Theme for the story this month was: A Pinch of Salt

Sarah's story:

 A pinch of salt  5  A recipe, rev

 

 

Emma fell for him immediately.  Tall, well-built but slim, dark, no wonder he had the lead role.  But these qualities alone would not have sufficed.  It was his deep bass voice, which not only made him the star of the show but also pierced deep into Emma’s heart.  I suppose one should say, into her entrails, because we all know and admit nowadays that love starts with sex.

To herself, she admitted the crush.  How could she not?  But she hesitated to say she was “in love with him” because she didn’t know him from Adam, in point of fact.  And there was little chance of her meeting him.  The town was big, and she was not a member of that theatre group nor likely to be, as she could neither act nor sing.  But she thought about that production for days, and was on the point of splurging and buying a ticket for the last performance, though she knew that was what silly groupies did.

And then it happened that on the Tuesday of that week, day on which she worked as a volunteer at the Food Distribution Centre after she got off work, she saw him there as well.  Not asking for for food, surely!  No, it seemed he was offering his services.  A one-off?  Or was he to be a permanent member of the team?  She got up her courage and went over to talk to him.

“No, no,” he assured her, it was not just for this evening; he hoped to be able to make it a regular thing.  These times were so difficult for some people.  Her heart beat faster at this proof of his generosity and humanity.  But there was little else to say and much work to be done at the centre.

She wondered if she could invite him to dinner?  What a preposterous idea!  The idea had come out of a memory: her mother’s saying to her that “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”  Her mother, whose family was from the French West Indies, made a certain dish that Emma remembered, though her mother had never made it again after her father had died.  “Too many memories attached,” her mother had said.

This dish was the one, according to Emma’s mother, that had won over Emma’s father, if anyone could believe such a tale.  A “chicken colombo” though not an authentic recipe, her mother had said.  “I simply made up my own version, with the ingredients I had on hand,” she had said.  As Emma remembered, it went like this:

            Cut the chicken into bite-size pieces and brown them slightly in oil.

            Add some finely diced onion and green or red pepper and cook gently till the onion is translucent. 

            Add some sliced carrots, some green marrows, a little garlic and a couple of spoonfuls of colombo (depending on             how hot you want it to be, her mother had said).

            Add chicken bouillon or fond de volaille and water, and simmer for at least half an hour.

            At the end thicken if necessary, add coconut milk (or cream, if you can’t get the former), and serve over rice.

And, as she also remembered, it was delicious.

Inviting a man to dinner, however, was problematic.  In the old days, that might have been a simple way of getting to know someone; you assumed that he didn’t know how to cook, and that you were doing him a friendly favour, and maybe things would go on from there and maybe not.  But nowadays—what man would take such an overture as anything else but an invitation to jump into bed?  And jump out of the next morning to go on his way.  That was not what she had in mind, at least not yet.  She wanted to know him better first.  She felt that something more serious was in the balance.  And so she hesitated.

But she could not help confiding in her best friend.  Candee listened with interest, and said she had seen the show too and agreed that Robbie Chanda was hot stuff.  But she agreed too that inviting him to dinner might be taken as too brash a move, considering how little they knew each other.

Now Candee was not someone who would win the prize as the world’s most loyal friend, and she had the expedient philosophy that all’s fair in love and war, so the next Tuesday she too showed up at the Food Distribution Centre.  As it happened, Emma herself was not able to go that evening, as Candee had reminded her that this was the last evening of the sales and that if she still wanted to get that jacket she had better go now.  Candee also lost no time in inviting Robbie Chanda to dinner, for she had no qualms about being brash.  And she made the chicken colombo recipe, as she remembered it.  Things went as expected, and Candee noted the evening down in her Leporello book, as she called it.  (She had once seen Don Giovanni.)  She didn’t mention the incident to her best friend, however.  Some things are best kept secret.  Then she waited for Robbie Chanda to call her back.

The following Tuesday Emma was back at the centre, but Candee did not appear.  Not that Emma expected any such thing, for she had never heard that her friend had been there the week before.  Robbie Chanda came over to her as they were taking a break.

“Where’s your friend?” he asked.

“Which friend?”

“Isn’t that Candee Jacobs a friend of yours?  I thought she was.”

“She is,” said Emma, astonished.  “But why would she be here?”

Robbie Chanda told her about the preceding week, and how he had looked for her but not found her and someone had said that the girl Candee was a friend of hers.

Emma was pleased a this bit of news, though amazed at her friend’s coming to the centre, and even more at her silence on the matter.  She was, however, taken aback by his next words.

“And you know what?  She even invited me to dinner.  Out of the blue like that.  Said she had a special recipe.  I went, of course.  Partly out of curiosity, and partly because I never turn down a dinner invitation.”

By this time Emma had almost bitten her tongue off.  She was speechless.  He glanced at her, and took on an apologetic tone.

“You’re not upset, are you?”

“Upset?  Why should I be?”  She was embarrassed at her own spluttering.  Why couldn’t she be cool and collected as Candee always was?

“I mean, my sleeping with your friend.”

Emma stared at him.  Had it gone so far as that?  What a quick worker that viper was!

“It didn’t mean anything, you know.  She obviously expected it, so why not?  I’m not tied up with anybody.  At least not yet,” he added as he looked at her, which confused her entirely. 

She recovered enough to ask, “And what was this dish that she concocted for you, if I may ask?”

“A sort of chicken colombo.  It was good, but not exceptional.  And yet, I think it could be made better.”

She nearly strangled on her next words.  “It was my mother’s recipe!’

Robbie Chanda laughed, a hearty bass laugh and her heart flipped over.  Oh, that treacherous Candee!  And now she could never invite Robbie Chanda herself, not after this!

“I’m a pretty good cook,” he said.  “What do you say if I invite myself over and we try to better the recipe together?”

She stared at him again, and only just barely managed to get out whatever words were necessary to agree.

 

So he came over and they made the dish together and it was delicious.  “Why didn’t you like it when … my friend … made it?” Emma asked.

“She obviously forgot an essential element.”

“But I gave her the directions just as my mother gave them to me, and Candee is nothing if not scrupulously accurate in everything she does.  She’s not very original, but she does know how to follow a recipe.”

“Perhaps your mother forgot to tell you something that was obvious to her, and maybe even to you.  A pinch of salt.  That makes all the difference.”

There is no need to go on with this story, which developed very nicely just as the reader may expect.  Whether or not the relation endured, I cannot say, but perhaps it did.  They say too many cooks spoil the broth, but sometimes two good cooks make a fine pair, especially when that is not the only thing that unites them.

 

+ 1450 wds

Annemarie's contribution:

A Pinch of Salt 

 

As they stepped down from the plane a gust of stifling heat met them. Alan wondered why he had agreed to come, particularly as he didn't feel part of the group. But Anna insisted he was included. He privately believed that the grant from the Royal Astronomical Society, which had made possible the young astronomers' visit to the observatory, had been 'influenced' by her father, Professor Bright. Whenever Alan put forward one of his theories to the professor it was as though his words ricocheted back without the professor hearing or he would respond with an offhand gesture and a joke. It certainly was not his hearing; he always seemed to listen intently to the other students and as to the joking Anna said « Oh! It's just his way. You must take it with a pinch of salt.»In fact Alan was often told «to take it with a pinch of salt.Don't take it so seriously. Lighten up! «Well he would see how light this working holiday in the Sierra de San Pedro Martir would be and how seriously his fellow companions took him. Already they had spent had more than eighteen hours together in the confines of the plane with a brief stop in Mexico City, followed by another six hours and more along the coastal road in a bus with narrow upright seats. They had been told there was the possibility of food, drink, WiFi and toilets on board the bus, only one of which proved true - fortunately the toilet, only one of which was working. And that was very smelly and there was no paper! It was an interminable hot, dusty and bumpy ride. Sleep was intermittent, conversation desultory, hunger and thirst preeminent. On reaching the cabins in the National park they dumped their baggage and, exhausted, headed for their beds, the three girls in one cabin, the three guys in the second cabin. No time for anything but along, long sleep. Midday and the sun beat down; underneath a copse of sugar pines, the mountains in the distant view, six dishevelled astronomy students sat outside the cabins discussing the programme for the rest of the week. Apart from the nighttime visits to the observatory where they would be researching and testing their theories they planned on hiking in the park where there were a great variety of mammals: mule deer, bighorn sheep, cougar, bobcat, ringtail cat, coyote. They also hoped to see the many avian species including bald eagles, golden eagles, falcons, woodpecker, black vultures and particularly the condors, which had been re-introduced to the wild in the National Park. Then there was an incredible variety of vegetation, trees and plants. Alan muttered that they hadn’t come all this way to hike in the sweltering heat or to see birds and animals they could see in a zoo back home. After all, this was a chance in a million - a new moon, one of the best observatories for stargazing - so why not spend more time in the observatory where they could meet, discuss and learn from the astronomers who worked there. In unison the others laughingly mocked him;«All work and no play makes Alan a dull boy... oh, Alan we're in Mexico ...fantastic scenery, we'll have to try the food and then there's the Tequila to try, barbecues etc...have some fun, lighten up. Hell, why don't you try a drink for once!»Alan swallowed, his Adam’s apple prominent and the muscle at the side of his mouth twitching. Another dig at him for being teetotal. Well, yes, perhaps he would 'lighten up'.They hiked the pine trails high in the mountains during the day and cooked on wood fires outside the cabins before the evening visits up to the observatory. With the moon a mere super-thin silver crescent the stars were astonishingly clear and after a long discussion with one of the resident astronomers Alan knew he would make the professor listen to his theory once he was back at Warwick university. No more ignoring him or worse still, mocking him in front of the class. The visits to the observatory had exceeded his expectations; he had even learnt something from his forced hikes.On their last evening the guys went off foraging for wood for the fire while the girls prepared tostadas and enchiladas. It was Alan's turn to be barman and while the others sprawled around the fire he cut some limes, placed salt in a small dish and poured a measure from a bottle into six glasses.«I just want to thank you,» said Alan, «for including me on this trip. I know I am often the but of your jokes, that I supposedly take life too seriously but I have learnt a lot from our hikes about the flora and fauna of Mexico and tonight I propose a toast to us all with tequila, made from the blue agave plant. As you know, and you keep telling me, I don't drink but 'enjoy!'as you always say.»He handed round the six glasses, the salt and wedges of lemon to the five of them as they sat round the fire. He watched as they went through the ritual - lick the back of the hand, pinch of salt, swig of tequila, bite of lemon - and he watched again five contorted faces. He added a heap more wood to the fire, this time wood he had collected, and he retreated to his cabin. The extremely bitter and nauseating taste of the sap of the Mexican oleander, well-hidden by the sour lime, made them shake their heads and pucker up their mouths. The fumes of that same oleander reinforced the effect of the sap. Who knew that this so-common shrub harboured such toxicity in its sap, its branches and in its leaves. Drowsiness, dizziness, nausea - he watched from the darkness of the cabin as one by one his five friends toppled over. Slowly a silence fell, heavy like wet autumn leaves on a London pavement Too far, too late to call for hospital help. No more would they call him a nerd. He lay on his back and contemplated the dark Mexican sky peppered with bright stars holding, who knew what, fame for him.

 

Story from Geraldine:

A PINCH OF SALT

 

 

When   George woke up that morning, he felt as if he could have gone  back to sleep for another very long time  but that he would never forget, never, never, the blaze of the previous evening.

He could still feel smoke in his nose, his head was spinning, his eyes were swollen and tearful and he could just about  hear Joan’s faint voice crying out « it’s OK Dad, you’ve made it !  What about having breakfast now, I’m starving ! »

And this little voice pulled him together, his consciousness waking up to his small flat where they were all packed tight, waiting for instructions from the local authorities to what would be their next step.

He sat up in his bed,  his girlfriend Leonie fast asleep next to him , her son Alexander tucked safely under her arm.  And, in the kitchen his 2 other children, also with swollen eyes, waiting to find out what steps to make towards breakfast.

As he opened the door,  he discovered that everywhere was covered in cinders, the air was blurred, the outdoor temperature was more than 40°C , so he slamed it  which woke up Leonie and Alexander still fast asleep.

Dad, why did you come back so late last night and why are we all scrambled in here ?  Is it going to be like this during all our holiday ? asked Suzan, his young eleven year old daughter.

Look sweetheart, you’ve been seeing lots of pictures on Television showing how our country is burning and…we had very hard times last night at Leonie’s home where we were staying for New Years Eve, as we were told by the firemen around 11o’clock to get our belongings safe in the cars in order to leave if necessary.  They also suggested that we shouldn’t drink too much, although we were to celebrate a lovely New Year full of hope,joy and hapiness !

So what happened then, asked David, his thirteen year old son ?

Well my boy, we did what they asked us to do and went around the farm to see if Leonie’s Mum was Ok in her house : it was very hot : the eucalyptus around were on fire and the strong wind was blazing towards us, so we got quite nervous : this New Year was looking as if was going to be a nightmare. Nevertheless, we celebrated at midnight with a little toast to the future, and went to bed to try and get some sleep : it could be necessary for the coming hours said the firemen who had their hoses out and were fighting the flames.

And did you sleep, were you frightened,  asked Joan, his eldest daughter ?

Well, we didn’t get much sleep but we tryed to rest a bit.  The firemen were at work, asking us to get out of their way so they could try and do the job.  It was so terribly hot too…  So we took a few showers and had a laydown.

Then, everything went very quickly : Leonie’s Mum was evacuated as it was getting too hot and we were told that the flames were starting to lick our house, so we grabbed Alexander, ran towards the car and got started : yes I was frightened : the three of us had to get out of here as quickly as possible, the heat was intense, the smoke was thick, making my head spin and I had to keep control on what I was doing : rescuing us and getting onto the main road before we would get trapped !  It needed an enormous amount of concentration and energy, so yes, I was frightened, but I didn’t have time to give in to it.

But why did you get here so late then ?  Well, because we started driving down along the coast, but there were huge traffic-jams all the way down, because the Authorities told all the people on holiday to move back to their homes  immediately before they would get surrounded by the forest fires and so everybody was on the roads….  And the smoke was just terrible : we had our headlights on all the time, tried to get some air to breathe and had to stop from time to time because of the headache that was creeping up my temples and to get a bit of food and drink for us all…. And empty our bladderes !  Smiles…

 

And now, lets get some breakfast on.  We all need to  support each other for the next few days : Leonie was given bad news on her mobile : her house has burnt down to the ground… so she and Alexander are now homeless and going to be staying with us for a while.  Let’s try and make the place as confortable as we can and be nice to each other. 

We are only allowed out to do our shopping as quickly as possible and if things get worse around here, we will be evacuated by sea by the Army.  So, listen carefully :  the meeting point on the beach is beside the children’s playground : it’s covered with a thick 10 centimeter ash carpet which means you have to have good shoes on, just in case.  So whatever happens, we all stay together all the time and behave as responsible people : do you understand ?

Yes Dad, yes we do.  What about  some cereal and eggs and bacon for us all ?  I’ll take the order : how many eggs ?

Thank you sweatheart.  That’ll be great.

And turning towards Leonie, George said in a whisper « It’s good they are taking it with a pinch of salt, but it was really the worst chapter in my life I could ever imagine ».  Love you.

 

 

Story to be written with these five words: Writing, sex, joy, house, spade, ventilator , rainbow

Jackie:

 

Spade

Writing

Sex

Rainbow

Ventilator

House

Joy             

 

The ventilator wacked the air around the small space of her studio apartment.  It sounded like the engine of a ocean liner, creating a warmish breeze and shifting stifling air in this very compressed apartement on the 6^th floor townhouse from one end to the other.  

 

Squashed between two joyless buildings from the 60’s the tiny house on Albany street in Manhattan had survived many a turmoil   When the twin towers collapsed in September 11^th 2001 the dust created by the collapse of these buildings lay thick on carpeted floors, furniture and even among kitchen utensils and continued to fall over the weeks and months following the attack.   You almost needed a spade to clear away the debris.     On that fateful day she had cowered for hours under her kitchen table listening to the screams and sirens outside hearing people run breathless and panicking in front of her house that was situated just a block from the disaster.     

Apart from the dust there were millions of papers floating around in the air.   Papers from the offices on the 33 floors of the two buildings – most of them were torn into tiny shreds by the explosion, crumpled and burnt.   The cinders fell incessantly onto the pavement and reminded her of popping popcorn in her microwave.     Incredible as it seemed she picked up a sheaf of correspondence protected by a leather attaché case that had miraculously survived that had been blown inside her doorway.     Inside were several letters hadn’t been posted.    One of them was addressed to a certain Susan.   “ Sex has never been so good as when we were together – I beg of you Susan darling to reconsider my offer of 1000$ of spending money a month, our own studio apartment in Manhattan, a chauffeur driven car at your disposal and a permanent account at Tiffany’s and Bergman Goodman to spend as you wish.       I am writing this in my office on the 33^rd floor of these towers it is 8 o’clock in the morning and life has become unbearable at home.   Since my wife turned 50 she has become frumpy and dull. As she is in her menopause sex is tabou;   You will become my rainbow in a darkened marriage.  I shall tell my wife tomorrow that I’m going to leave her and we shall live happily ever after.   The  letter heading was of a well known accountancy firm Jim Carey and Associates 33^rd floor,  twin towers.    The letter was signed “your Jim”.  

After a little research she found out that Jim had died in the disaster but his widow lived within train distance and so she paid her a visit.

Mrs Carey lived in a non descript house in NY suburb – rubbed her flour clad hands on her apron as she opened the door.   A delicious smell of freshly baked bread wafted her way –    a motherly lady sweetly reminded her of her grandmother.

It remained a mystery as to why Jim who could afford 1000$ to his mistress in Manhattan lived in this shabby area of New York and was about to leave his wife.  

 

She accepted the offer of coffee and sat down to get to know her better –my late husband was a clerk in Manhattan she said I don’t remember the name of his firm where he worked but he was killed in  her name she told her was Maureen and yours?

“Susan” she replied crumpling up the letter that was hidden in her pocket.   “Its nice to meet you”.

 

 

 

Annemarie's contribution:

 

“Well good morning Prime Minister Johansson. I am so honoured to be back in this little old country. The last time i came I rode in the state carriage alongside her majesty, a wonderful, a truly wonderful little woman. We just have the limousine this time.“ “ Yes.. well..er ...erm that was a state visit. And er ...erm...today it's a ...a private visit between the two of us... And er-, erm.. why don't you call me Boris. After all we will be doing business together. I had thought of writing but I know it's not your forte.“No, golf is more my sport; I don't do the pianoforte. Out on the course whenever there's a problem - the bigger the crisis the more on the course. Now, when you said 'discuss the crown disease I thought you meant Prince Andrew.””“No, Mr President, I merely translated from the Latin - coronavirus - the crown disease - to avoid it being leaked and turned into your fake news. I often speak to the people in Latin. Very few understand and those who don't, well they vote for me. We will go to London to discuss political matters, chickens etc. how we can advise the rest of the world how to deal with this er...., erm... sniffle of an illness. This is a very private visit which is why we are in disguise. The black mask suits you - you look like the Lone Ranger.”“Yes I do look good, good enough to win another election. But then I always said we should wear a mask when I do. And you in the blue because you are conservative? With all this fake news about the Russians helping my last election I will need you support me?”“Well, the masks er...erm... these are the disposable masks (bought from Turkey) and we did have to dispose of all of them and the rest of the medical protection stuff as they were faulty. Which is why I told the country there was really no need to wear them; and the black bin bags didn't show the dirt so saved money there! Now look to your left and you will see Windsor Castle, one of our Queen's residences,” said Boris.“Well it certainly looks good and old but why build it so near the airport?”Boris, apparently, does not hear the question.“ Now, Doris, we are going to do a lot of good stuff, a lot of good, good stuff - tell your good people if bleach is good enough for the chickens we will be sending to your little England - a good, very good little place, -it must be good enough for us. An injection for each of us will stop us getting Kung-flu and keep our countries working. And if we buy your National Health we can supply you with all the masks we did not wear.”“ Mr President...”“Doris, call me Donald. I can see we are going to be very good, very good friends. ““Donald,I keep telling my voters we have trade agreements with America, that we are oven-ready to go...“ “So you will need our chickens.. “ says Donald“Our Brexit negotiations with Europe are getting along fine - just a few problems with borders..” mumbled Boris.“ Just build a wall...I’m telling you...that's what I’m doing - the biggest, strongest wall, a wall tested by mountaineers, a wall to rival the wall of Kungfluland. Of course I would have had pools with crocodiles along the length and spikes on the tops of the wall. These people are bringing drugs. They're bringing crime. They're rapists. And some I assume are good people. I call a spade a spade and they call me a rapist- I mean a racist; so you, Doris what do you think?”“Pica-ninnies with watermelon mouths, Muslim women in burkas looking like letterboxes,” thinks Boris but thinks it to himself. After all America is his only chance and he still owes a lifetime of taxes there. “Well, er-, erm, er- in South Africa...” he stutters only to have Donald ask:“Do we want a rainbow nation? Why is the home of the President of this great nation called 'the White House' if it's not meant for white folks to rule? Build a wall, a great big wall! Now what about this trade deal - what is wrong with geren -, geneol-, generally modicum crops? Bigger, better crops just like our women - generally, genetically modic...,modified women. Boris wishes he were conversing in Latin. He looks at the orange man with the carefully coiffured cockatoo hair who wants a white America and wonders ‘ quam in terris’ this posturing man ever became leader of the western world.“Talking of women you have had a good, good time. How many children now ?” asks Donald.“Er, erm... they say at least 6 but er, erm it may be 16. Jolly good, hey? You had your golf course and I was laid low in the bedroom during the peak of the coronavirus. The joy of sex!”

 

The President looks at the red-faced man in the scruffy suit , shirt hanging out, tie a-squiff and a tousled thatch of white blonde hair newly ruffled as though he has just gotten out of bed and he wonders how in God's world half of Britainland voted for him.“Tell me, Doris, when you phoned me for ventilators was that for crownflu disease or to recover from exertions... I mean exercises in the bedroom?” asked the President.Boris turned a little redder, Donald was still orange except where a gust of air lifted his carefully coiffured fringe to reveal skin as white as chlorine bleached chicken skin.

Geraldine's contribution:

 

SPADE – WRITING – SEX – RAINBOW – VENTILATOR – HOUSE – JOY

 

Sarah and James used to love spending a month or so, in the middle of the summer high up in the Alps.  There was this spot situated almost at the limit between the larches and the grazing spot for the mountain cows.

 

They used to leave the city with the boot packed with fresh food, hot clothes, mountain sticks, hats, sunscreen and glasses, hicking shoes and what have you, all shoved in bagpacks (except for the shoes that they would change into ) because once they would reach the pass, they would have to leave the car there, and with their bags on their backs,  walk for an hour or so, down to the little house – well it’s more like a chalet- where they longed, year after year, for the peace, joy and regeneration that would help them get through to the next one!

 

After reaching the spot, what fun to hear the helicopter and assist it in receptioning the goods they had ordered : loads of canned food, potatoes, lentils, rice, pasta, sardines, tuna fish , gas bottles, wine, beer, sugar,, flour, tools for the garden such as a chain-saw, a water can, a few spades, a rake  etc… They would be delivered in a special net and Sarah and James would carefully unload them in the storm made by the helicoper blades and then move back to let it go and deliver elswhere in the pastures.

That’s when the holidays began !  Getting up early in the morning hoping to see, either a few marmots whisteling to each other, or a little herd of chamois runing fast  and sometimes, if you  were lucky, looking high enough up in the deep blue sky, a royal eagle soaring.

 

The flowers were deep bright blues, reds or yellows small but strong on their stems.  There was a little lake surrounded by wild azalea and full of little frogs and other batrachian. 

 

And then, all along the summer holidays, friends with children and/or dogs would comme visiting them, bringing fresh food from the valley that would be kept in tupperware boxes, in the torrents to keep fresh, covered with big heavy stones to keep them away from the sun : the perfect fridge !

 

One day, Sarah decided to go for a walk with Chloe and Helen, both teenagers that had joined them.

The weather was strange, heavy, uncertain and storms had been announced, but in the mountains, you never know   if they will  burst in the morning, in the afternoon or during the night, or not at all.  They had been probing the sky for a while after lunch, and then, after a lot of hesitation, had decided to set off around 4 p.m. : they were to climb behind the chalet to a refuge that was about one hour from there.  They started at the slow pace that you take when you are winding up the small paths trying to keep in rythm.  The 2 girls were chatting and giggling and happy.

About half way up, the clouds started darkening and taking over the blue sky.  Then, far away rumblings were heard and the wind started blowing.  Within minutes the whole landscape had changed from brightness to darkness and Chloe and Helen stopped joking and hasted their steps to the top, as quickly as they could walk…  Anxiety had taken over and Sarah could feel that they were afraid.  The rambling amplified, the sky darkened even more… By this time, the refuge wasn’t very far and could be seen in the distance, which helped hasting and quickening their pace.  And finally, the little group reached the refuge where a lot of other people had taken shelter.  But it still wasn’t raining yet : far in the distance you could guess there was a faint rainbow.

It was terribly hot, although the ventilators were on at high speed trying to cool the stormy atmosphere. The bar was open, so the 3 friends had a drink and everybody was discussing wether to continue their hike or wait a bit longer… A few hikers were writing postcards with the view from the refuge clearly showing what an achievement it was to have climbed right up there. 

The storm was still around, but seemed to vanish slowly. « Shall we stay or shall we leave : we’ll be back to the chalet within around 40 minutes… It should be OK now.  We’ll try and walk briskly and we should make it » said Sarah.

 

So off they left and started hiking down, but after just a few minutes, a huge gust of wind came at such a terrific speed that they started running, running, running and then, the rain just burst and it seemed they had just had a pail of water thrown at their heads ! Fortunately, just a little further, they came accross a few ruins of what had probably been lamb sheds and they sheltered from the rain and gales : the lightenings and thunderstorms were terrifying and by this time, the 2 adolescents were shaking and trembling so hard that Sarah started feeling quite guilty : had she taken the right decision ?  In any case, it was too late now…The adventure was more than half way through and had to come to an end !

 

After some time that felt like hours, but probably didn’t exceed ½ an hour, the rain stopped as quickly as it had started, the sun shon brightly and the sky seemed even a darker blue than ever.

There were loads of snails all over, mainly 2 by 2 climbing upon each other !  Were they having sex ?  wondered Helen who knew something about them being hermaphrodite, but had never seen such a site…

They left the shelter and started running down hill as quickly as they could in the slippery wet grass, trying not to fall but hoping they would get back home before the next storm would hit them.

But there was no more storm to come.  They just learned, from this experience, that when you turn your head around when in the mountains, the landscape can change in seconds, the sun, clouds and shades can move with  an incredible  intensity, the wind can turn wild, the clouds can burst , you can feel lost, frozen and petrified but that you are so close to the sky, that spirituality is never far.