CAMPING WITH THE FRENCH

The road blocking fences with 'Inundation' signs are shoved to the side and the sun is shining hot, trying to dry out the soaked country side. It is summertime in France and the perfect camping and picknick weather. (The mosquitoes agree, they are out in full force to pester us campers). Most other (cyclo) tourists that I meet at the campsites are French. This is good news as I need to fix my broken French. But what I secretly like best about camping with the French is seeing what they eat at the campsite.

Take yesterday: I finished biking early so I could look around the town of Dole. Most stores are closed for lunch which is the perfect opportunity for 'culinary window shopping', one of my favorite activities. When the stores are closed I can drool in front of the windows without feeling awkward. Would I ever get enough of looking at the beautiful fruit tarts, the lumpy handmade sausages, the oozing moldy cheeses, the liqueurs with handwritten labels, the little chocolate pastilles for every occasion...?

I wait until my idea of heaven opens its doors: Fromagerie Comtoise. It is located in a narrow alley next to the cathedral. As you turn into the alley you can smell the cheese already. It works in a similar way popcorn and Cinnabon wafts are pumped into American shopping malls. I order 4 different cheeses from the region, the Jura. Next is a stop at the vinotheque for a Jura chardonnay and a 'tradition' bread at the boulangerie. I pick up bananas and cucumber at 'Le Panier Bio' and as I bike back I start to wonder what I was thinking getting so much food. Luckily a new camper has arrived, Jean Claude (around 60, bikes part of France each year, loves watching art and smoking in Amsterdam, does not drink wine except champagne, daughter splits time between Marseille and NYC as experimental music artist). He is also hungry from biking all day and we pull together our ingredients. It is the best possible dinner: bread and local cheeses, cucumber salad with basil olive oil and walnuts, banana and chocolate for dessert, jasmine tea. As a true gourmet, JC carries a small bag on his bike containing a tin of the basil oil, jars of honey and marmalade, walnuts he got from a special orchard, sea salt, and of course a full set of silver ware. He makes me look like a food slob.

(Some days are not quite this glamorous and lunch is a piece of bread with a tin of tuna salad that resembles cat food. Meow.)

The next morning JC offers me the leftover milk as he cannot conserve it anyway. Perfect for the muesli I still have. As I am enjoying my breakfast JC comes back from his shower and asks in horror if I am eating my milk cold. Oh la la, what a terrible breakfast!!