The inhabitants of the bergerie were preparing for some kind of festival. Like most festivals, a goodly part of the preparation seemed to be based on checking that the wine (and in this case, the pastis), were in a consumable condition. A German party which had arrived the previous afternoon were just preparing to leave, a mere twenty hours behind schedule. Before I realized what was happening, Claudia had already refused a drink on my behalf. In compensation, she ordered ham and eggs for breakfast. Unfortunately they did not have ham, but they countered with cheese omelet. We bought a loaf to go with it, and coffee. The perfect American breakfast. We sat at the picnic table provided for the purpose, and while we waited for the hot stuff to arrive, we basked in the sun which had also deigned to put in an appearance.
More trekkers arrived, this time accepting the proffered glass. It was a popular spot. Soon another couple came and sat at the bench. The donkeys gave them the treatment. One of the women from the bergerie came over and instructed us on donkey discipline. Apparently, donkeys don't like hose-pipes. These ones didn't anyway. She only had to pick it up for them to change their attitude completely. They almost stood to attention, then headed off in the direction indicated by her pointing finger.
Our table companions unpacked their lunch, and we gave them half of our loaf. The trekkers who had accepted a glass accepted another. Our omelet arrived, still steaming, and slippery with the butter it had been fried in. Hunger, anticipation, and the sheer luxury of someone else cooking food you haven't had to carry all helped to make it a truly memorable omelet. The trekkers who had accepted a glass accepted another, and just as we were finishing, Alf and Martha arrived. They bought two pieces of charcuterie: what seemed to be a miniature Parma ham (to take home), and a sausage (for lunch). I sampled the sausage. It was nearly as good as the omelet, so we bought the same. The trekkers who had accepted a glass were being led away for communion. Everyone took their glasses, and the head man was carrying an unopened bottle of pastis.
As Alf and Martha boiled up some soup, Claudia and I packed up to go. But the warmth of the sun, and knowing that we only had about an hour and a half's walking still to do diminished our need to get on the road, so we dawdled and chatted until when we finally left we were only about five minutes in front.
In the distance, we heard the salutations of the party introducing itself to the pastis. I went into the cook's little building to pay our bill. On the outside, its dry stone walls were covered in pots, pans, saddles, drying herbs and flowers. On the inside it was totally bare. There was a gas cooker, the gas bottle it was connected to, and a disconnected cooler box, which was being used as a safe. That was it. It was as if the place had been turned inside out. The woman opened the safe, took out the Tupperware container which was its only content, and dug around in the coins it contained to give me some change.
