Tragic news: our favourite restaurant in the whole wide world - Restaurant, Hotel Cote d'Argent, Vieux Boucau has closed down and been replaced by a Surfboard shop. I couldn't believe it. I walked down to book a table and, I thought, "Funny. The Hotel has a much tinier frontage than I remember!"
I walked into the hotel foyer:
"Monsieur, ou est la restaurant?"
"Sadly, Monsieur, the chef retired and we had to shut it."
Clearly these old world traditional French restaurants are a dying breed. The similar establishment in Blaye seems on its way out as well - its chef being gravely ill and no replacement in sight.
People just want fast food or tapas or ludicrously posh eating places.
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| In its hey day. |
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| The restaurant as it was only last year. |
Last night's dinner:
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| Salmon stuffed with crab mousse plus 2 veg on apartment balcony |
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| View from dinner table. |
After dinner:
After dinner we found a Bossa Nova band playing round the corner from where we're staying. There were some holiday makers of a considerable vintage who stopped to watch and listen and then DANCE. These old fogies were incredible; presumably dancing from muscle-memory.
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| Dali-esque cloud hovered above proceedings. |
Vieux Boucau was bustling last night.
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Drumming practice update:
Because I feel I'm not actually improving in any significant way with the drums, I really had to force myself to get up early this morning and find some kind of secluded but inspirational spot at which to set up my stand.
Didn't reach the actual beach because it was so damn windy. So I stopped at a little estuary about 250 metre short of the beach and proceeded to have an hour of dismal practice. Then trudged back to the apartment by 9am.
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| Had to tie bag to stool or it would have taken off over the ocean. |
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| The estuary |
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Peugeot spotting:
Spotted some old Peugeot racing cycles this morning in Vieux Boucau.
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| Love the vertical cross-bar. |
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| Actually, this one is a St Etienne. |
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| But this one is the real McCoy |
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| The old marque. |
Currently reading:
Whizzed through this memoir of Brian Epstein's. It covers the naive excitement of the first 2 or 3 years of his pivotal involvement in the creation of the Mersey Sound. The book is written with grace and lightness of touch.
Little hint that Epstein was to die at the age of 32.
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Currently listening to:
April edition of the Optimo podcast on Rinse FM while eating a pain aux raisins.
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