Keeping in shape

Yesterday lunch I went to buy some groceries and noticed the local butcher was closed. His outdoor sign was missing, in fact, the whole shopping village looked vacant. The other shops in the strip were also closed. It was the middle of the day. Why were the shops closed? There were no CLOSED signs on front windows, but rather a dramatic curtain swept across the facade of every shop. They were closed for lunch, how civilised! Between the hours of 12-3pm it's, "Talk to the curtain, check back for the second act when the actors are ready".

I've become a regular at the local gym, a necessary evil, considering the boulangerie is right next door to our house. Every morning, the sweet smell of freshly baked baguettes drifts over the fence and into our house, (at least it's only passive bread inhalation). This is where I buy our bread and pastries. If they are out of croissants, there are always more in the oven. No "Lucky last" customers, like our bakery in Merewether. We usually visit the boulangerie for act one and two each day. I walk in, choose my bread, and as I hand over my money, the owner puts two lollies in my palm for the children and winks.

I decided to partake in a yoga class at the gym. Feeling unfazed it would be in French, I headed to the class thinking "I've done yoga before, I can watch the others, no problem". On arrival, there were fellow yogis waiting outside the studio, and our instructor, Boris arrived. Boris looked more like a Brad. He was tall, lanky and yoga-like. His hair was fashionably tussled, he wore an over-sized t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting, no-brand shorts. No shoes of course.

We took our places, sat crossed-legged on our mats and started chanting, which is usual in Ashtanga yoga. I am familiar with this process. It felt so good to belt out a long "Ommmmmm". No one to correct my pronunciation or diction, and I could say it loud, with my eyes closed! Following the big "Om", there is a short series of phrases (recited in Sanskrit by Boris), then repeated by the participants. I even knew some of these phrases from previous Ashtanga classes in Australia. "I'm not such an outsider after all". This ancient Indian Yoga chant was the most I've uttered in this country (apart from to my husband and children) in 4 weeks!

For the next one hour and 15 minutes, I didn't understand a single word. There were some commonly used expressions like 'expirer', which I soon worked out  meant, 'breath out' and not 'die' and "chien vers le bas" and "chien tete en bas" seemed to have something to do with a dog. Boris walked slowly around the class, occasionally correcting people's posture. When it came to my turn, I felt my heart rate speed up. Was I  there under false pretences? Would I be found out? Was Boris going to be disappointed that I just turned up masquerading as a Frenchy? He stood in front of me; my legs were apart, in a warrior stance. I looked up trembling and whispered "Je ne parle pas Francais". There, I'd said it. He just looked down at my feet, and commanded "wi-der!'

Having lunch in Biarritz (where the specialty of the house is french fries cooked in duck fat - delicious!)

Dancing at the beach in Anglet

Biking through Bayonne