PICTURE THIS - 001

PICTURE THIS

Let’s try something a little different.  Instead of a bunch of pictures, we are going to try a thousand words.  After all that is what a picture is supposed to be worth, is it not? 

While shopping in town I heard a rather loud commotion about a block away and progressing toward my location.  Across the intersection I could see a crowd swaying and dancing toward where I stood.  At the head of this multitude (over a hundred) was a casket held over the heads of the pallbearers and being turned from side to side as they moved to the music and progressed down the street.

A couple of young men with painted faces stepped into the intersection and rerouted traffic as the assembly prepared to go by.  Soon, they were on my side of the street and passing within a few feet of where I stood.  Everyone in the marketplace paused as they went by and gave their attention, if only for a moment, to the funeral.  There appeared to be a mix of friends, relatives and paid mourners all in some stage of emotional display of respect and honor for the deceased. 

Upon inquirery I was told that this type of display was reserved only for those over seventy years of age and respected in their community.  It was one of those moments that are best remembered in the mind’s eye rather than on a little piece of photograph.

Minutes after passing, the market was back to business as usual.

Another time and place:

As a special treat I am taking myself out for dinner at my favorite restaurant, La Douceur. This is a little place that Jon and Heidi introduced me to on my visit in 2010.  Had a little trouble finding it this trip and spent many trips up and down back alley ways on my moto trying to locate it.  Even after finding it once, finding it again was a challenge.  Now if I start at the “major” intersection in town I can find it readily and do so whenever I seek some special treat.

I call the street an alley as a courtesy as it barely qualifies for that definition.  La Douceur is a Hotel Restaurant that might be called a Bistro in France.  Come with me. As we enter from the street level we pass thru an area with four tables and a TV on the wall.  It is almost a terrace area, only not truly open to the street.  Descending several flagstone steps, we pass by a sitting room that leads to the “lodging” or hotel area.  A few more steps downward and on our right is a small bar with seating for half a dozen, although it is empty but for the one server on duty.  Curving to the left as we descend the final eight or ten steps we arrive at the dining area. 

Our table is ahead to your right, the second table from the entrance and about eight meters from the central source of entertainment (a small TV) on the far end of the room.   Look around you as we seat ourselves.  The room is about twelve meters square.  The quarter to our left as we entered is partially walled, behind which is the “kitchen” area.  There are three tables (four tops) in this area and where we are sitting three more. In the center area another table and at the far side a table that will seat fourteen or maybe sixteen.  To the left of that on a raised dais is a table for four that would be for guests of honor.

 Our table is for four and your seat faces toward what is the back wall, if there was a wall.  Two full sides and part of the other two walls are open to the garden surrounding the dining room.  The garden is about three meters deep and walled from the outside world.  From your seat, you could lean to your right and touch the plants that are moving in the gentle breeze.  Notice that they are still wet from the rain that has only a few minutes ago stopped falling. 

Here is our server.  “Bonsoir”.  Knowing that my French is less than limited, she has brought our menu and a small dish of shelled peanuts to munch on.  Selecting a small salad to start and an entrée of “bœuf bernaise” and “pommes frites” with  Tonic for me and bottled water for you, we are free to enjoy our own company for the next fifteen minutes as everything is prepared to order.

Notice the pillar in what would be the middle of the room.  It is about two feet in diameter and eight feet tall.  From the top radiate twenty eight 3X3 inch poles, like the ribs of an umbrella, they reach to the thatched roof that is at least twenty feet overhead.  Rain still drips from the edges and adds background to the chirps, peeps and sounds of the insect life in the garden.  With the sun setting the activity increases.  An iguana looking for his evening meal creeps along the wall nearest your side.  A chameleon doing what he does best is almost unnoticed as he blends with a colorful plant behind me.  Don’t be surprised if a small rat is among the visitors over the wall, he lives here too. 

What?  What are you looking at?  Oh, the TV behind me has what program??? OH, NO!  It is Urkel of “Family Matters” and he is speaking French.  That has got to go!  “Madame!”  “Madame, s'il vous plaît!!!”  “Ah, merci beaucoup!!” 

That is no way to spend our time together.  He was annoying in English.  In French he is how you say annoying.  This gentle African music makes a much nicer background. 

Ah, here is our meal.  “Bon appétit”, says our server as she places our plates before us.   I like the simple garnish of a small tomato sliced lengthwise and with the heart cut out only an outline remains.  The sauce is excellent in flavor and the beef itself is so tender you can cut it with your fork.  The French fries are not as greasy as we are used to in the states, but almost a baked crispness.  I find that with the salt clumping in the moist climate it works best for me to take the lid off and coax the salt out with the handle of a small spoon. 

…….and so it goes.

I have enjoyed your company and hope we can do this again soon.

This is my treat to myself and I wish you could be here to share it with me.