Betsy's in the shop getting her 12K checkup (about 2K late) in preparation for the big ride starting July 31st. So...it means staying in town or ridin' in the cage. I chose a little of both.
Did the chores early Saturday morning (that means trash, out, and laundry, done) and was at the golf course in Carquefou by 10:00 a.m. I'll tell you something, the weather's just unbeatable here this time of year. Think of early spring in Houston, cool mornings and warm afternoons. Doesn't mean it can't get hot...the other day the thermometer in the car registered 37°C (99°F) in the sun in the parking lot. But, like this weekend, it's often a cool 16°C (60°F) in the morning, rising to 29° (~85°F) in the afternoon. That's just perfect golf weather. In fact, with the possible exception of igloo building, it's perfect anything weather.
Anyway...once again, I find myself on the horns of a dilemma of sorts. Two things happened while at the course that would normally set me off to the point I wouldn't return. First, they charged me for the entire bloody cart for my round. Previously, with Morgan here, we split the cart, as is normal. Here most people don't ride, they walk. That's great. I'd love to as well, but between the kidney stone impacting my left leg, and arthritis messing up my right hip, I can't walk 100 yards without pain, let alone a 6,000+ yard golf course. So I have to ride.
Now, here's a question for you: The last time you flew in an airplane and the seat next to you was empty, did the airline charge you for that seat? Of course not. But, in France? No, in France they don't think like that. If they say the cart is 25€ for 18 holes, they expect to charge 25€ for 18 holes. In other words, they make filling the cart the responsibility of the customer! In the states golf management sort of believes it's their responsibility to fill the carts so they charge 1/2 the cart fee to each player, and if there is only one player wanting a cart, he is charged 1/2 the cart fee. Knowing accounting as I do, I'm sure they've factored in the "average" quantity of players per cart per round (say 1 and 1/2) and figured out their return on investment appropriately. You'd think a country that produced Blaise Pascal, Pierre Vernier, and René Descartes could figure that out and not "blame the client" for failing to find them a sufficient number of customers.
The second event? It's sort of another "wow, French waiters" thing. After completing nine holes I pulled up to the clubhouse and went into the little bar area between the full restaurant and the pro shop. There are several tables and a bar, and, past the bar, but adjacent to it, a beverage cooler. The bartender was talking to a waitress who was standing in front of the bar, while he occupied a spot at the curved end of the bar next to the cooler. Of course, being a French bartender he didn't stop talking to a fellow employee to take care of a customer. They, frankly, are just not geared that way.
Looking around, I spied the cooler and walked over and stood in front of it to see my choices. I decide I want a bottled water and start to reach for the cooler handle. The bartender flashes his arm between me and the cooler baring the opening of the door and says, in English, "You could ask." His intonation was low and somewhat subdued, not loud or aggressive. Sort of like one might address a child who was doing something "wrong." I guess that's why he didn't draw back a nub.
I was so surprised I immediately said, "Sorry, I thought it was help yourself." He responded, "That's okay, what can I get for you." I replied, "One of those waters," pointing at the one I wanted. He pulled it from the cooler, charged me 1.80€, and I walked out of the bar still in shock. I was so surprised by this I didn't get angry, I was just amazed. That is, of course, until I opened the bottle, took a couple of pulls and realized how he had just treated a customer. Now, one can make all kinds of excuses, but they tend to go south when you realize his statement was in English so he knew a) I was not French, and b) I was probably unfamiliar with the place. But, that didn't stop him from being a rude, out-of-line, son-of-a-bitch did it? Time will tell how this will sort out because, as I said at the beginning, I would normally let the owner know how the cabbage is cut and "vote with my feet," i.e., never return. All that is mitigated by the fact I shot the best round I've shot in quite some time, 43-40 for an 83. And that with a triple and double-bogey on the front, and three finishing bogeys. It wouldn't have taken much for me to break 80 so that mitigates almost everything. We'll see.
So, alright already. Enough of this crap. Let's go visit something.
With Betsy in the shop I fire up the Ford, set the GPS to no-toll-roads, and head out toward La Rochelle, a famous little seacoast city on the Atlantic south-west of Nantes.
You get a lot of these nice, tree-lined roadways out in the country here. Sorry Betsy isn't seeing this one.
About half way between Nantes and La Rochelle the crops change from grapes to grain and become more familiar to the average U.S. drivers. Lots of corn, wheat, and sunflowers. If any were wondering where Van Gogh got some of his inspiration, I think I know.
The Île-de-Rê is a famous island off La Rochelle connected to the continent by a toll bridge.
I mention the toll bridge because I think I purchased one span. At least that's what a 16.5€ toll feels like to me.
I think for $20 I only got one of the shorter spans near the La Rochelle side.
It's not all tourists. There's a working component on the southern side of the island.
Off season population is ~20,000. At the high point of the summer it's 220,000.
Here's a little camera effect I tried.
The "standard" shot.
A little further on you can just hear Henrietta saying to Pierre, "How many times have I told you you gotta plan, Pierre. Plan. You know what I mean?"
Farming something.
(Remember the boat on the right.)
Tide's out
The non-shore side.
Stopped for a light repast. One of my favorites, Moules with café, a little white wine on the side.(And, of course, the ubiquitous frites.)
One the way back to my car after spending only an hour, the tide is coming back in. This is the boat I said to remember up above.
Nice little Sunday ride to a beautiful place down great roads.
Sort of a concrete writing thing...I keep coming back to the photo/van gogh to make sure it's still here. Masterpiece, Jerry...life imitating art, or vice versa?
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