Mothers Day With Louise

We d done a sneaky camp on the banks of the Arrone River, less than a days ride from Toulouse, the church bells had been really pealing their clangers off, and people the day before had been walking the streets with flowers and wine: for it was Mothers Day in France.

Louise was standing in front of a florist shop, big bunch of flowers in her arms, being bussed on both cheeks by a young woman I assumed was her daughter. ¨A photo¨ exclaimed Val. I got the photo when she was halfway across the street, and as she saw the camera, gave a lively jig waving her flowers at us, pretty good for a woman who looked closer to eighty than seventy.

A chirpy conversation ensued between her and Val, establishing what we were doing and where we were from, then as she spoke, I noticed her feeling around in her purse and then produced a Fifty Euro note which she thrust into Vals hand. ¨Non, Non,¨ Val protested, some further conversation ensued, after which Val relented her protest. We did ¨Merci boquets¨ all round, everyone bussed twice on alternate cheeks, and off we rode out of Louises life.

Well, not before we had got her name and address, Val telling me that she understood that she was a widow with no children and though that we were worthy of a pampering. What a lovely lady.

That morning on the riverbank, as we were packing our tent, three men in camoflage trousers and jackets came across the grass; weve done it now, I thought, fishing and camping inspectors for sure. No, just a jolly three fishermen, who, when they found we were from New Zealand, tried to talk about Rugby, with a smidgen of success; the names Merthens, Oliver and Umunga were mangled and mashed around with lots of ¨Oiu, Oius¨ thrown in. Needless to say, the conversation did not last very long, but bonhomie was well and truly established.

Then an hour later, when Val went for walk round a monster garge type sale in a town park, I struck up a conversation with an English speaking Engineer from the Airbus Company, who was keen on NZ, had not been there, but had business dealings with us and in particular a big fellow who was a former All Black (of course, by the end of this trip, I myself, will probably be one!). Actually he did name him and I recognised it, but have now forgotten who it was, Bill someone.

These are the sort of things that are just one of the delights arising from sitting on a bike allday, get hot, cold, smelly and knackered. I hope it inspires some of my readers into trying it sometime.