The Baths Of Minerva

Friday, August 1, 2014

     Today, August 1 is the worst travel day of the year in France, the beginning of the month-long national vacation.  Traditionally, only those few who had to stay on call in emergencies did not take vacations.  In August during the years of his presidency, de Gaulle, who incarnated so many aspects of France, would disappear to Colombey-les-Deux Eglises in the Haut Marne in northeastern France for thirty-one days-- and remain incommunicado throughout, the better to spend time with his family.  Official business and the cares of office were not allowed to intrude on the family holiday, and those who attempted to do so, did it at their peril.

       But the de Gaulle years were thirty glorious ones --literally, "les trente années glorieuses".  In August 2014, no one feels particularly good about France's prospects, although the Micawbers of France's political class continue to tell the public that "something will turn up".  That something, they argue, is a rebound in the global economy, which will lift France's without forcing drastic change in the way business has always been done here.  President Hollande was, until recently among those making exactly that argument.  However, with its 10.6% unemployment rate and all the economy's motors stilled, plausible deniability of the seriousness of the France's situation was no longer a position he could take before the public.

     In his last major address, President Hollande admitted the country was at a difficult point and announced he would take only half of August off, and would holiday at "La Lanterne", the manor outside of Paris French Presidents have at their disposal.  Manuel Valls, the hard-charging current Prime Minister, was also quoted as telling his staff to, like him, take fourteen days off --but to be sure to holiday close enough to Paris to be back on short notice.  Everyone is making a great show of working on vacation.

     The day began gloriously: sunny and warm, with no humidity.  I walked over to La Marbrerie have a coffee and chat with Christine, who I haven't seen for a while.  Her mother-in-law, Francine, a vigorous woman in her seventies, came by to drop off the papers.  Francine's not an optimist --she wears sweaters and a hat in the summer to keep off the chill-- but she seems to have accepted me as part of her daughter's circle, so she speaks freely.  She brings her son and daughter-in-law the papers every morning.

     Putting down on the large red-marble table next to the bar Midi Libre, the region's daily, she mutters,

     "Disastrous! Fifty hectares near Narbonne gone.  All that land!  And the firemen couldn't stop it from spreading."

     Christine says in reply that she doesn't read the papers anymore because there's nothing positive in them.

     That's right --not a thing!  Nothing's going well --I just glance at them to get the news briefs: there's an increase in the stealing from private individual's orchards--

     "Well, people see the fruit hanging over the wall and help themselves", suggests Christine.

     And if everyone did that?  There would be no more apricots! says Francine.  Well, I'm leaving, she says, neither I nor Christine having any reply to make to that awful suggestion.

     Enjoying just sitting there and reading the papers at the marble table, I have a second coffee and chat with Christine in between her duties serving overnight clients breakfast and closing out their bills.  I still have to take Beau to the Stade for his daily run, so I leave in time to get there by noon.  It's still sunny and warm, but very comfortable: a perfect August day.

     As I have decided I will not drive anywhere whatsoever until after the weekend, I think of my options locally, and realize I have not been to Les Bains de Minerve in Peyriac.  Everyone I've talked to says they're a great addition to the area, although the building (across the street from the Gendarmerie), looks an unprepossessing cube of blue and green glass.  I could bicycle there in less than thirty minutes, swim and return in time to give Beau his afternoon feed, so I go onto the website.

     Les Bains de Minerve are not just a swimming pool, it turns out.  The facility is a parc aquatique.  Mind you, aquatique, not nautique.  It has a large swimming pool, of course; but it also has a jacuzzi, another water massage section, a hammam and a sauna.  The use of all --plus lockers and showers-- is included in the admission price.  A twelve visit pass is available for 45 Euros.  The pool is covered in cold weather, open air in warmer.  And best of all: the water in the pool is heated!

     I bicycle over and all is as represented.  There is a lane just for laps, lots of maitre nageurs --masters-level swimmers-- in red outfits keeping an eye out.  One is working by the smaller pool, leading a water aerobics class; another is coaching a chubby woman, making her swim backstroke halfway up the lane, then Australian crawl, then another combination of strokes.  There are not too many people, and I get in eighteen laps, loving the feeling of warm water on my ache-y knees and ankles.  The outside temperature is warm, and it is still sunny.

     I ask for the location of the sauna and am directed to the end of the lap lane of the pool to a door on the right.  I enter an area where chaise longues have been set out for after-sauna napping.  The area has a sauna and a steam room --which is the hammam mentioned on the website.  It is just my luck that this is the first year of the bath's operation: everything is immaculate and both rooms work perfectly.  There are three cylindrically-shaped showers with different types of water jets opposite, sinks and shelves to lay toiletries on: it's a virtual spa.

     After enjoying the experience I dress and ride home.  The weather has turned cloudy.  In Caunes, Offenbach's  Gaieté Parisienne was to have been performed outside the abbey tonight, but in anticipation of rain, it's been moved to the foyer.  I might still have time to get a ticket.