Hiking in the French Calanques
French Style Hiking by Ami Gates
Today, we went on a 3 hour hike up and around the small mountains and rocky cliffs off of the Mediterranean, about 30 minutes south and east of Marseille; the Calanques.
Our hike began as usual. We packed a sensible lunch of madelines (oh so light and tasty), coconut water, sardines, bananas, and the best halvah I have ever had. We added to these, two large jars of water, a change of underwear, and tissues. Then, we donned our hats and drove south. When we arrived at a place that looked good for parking, we exited the car, peed on the side of the road, and set off.
The hiking path was marked with red dots, a nice change from guessing where to go, and the terrain was not too bad. We also knew that our destination was a private little beach among the cliffs.
After about 1.5 hours of ups and downs and rocks and climbing, we arrived.
Of course, being France, the end of the trail had wine and bread, and so we sat for a moment to catch our breath, drink vin blanc, eat bananas, and watched the shore.
After a quick swim in the rather cold water (by Jeremy) and a quick lay down on the pebbled mini beach, we thought it best to head back as we faced the same trail in reverse – but we were much more tired.
On the way back, we found a great spot for some quick yoga, which was alarming to the passing French hikers.
Then, after long day and 3 hours of hiking, we had made it back to the car, and the tiny town that survived no doubt from visitors looking for beaches and good hiking.
As we drove back home, we agreed that we would not buy fresh bread and wine yet again today, as we have eaten bread every day, 2 bottles of olive oil, 1.5 bottles of balsamic vinegar, and too much wine to account for. Yes – we agreed – no more bread today. We will take a break. We will have lentils and quinoa. We then purchased olive bread, a new olive oil, wine, cheese, and olives, and headed home.
Dinner was again a feast, and to appease our full bellies, we drank our after dinner coffee and watched the sun set.
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Satan is a Dentist by Ami Gates
Odontophobia is the fear of one’s own teeth. How might this happen? Well, it’s an unfortunate process that begins with a combination of poor dental hygiene and visitation to Dentists who are intent on making their car payments at the expense of wise dental choices.
But, yes, yes, you know this already; all the drilling and filling and drilling and filling will certainly lead to “needed” root canals.
As such, and as many of you know, I had one root canal by 19 and another before 30. My mouth has cost a sum total of $15,000 and needs more work, a lot more. The first root canal failed and caused the destruction and subsequent loss of both adjacent teeth. One of the two adjacent teeth – to “save it” – was itself given a root canal that it now causing the destruction of three other teeth.
But oh well, more dental visits and another $15,000 should fix that. By the time they are done with me, I will have no teeth. In preparation for this, I have learned to enjoy soft food.
Yesterday, here in France, was a moment; a moment that caused the flashback of what we call the “Nice Dental Incident”. After a $3000 visit to Moron # 17 in Boca FL, I was given a crown and an inlay – why use fillings – they are cheaper – so clearly not as good.
A few months after the dental work had been completed, Jeremy and I were in the South of France, staying up on a hill with a beautiful view of the French Rivera, the Mountains, and a Castle.
Then it happened. It was 9 pm and I was flossing – something I am committed to doing these days. Flossing, you say, well that’s not interesting. As the floss came out of my mouth, so did the inlay – that’s right – the $1500 inlay was somewhere on a French bathroom floor and my mouth and head filled with the agony of a completely exposed nerve. Even room temperature water hurt like hell.
Oh goody, I thought. I cannot eat or drink and I am in France. Getting dental work done in France seemed like a poor idea as I had trouble explaining to them that I wanted my coffee is a large cup – “grande tasse!! grand tasse!”
So, we did what we had to. We packed our crap into our car at 10 pm and drove straight for 36 hours to catch a flight out of Zurich Switzerland. We were detained in the airport for drug suspicion and I was forced to breathe directly on the police officer so that he would release us.
We then visited a dentist 2 days later (they do not work on the weekends). I had eaten almost nothing for 2 days. Moron #18 did not listen to my warnings about – well – he did not listen to anything I said. Maybe dentists are deaf. In any case, he failed to fix the tooth and filled it over the decay. But, I could drink and eat again!
The American Indians believe that there are 9 circles of Hell, and that bad doctors go to the inner most and worst circle. We can only hope.
In time, I got the two teeth fixed yet again.
It has been a year since they were fixed, and here we are in the South of France on a mountain again, with a beautiful view of a castle and the French Rivera.
I was flossing.
I had run out of my favorite thick floss – floss not made of tiny strands that get stuck in and fray in your teeth. I use Glide – I love Glide. But, the Glide had run out. We bought more floss, but it was the type made of many tiny strands. It is idiotic. And, of course, the strands frayed and got stuck right between the two teeth of doom; the $8000 two teeth, the 36 hour drive and no food teeth from the pit of despair.
Pressure between the two teeth began to build quickly. The new crown and inlay were being forced apart and my head was starting to ache. Panic was setting it.
Oh holy shit balls! What do I do? I must keep breathing. I must get the strands out from between these two teeth so the inlay does not pop out again. OK, stay calm.
I called to Jeremy to tell him that I needed new floss immediately, floss not made of tiny strands. But, how, how would he find this? And, it would take too long. The pressure had tripled.
Then, there it was, my savior.
A single piece of old used (Glide) dental floss that had not made it into the trash, and had instead been tracked about the bathroom and closet. It was laying there on the floor. Oh no. Had my shoes stepped on this floss; my shoes that tracked through feces, urine, blood, and France. It did not matter. I must stop the pressure and avoid another dental incident.
I picked up the old floss – “cleaned it” with alcohol, soap, and self-deception, and used it, closing my mind to what I was doing.
But it worked, it worked, it removed the shards and strands left from the other floss, and relieved the pressure. My teeth are still in my mouth- for now.
Odontophobia.