of a once great tree, stood above and surveyed it all. Behind the sandy plane the ground rose up sharply into the grassy hills with a small wood here and there giving a sense of space. Atop the ridges were lines of windmills turning each to its own beat.
Along this place, the water was shallow and the waves broke far out and rolled all the way in. It was when I got hit by a particularly big one, and pushed some five meters closer to the shore, that Moe left me.
I had been to hard on him. So he left me. Like he did everything in our time together, without a word. He was gone and my line was slack.
Port La Nouvelle is weird. Two parallel seawalls go way out from the beach to mark its entrance. As I paddled up the corridor, I could make out the huge buildings of industry in the distance. Giant silos along the water, this was no leisure marina. If there were sailboats at all I couldn't make them out. I saw a sign for the captains office and I pulled over.
In my spray skirt and splash top I walked into the office ready for another rejection. I explained to the man at the desk.
“You kayaked from Barcelona?” He asked me.
“Yes.”
“Where's your boat?”
I took him to see my boat, just outside his office.
He went to get the captain and asked me to wait outside since I was dripping wet and had already left a puddle on his floor.
As he spoke to the captain in French the captain shook his head and I was sure things were not looking good for me.
The guy from the front desk, Really Awesome Nice Dude (Randy), and the captain, were extremely helpful. The captain told me I could leave my boat in his back yard because his house was on the water. Would I like to shower? I would. Fantastic.
Randy: “You're crazy, aren't you.”
“A little.” I told him.
“We were crazy too once.”
They helped me get my boat off of the water. Randy asked me if he could give me a lift to anywhere in town. I said no thank you, but directions for some errands would be helpful. He was only too happy to oblige.
Was I sure he couldn't give me a ride? Yes, I was sure. I explained to him that one of the purposes of my trip was to encourage people to drive less and use human powered transportation more. Say no more, he understood.
Tonight I sleep on the beach, knowing my stuff is well looked after and not quite as stinky as I usually am. Thank you Randy and Marina Captain for your kindness. While your crazy days may be behind you, I hope you continue to find good in the craziness of others.

current location:  43.023051,3.042161

Day 11

Day 11: May I borrow a paper bag, please?

Warning, there's some math in this one.

This morning I was on the water by 10:30 and paddling into a 20 mph north west wind. This was the strongest wind I had gone out in yet, but the waves were small and I was determined to make the next marina, Port Barcaras.
Going north into a 20 mph northwest wind is like going into 14 mph north wind and a 14 mph west wind (If any of my students are reading this, can you prove it?) I had all day in my boat to think about it. The north side slowed me down a lot, but there was nothing I could do about it. The west wind took my boat by the side and pushed me out to sea at an alarming rate. I could take time to paddle back towards the shore, but then the north wind would catch me by my side and I would lose tremendous ground.
For a while, progress was very slow. Then I had an idea. Very close to shore there were waves going towards the beach against the wind. Presumably this happens because they are essentially falling off the sea. By keeping my boat on the line between the waves going towards the beach, and the waves going away from it, I was able to make better progress then I had before. Occasionally I would find myself again far out to sea, or about to land on the beach, but for the most part I managed the balance.
It was still slow going. About 15 feet from the shore I watched an old guy strolling along, smoking a joint, pass me. But I was making progress.
The wind had a magical effect. Little rainbows rushed across the surface of the water towards the beach. They appeared in the tails of spray thrown up by the breaking waves in front of me. Sometimes these breaking waves would hit me, but rushing over my boat they weren't any higher then my chest. Once I was hit by two at the same time coming from orthogonal* directions. It was exciting.
Finally, at around 4:00pm I got to my destination. I needed to buy rice, so I thought I would call it a day. I went into the captain’s office to ask for permission to leave my kayak in the marina, as I had done many times before. “No.” They told me. “There isn't enough room.”
That was a lie. There was lots of room. If anybody has a burning paper bag of poo, please leave it with the good people of Port Barcaras.
After buying some rice in an expensive supermarket I got in my boat and went to leave the marina. While paddling out I noticed that the water was moving the wrong way. That is, the water was leaving the marina and not going into it which was usually the case. I looked at my map and saw that the marina backed up to a small inland waterway along the coast. I paddled up it, found a place to camp, and can look forward to a couple hours of inland paddling tomorrow. It should be nice.

* “pertaining to or involving right angles or perpendiculars” www.dictionary.com ~ ed.

Current Location: 42.798219,3.035746

Dead Chocolate Rat

This morning I went to the 13th century palace at the center of Perpignan. I don't think the people who lived in that palace had toilet paper, but aside from that it was a good life. The palace was built for the king and queen of a country that doesn't exist anymore (I think). Since then, like Perpignan, it had changed hands a number of times between the French and the Spanish and was for 500 consecutive years, until WWII, a military base.
I walked into the palace only to be stopped in front of the gift office because I needed to go in and pay. I parted with the two Euro reluctantly, but in the end was very pleased that I did. It was my first time in a palace, and it was worth every penny (200!).
In the palace there was a modern art exhibit that consisted of paintings of women in bikinis at the beach. I can't say I connected with the art in any deep emotional way.
After the palace I walked some more around the old city. I walked by a chocolate shop (42.698578,2.893181). I wouldn't buy any chocolate, but I would go in to take a look.
Inside I was overwhelmed with the smell of chocolaty goodness. My mouth watered. I would just watch the woman behind the counter make the chocolate that was all around me and overrunning my senses. My mouth continued to water. The woman explained to me that she was making orange flavored chocolate. She had made almost all of the chocolate in the shop.
“What would you recommend?” I heard myself say after I had swallowed the pool of saliva that had collected in my mouth.
“What do you like?”
“Dark. Bitter. Chocolatey.”
No animal fat in anything, the idea was absurd. Probably kosher.
“How about this one.” She broke off a piece from one of the large tablets on the shelves.
“I can try it?” I asked stupidly.  It was too good to be true.
“Yes, of course.”
I tried it. It was as good as I imagined. Chocolate ran through mouth and nearly blew my already overloaded senses.  It was made from a bean that had known the rain and sun and the rich soil of some far away exotic place. And those ingredients had turned into the chocolate that was in my mouth and releasing to my pallete the secrets of the best things in the world.
I might have told the woman a little bit about myself, but I left that store with only one thing on my mind and that was the clump of chocolate that was making its way, one very little bit at a time, onto my tongue.
Later, I realized that I had left my nalgene bottle there. I would have to go back for it since I was using it regularly for all sorts of great purposes. It's the swiss army knife of water bottles. I had found the chocolate shop by wandering randomly through the maze-like corridors of the old city and I was not excited at the prospect of retracing my steps. I went back to the palace and asked myself “Where would I go if I were me?” And so, one intersection at a time, I went after the most colorful or interesting things I could see, until I found the chocolate shop.
“You left your water here!” The woman told me as soon as she saw me.
“I know. Thanks for keeping it. I guess I should get something else in appreciation.” I really appreciated her looking after my water bottle for me.
Again chocolatey goodness. This time the flavor was a little less harsh with a pleasant note that spoke of soft dew drops coming off of the jungle plants above. I know, it sounds dorky, but you try that chocolate and talk like an adult about it afterwards.
The woman told me that hers is the best chocolate in the world. Sure, why not.
I went to a post office armed with my package’s number. I found out that it had not moved beyond the airport in Paris. The post office couldn't help me more then that.
I tried what I thought was a carob from a tree. I had to jump to grab a branch that I shook to free the alleged carob. I ate about half of it, there was definitely a sweet flavor to it, but also something not quite right so I threw the rest away. And then the aftertaste hit. Bahh, it was awful, horrendous, terrible, bad, nasty. As though a week earlier a rat had crawled into my mouth and died. I bought some bread at a local bakery to try to get rid of the taste. Now it was like I had that same rat in my mouth, just in a sandwich. Ewwww.
Moving along.
After talking to my parents who had spoken to, of all places, the French consulate in Washington, they told me to seek out an office of tourism here in Perpignan and ask for help with my missing package.
I did. The pretty young lady at the counter set out to help me. First we called the USPS, and they told us to call US customs with our questions about foreign customs offices. US customs had a message on their machine saying they don't help people with questions about foreign customs offices and that we should call the French consulate. My parents already had called the consulate and they were told that I should go to the local office of tourism in Perpignan. And then I was back to square one. Except that by now, me and the pretty young lady had exchanged a number of smiles.
She did some hunting on the Internet and tried some numbers here in France. Most of them she would hang up on after she was put on hold, which discouraged me. There was one though that she stuck with for about 20 minutes while we talked of shoes and ships and sealing wax.
And then somebody on the other end answered. And they were in the know. And they helped, giving clear and concise instructions on what I needed to do. The problem was solved and the package should arrive here in Perpignan in two or three days. It had been held up for security concerns.
It was six o’clock, closing time at the tourist office.
“So what are you going to do this evening?” I asked the woman who had helped me.
“I'll probably go get some coffee.” She told me.
“Can I treat you?” I asked.
“Sure.” she answered happily.
I then got introduced to the other two people who were coming. The conversation dynamic for the next hour was odd to say the least, the most intimate part of my evening was the few smiles that were already behind me. I didn't pay for her, having been confused about what had happened and what may have been lost in translation.
Tomorrow I hope to paddle away from this place and on to new things.

Peace Talks

Heavy winds and waiting for my package had me exploring Perpignan.  I
walked into a 13th century cathedral that was really neat.  There was
some kind of service going on though, and I thought it rude to be a
tourist during a service, so I took a quick look around and then left.
For those of you who don't know, the 13th century was a really long time ago.

[slideshow]

I walked through a park that had naked statues of people.  The park
had small canals and old trees and was exceptionally pleasant.  The
naked statues were all looking into the distance or at the ground,
which gave them a removed feeling, as though it was OK that they
didn't have any clothes.

I found an open market and walked through it looking at mostly garage
sale-like displays.  I didn't think that I would see anything I
needed, but it was interesting anyway.  Then I saw something that I
needed.  A metal whistle.  There where two of them.
I asked the proprietor “Parlevue Englei?”
“No.  Francai? No?”

I picked up the whistle and rubbed my first two fingers with my thumb,
asking how much it cost.

He showed me a two Euro coin.

I thought about it.  I had a great whistle that was stolen and it
would be nice to replace it.  But in order to determine if these
whistles were any good, I would have to try one out.  I wasn't
inclined to.  I got up to walk away and the price dropped down to one
Euro.

I thought about it some more.  I tried one, it wasn't very good.  I
tried the other, not very good either.  I went back and tried the
first one again, giving a more serious blow, still no good.

As I got up to walk away again the proprietor gave a solid blow into
the second whistle, and it was very loud.  I was back again.  I went
through my change to find 80 cents for an offer.  The man grabbed out
of my hand a one Euro coin as he saw me searching through my change.

“No!”  I said.

I pulled out four 20 cent coins to make an offer.  The man looked at
it, took it, counted it again, and acted as though I had tried to
cheat him.  If I wanted that whistle it would now cost me two Euro
because of the alleged cheat.  I began to walk away and the price went
back down to one Euro.

I parted with my one Euro coin and a had a hopefully-fine whistle.  It
was made in India.

A moment of stereotypes:  I had bargained with an Arab, but as an
Israeli I was not outclassed.  I have a bad feeling that my own
attempt to get a whistle for less then a Euro and the retailers
attempt to sell if for two was a microcosm of the Israeli Palestinian
peace talks.

Later I joined up with an Israeli tour group that was walking around
the city.  The group was mostly Russian so there was a Russian
translator for the Hebrew speaking tour guide who was translating a
local guide who was using a weak English.  I followed both the
English and Hebrew and noted the things lost in translation.  We
admired one of the oldest movie theaters in France that became the
oldest when translated to Hebrew.

One fellow in the group was talking to me.  He told me that I should
do more research on cities before I visit them.  I had been walking
around the old Jewish quarter without even knowing it.

“I would, but it's hard to do that when I kayak everywhere and don't
know where the weather will leave me.”

“Yes, well.  You shouldn't wear your skull cap in public, there are a
lot of antisemites here in Europe.”   He went on to elaborate how
there is no real obligation for Jews to wear skull caps.

I explained to him that it wasn't about obligation, it was about pride.