There you are - your very own Sacristans, except we ate two of them - Sorry!
Move over Russell - you've got competition!
The most useful part of the trip was getting the car insured. The paper work is now done and hopefully tomorrow morning we can go for a little spin before the truck arrives. It’s going to be a busy day so please forgive me if you don’t hear from me. I promise to make up for it later on.
It has not escaped our notice that today marks the anniversary of the terrible events in New York, and to all my American friends and readers, you are in our thoughts on this sad day.
We had been slightly concerned about the effects of the CERN project since there were those who thought it possible that we might suddenly pitch up in another century. We really felt as though we had done just that today when we drove up to Nimes and embarked on a tour of the Roman amphitheatre.
I have to confess that the closest I have ever gotten to a Gladiator is a rather hazy memory of Charlton Heston striding about in a rather short leather skirt which did him very few favours from what I can recall, and of course the delectable Russell Crowe who really gave the sport a boost.
Thanks to an extremely good English audio tour, we got a thorough inside view on just how the place was operated. Details not for the faint hearted were expounded upon and apparently the word “Arena” comes from the Latin word for sand, of which huge amounts were needed to cover up the puddles of blood which accumulated everywhere. There were nasty Romans and quite nice ones, and a few eminently sensible ones who knew that if the thumb went down (in fact it was a flat hand and a thumb stuck out) the gladiator in question could be put to death by his victorious opponent, but then he, as the organiser, had to pick up the tab from the Gladiator Training School. Clearly, having shelled out copious amounts of money on keeping the crowds happy and making sure that all the top knobs had the best seats in the house, it didn’t make good business sense to then allow someone to kill the goose which was laying the golden egg.
The tour took us up steep stairs, through tunnels and up and down various levels of the arena itself, and all the while, we were very aware of what life must have been like for both the combatants and the crowd. Having exhausted the subject of the gladiatorial fighting and the animal hunts, we were then given a quick run down on the more modern sport of bull fighting. I had been under the impression that the bulls weren’t killed in Nimes, but sadly they are, and I found my interest ebbing away. I am sure that the aficionados of the art of killing a bull will find me weak and wimpy, but cornering an already wounded creature and then stabbing it to death isn’t my idea of a fun way to spend the day.
We had a bit of a wander around the inner part of the city and decided that we were in desperate need of something delicious. By now you will know that we headed straight for the best boulangerie we could find, and joy of joys, there was a tray of Sacristans just waiting for me. I thought of you all this time, and since you weren’t there to share one, I took a photo for you. Enjoy!
We had been slightly concerned about the effects of the CERN project since there were those who thought it possible that we might suddenly pitch up in another century. We really felt as though we had done just that today when we drove up to Nimes and embarked on a tour of the Roman amphitheatre.
I have to confess that the closest I have ever gotten to a Gladiator is a rather hazy memory of Charlton Heston striding about in a rather short leather skirt which did him very few favours from what I can recall, and of course the delectable Russell Crowe who really gave the sport a boost.
Thanks to an extremely good English audio tour, we got a thorough inside view on just how the place was operated. Details not for the faint hearted were expounded upon and apparently the word “Arena” comes from the Latin word for sand, of which huge amounts were needed to cover up the puddles of blood which accumulated everywhere. There were nasty Romans and quite nice ones, and a few eminently sensible ones who knew that if the thumb went down (in fact it was a flat hand and a thumb stuck out) the gladiator in question could be put to death by his victorious opponent, but then he, as the organiser, had to pick up the tab from the Gladiator Training School. Clearly, having shelled out copious amounts of money on keeping the crowds happy and making sure that all the top knobs had the best seats in the house, it didn’t make good business sense to then allow someone to kill the goose which was laying the golden egg.
The tour took us up steep stairs, through tunnels and up and down various levels of the arena itself, and all the while, we were very aware of what life must have been like for both the combatants and the crowd. Having exhausted the subject of the gladiatorial fighting and the animal hunts, we were then given a quick run down on the more modern sport of bull fighting. I had been under the impression that the bulls weren’t killed in Nimes, but sadly they are, and I found my interest ebbing away. I am sure that the aficionados of the art of killing a bull will find me weak and wimpy, but cornering an already wounded creature and then stabbing it to death isn’t my idea of a fun way to spend the day.
We had a bit of a wander around the inner part of the city and decided that we were in desperate need of something delicious. By now you will know that we headed straight for the best boulangerie we could find, and joy of joys, there was a tray of Sacristans just waiting for me. I thought of you all this time, and since you weren’t there to share one, I took a photo for you. Enjoy!
The most useful part of the trip was getting the car insured. The paper work is now done and hopefully tomorrow morning we can go for a little spin before the truck arrives. It’s going to be a busy day so please forgive me if you don’t hear from me. I promise to make up for it later on.
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