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It can't be a coincidence that the sign was faded and worn in such a way as to make "Buckwheat" read as "Fuckwheat", can it? Amongst the other specimen plots of various plants grown at the museum (museum doesn't sound the right word, but I can't think of a better one), was very healthy-looking hemp. |
Always
interesting, the toilet arrangements.
| One room was a smoking room......., No, not
cigarettes, but smoking in order to preserve meats, etc. Every house
smelled slightly smoky, and woody of course, and "churchy" too, but the
atmosphere in the smoking room was very close to unpleasant.
Damage by fire must have been a constant fear to the residents.
The buildings grow out of the landscape, don't they. |
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A press for
olives.
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There was even a piling tower (for use in construction work). Even it was made entirely of wood.
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A sawmill. |
As we walked away we crossed a bridge. The rural idyll? (Oh, and note the ladder laid on the slope to assist his arrival and return to level ground).
I pondered on this view for quite a while. Why on earth was the old man cutting away (very skilfully with a scythe) the natural growth on the riverbank? Are we afraid of what's natural? Do we feel a need, and succumb to it, to take charge? To alter? Or, perhaps worse still, to tidy up? To help a river to flow on past (to where it might flood someone else's land)? Will serpents of mythological proportions slither through the undergrowth and into our beds in the night?
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Ah, well. It was Jo's idea to scoff frites just once during the holiday. It's a sort-of tradition which we accidentally established. Anyway, she looks pretty disgusted with them, doesn't she. What's far more disgusting though is that Jo's Sprite is made by Coca-Cola but, hell, I'd forgotten, so is my Lift.
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