WWOOFing, It Bites Back: Days 5 & 6

 Day 5

100% organic peas

Market day. Up at 5:15am and took breakfast with Domi who was having a bowl of coffee with an egg yolk tempered in it with sugar. Interesting. I tasted it and it wasn’t bad at all. She explained that it sticks more to the ribs than just bread and coffee. At 5:45 we clambered up into the truck, 3 wide in the front seat, and we were off. We got to Muret in about an hour and pulled the truck up to Domi’s usual spot. After unloading all the rates she went to park. While she was gone, another, smaller white truck backed up in the street we were on an stopped. The front door popped open and out steps a small, portly, easily 80 year old woman who, as Lauren aptly observed, resembled an old hen. She walked around to the back of the parked truck, swung open the doors, and began unloading her wares without ceremony. I stared incredulously for a moment before quickly going over to see if she wanted help. We encountered a stiff southern France accent barrier but go the thing unloaded in the end. Later on she passed by our stand with 3 croissants, one for each of us!

Setting up shop

At the market I was on cloud 9. Lauren and I took turns behind the register with Domi, as she only brings only 1 WWOOFer to the market with her at  a time. We were in charge of the vegetable section: weighing out and bagging the quantities the customers demanded, while Domi counseled the customers over what plants to buy and how to take care of them. Unfortunately it ended up raining around 11 but the customers kept coming and we didn’t leave until 1:30.

Domi, Lauren and I after the a morning of selling

When we got home we had possibly one of my favorite meals here yet: duck breast brought from the market cooked in the cast iron skillet with sautéed potatoes and a simple salad. Dark chocolate for dessert. Amazing. We all took a nice long siesta and kind of lazed around the rest of the day before having the genius idea to make our own pasta for dinner. Tagiatelli, accompanied by a fresh basil and sun dried tomato pesto topped with goat cheese from the market. Ice cream for dessert. I’m so gaining weight.

Sizzling duck breast

Potatoes!

Day 6

Sunday. No work today, so Domi recommended we take about a 2-hour hike that starts from the village of Aurinac where she was headed anyway for her weekly tango lesson. Perfect. Maybe I’ll work off some of the 6000 calories I ingested yesterday. We ate lunch together at noon (sheep sausage cooked with their own peas that we all shelled together that morning).

Cyril and I shelling peas

About an hour into the hike, which went through woods, along roads, and past a really cook prehistoric cave (which is eponymous with the Aurinacian period), we came upon a farm, which Domi had marked on our map as a landmark. She had said they had 2 dogs, who, while barked a lot, were not mean. So, as we walked on through 2 dogs came out, one younger pit bull who came up and started licking out knees, an an older one who resembled Loute. As we stopped to pet the slobbering pup, the other dog kept her distance and started to growl, so we decided to keep on going. As we were walking away, with Lauren in front of me and our backs to the dogs, wouldn’t you know the older one ran up behind me and sunk her 4 canines into the back of my exposed thigh. We were kind of in shock and kept walking at the same pace. We continued through a gate bfore re realized that in the confusion we had missed the turn for the trail, and were actually heading deeper into the farm. We didn’t see anyone around, and kept moving. 

Lauren and Domi achieving the right consistency

Though surprisingly not freaking out, despite the blood, I focused on putting as much distance between the dog and myself as possible. We crossed a small river getting torn up by nettles and found ourselves in one of their fields. We started to cross to cut back into the woods and rejoin the trail and realized that the puppy was following us still. Then I got pretty scared because I kept thinking what if the other dog comes too and I have nothing to defend myself with. We yelled at the dog to go back and it did. Shortly after we came upon another river and a fisherman who offered to bring us back to the farm. At first I said no, and just wanted directions back to the trail, but when he pointed out that it might be infected I started to think he might be right and we accepted.

Chopping basil for pesto

Back at our farm I explained to Cyril what happened and he called a doctor. As it was Sunday I would need to go to an on call doctor. Now, Cyril is thus far one of my favorite French characters I’ve met. He’s incredibly playful, quirky and funny. He’s a wonderful teacher and patient at explaining things, however, he doesn’t handle stress well, and I could tell. It's not that he freaks out, but I could just tell that he was nervous, and outside his quiet country life comfort zone. On the phone the operator asked him where I was bitten, and Cryil responded “halfway between Aurignac and Cassagnabere.” The operator repeated the question, and Cyril repeated his response, before chuckling and realizing that the man was asking where on my body I was bitten. Oh boy.

We then hopped in the truck (as Domi had taken the car to tango) to drive 3 towns over to the doctor. I mentioned that it might make more sense to pass by the farm to see if there was an owner home so that we could ask if the dog was vaccinated and have that information ready for the doctor. Cyril conceded that I was right, and I navigated us back to the farm. I had seen Cyril smoke a few cigarettes after meals since I had been there, bur during the car ride he rolled about 7, so I knew something was up, even if he continued to joke and chat as usual, because he didn’t want me to be nervous either. When we got to the farm a man came out to talk to us. He seemed surprised that the dog had bitten someone, but then launched into a story about how the mother had bitten someone once, how they had been trying for 20 years to have the trail moved so that it didn’t pass through their farm, how there’s all kinds of people that come through and scare the dogs, blah blah blah. Not until the very end of his speil did he say “sorry.” Oh, and of course the dog isn’t vaccinated against rabies, but he had a rendez-vous with the vet to do so. Ok buddy.

Domi with our pasta ready for the water

We got to the doctor who cleaned me up and prescribed me antibiotics (goodbye 60 euroes because after 8 months I still don’t have my social security card). She also explained that the people, by law, have one week to bring the dog to the vet, if not, get this: the police will come seize it, kill it, send the head to Lyon for examinations, where I will also have to go to be quarantined for 40 days.

Aftermath of our pasta atelier

Now, I want to come back to France, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

Once back home and all the excitement was over, Cyril seemed consoled and started in with the rabies jokes, citing all kinds of bogus first signs, and telling Lauren to be careful, as tonight is a full moon.

We celebrated with crepes.