Fuel for memories

DATELINE: Friday, Oct. 20, in Vaison

Hang in there, friends, through just one more day in and around Vaison. The weekend ahead will resume our travels to more big lunches.

But back to Friday. After breakfast, the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, four people stood there: a couple about our age, and two younger men loaded down with bulky equipment. We looked at one another with blank incomprehension. Did they think we were expecting them? Finally, I conjured up the French for "Can I help you?" After Roz joined the conversation, it became clear that the older couple were purchasing the abutting house west of ours. This procedure required an extremely accurate survey of the property's dimensions. But one key exterior surface was only exposed in the little patio off the guest bedroom on our second floor. They asked if they could come in and use their satellite/laser measurement system to measure that surface accurately. With some wariness, we said yes.

The following half hour was an interesting mix of high technology surveying, mis-matched languages, and clumsy conversations. But I was impressed by the politeness which made all this pleasant. The putative house buyers especially liked the view of the Roman ruins from our front bedroom. Handshakes all 'round as they departed. I hope the deal works out for the twosome; they seem like good potential neighbors.

Later, during our morning walk along a one-mile path from Park Théos, the sound of helicopters rattled the morning air. When we looked up toward the castle that caps the height of medieval Vaison, a chopper was shuttling back and forth between an out-of-view part of the hilltop and the old fortress. On the way to the fortress, it carried a package at the end of a long cable. Then hovering above the castle, it lowered slowly until the package disappeared behind the old walls. A few seconds later, the 'copter rose again with a bare cable, went back to the loading zone, got another load, and repeated the cycle. Noisy, but apparently the only practical way to transfer some important cargo into the ancient stone building.

Later in the morning we faced a dreaded situation -- our car was running low on fuel! We've had many misadventures buying gasoline or diesel fuel during 20-plus years of driving in Europe. Such as inscrutable (or absent) pump instructions, unclear payment procedures, stations unstaffed on Sundays, and pumps empty because of delivery strikes.

This time our troubles centered on the car we were driving. Before we left our space in the Post Office lot, I wanted to figure out how to open the fueling port.  I looked inside for a lever or button -- no luck. Jumped out of the car and looked at the door over the port. Couldn't see any way to open it from there. Back inside, tried every button. Meanwhile, a lady in a blue car was getting honked at as she waited for our space.

Finally, a much closer look at the exterior fuel door revealed a tiny depression at one edge where I could get a finger under and pry the door open. By this time, of course, the blue car lady had to move on. Je suis desolé, Madame.

Fueling done, we were soon back at our little house for a simple lunch: reheated take-home pizza from yesterday at Bella Napoli. Good.

Duck confit

The evening's feature attraction was the last of this trip's three meals at Mathieu's wine shop. Roz had arranged for a table seating four in a corner while a large party of 15 otherwise monopolized the long center table. Mathieu outdid himself, preparing a superb duck confit with sesame seeds, that sat atop a risotto-like preparation of spelt grain. Dessert was a chocolate pear crumble. All made even better by our dinner partners, Agnès and Tien Chong, whom we had first met here two weeks earlier.

We said goodbye to them and to Mathieu after supper. Not certain whether we'll ever be back to see them again.

Mathieu

 

It was a day full of small adventures that we'll remember.