A nice little beach on the Mediterranean

Cadaquez:
We went for a walk along the street by the beach, some on the sidewalk and some in the street. It was one-lane with the Mediterranean Sea on our left and various restaurants, hotels and other buildings on the right. The motorscooters and cars were behind us but you could easily hear them over the noisy seagulls and waves lapping the sand. We found a restaurant we liked, Rosa's and ordered some bocadillos, sandwiches. Mine was ham and cheese although they use a different word than jamon for ham in Catalunya. Claudette had a sausage sandwich and the price was right. Cafe con leche was or choice of after dinner drink. The daylight faded into twilight as we watched the boats bob at anchorage and couples in the sand geot dangerously close to one another.
I have found the one true reason to visit Spain.

Cité de l'Automobile

The entrance to the hotel parking lot was through a covered alleyway. We knew the hotel had off street parking but were not prepared for the gated entry with a keypad. As a fan of automobiles I was delighted to see a Ferrari in the parking lot. After all, our purpose for being in Mulhouse, France, was to see one of the most prestigious automobile collections in the world. The hotel was really nice although the desk clerk was rather snooty. Mulhouse was different from most French cities we had visited in that it was more Germanic and this was quite noticeable in the names of streets and businesses. Indeed it had been a part of Germany several times in its history.

We caught the bright yellow tram after purchasing a ticket at the ticket kiosk for our trip to the museum which is located in the industrial part of the city in a former textile manufacturing facility. The museum is of 19th century architecture and covers about 200,000 square feet or a little bigger than a Wal-Mart Super Store but on three levels and is well laid out with automobiles grouped in several categories. The automobile collection was started by Fritz Schlumpf, the textile magnate to whom the building belonged. However, due to the demise of French textiles the collection eventually became the property of the French government. Hence it is known as  Cité de l'Automobile, the French National Automobile Museum. Schlumpf was an avid fan of Bugatti automobiles and had an extensive collection. Here you can see Bugattis from the very earliest to the latest Veyron. Of the 500 cars in the collection, ninety-seven brands are represented, but one hundred twenty-three are Bugattis. Some of the other brands are Hispano-Suiza, Ferrari, Rolls-Royce, Maserati, Maybach, Mercedes, and Porshe of the 400 cars on display. There are 1one hundred twenty on reserve and twenty on loan to museums throughout the world. 

The displays are meticulous. There are cut-a-way displays of vintage Bugattis and displays of engines with explanatory videos. There are the early one cylinder engines as well as the later V-10 Peugeot and W-16 Veyron engines. In the display of the Bugatti Royale the wooden forms upon which the sheet metal was formed are on display. Formula 1 racers are displayed with a giant photograph of a raceway crowd in the background. Other racing cars such as Grand Prix and rally cars are also displayed. Many of the cars are grouped according to year of manufacture. The Bugatti Veyron, the world’s fastest production automobile, has a place of honor. Another interesting inter-active display allows you to sit in a Citroen sedan while it is rotated on its axis imitating a rollover crash. It was inoperative when we were there, but then I’ve done the rollover before in a Ford on the highway. Some history need not be repeated.

It is very interesting to observe the evolution of the automobile through the displays. Here you can see how the primitive three-wheel vehicle evolved into the modern sedan. The museum is very quiet and comfortable, more like an art gallery than a place of greasy mechanical things. (They are not greasy, everything is pristine.)There are some truly historic automobiles such as the Bugatti Royale, Mercedes-Benz SSK and Colin Chapman’s F-1 Lotus. Chapman’s design changed Formula One racing radically. Notably missing is the Ford GT-40, the car that beat Ferrari at La Mans and 1932 Alpha-Romero racer which dethroned Bugatti as a consistent winner. Young Enzo Ferrari was a driver for Alpha-Romero in the early days. Regrettably, I saw only one American brand and it was a Harley-Davidson motorcycle.

The French National Automobile Museum was another one of those places I could have spent a couple of days or more. But we had to move on and find the place where my uncle had died in France during “the war to end all wars”.

_____________________________ Additional Information French Auto Museum Mulhouse, France Bugatti My video of the museum ___________________________

Labor Day Delight

Labor Day just was. One thing I always enjoy food wise on Labor Day is hash. Now, according to Webster, Noah or a reasonable substitute, hash is a dish of diced or chopped meat and often vegetables, as of leftover corned beef or veal and potatoes, sautéed in a frying pan or of meat, potatoes, and carrots cooked together in gravy. However, the definition according to the folks I grew up with in the Piedmont area of South Carolina this is not quite the same. My ancestors are of strong Scots-Irish stock and make hash a different way. We do not use leftover meat but fresh from the butcher pork and beef. Usually the only vegetables added are white potatoes what we called Irish potatoes and onions.


The cooking process is different as well. A cast iron wash pot is used, one or more depending on how much hash is to be cooked. It is a long and time consuming process usually about twelve hours or more. It all begins with the selection of meat. Cap’n jack said always use a combination of beef and pork. He, my father, preferred one quarter beef to three quarters pork. Boston butt for the pork, and I don’t know why the shoulder of a hog is called a butt except maybe the people of Boston have some kind of anatomical identity problem. The meat is put into the pot and the fire started and the usual firewood is seasoned hickory or oak. Then begins the long night of keeping the fire burning and stirring the meat so it doesn’t burn. The meat is cooked until it falls apart. Some people actually pull the meat apart and some perform the ultimate desecration of the meat by grinding it. Potatoes in half-inch cubes are added with chopped onions in this late cooking process. As dawn approaches all the hunting and fishing stories have all been told and some of the fellas have taken a little drink from a half pint bottle of spirits to better to welcome the new day. It was also time for the final seasoning of the hash. I’ve seen all sorts of things added, vinegar, butter, hot sauce, red and black pepper, salt, and various spices. Seasoning hash is a very personal thing. My preferences are salt, pepper, vinegar, sage, red and black pepper.

When I was growing up this was always a dish for a celebration, a holiday, a family reunion, or a big meal at the Lodge hall. It was usually served in small cardboard trays with sweet pickles and sliced white bread with plenty of sweet iced tea to wash it down. Maybe it’s a Southern thing?

Fire in a Bottle

We turned off the main road  in northern France onto the narrow gravel drive to the stone farmhouse. A small blue sign said Ferme de Félicité. Apple orchards were visible for as far as the eye could see. There were blooming flowers around the farmhouse door and a yellow tabby lay in the sun. We parked under the huge oak tree and approached the door. According to the sign we were in the right place to taste that elusive nectar of the apple, Calvados, the fiery apple brandy that this part of France in famous for. The lady met us before we got to the door was about fifty and looked like a farm wife.



We said, "Bonjour".

She answered, "Calvados?"

And in our best French we responded, "Qui."

We followed her to what appeared to be a stone barn and entered into the cool dimly lit interior. It was obviously a small room in the barn serving as a sales area with displays of bottled product. Bottled cider and Calvados with promotional posters and marketing brochures were on the counters and walls. This was where the brandy and other apple products were produced. The process begins with the apple and there can be many varieties in each batch to be squeezed. On this farm apples are grown on twenty-four acres which produce twenty-five tons of apples annually. From these apples come apple cider, Pommeau de Normandy, and Calvados. Also apple jam is also made in a limited quantity. Pommeau de Normandy is a blend of apple musts and Calvados and is often drunk as an aperitif. It didn't take long to realize our host had a limited knowledge of English but she set out small glasses for us to sample the goods. We sampled the Calvados and the Pommeau de Normandy. I will say that after sampling the apple brandy, Calvados, I have a great deal of respect for the fire-eaters we had seen earlier in our trip at the Eiffel Tower in Paris. It was simply breath-taking. But the Pommeau de Normandy was rather sweet with only a minor bite in the taste unlike Calvados.

Calvados has an interesting history and traces its heritage back to Charlemagne in the 8th century. Actually, the region of Brittany, Maine, and Normandy were known as the Calvados area. In the late 19th century Calvados experienced a huge demand because over 75% of the grape vineyards were destroyed by disease. The name “Calvados” actually was created as a designation for apple brandy to differentiate it from other brandies for tax purposes. Calvados is distilled like whiskey and the Calvados designated AOC is distilled twice. Like other distilled beverages its monetary value increases with age. We noticed that the three-year-old Calvados was more expensive than the two-year-old and it must be at least two-years-old to be sold as Calvados AOC.

After sampling the various beverages we chose a bottle of Pommeau de Normandy because we liked the taste. We would not be drinking it as an aperitif though, we found it a perfect compliment for cheese and sausage purchased at local markets. We said, “Au revoir” to the lady and the tabby that seemed to want to go with us and continued on our journey through the French countryside.

It Was Just a Dotted Red Line

We were leaving Bandelier National Park in northern New Mexico on our way to Tuba City, Arizona. It was a spring day with bright sunshine and a comfortable temperature. I was driving the Dodge Neon, a compact four door sedan, we had rented in Albuquerque. Our intent was to drive northwest and stop in Tuba City for some Navajo fry bread before continuing on to the Grand Canyon. It was a good plan.


We decided to take a less populated route. I know this sounds a little oxymoronic since there are very few heavily populated routes in New Mexico. What I really mean is a secondary road just a bit off the beaten path. It sounded like a good idea at the time.

The road we had chosen quickly changed from gravel to more dirt than gravel. This wasn’t a reason for alarm; I had grown up driving on the red dirt roads of the piedmont area of South Carolina. We did begin to get concerned when the road turned into a muddy path through the trees. Perhaps one indicator of things to come was the four-wheel-drive pick-up truck we passed abandoned in a ditch.

I did not realize that the winter snows were melting in the mountains, and everything was wet. I had always thought of New Mexico as one big dry desert; I had watched a lot of westerns. But I reassured my wife that I had driven in such conditions many times before. She did not give me a vote of confidence. While what I told her was true, about growing up driving on such roads, I did not tell her that the vehicles I had driven were bigger and more powerful. But I did say that no matter what, we must not stop, because if we did we might never get started again. I noted that we had almost a full tank of gas, and that was one thing in our favor. She was not impressed with our good fortune.

Soon I found myself gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles were white. I could only see my travelmate with my peripheral vision; my eyes were fixed on the road ahead. The little car swerved and slid over the road as traction was difficult to find. Under my breath I was saying some very unkind things about the little under powered sedan, but we continued forward. Occasionally there would be a crunching sound as the oil pan of the engine would drag on the road and the little 2 liter engine would over-rev, before the tires would finally get traction again. I wished for mud grip tires. We’d had them on our trucks when I was younger.

We were on a heavily rutted road, but we had to avoid the deep ruts, because our car would drag and possibly get stuck if we tried to use them. At one place a stream had overflowed the roadway, and we had no choice but to go through the wash out. I remembered how a Volkswagen I once owned would float and hoped the Dodge would do the same, but our momentum carried us across the stream. However, there was no sigh of relief, because we still had miles to go, and we knew not how many.

I was beginning to appreciate the front wheel drive configuration of the car. I believed that if I could keep the front wheels pointed in the right direction and continue moving we would get through. Frequently the rear of the car would be in one of the ditches of the single lane road but we continued on without stopping.
Finally, after what seemed like hours of driving in silence with only an occasional gasp from my passenger, we saw a barricade ahead. After we passed through an opening in the barricade we could see an asphalt highway ahead. We stopped for a breather and a bottle of water from the cooler. Behind us the sign on the barricade stated, “Road Closed to Through Traffic”. It had been a learning experience. We found out that I could drive a front wheel drive compact on muddy roads. We also learned to understand what the legends on a road map really meant. We had been on an “unimproved road”, and that was an understatement!

Bandelier National Monument     2001 Dodge Neon New Mexico Tony Hillerman