Shells, Sardines, and Salmon

I’ve been thinking about how little things can make you love or hate a place.

If you are on a tour, the glitches are handled by someone else so all you do is show up, see what you’re told to see, buy a souvenir, take a picture, and get back on the bus.

There’s a story about a woman who went to teach school in Africa. I don’t remember which country, but it’s one with a seashore. That’s an important part of the story. One day a young student brought her a present, a beautiful seashell. The teacher was surprised and pleased.

“How could you get this? The sea is a half day’s walk from here!”

The boy smiled and answered, “Long walk part of gift.”

For me, learning how to get places, making mistakes, stumbling, throwing myself on the mercy of strangers who become friends, that’s part of the travel experience I love perhaps even more than the places visited. Not knowing at the beginning of the day where I will be at the end of the day, how much I will have learned, who I will have met, and what I will have eaten (very important) are what keep me invigorated.

Adventure is not knowing what’s coming.

Like the “Welcome Party” at the timeshare, Ile des Pecheurs. Mary says that all the timeshares in her membership program have welcome parties on Sunday evenings, so we looked forward to the advertised freshly grilled sardines, specialty of the region. Because the timeshare is on an island that used to belong to sardine fishermen, hence “Ile des Pecheurs”, sardines were the logical choice. I had a hard time imagining tiny little fish not slipping through the grill. I had no idea that our sardines were the big tough ones that had escaped fishermen’s nets for several years.

It was a beautiful, warm early evening when we all met in the crowded open-air gathering area where the staff introduced themselves and told about their programs. The first staff person, who was in charge of teen activities, spoke in German. A third of the guests understood. The second staff person, in charge of the pool and exercise room, spoke in French. Another third understood. Those of us who spoke Spanish or English were out of the loop. Kind of odd, but no big deal for us since we weren’t going to use those facilities.

Mary and I were hungry. We both like fish. However, the three sardines handed to us on a paper plate looked more like trout than sardines! There was no bread to help them down, either. From glassy-eyed head to tail, guts and all, we nitted and picked our way through hundreds of tiny bones for a few miniscule pieces of fish. The effort of picking through them used more energy than was gained by eating them.

It amused me to watch the other guests demolish their sardines, everyone but the children pretending to like them, and maybe some actually did. This was the one truly awful meal we had on the whole five week trip.

Afterwards, we visited the little store and stocked up on cheese, crackers, jam, cookies, and fruit, along with a couple of hot baguettes from the on-site bakery.

The day before, Saturday, when we arrived, we hadn’t eaten much all day so walked a hundred yards or so to the beach and a tiny local restaurant. It was only 6:00, early for dinner in France, so it didn’t surprise us that not much was happening there. We would have waited, but really, we were hungry!

An embarrassed waiter said they’d have to call the chef at home, so it would be a half hour or so before the salmon dinner could be served. Fine with us, we told him, and then asked for pieces of the lemon tarte displayed on the counter. He looked puzzled until I explained that Americans often have dessert before dinner. It wasn’t a lie, because these two Americans certainly do!

The tarte was superb – I was an expert on lemon tartes by then. The chef arrived, big and burly, loud and happy to be there even though it was so early. He, too, looked twice at our tartes but the waiter explained to him about the odd habits of some Americans.

Salmon, vegetables, rice and bread – the meal, when it came, was perfection! We took a long time eating and chatting with the waiter and the cook while the sun sank lower in the sky, reflecting its changing colors in the waters of the inlet.

Is it any wonder that we expected more from the “Welcome Party” sardines? Never mind. It’s not important at all, but I thought that since Mary and I still laugh about it, you’d enjoy hearing about that adventure.