365. Bar fermé

 We are driving after a long walk up there in the estives, the high grounds were cows graze in the summertime and where the local cheese named after the area used to be made. We are over 1,000 meters high and we can see for miles all around us under blue skies with only a few fluffy white clouds scattered around. Cows stare at is as if to say what are you doing here, the youngest ones being more agressive and pushing into the fences. Burons are still scattered around the green immensity and even though no cheese is made up here anymore you can imagine what it was like by visiting the restored ones. Dark stones building with primitive aeration systems that keep the temperature constant all round the year. Zero electricity used. Zero polluting materials. The daily timetable of the men who came up here for months at a time is detailed with working days that started at 4:30 AM and ended at 9:30 PM.

So we are in an other place and an other time, our heads full of stories and our eyes filled with stunning landscapes with hardly any trace of mankind. So when the phone rings we are a little startled. My husband picks up. It is Miss R.2.1.

'We got back from Nice in good time. And as I wasn't driving I'm not tired at all so am on the road. I'll be with you around midnight.'

'OK. Good. Perfect.'

My husband is making faces at me. I guess the faces are meaning why is she calling if everything ok there must be something wrong.

I shrug my shoulders. I havent got a clue. 

He goes on about turning and twisting and about pushing and pulling sticks. And then suddenly it dawns on me. Miss R.2.1. has just phoned her dad to find out out to turn on the lights in the car! 

'But ... but ... she has passed the theory part of her driving licence! And ... and ... there were lots of questions about that. ... And in the practical part of the test as well ...'

This is so mysterious for me. She doesn't sound panicky, just commanding when she asks her dad. I keep quiet in the background, it is best as I will be wanting to give her a lecture about all the driving lessons, theory and practical, and the tests ... 

My husband just shakes his head and laughs.

'I don't know. It's just a mystery to me.'

'And right now, she's working on stabilising cliffs ... I'd advise people to keep helmets on at all times.'

We are still laughing as we come to a charming little village with a Roman church and a café in the front of it. These villages rarely have working  cafés - most of them are long closed down - so we are quite excited about this.

'I'll buy you a beer. How about that?'

We take ages to park and get out of the car. There are only two tables on the terrasse of this café and one is free. The other one is taken by a man and a woman, drinking Pastis and on their phones. As I walk towards the free table, the man looks at me and shouts.

'C'est fermé.'

I want to argue the case that it does not look like it and why can I not myself enjoy a Pastis while admiring the church. But his tone of voice is sharp and the look of the woman sitting across it is menacing enough. We shrug our shoulders and move away. There is an other bar uo the road on the other side of the church. We head up there, now truly thirsty.

Bar fermé. A handwritten sign says.

As we get back into our car and the sun is going down I wonder if Miss R.2.1. has found out how to turn on the lights in her car ...