A Bullfight!

We chose the least expensive seats, so of course, they were at the top. We complained about all the steps, but once at the top, we decided the view was well worth it.

" We waited for an hour while the crowd filed in, listening to the vendors yelling, "Chapeaus", "Boisson Fresh", and "shoo shoo", whatever that is!

The pomp and circumstance started as soon as the arena was filled. Matadors, roman soldiers with huge feathers sticking out of their helmets, and armored horses all marched out in a parade, then took their places behind the perimeter wall.

Then silence, the drum roll, then they let the first bull out. He was mad from the start. A group of bullfighters with pink capes taunted him. In an arena that large, we could hear each bullfighter's "heeeeey" to the bull. He would run at them, under their cape, then to the next. At times, another bullfighter would run at the bull with no cape, but with two spears, one in each hand. The bull in response, would run full speed at him. The bullfighter would then spear the bull in the back and quickly run away.

After several moments of this, the "head matador" (I'm not familiar with bullfighting terms) came out to great cheering. The other bullfighters moved aside, and the Matador tipped his hat to the crowd in all directions. He dramatically tossed the hat behind him and headed straight for the bull. Dead silence. Exhibiting great showmanship with his red cape, he called in a deep growly voice, "Hey, hey". As the bull, growing madder and madder, ran under his cape, the crowd would yell in unison, "Ole'!" Then silence again out of respect for the Matador.

As the show went on, the Matador would walk with his back to the bull, showing his bravery. When the bull got close, he would stretch and bend over allowing the cape to take the bull.

The first Matador made an error in judgement and the bull got his horns stuck into the Matador's leg and threw him into the air, then to the ground. The Matador lost his cape and a shoe. All the other bullfighters came to his rescue, distracting the bull. When the injured Matador regained his composure, he came back into the arena, the crowd cheered, happy that the bull hadn't won.

He soon put the bull out of his misery (details too disturbing for this blog) to the great delight of the crowd. Two horses were let into the arena to drag the bull out.

There were two more fights, but we had had seen enough and chose to make out way down through the crowd of 15,000. It was a unique experience, but sad and disturbing. I will never see another bullfight, and that is okay by me.

Nimes

Nimes

Vineyard and Sea

After the day at the sea, we headed east to Nimes, the town denim was first made in (de'nim) I really wanted to buy a pair of jeans from Nimes, but sadly, found none. I don't think the French are as crazy about jeans as we, Americans, are. We rarely see anyone in jeans and when we do, we say, "They must be Americans."

Close to the coast, the countryside looked to me like I would imagine Italy to look like. Vineyard after vineyard, row after row, the growing grapes will someday be wine on someone's table. Perhaps, my own.

Nimes was holding their annual Feria De Nime Festival, a Pentecost celebration. There were street vendors selling chapeaus (hats) and matador scarves. The sun was beaming, so I purchas3d the hat and Kurt bought the scarf.

There were many food vendors selling paella in huge woks. My children chose that, but I opted for pizza. We have discovered the French don't eat on the run like we do. They sit...they smoke...they talk and laugh...they have a drink...then they order their meal. They take the time to savor each bite. Then they smoke...they drink...they talk and laugh. Then, they have dessert. When all that is finished, they have a cafe' (and another smoke), A course of its own, cafe' is meant to be enjoyed all by itself.

We learned that there was a bullfight four hours later. We sat together on a big green lawn, filled with festival goers, and discussed if we should stay for the bullfight or drive home to Baran. Chelsea REALLY wanted to stay for it, but I didn't care to. Kurt broke the tie and we decided to stay. When else would we ever see one?

We spent the next few hours seeing Nimes, glorious fountains, a peaceful hilltop park, and the Maison Caree, built in 19 BC. It is hard to comprehend that length of time and try to imagine the men who built it.

And then, off to the bullfight.

Mediterranean Sea and Dinner in Perpignan

Mediterranean Sea

Tired of the rain, we headed to the beaches in the south of France. It was a long drive, but so worth it for some much-needed sunshine. We stopped along the way to purchase some beach mats and towels, then found a public beach and hauled our new beach items along the brown pebbly beach. It was such a contrast to the white sandy beaches of the Gulf of Mexico.

The water was very cold, so we didn't get in too deep. There weren't many people on the beach since it was early in the season. Unbeknownst to us, on France's public beaches, tops are optional. On one side of there was a pregnant woman and on the other side an elderly Asian lady, both of whom had chosen that option. Awkward for us. After a sunny day on this beautiful Mediterranean beach, we were ready for a good meal.

Dinner in Perpignan

Dressed for dinner at La France Restaurant

Two of my three children making silly faces.

After dinner, we stopped in a narrow pathway to listen to a local band play for just a bit. We were tired from all the sun and just wanted to chill in our hotel room. It was a brand-new hotel, very modern. We had to put our room key in the slot for the electricity to come on in the room.

It was interesting to flip through the television channels and watch old episodes of ER and Murder She Wrote, dubbed in French. The only English-speaking channel was the BBC...boring.