FRENCH PARATROOPERS ATTACK PILGRIM

AIRE SUR L'ADOUR, FRANCE

NO? THESE AREN'T THE PARATROOPERS? THEY ARE THE NEW SET OF FRENCH LADIES I GET TO SLEEP WITH TONIGHT ALL ALONE IN A DESERTED GITE OUTSIDE THE CITY.....

How do these things happen to me?

Anyway I was out walking normally today, segueing from Bruce Springsteen to Harry Chapin none to soon, moving between wooded paths, vineyards, and big fields. Minding my own business. There was a big field above me to my left and I heard a big tractor combine coming my way. A real big one....really big. Coming up over the hill right at me. Suddenly over the crest comes this French military helicopter just right over me. I almost did a big merde. I was out in the open and no where to run for cover. My rendition of THUNDER ROAD I admit was pretty awful and I was struggling to get the melody of CAT IN THE CRADLE but being pecked off by a band of french paratroopers was a little excessive I thought.

Well, it flew off a little ways and doubled back right to me again. Now I was really scared. I figured that there was a terrorist stalking the countryside (how reassuring) or that George Bush pulled another boner. I guess they got their jollies because they left me alone after that. In other circumstances I would very much welcome French paratroopers.


Here I am with Alex, note his crucifix shaped walking staff!!!!!! I was hoping that he would be a worthy successor to Jorge and Joseph, my former walking companions from last year. But I don't think that will work out. He is wedded to a group he has been with since Le Puy and those ties are hard to break. They only speak French. So it is me and my songbook. Why didn't I bring some Patsy Cline?

The only other exciting thing today was at a farm I passed. Half the chickens had gotten out of their yard and were very upset. I tried to shoo them back in but they just clucked stupidly at the hole in the wire fence. There were an old man and woman and a younger man in the yard looking at a piece of old machinery. I wanted to alert them in my limited French. So I yelled "Pardon, pardon" until they looked up. Then I kept yelling "Les Poulets, les poulets," while I sort of flapped my arms like I was trying to fly. Lord, you would think that I was the French David Letterman by their reaction. The younger man, a Jean Paul Belmondo look a like (from a distance) in black Tee and with cigarette hanging from his lips bellowed out a laughing and haughty bit of doggerel. Did they honestly think I had never seen chickens before? Oh well. This is what passes for excitement on the chemin.