La Massane

October 24th

Today we woke up early and packed a picnic lunch for a hiking trip on the mountain above La Massane. La Massane is one of two ruined medieval towers that sit perched over the area. The other, which is slightly further south and east is called La Madeloc. La Massane is situated at approximately 2500 ft above sea level and its sister tower La Madeloc sits lower around 2100 ft. They both date to the 13th century and provide incredible views of the coast and the villages on the plain just north.

We left the house with Tintin in the car and drove several hundred feet up the base of the mountain. On the 15 minute car ride, we could only go at 5 to 10 mph. The "road" was a single lane dirt path covered in rocks and potholes. It cut a steep winding route up the north face of the mountain to the start of the hiking trails. As we bounced over large stones and potholes, the car hopped and shuddered. On several blind turns, my father had to honk before threading the car between a cliff face and a sheer unfenced drop. My unease subsided when we finally parked. It was about 9:30 am at that point. Leaving the car, we put on our backpacks, found good walking sticks and started up the wooded trail. Tintin followed closely along, sniffing the trail feverishly. Occasionally she would pick up a stick and carry it along, until something else (usually a nicer stick) distracted her.

The first zone we hiked through was a dense chestnut and oak forest which was dark and moist. Frequently along the footpath, there was cow dung and the ground was dug up as if by wild boar. After some time, we passed a stone shelter situated on small incline at the end of the oak tree line. As we passed the shelter we came into a beech tree forest. The ground was sandy and rocky and had little if any low lying foliage. The sole sound was a constant wind through the leafless trees.
The grey of the beech trees and the rocks gave the place a stagnant feeling of long passed ruin. The smaller trees which lined the trail were twisted and gnarled like witch fingers reaching out of the grave. For a moment as I caught my breath I imagined that our darkest fairy tales could have easily been imagined in places like this. We continued, climbing up what seemed like a natural stone stairway of jagged marble and granite.

At a sort of plateau, pine trees replaced the beech trees and the smell of cow dung returned. A few cows stood to our left and ignoring us, continued to chew what little grass they could find. The air was cooler, the soil darker and the thicker tree line offered us a barrier against the wind. To continue higher, we first had to descend to the edge of a small river, cross it and then ascend from the far bank. As we came to the near side of the riverbank, upstream we saw a small natural rock waterfall and a cow lapping a lazy tongue at its edge. Before crossing the river, my father issued a warning, saying that there were bulls running free in the pastures above us and that if I saw a bull and he seemed agressive my best option would be to run. Taking that into account I cautiously crossed the river walked onto the next portion of the trail.

This region was covered in a mixture of pine, chestnut and cork trees. Below the trees the ground was covered in a thick semi-decayed layer of leaves and humus. In certain places, thorny bramble and holly had overgrown the path and made progress slow and prickly. When we finally emerged from the last bits of thorny branch, we stood on the edge of a high pasture filled with cows and goats, some wooden fencing and an 800 year old stone hut which had been converted into a weather refuge for hikers.

Off to the side of the semi enclosed pasture, we found some good flat rocks and sat down to break for lunch. We ate some salted tomatoes and cucumber with cheese, some bread and sardines and finished up with a clementine and some fig cookies. We packed up after lunch and found a campsite just off of the next part of the trail. Around a small fire sat a small group of twenty-somethings roasting sausages. We nodded hello and continued to climb up a moderately inclined rock cliff to the highpoint on this shoulder of the mountain range. At the very top was a single olive tree swaying almost symbolically like a flag. Across a long ridge maybe 1000 meters away we could see another higher peak- maybe the highest locally. It looked reachable and I really wanted to continue but dark storm clouds had developed and my father was nervous that we would get caught in a hailstorm or rockslides if we didnt start to head back down the mountain. So we turned around and followed our path back. Tintin lead the way triumphantly with an stick that looked three times too big for her. We got back to the car three hours later. Food was not enough to keep me awake, so I climbed into bed hoping my legs wouldnt be too sore the following day.

Riding the bike along a dried out riverbed

October 23rd Friday

I woke up late because of the previous night's food and drink. I felt guilty about the rich food so I decided to go on another long bike ride. This time I decided to ride west and explore the towns of St. Andre and St. Genis des Fontaines. I took a bike trail west along a dried out riverbed took a couple of pictures of the snow capped Mount Canigou, some peripheral mountains, a pony I passed by on a ranch and some of the dry scrubland adjacent to the bike path.

The towns themselves turned out to be rather dull and uninspiring places so I just veered off and rode the bike around some nearby vineyards for an hour before heading back to Argeles.

I ate a late lunch of meatloaf and string beans and then read and napped before taking an afternoon trip to the beach. I was too tired to be hungry at dinner so I ate a small portion of rabbit stew and passed out.

Les Suisses

October 22 Thursday

Today I got up early and walked to the closest boulangerie to get bread for breakfast. I bought a pave au lin and tried it toasted with orange marmalade. Pretty good.

After breakfast, I checked the weather which was reported to be good all day. Given the change in the weather, I decided to take another long bike ride. I chose the mountainous coastal road to Collioure and enjoyed the winding elevated views over the beautiful sapphire blue coast. When I descended into Collioure I locked the bicycle and walked around to explore parts of the town I hadn't seen on my first pass. The downtown buildings are all huddled close together and are too narrow for cars or much sunlight. Walking from alley to alley I found a lot of restaurants, and expensive boutiques of what I guess I would call designer goods with an artisanal facade. There was a custom soap, cosmetics and linens shop and an expensive leather goods store and

then pottery and an art gallery- that kind of thing. It seemed like the kind of place that wealthier middle aged or retired couples without children might prefer. The place definitely has some natural charm but I prefer Argeles, which to me is more modest and maybe more authentic.

I eventually got tired of looking at expensive home goods and took the mountain coastal road back to Argeles. When I got back I found out that we were going to have dinner guests. One of the neighboring houses on our street is owned by a Swiss couple and my father decided to invite them for dinner. He told me that they both teach music and that the wife, Suzane recently finished her first book. He also mentioned that they both spoke English.

They arrived at 8 and after an aperitif and some small talk we settled down for another little feast. The first course was seafood crepes with shrimp and scallops and some kind of deliciously salty creme sauce. For the main dish, along with a local red wine we ate braised pork chops with a seasoned sesame seed spinach and crisp potato croquettes. Cheeses followed and then we retreated upstairs to the TV room to recline a bit before having dessert and champagne. The first dessert was an apple raspberry tart which was small and light considering all the other food.

The second dessert was a creme de framboise with marscapone and hazelnut cake and it was completely delicious. We stayed on the couches talking for another hour or so and then by midnight we were all clearly fading from the alcohol and sugar so we said "Bonne nuit" and went

to bed. Normally I would include more about the Swiss couple but the alcohol left most of the conversation hazy in my memory the following day.

The rain just north of Spain falls mainly in France

October 21st Wednesday

The throughout the early morning, an unrelenting rain hovered over Argeles. The sound against the roof was like nails falling on stone. By sun up, the rain had softened somewhat, but it remained unseasonably cool and wet for most of the day. Consequently we stayed in until late afternoon. I worked on my french and read a book about the colonial American Navy. After lunch we walked out into the village to see the flea market and check for mushrooms in the garden. The Wednesday flea market was spare. Most people stayed home. The yield from the garden mushroom patch was also unremarkable. We found 2 coulemelles again but they were over ripe. We buried them in a leaf pile next to the main patch and went home. We took no pictures today so I added a picture of the market on a sunny day for reference.

Il etait gris, ainsi j'ai ecrire

Mardi, October 20th

It was overcast and windy much of the day. I played catch up with the blog and wrote. On my way to Chez Elisabeth which is a small vegetable market around the corner I bumped into Barbara and Donna. They are both originally from the Boston area but prefer Europe. Barbara is a former anthropology professor and is now the owner of a used book store and dressmaker's shop. She spent 30 years working in Senegal, but now in semi-retirement she lives in Argeles year-round. Donna is an American writer and journalist and splits her time between Geneva and Argeles. They both absolutely love it here. We talked briefly and I told them that I wanted to make a NY style cheesecake with fresh local goat cheese. They seemed intrigued and asked to try some samples once it was ready later in the week. I continued on my stroll through town, picking up ingredients for the cake and for lunch. On my way back to the house I stopped by Chez Elizabeth to get some basil and the owner gave me a bundle for free.

For lunch I made an eggplant parmigiana and we invited Daniel. He brought some wine and an apple tart for desert. We had another spirited discussion which ran out of gas around 2pm. The rain started shortly after Daniel left and I retreated into a book my father had pulled out of storage, "3333 proverbs in Haitian Creole."

Here are a few examples:

- With a lot of patience you can see the teats of an ant.

- If you can't catch a flying witch, saddle a werewolf instead.

-Only a fool would try to wash a dirt floor.

-Nothing dries faster than tears.

-Long before the donkey had sores, flies got along just fine, I can do without you.

-Before a dog eats a big bone, he would be wise to measure his asshole.

-Hunger is the best sauce.

-The stable boy rides more often than the master.

-The cudgel that beats the black dog can also beat the white dog.

-A beautiful face without grace is like a fish hook without bait.

-A good cabaret needs no sign.

-Good wine is what you drink at your friend's house.

-He tries to make square farts with a round ass.

-Gluttons dig their graves with teeth.

The abridged story of Nelson Newhull Part I

Born into privilege in December of 1924, Nelson Newhull (name changed) was the only son of a wealthy New York family. His father was a lawyer and his mother was a Rochester socialite. He saw little of either growing up and was raised primarily by nannies who catered to his every whim. Nelson was a uniquely bright child and could have excelled in school. However, as a youngster he was often overtaken by abruptly changing fits of anger and depression. He frequently overreacted to criticism. Around other people he was loud and boastful, and without provocation he commonly insulted strangers and acquaintances alike. As a consequence, his time at school was a challenge. Despite his exceptional cognitive ability, his grades suffered. He grew averse to school. He was frequently truant in his teens, preferring instead to play cards and chess at illegal gambling dens around the city.

In 1943 he left high school and immediately enlisted in the army. He was sent to the U.K. after boot camp to participate in the Allied landing at Normandy. He survived the war, and despite losing his left eye, he remained in France until 1947. During his last two years in the army, he continued playing chess and poker for money and by the end of his tour he had amassed close to $100,000 in winnings. (He later boasted to my father that some of his money had been made through petty thievery and murder. In one story, he claimed to have killed the owners of a cigar factory in France in order to raid the place for cigars. He told my father that he and a few other men netted 2 truckloads of cigars and sold them to Allied troops for a huge profit.)

In addition to gambling, Nelson had also developed a penchant for drinking and prostitutes while he was in France. Upon his return to New York, with no real aims, no friends, and no want for money, Nelson became a flashy, hard drinking, shit talking professional gambler. To gambling events, he often carried "good luck" Nazi paraphernalia he had acquired during the war. For nearly 13 years, he supported his lavish self-indulgent lifestyle travelling the country to play poker and book horse racing and sporting events. Around 1960, Nelson began loansharking as well.

That was when his previously "friendly" relations with Italian organized crime figures turned sour. Nelson was never actually liked in his gambling circles, but he was tolerated because his book making activities made the Italian wire rooms money. All that changed in 1960 when he roughed up a low level mob guy over a bad debt. The Italian response, whatever it was, forced Nelson to flee the U.S. and so he bought a 50 ft yacht and taught himself to sail. That was how he ended up in the Bahamas. For the next few years he improved his sailing acumen and used the yacht to make a living, chartering tourists around the islands. Although he had largely ceased to gamble, he had continued full throttle to drink heavily everyday. Sometimes, to combat his worsening mania he would drink 4 or 5 liters of whiskey per week.

It was at some point in the mid sixties then, that while he was still chartering two things happened: he was diagnosed with rectal cancer and then he met his first wife. She was his nurse and also a uterine cancer survivor herself so she felt especially empathetic toward Nelson when she first met him in the hospital. Partly due to the hysterectomy and partly due to childhood abuse, she had extremely low self esteem. Around Nelson she was exceptionally submissive . He took complete advantage of her and she accepted his brutality for 3 years until she finally found the courage to leave him. The rectal cancer stayed. In the year before he met my father, it was surgically removed along with his rectum. In its place, a colostomy bag clung to his side.

It was then, in 1969 that my father met Nelson at a marina in Freeport. They happened to be docked along side each other and would say "good morning" or "hello" on occasion. My father could see that Nelson owned a large yacht, was well dressed, and that he wore a large crimson patch over his left eye. He would later come to know all the rest first hand and at great risk to his own life.

pas du tout un lundi maniaque

Monday October 19th

Today was largely quiet. I Did some laundry, bought some things at the local grocery store "SHOPI" and was accosted for money briefly by a mendiant (beggar). At lunch, my father told me how he came to establish his business in Haiti. He told me about his business partner, whom he met in the Bahamas, and how their relationship led to the building of the Yellowbird. The business partner, whose name my father requested to be changed for the blog, deserves at least one unique post dedicated to his story if not more. The next post will be the start of his story.