Sunday, September 22, 2002 continued

    Blue sky, hot sun, cool wind.
    Brr! This morning the sunny south of France has a nip in the air! I've been out for a visit to the pattiserie—deux croissants (B says, "Just like Rudy's!")—and to the alimentary for juice for B. Closed on Lundi! I have coffee and we have two tarts—one lemon and one plum—from the bakeshop in Pezenas.
    Today's most exciting news is that yesterday we retrieved our luggage in Montpellier! Terry turned out to be pretty useless. He had promised to help out by calling Air France. We were to call him at ten…no, nine…well, between nine and ten and maybe he'd have to go out. . .
    After a few false starts, B was getting the hang of the pay phone in the square. At 9:45 we thought Terry's line was busy. A little after ten B got through to him, and woke him up! (The line hadn't been busy, B had been working the phone wrong. B figured out his mistake of beginning to dial before the phone had accepted his money and fully readied itself.) Terry's excuse was that a client had arrived late and kept him up. He said to call back in fifteen minutes. We did, and B listened, he was saying, "That's terrific. Thank you very much." I was certain this was good news, but when B hung up and turned a disgusted face to me I knew otherwise.
    "He says you can ask for an English speaking assistant."
    "That's it?" I said.
    "That's it," said B.
    So we called Air France and got the English speaking assistant who said the bags were still in CDG, they might arrive in Montpellier in the evening and they might be delivered Monday. Over breakfast we discussed the merits of going to Montpellier to kick up a fuss and in the end we did. While we were standing in line, behind some new arrivals who were also bagless, we noticed that they were given a little kit of what looked like toiletries. I asked the clerk whether we might have one or two of those. She was very apologetic that we had not been offered them on Saturday, saying that probably the office had run out of them, as she had just done. But it turned out we didn't need one after all, because the clerk told us that our bags had arrived just 30 minutes before.
    As we were trundling our luggage away, B said, "I'm really glad you convinced me to just come down here. That was a good idea you had. But remind me never to fly on Air France again. Didn't they screw us up in Charles DeGaulle the last time?" It's true, although we could not remember whether it was going to Florence or returning, that AF had led us all around the terminal to a new gate and had us waiting for an hour or more for a late plane. Without ever any English explanation of what was going on!
    As we were driving back to Peret, B agreed that we should call Elizabeth and tell her we would meet her at the airport. "Yes, you've had a really good idea. This is our second time doing this, and we're still not sure about it." Our first time out, we had missed at least two turnings, and although B was beginning to recognize some things to watch for, he said we'd never be able to explain it to Elizabeth well enough to be sure she'd have no trouble.
    Home again in Peret, we unpacked, cleaned up and relaxed in the luxury of clean, different clothes. Then we figured out supper. Our neighbor Duncan, a young Brit who is renovating the house next door, recommended touring Pezenas and eating there. Many restaurants are closed on Sunday evenings (dimanche soir.) B says he thinks it's because Sunday lunch is a very popular, elaborate meal at restaurants, and so Sunday evenings are time off for staff. Before we left, we called E's house and left a message telling her we would meet her at the airport.
    We were able to drive back roads to Pezenas; it's not far. Routes in the south that do not involve major highways take you from town to town. Our first true drive in the countryside from Peret took us through Addison, where we first took note of the avenues of sycamores one passes through when entering or leaving French villages.
    In Pezenas, we walked around the picturesque historic center, with its old Jewish ghetto and Moliere's favorite barbershop. Then, a wonderful supper at Coté d'Sud. B had a seafood assiette assortie: nine oysters, six mussels, 2 prawns. He sounded like Ted Haas, oohing and mm-ing at every bite, exclaiming over and over about the best oysters, best mussels ever. For the first time ever in my life, I tried an oyster and a mussel . . . delicious!
    We ate them on little pieces of brown bread with a dipping sauce of scallions chopped in wine vinegar. I had a simple green (house/marché) salad. Then grilled swordfish, with edibly tender skin, and a whole sea bream for B, also lovely. I told B about the tender skin; he says swordfish skin is tough before you cook it and gets tougher. I wonder if the fish is so much more fresh? Two bottles of wine, one chocolate brownie with creme fraische.
    We saw that some people at a nearby table were having what we thought was pastis, a sweet drink we know about from A Year in Provence. We asked our young waitress if that was what it was, and if we could have some with our dessert. She was politely horrified, telling us that yes, they were having pastis, but that pastis was an aperitif, for drinking before supper. We could not have pastis with dessert. We must have muscat with dessert! Like Armagnac--but lighter, sweeter, smoother. 86 EUR for the lot. No traffic coming home, dark countryside.

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