Attention, J'Arrive!

Oh God where to begin. Perhaps 2 posts will suffice. I am safe and in France. Our train went south, south, south. Ann and I drifted in and out of sleep in our seats between transfers at various stations. I tried to keep awake with my face glued to the window, watching spring unfold into the later stages of summer before my eyes as we crossed lines of latitute. Budding leaves turned to sun drenched vineyards and sloping hillsides, covered with scrubby thyme and rosemary, and the occasional palm. Behind it all I caght the occasional glimpse of the formidable alps, still covered in snow. Mont Blanc itself was visible for the first portion our trip. We stepped off the train in Montelimar, much hotter than cold Geneva, and caught the bus to Vallon Pont D'Arc where Neil, our camp director picked us up. Neil is an Englishman who has been living here in the south of France for a couple of years now. We took us through the narrow streets of the village and along the steep cliffs that overlook the camp. Our Setting is a humble abode. We live in 3 person tents on a grass lot, and eat outside under an awning every day. It is freezing cold at night here, and can get blazingly hot in the day if there is no wind. It's definitely a mediterannean climate. The cliff shot is the wall that overhangs our small encampment. Our staff training is 2 weeks in and will come to an end tomorrow when the kids arrive. I have had the priveleges of some great experiences already. Vallon Pont D'Arc (Vallon for short) is the quaint French village in walking distance over the hills from our camp. It probably hasn';t changed (aside from wireless internet access) in the last 400 years. Some of these shots were taken in a confused wander through the town as we sought the bar our friends inhabited one day off afternoon. The village from a distance is an assortment of different heights of stone walls and red tile roofs, punctuated by the occasional church spire and castle ruins. Very Europena, very French. This is Ann givin' er, or 'putting some Welly into it, as Neil likes to say" . This day off we took the long way through the town, taking in the culture. We eventually happened on the Quetzal: The local watering hole. I could hardly believe that any one in this corner of the world would have even heard of the rare national bird of Costa Rica, let alone name a bar after it, until I realised that Martinique is French soil, then it all came together. The bartender was from Barcelona, so the relapse to ordering all my drinks in Spanish came much easier than my awful French, and he appreciated the refreshing change I think. It was wierd to be in a bar with kids, dogs, and cigarettes. These things don't happen where I'm from. Upon my arrival at the Quetzal I ordered a pizza known only as "Les Delicieux De La Mer" The picture explains it all. Yes those are full sized clams, lemon slices, and prawns. There was also creme and brie in the pizza. The French also have a habit, for an extra Euro or so, of cracking a sunny side up egg onto your pizza in case it isn't rich enough for you. I'm telling you man, olives, aged smelly cheese and wild boar sausage from the market as hors d'oeuvres at camp makes you want to overstay your welcome.



Onto the Rest of our week, the outdoors part. After all this food all has to go to some good cause right?