River Snack

I don't think we're in Tunis anymore, Rihanna Gaga - Indeed, we're not. On a whim, I decided to leave the country for a quick visit to my father and his wife, who live in southern France. Just a few days, to escape the oppressive heat, the constant traffic noise, the pollution, and - it must be said - my job. Ever since I came back, the tension has been high. Last minute changes to schedules that seemed fixed at first, rules that suddenly were presented to me as set in stone, though an hour before I had never heard of them, constant uncertainty about student numbers, which professor will teach what. Especially because I am the head of my discipline, I started to notice the pressure was getting to me and this annoyed me, because, as a departing member of faculty, with only a few weeks left to work there, I felt the w
orkload should be getting less, not more.

What better to do than to relax in Bessèges, the little village where I've spent my summers when I was young. My parents have owned a house here ever since I was 15 and for years before that, we used to stay on its municipal camping. Bessèges is in the valley of the Cèze, a small river in the Cevennes, one of the most beautiful places in Europe: an old mining district, there is a rough edge to it. Its people are often fiercely independent, speak a beautiful version of the langue d'oc-variety, and stand in stark contrast with the stereotype of the French as snooty, overly sophisticated and arrogant. The village is quiet. After the mines were closed, two factories were the main source of income - one of them has been closed for more than 20 years already - but many of its young people have left to find work in larger cities.  The villages in the surrounding mountains are equally empty, with people often only returning during the summer holidays. Many houses have been bought by Dutch and Belgians, often pensioners - my father and his wife are part of this small colony. As always, I find my dad and his wife extremely relaxing company. We spend much time chatting, or juct reading together and enjoying the selection of cheese that I bought at the local supermarket to indulge myself a bit before returning to Tunisia and its much smaller range of available products.

Rihanna Gaga is enjoying the holiday greatly. My father's dog - a beagle with a back problem, and therefore surprisingly quiet for such a dog - is a source of endless amusement and she loves spending time with 'opa' and 'oma', as grandparents are called in Dutch. There's great toys - a wooden train is a favourite, as are the dolls she brought with her herself and for whom she constantly needs to care, caught up in her play. She seems much more able to play by herself here than at home, running around the house by herself, talking to the dog, her dolls and herself

On Sunday, we go to River Snack, a new small roadside restaurant run by a friendly South African. One wonders how he ended up here - the lines in his face seem to suggest he has quite a life story to tell, but his manners also tell you he is not about to share. He talks to us in a mixture of English, French and Afrikaans, although his limited grasp on the latter makes clear that he is not a native speaker.

Given the location - in a little corner of a larger parking area, right by the side of one of the entry roads to Bessèges and in front of a petrol station - it is remarkable how the owner has managed to give his terrace a cozy, gentle feel. Two dogs run around the wooden terrace, much to Rihanna Gaga's delight. Scattered around is decorative furniture - including a stove under a tree - and the tables and chairs of the terrace. A few people are eating. A father and son, two workmen taking a lunch break. The owner runs around, gesturing wildly, ordering his kitchen staff, which turns out to be just a woman who spents most of her time sitting on the terrace herself, and when most guests have left, sitting down with that woman to play a game of backgammon. He is, in short - despite his foreignness - every inch the French café owner.

I order the beef brochette, like my dad. His wife takes the hamburger. Rihanna Gaga is asked nothing, but she joins us for the excellent French fries and a few slices of meat - otherwise, she isn't interested in the food. Initially cheerful, she becomes a bit sulky later on, missing her mum a bit, it seems. She immediately brightens up, however, when her grandfather buys her a cornetto for dessert. We take the dessert of the house, which tastes as good as the rest of the food. We're the last customers by now and it's time to leave. As we pay, the owner compliments me on my Star Wars t-shirt. 

Even though she's getting tired, Rihanna Gaga cheers up when we return to the car. I promised her  to take her to the river again and she's very excited by this new type of swimming water, so different from the ones she knows (the sea and the lake in front of my mother's house in the Netherlands). Most fun of all: she gets to walk around in the water with her shoes on, which I let her because of the stoney riverbed.