Day 10 - Rest Day 1

13 July 2009

Unfortunately, I couldn’t sleep much longer than 10:30am, plus if I did, I’d miss breakfast. That’s no way to start off a rest day. So I got up.

Matt had the low-down on a sporting goods store he had passed the night before, so we loaded up in search of balls, tees, etc. Much to our dismay, the mega-size sporting goods store had none of these things. They apparently don’t play much golf here in France; which is funny, because every time I come here, that’s what I do on my rest days. We wandered around town for half an hour only to come up empty handed.

At the same time, Matt was trying to find a decent fishing rod to take down to the local river. He was coming up equally as empty handed. Our fourth, Hagen’s son, Jack, was yet to awake from his slumber, so I took the opportunity to grab a quick shower and get some decent golfing clothes on. After taking some time to figure out which course to go, (and, after confirming they had not only clubs for rent but a cart as well), we finally hit the road. Except, Matt still needed his fishing pole.

Around the corner from our hotel was the one of the oldest and most eccentric hardware stores I’d ever been in. If you could think of it, this guy had it. Matt found his fishing pole. Hagen could’ve spent an entire day in there. But we had golf to get to.

Finally teeing off at 3:10pm, we played pretty decent. It was another hot day out, much akin to the conditions I usually come upon playing when I’m in France. Not only did I remember to bring my sunscreen, I remembered to put it on as well. We got 9 holes in before dehydration and fatigue set in, and by then it was time to get back to the Pétanque tournament.

I’m not sure if I can properly set the scene for you here, so please refer to the pictures as a visual guideline. In the middle of the town square of Bonnat, the Pétanque field was setup for a grand tournament, fitting of a mayor. Actually, the mayor was there. And he played a tough game. My team lost in the first round, so I was forced to watch everyone else play. It’s quite the competitive game.

That’s when, during the middle of our somewhat private town party, some interesting characters approached. A woman, our age, dressed up far too much for an outdoor party, walked up and said, in the thickest of New Jersey accents, “you guys are American??” I did a double take. Long story short, the former Bayonne resident somehow got tipped off that the Americans were staying here (in Bonnat), and she was desperate to hear the familiar language. She lives with her extended family in Dijon (which, is nowhere even CLOSE to Bonnat), who she also dragged along with her. I got to talking to the uncle for some time, a hybrid Italian/French/American, who insisted I speak in English. Among the highlights of the conversation was pointing out his Dodge Durango with New Jersey license plates he shipped over in a container because he “didn’t like all these small European cars.”

After Phil, Paul, and Matt defeated the mayor and his squad, an impromptu awards ceremony commenced in the town square, where I took multiple paparazzi-style pictures. We retreated to an included dinner back at the hotel, drank the wine I got earlier in the day at the Carrefour (French WalMart), and made it a relatively early night. I know, boring. Whatever, this entry was dragging on.