Where has summer gone?

I’ve got to admit, weather wise, it’s been a crappy summer.  Everyone thinks Southern France is all sun, but the truth is it is not.  Half the summers I’ve been here have been overcast and cool, but this year has been the worst.  This month, I don’t think we’ve yet reached 70 degrees.  And, very oddly, it’s raining – a lot.  About every three days to be exact.  In one sense, it’s good because we get a break from watering the garden, but in the other sense, well, it’s raining all the time.  I can’t even dry my sheets outside, and I’ve never seen it so green.  This weather explains the bumper crop of potatoes and onions we’re having, but it is doing absolutely nothing for the 10 different varieties of tomatoes we’re growing.  I’m beginning to think I’m going to need a bunch of recipes for green tomatoes.  Not to mention, I’m getting nostalgic when I hear news that the United States is having a heat wave.  I just about cried when imagines of open water hydrants on the streets of Chicago passed before me on the TV.  “Look at those children,” I thought to myself.  “Those lucky ducks are wearing shorts and they’re sweating!”  My daily garb is a polar fleece and jeans.  I’m beginning to doubt in the existence of the sun.  The sad news is we can’t get away from this weather.  Unlike past years, it’s not localized.  All of France is well below normal summer temperatures, and we are quite often the hot spot when we read over the daily weather forecast, which isn’t saying much.  My summer is slipping away without ever really arriving.  I love the changing of the seasons, but I want to welcome autumn’s breezes after a hot summer.  It makes the cool nights that much more special and not just another balmy day in a sequence of many.  I want each season to be marked by what makes it unique.  I want to sweat – not a sweater – in summer and look longingly at a swimming pool before diving in.  I want the things that fill my mind and keep me warm when November’s cold winds blow and I hunker down under the quilt.  I want summer back in all its glorious sweltering heat so that I can remember what it feels like to be a child again running out the back door to endless days of summer.

Anyone up for a game of pétanque?

Summer has finally arrived, and in Southern France that means one thing: pétanque.  Never heard of it?  It’s a game that is like lawn darts, but instead of a beer in hand, the casual player tends to drink pastis, but, that is another story.

There are two types of pétanque: boules Lyonnaise, and the type played here: pétanque Provençal.  The name comes from the Occitan language meaning “feet anchored” and players stand with two feet together, and lob a metal ball underhand across the playing field trying to get it as close as possible to a smaller ball called a cochonnet.  Each team, or triplet, takes a turn, and at the end of the round of three throws, points are gained due to the proximity to the cochonnet.  Players can play offensively, such as by trying to land the ball closest to the cochonnet, or they can play defensively by knocking the ball of the opponent away from the cochonnet; the winner is the first to get to 13 points.

In Marseille, there is the largest competition of pétanque in the world.  It’s a round robin tournament, open to everyone.  Last year there were over 13,000 worldwide competitors and tens of thousands of spectators, including the late Henri Salvador, for which a trophy is named.

If you ever tour some of the smaller towns and villages in Southern France, you will undoubtedly see a pétanque playing field somewhere in the center of the village.  This is most likely surrounded by benches, filled with older people talking about the game or occasionally getting up to play it.  It’s a great summer long event, and apparently enjoyed better with a glass of pastis in hand, but like I said, perhaps that is another story.