ying yang kakakters

[when you meet, on a beach, in the Caribbean, the next logical move is to live together and head out on an open-ended tour of anywhere] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (when you fall in love in a Caribbean paradise, life must merge your experiences further together into boundless infinity of the unknown)

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I’ve had some interesting…and some not so interesting bowel movement situations on the road. While seeming horrific at the time, they’re always funny to remember afterwards…..kind of, (apparently especially if your English).

This particular addition to the list happened to me yesterday, we had woken up parked along the front of the beach in a sleepy little Portuguese seaside town. Having covered some serious inland distance over previous days we were fairly unwashed to say the least, and if anything generally offensive to anyone within spitting distance.

The agenda for the day was to get out the van, take our routine coffee and croissant and head over to the public shower at the front of the beach armed with various soaps.

Skipping the strange, slightly goat looking locals at breakfast story and having consumed two coffees,we collected our soaps, donned our bathing suits and marched towards the showers with serious intent. Elizabeth had mentioned she wanted to use the toilet prior to the shower, these were your typical quality public toilets placed the other side of the road that ran along the beach. I waited outside admittedly slightly impatient waiting to head to the shower together for what can be a bit of a spectacle for your average tourist family vacation.

We would have to work as a team, as the shower had a push in button and stopped very quickly. Elizabeth was to shower first and I would hold the button in for her. As soon as I went to touch the button I had a horrible feeling in my stomach……it was like the contents of my whole mid stomach had suddenly let go and tried to make a quick gravity led escape through my pelvis. Using years of pelvic based muscle experience from such situations I blurted out in a delicate wounded hobble headed towards the toilets, “I need to use the toilet right now.” Elizabeth yelled something out to me, probably asking what the hell I was up to……but by now I had my urgent penguin like hobble half way across the road with the public toilets in sight!

Entering this cave like abode, lighting was low and there was an instant stench of poo. Various liquids lay around forming puddles across the floor with random scattered bits of toilet paper mashed in for good measure. As my eyes adjusted two cubicles became apparent with one out of order (obviously), the other with door ajar….. I hurried towards it with two feelings, one that I may actually get this thing out my body without too much incident, and the other questioning what horrors may lie behind door number two. Yes ok so there were puddles of various description, a foul smell and no toilet seat…….but the bowl was clear from blockage and I saw light at the end of this tunnel. Quickly turning and dropping my shorts I suddenly realised a fatal error in this situation….NO TOILET PAPER ….it’s tooooo late, that previously mentioned careful pelvic muscle control and reached it’s safe working limit and let go! Volcanic thunder ensued with machine gun like fire……the trap door had opened and the whole lot had run for the exit at the same time! Ashamed but incredibly relieved I sat there like a recuperating marathon runner.

As I was realising that the most disgusting smell in the whole building now by a long distance belonged to me, my thoughts turned to this lack of toilet paper situation and the level of destruction lying beneath and probably dripping off me…. ….no time to start thinking rationally now though as guess who’s suddenly broke my moment of relief by startling me with their entry through the men’s toilet entrance. Yes that’s right, it’s a whole year group of 7-8 year old kids on a school day out. Frantic screams, shouting, like a miniature stamped of action…….the whole frame work of my toilet cubicle started to shake. Soon the door was being tested constantly, clearly there was someone inside, this didn’t stop them and as a herd of toilet hungry, Portuguese kids started shouting through the door I wondered what to do with my poo caked buttocks.

There was no option but to pull up my shorts, as I felt the material make contact with my shape, it clung to me like paper soaking up liquid. I quick look back confirmed my fears of an apocalyptic mis-use of public amenity. I made a move, opening the door I awkwardly waddled through the crowd of disapproving looks from both kids (who I imagine named me “the poo man”) and teachers. The only thing I had going for me was that I had come prepared for a shower and now only a slippery sliddy poo walk across a tourist filled beach road lay between me and cleanliness salvation.

I reached Elizabeth and the shower with the look a badly treated RSPCA dog may carry and as I made my last desperate waddles into the path of the falling water, grabbing for the soap I described to her the ordeal I had encountered. I nice finishing touch to the whole thing was the family under their sun umbrella not 10 metres away, that had decided to turn their backs on the ocean to watch the clearly far more interesting spectacle of me de-pooing my self in public. I stepped out the shower now into the sun drying and as the whole class of kids walked past pointing and frowning I considered the morning I had been though……I thought to myself, soon I will be able to laugh about this

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Portugal ...Praia de Nazare

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Mimizan....great beach stop, shame Elizabeth decided to wee on the van

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Arcachon up the rickety Belvedere look out......luvely lil place

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Do your chores elizabeth

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Sunset in Bordeaux and time to get your splash on

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BORDEAUX

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Bordeaux

BORDEAUX I ate smoked salmon plain out of the bag for breakfast, then found 2 pieces of bread in the van and made a sandwich out of edible necessity.  Ross ate a cheap chicken sandwich and two pane chocolates... we wanted the pastries crispy and fresh from a patisserie like we had yesterday morning from this village with a huge dolphin satue in the middle.  Only found a supermarket this morning... Rainy drive to Bordeaux, listening to Calvin Harris.  Ross won’t stop calling me an enchanted poo.

!<BACCHUS GREW ROSES>!

Next, listened to entire Shpongle set on the way to Bordeaux, driving through country chateaus... Finally arrived to the city of Bordeaux!  We spent about an hour driving through the small streets trying to find a parking spot that would fit our vehicle.  Almost seemed impossible until we managed to find a perfect spot only a little outside the center of town.  Bordeaux is an old city with a lot of young people.  Lots of food & drink outdoor social situations.  We witnessed an absolutely stunningly beautiful sunset by the famous fountains in the square.  What a sight!  Truly memorable.  Scooting around, we found a quaint corner spot to buy an (expensive!) beer... decided to head to Arcachon so that we could be closer to the beach in the morning and have more reliable parking.  Vowed to return to Bordeaux as there seemed to be so much to explore, but too little time for us to venture right now.

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--****Ile de Re****--

An island on the map caught our eye, which seemed to have a long bridge stretching out to it.  After negotiating a maze of backroads, we finally found the entrance to this bridge - which, to our shock as we passed through the gate, cost 16 euros.  THIS BETTER BE GOOD!  So we paid with great expectations and headed over a very high-arched bridge, then descended down into a thin spit of land surrounded by golden sandy beaches.  It seemed that the minions of the world had decided to decant exactly at this spot, however we sought the furthest point and hopefully most secluded.  Surprisingly, 40 minutes passed and we finally reached a car-park with a lighthouse at the end.  There was slight ‘day-tripper’ residue lingering around our beers and ice cream, but as the sun started to hang low in the sky, they soon headed out.  Found out here Ross is really skilled at knowing what the French strangers are saying when they approach us... I’m just good at smiling.  This, however, was not the spot we were looking for.  We drove an extra 10 minutes through some small lanes, and then a tiny forest, finding a sandy access to the beach surrounded by pine trees.  This would be our and only our spot for the night.  Now I have been wanting Ross to shave his beard, out of sheer curiosity, so that I could see what he looks like without it.  He insisted he has to go into the water straight after so as to not get any of the little hairs in our bed.  So, we were on a mission to have that finished as soon as possible before it getting too cold to swim.  Well, mission accomplished, with Ross not too happy about the procedure.  I, on the other-hand, was delighted to see his clean, fresh face look just as handsome as before.  With swimming executed before the demise of temperature, we returned back to the van for dinner, which turned out to be a tinned-fishy revelation.  A supermarket aisle drew us in earlier that day, where we found a selection of tinned fish in different sauces of which now, will be a staple in our diet.  Tonight’s variation was mixed in with pasta and of course, Frank’s hot sauce.  After-hours led us back to the ocean at sunset, where we set our chairs up on a sand-dune, drank red wine, and pondered the mystery of chem-trails (with very mixed views).  Rough seas ahead.  The rain came pouring down on the roof of our van, inches to where we sleep.  In complete and total darkness, the sound was incomprehensibly loud and I felt like I was in a vacuum.  Called for a grouchy next day, but to more beaches we were headed.  

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PORNICHE

PORNICHE On route south.  We bought the essentials in a supermarket - lounge chairs, toothbrushes, and beer.  Porniche was lined with hotels, crowded with tourists - it took awhile for us to find a good spot to park.  We ended up being alongside the ocean again, and we took a dip only to find the water to be less satisfying as yesterday’s spot... swarms of tiny fish and murky visibility.  Ross has an explanation for it that I try not to think about... We cooked our first dinner in the van, pasta and sauce, and broke out the chairs.  We realized that there is a lot of money floating around Porniche... gorgeous little neighborhood!  This was the weekend of France’s Fete de la Musique... we followed the loud music through dark streets at midnight, driving in the van... we stumbled upon tents and classic cars in the town’s “heliport,” because you know, all towns have heliports.  The main noise came from the band “CRYSOS,” possibly “crisis,” who were more of a cabaret show than a band.  Middle-aged couples and kids littered the dance-floor, with the odd teenager staggering through swinging from a bottle of rose.  Ross and I were confused, to say the least, but decided to stay and enjoy the band’s theatrical coverage of new and old pop songs.  Felt like a cross between Disneyworld and a cruise ship, with intriguing undertones of Christian cult.  So we went back to the van and downed some whiskey.   *LISTENED TO “NANTES” by BEIRUT DRIVING THROUGH NANTES!* *”Wave after wave... slowly drifting”*

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CONCARNEAU

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CONCARNEAU

The perfect first location to sleep!  Driving down south from the ferry in Roscoff, we found Concarneau.  A small coastal town of 20,000 inhabitants that offered us a semi-private oasis of clear water, pebbled sand, and lovely open parking-spot that gave us an incredible view of our  first French sunset together.  Our first dip in the ocean!  The water softened our hair and the sun put sparkles in our eyes.  Coming out was a bit chilly, but no worries- Ross had the great idea to press our bodies against the hot stone wall that encircled the cove we swam in.  I remember sitting in the sand, casually collecting stray pieces of sea-glass at my feet, and thanking myself for allowing this moment to exist by whatever choices I have made thus far.  Time escapes us, as always, when Ross & I realize it’s almost 11pm, and we need to go find dinner.  We scooted off and landed at a creperie called Ti Clementine... absolutely delicious crepes, accidentally-ordered fancy bottled water, staple red wine, and a friendly, rather animated waiter named Xavier, all allowed our first dining experience to be simply beautiful for our first night out of England, out of New York, out of all the places that we had rather not be...

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