So. Lou Pescadou.
The food just kept coming. I’m not joking it was just huge course after huge course.
I take back what I said about all French. There’s loads of Germans here and I heard somebody say ‘prego’, must be Italians. There’s Americans here too.
Anyway to the food. No joke the first course by itself would’ve been fine.
Delicious fish soup. But it just kept coming and coming. They have a portion control issue here. I’m a Yorkshireman. Don’t put food in front of me. I’ll eat it.
I don’t really want to talk about food though. I had a pretty rough night last night. Felt dreadful, I thought I’d overindulged, but couldn’t figure out how. Then I realised something more serious was up. It was food poisoning. It had to be the raw seafood. Last time I got food poisoning it took exactly two days to kick in so that fits. It was probably that bloody sea snail or whatever you call it. [What is the name for it? It’s the thing that comes in the shell you can hold to hour ear and hear the sea]
I threw up a couple of times in the night but eventually felt better. Just like last time.
When I got up I felt surprisingly OK. I’d decided I was getting the train again but once I got a banana and some orange juice down me I felt up to it. It was only a couple of hours ride.
I set off, life felt good, it was so still and not a cloud in the sky and it was about 25 degrees.
I eventually got to Beziers. Then the strangest, yet funniest thing all holiday happened to me.
I cycled through the park before dropping my bike off. I got this really funny long stare off this middle aged French woman.
When I got back to the shop Timo, the nice Dutchman at Relax Rentals, told me I had big rip in the back of my shorts. How did that happen? They were OK this morning.
How embarrassing I thought. That explains the strange look. Oh well I’ll never see any of those people again. I packed my stuff from my panniers back into my bag but thought I may as well discard the shorts. I nearly put them in the bin at the shop but then decided that wouldn’t be a very nice parting memory of the Englishman with the blog who’d ridden the canal.
So I went back to the park to read my book for the remaining hour until the airport shuttle arrived. I ditched the shorts in the bin. They’d been really handy, they were knee length and had lots of pockets in, but I’d been cycling in them the past two days, they were visibly damp around the posterior, ripped and generally a bit worse for wear.
I then went on the hill and started reading.
This park was full of whackos. There was more than one person talking to themselves. One of them started shouting out to himself then soon after took a piss in clear view of everyone.
Then the French woman who’d given me the look appears in the distance at the bin. She starts going through it!
[Can you identify this woman?]
Then she gets my sweaty ripped shorts out. I felt violated. Had I left Anything in the pockets? No I’d checked them it was OK. What on earth.
THEN she started holding them up to herself trying them on for size. Oh my god. I burst out laughing uncontrollably and covered my mouth. She hadn’t seen me. She was stood there shamelessly holding them up to herself for ages. This was hilarious. Then she starts looking at the rip, as if to see if it was repairable – surely not it was huge. But clearly she thought it was because she opened her bag them put them inside. I was in shock but found it funny more than anything.
It’s been a great trip. However, the lasting memory I’ll have of France and cycling the canal is the thought of that woman walking around in my shorts. It’s cracking me up just thinking about it now.