July 19, 2013
I have a ticket for a classical concert in the Benedictine abbey of Caunes, but it doesn't start until 9:30 p.m. Cheek by jowl with the abbey is "Le Cantine du Curé", a warm-season tapas bar that has been a big success since it opened five years ago. It stays open until 2:00 a.m., to the joy of those who want action in Caunes, to the despair of those who want quiet. The portions are huge, the prices are cheap, the drink potable, it is a successful bar.
I think the classical music concert is due to start at 7:30 p.m., another example of how Anglo-Saxon culture has permeated my thinking, even if I am living in France. I see an arrow near the abbey that says Concert and, seeing some musicians removing instruments from their cars ask them where the concert will take place.
"Right here", one of them says, as he walks into the Cantine. I have gotten my concerts mixed up.
So I walk into the bar and sit at one of the tables by the bar, order a draft beer, and half-orders of grilled cuttlefish and patatas bravas. I have a memoir of Corsica I picked up at Patrice Cartier's bookshop to read, so I settle in. There is a male crowd around the bar, but their French is so local, packed with slang, I can't follow even if I wanted to. Nonetheless, I am seated under a tree, the air is fresh after a shower an hour earlier, and the musicians have not yet set up their amplifiers.
Within a half an hour the bar is heaving with middle-aged English and French tourists and my seat is an object of covetousness. I pay the bar bill and take off, passing the outside tables of Le Mangeoire, where one or two customers are sitting, including a local dealer in African art.
Cutting through the parking lot on the "Esplanade de l'Europe" and its overlook of l'Argent Double, stream that runs through Caunes, another group of people enjoying a Friday night have congregated around a truck that makes pizzas. Among them is one of the two brothers who keep the chicken coop near the old village wall. Walking up the stairs and past the café, I spy another cluster of diners. It is summer, and the living is easy.
***
Yesterday, a Frenchman, Christophe Riblon, became the third Frenchman in the history of the Tour de France to win the stage at the Alpe d'Huez. The stage is 150 kilometers (90 miles) and one of the most grueling of the entire race. This year the organizers of the Tour imposed two ascents of the Alp just to make it tougher. The stage was won by Riblon in the last two kilometers. The other two French winners of the stage are Pierre Rolland (1992) and Bernard Hinault (1986). After watching Jean-Christophe Péraud fall twice, finally fracturing his collarbone the day before, the French victory was not only one for the record books, but demonstrated Riblon's stamina.
The Tour de France is not just a race to the finish, with the one rider who outshines all the others in average speed over the entire course winning the yellow jersey (maillot jaune), it is also a contest of endurance over the mountain climbs built into the course. So the best climber is honored and gets to wear a polka-dot riding shirt for his efforts. The best team is honored for maintaining the fastest overall pace. There used to be an award for last place, but the Tour organizers eliminated the prize as bad for competition.
The riders rid in a pack, or peloton which often includes several members of the same team. There are aerodynamic reasons for doing so, nine riders all going at full speed together create greater momentum than one rider could alone. Being at the head of the peloton makes it possible to breakaway and offers more protection against accidents, as they tend to happen at the back of the pack. Brilliant riders may ride together, as Greg LeMond and Bernard Hinault did. However, when the time came, Hinault left LeMond in the dust, having brought LeMond in only to keep his own pace at his fastest possible.
There are rules about what time meals can be taken: today Christopher Froome was docked points because he ate after the designated times, as a result of having to replace a bicycle on the road. Different cycling champions have different strengths, a select few are so gifted they dominate all the groupings. Bernard Hinault, "the Badger" (a nickname associated with his prickly personality) is one of them. Writing a brief column for today's Le Figaro, about Riblon, all he said was, "Welcome to the club".
The Tour may be tainted by doping scandals, but it still brings out the fans, who line the route for kilometers, and run after their favorite riders carrying national flags if they are compatriots. The event is a bacchanal for spectators (most of them men), who come in campers days before to get a good place on the route, those campers loaded with lots of booze. It is, after all, one of the greatest endurance contests ever, fought over a diverse and beautiful terrain at the height of summer. Who can blame fans for keeping the faith even in the light of the doping scandals? If the leader, Christopher Froome, wins --whoever wins-- there will be murmurs. Yet for the moment, all that matters is the race.
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