This past weekend was one of the best so far. If it were a movie there main characters would be Vanessa and Alex. The setting is this: Arles, ancient city built by Romans, sitting on the side of the Rhone river down in Provence in the South of France, and also the Camargue, a marshy, moist river delta filled with all sorts of flora and fauna. I know you can't really smell movies, but imagine this and the film only gets better: cinnamon mixed with spring flowers. Nice. And what else do we need to complete this film set-up? How 'bout a genre. We'll say romantic comedy. Ha! No it was good weekend and all, but a romantic comedy wouldn't really be as interesting as say...a Schwarzenegger action film.
So here we find our two main characters fleeing Paris to hindout in the country. Bullets were whizzing by us as we grabbed on to the departing TGV. Of course the doors were already closed so I grabbed the handle with one hand and clutched Vanessa's arm with the other. We climbed on top of the train, headed towards a door in the roof of the traincar ahead of us. The evil villains were hopping the gaps between the cars behind us, shooting all the while. We dove through the doors just before the train shot into a tunnel, wiping the evildoers from the roof. The TGV was a smooth ride for the 4 remaining hours until we arrived in Arles.
The streets were filled with all sorts of menacing characters. We dodged around the alleys and explored the maze of streets for hours taking in the sights like the Arena - a mini colosseum, and the river. When night fell we stumbled on this spectactular moroccan restaurant - a haven of 'bad guys'. We knocked on the door and a tiny window slid open near the top of the door. The shadow of some henchman checked us out, closed the window, and opened the gate to let us in. We swam through the smokey atmosphere to our small table ordering a plate of couscous royale and a bottle of the local rosé wine. A dark shadow puffed smoked in the corner, his gaze set upon us. The glow of his cigarette pulsed. When the food arrived I was only able to have one bite, getting a taste of all the lamb, chicken, and other meats on one fork, when the shadow shoved over his table and floated over to ours. He put out his cigarette in my glass of wine and knocked over our table. Vanessa stood up and karate-chopped the guy's neck rendering him unconscious, while I attempted to fight off his stooges. We left without paying the bill and tossed a grenade behind us as we coolly strolled through the front door.
The following day began early with a croissant and a motorcycle--no a chopper. We set off down the semi-busy streets towards the countryside, hoping to evade danger. Little did we know we were looking it right in the face. We tore up the fields of fresh grass and flowers on our bikes and tried hunting some of the wild horses, bulls, and pink flamingos. All in all that day we ended up riding over 50 miles. A mini tour de france if you will. But Lance Armstrong didn't have to ride while being chased by a league of death robots. We rode by the water, all the while eluding the lazer beams and cars zipping past us. Lunch that day was slightly less eventful and less violent as well. We ate our Camargian fare meanwhile punching every mosquito in the face. Vanessa took extreme delight in this especially as they apparently like her blood a little bit more than that the average person.
The voyage back to civilization led us down a slightly more busy road. We had another adventurous encounter with the criminals as they guided us in the wrong direction home by moving road signs, leading us towards their hideaway. We cautiously snuck up beside the driveway, avoiding the gaurds. We did a sleeperhold on two gaurds and changed into their clothes. By this time the sun was getting low and our stomachs were growling. We happened to find this van inside their hideout that sold pizza so we got one - a provençale with olives and peppers and goat cheese. We couldn't eat very much of it because we were discovered and had to frisbee it, teenage mutant ninja turles style, at a group of gangsters, bowling them over. We sprinted up the stairs of the building looking for the evil children's theater actor with a plot to blow up the moon. He found him without much trouble at all really and an intense battle ensued. He was really no match for us. Actors in children's theater, on average, and he was no exception, puny. As we held him up against a wall with his feet dangling in the air he told us his life story. He had dreams to open a bed and breakfast in the countryside near Arles. It would've been called Mas l'Oustral. There would have been a quaint terrace where you could eat breakfast in the sunlight. It would have been an above average breakfast in terms of french breakfast, but still lagging behind the eggs, bacon, and maple syrup pancakes of the USA. He promised he would change his ways, shed a tear, and his heart grew 3 sizes. So, being compassionate and forgiving vigilantes, we released him. He ran off and so did we. Back towards the city of Arles we went as the sun rose above the horizon. The air smelled a little fresher in Arles from then on as the flowers bloomed and the fetid stench was replaced once again with the smell cinnamon and lavander. We rode the TGV back to Paris and all was well. -- or was it. Dun Dun Daahhh!
No, but seriously, it was a fun weekend on about the same level as the story I just recounted even if some of the details were a little skewed.
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