Daily Iowan

July 23rd, 2007

Foggy Air and Felt Hats

Though I’ve been in France for more than two months, Saturday morning was the first time I sported a beret.

Our final program excursions took place in the Pyrénées, out in the fresh mountain air; rafting, a visit to the beret museum, and hiking to a mountain lake filled up the weekend.

Though it rained all day and couldn’t have been warmer than 65 degrees Fahrenheit, Friday afternoon we drove to Oloron for a rafting trip.

Five life-vested thrill-seekers were pictured on the brochure of the rafting company, their raft crashing into white water spray. “We appreciate the soft murmur of the water,” it said.

However, as we were handed wet suits, life jackets, and helmets, I sensed that our float down the river would be calmer than the advertisement depicted. We pulled on the still-damp suits, zipped up, and climbed like cattle into the company vans that shuttled us to the river.

Our guide explained, in French, the rowing directions, “pagaye à gauche ou pagaye à droite,” as well as the safety precautions, “pose les pieds en avant.” We all jumped into the raft, secured our positions, and took off down the river under the soft, grey sky.
After a few mellow rapids, we arrived at a still spot in the river where a series of water battles took place. I watched as the others pushed one another into the frigid water, then without any warning, the guide turned and pushed me out of the raft. The plunge was shocking. The icy water enveloped my whole body and I came up laughing, the guide watched me with a knowing smile on his face.
Later, one raft attacked ours, pirate-like. Their guide jumped onto our boat and tossed people into the water one by one. We also jumped off a waterfall.

When the trip was over, we climbed out of the rafts and hauled them up a hill. Everyone shivered in the cool air and walked awkwardly on wet, numb feet. We emerged into a field bordered by mountain peaks and church steeples from a nearby village. The charcoal sky hung heavy over the flaxen field and we walked toward the bus, like penguins, in our wet suits. The scene was surreal. We changed into dry, warm clothes by the side of the bus as our program director passed around boxes of cookies. We bit into the buttery biscuits and climbed into our seats, cold but content.

Saturday morning we learned about the history, fabrication, and fashions of the beret. The Bearn beret, made famous by the Basque, was traditionally worn to shield one’s face from sun and rain. We were each given a beret and were taught how to wear them properly. The whole group boarded the bus, topped in red or black, like a circus of Picasso wanna-be’s.

They did, however, come in handy when we arrived at the spot of our afternoon randonnée. The air was sharp in the Parc National des Pyrénées. Everyone kept their felted French hats tugged tightly over their ears. We climbed boulders to the top of the mountain and walked to the edge of the green-blue Lac de Gaube.

Fog swept in over the lake quickly, then just as quickly disappeared. I sat on a rock as I took in the scene, reflecting over the past two months. One week of class to go before the whole summer ended. Strange. Everything was already winding down; the university cafeteria had closed, the streets felt sparser as locals left for the beach on vacation, and most students were comparing departure dates. Many times throughout the summer I dreamed of returning home, craving the comfort of familiar people and places. There were also points that felt like the summer was flying by and I feared the end approaching.

I didn’t say much on the lift down. We descended into dense, white fog and could only see the tips of trees as they passed. It had been a great weekend after a full, engaging summer. I was ready for the last week. Ready to take in as much as I could and then be ready to come home.

I curled up on the bus, wedged between the window and the upholstered seat, with my beret pulled snugly around my head.

This entry was posted on Monday, July 23rd, 2007 at 5:15 pm and is filed under Arts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.

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