24th March 2012. It was a lovely warm morning down by the river and there was a good turn-out. I went out in a mixed ability VIII sculler and it's always sorties like these that are the most tiring. I was at 2 (which corresponds to 7 in the UK/US) and the upriver leg was fine. We stopped after 10 minutes to take our warm-up tops off as they were clearly redundant. At the turn-around point, the cox and the stroke changed over and the return leg was - how to say it - less rewarding. We did 14km.
We had lunch outside on the terrace again today.. and I finished up with a Greek coffee and a contemplative cigarillo.. I was still getting over the morning sortie and the heat coupled with a glass or two of wine had me ready for a siesta.
At the end of the afternoon, we went for a drink on the terrace of the bar/restaurant La Plancha (above), on the beach at Bidart, just below the Château d'Ilbarritz (mentioned a couple of posts ago). It must have been 22-24C out there on the terrace. Definitely a new addition to my list. Here's something that sounds as fresh today as the day it was recorded - in 1959!
In case you've ever wondered who the great undiscovered literary talent behind this blog is - pause while the guffaws die down - I've decided to respond to several requests and break cover at last.Here's a fairly recent photograph of me hard at it at the editorial desk! This must have been taken on a 'dress down Friday' and it looks like the pressures of getting the latest post out and the long working days are slowly getting to me..
26th March 2012. We ate outside on the terrace this evening for the first time this year.. Now where did I put my Eric Morecambe shorts?
27th March 2012. A perfect evening's row up the river on a warm, still evening - shorts and t shirt in the boat for the first time this year. 14km. Once back home, after a quick shower and change, it was straight out to our west-facing terrace for a roast farm chicken eased down with a glass or two of Burgundy. Afterwards, I sat there feeling pleasantly tired in the evening sunlight listening to the sound of birds twittering and the distant hum of traffic as I watched the pale contrails of jets as they sped silently northwards. It was with great reluctance that I replaced the cork in the bottle! As my uncle used to say: you've got to know when to hold, know when to fold and know when to walk away.
29th March 2012. We decided to go to San Sebastian this morning to try and achieve terminal meltdown of my credit card. Don't get any big ideas though - two packets of peanuts would be enough to do that! The first strange thing was that we were waved through the first motorway toll that we came to in Spain.. and then on arrival at our favorite underground parking garage in downtown San Sebastian, it was suspiciously easy to find a space.
D'Ayuntamiento San Sebastian - or Council buildings
Then when we emerged into the daylight we noticed that every shop was closed. Not only every shop, but also there was not a single kiosk, bar, café or restaurant open. The streets were curiously busy and there were flyers scattered everywhere on the pavements in Spanish and Basque proclaiming that today was a General Strike. Sure enough, we spotted some red flags in the distance as groups of strikers started gathering. Walking through town we half expected to find at least one little dissident café open for business but no - the Basque solidarity was impressive. It was a beautiful day too for bumbling around shops pensioner-style but after a while we realised that nice though San Sebastian is to wander around, there's not much point if everything, as in everything, is closed.
Maria Christina bridge
So it was back to the car and we headed off back towards France again. I think we got away just in time as a massive demonstration was forming up across the river to march into town - and that would cause traffic chaos. The column was at least 20 people wide and it stretched back for ½ mile probably.By this stage, stomachs were threatening wild cat strike action if food wasn't taken pronto so we swung off the motorway at St Jean de Luz and a few minutes later we were installed on the terrace of Chez Pantxua at Socoa. Just look away for the next few minutes while I recall what we had - mmmm-mmmmm - OK, it's safe to come back now! Suffice to say, it's the best place for seafood by 1.6km. (that's a mile to you!) Almost forgot - two hungry strike-breaking Spanish couples sat down at the next table and in a touching display of solidarity with the strikers they started by ordering a bottle of Bollinger* - the ladies had foie gras to start with while the men had oysters..
It was such a beautiful late afternoon that I raised myself from my post-lunch snooze stretched out on the terrace (in swimming trunks no less!) to get changed for an evening row. It turned out that I was the only bloke-type person there and so we put an VIII out on the water. I must say it went very well, apart from a congenital need to stop for a chat at suitable intervals..!! Joking aside, it was a very worthwhile sortie and it felt like a crew that had rowed together for some time. So Tick VG from me! Think we did 12km.
I was taking an inventory of the fridge contents after lunch (OK, aka casual thieving!) and I noticed a packet of Ossau-Iraty cheese in the cheese box. If you've been paying attention (Post #179 refers) you'll remember that this is the cheese that's been adjudged to be the Best Cheese in the World.. I might just try some this evening.
4th April 2012. I'm afraid I've been neglecting the broad sunlit uplands of Blogistan lately but, as always, I have a convincing explanation. I've been knee-deep in reviewing, correcting and occasionally re-writing just shy of 1,000 PowerPoint slides on aircraft flight deck instruments of every flavor - some of which hadn't even been thought of when I was last directly involved in aviation.. As you might expect, a thorough understanding of flight deck instrumentation in minute detail takes center stage in any Commercial Pilots course and so it is that I've been burning the midnight oil lately, wearing a flat spot on my backside, armed with a couple of hefty technical Anglo-French dictionaries, trying to make sense of some of the slides and put them in Angliche.
"So whyja wanna be an airline pilot, son?"
Young man's dream (or fantasy!)
