What's with Dr. Paniche?

What's with Dr. Paniche? June 8, 2008

Greetings, Gentle Reader,

Ok, Ok…I've been besieged with questions about the photo that accompanies this blog - the one in which I'm sporting an institutional white coat and curious headgear. Here's the story.

Last summer, Peg, I, and three other crewmembers (including Kathy, our peerless Blogmistress!) spent a week on the Midi Canal in France. For those not in the know (as I was deeply not in the know; Peg and Kathy, devout Francophiles, arranged this trip), the Midi Canal bisects France from the Med to the Atlantic. It is a true historical (and pre-Industrial Age technological) treasure, meandering through the northern Pyrenees and southern France's extraordinarily beautiful countryside. Starting about 100 miles north of Toulouse, we piloted a 38 foot barge through dozens of picturesque "Architectural Digest" locks, over rivers and gorges via aqueducts, and put-putted through charming villages, breathtaking forests, manicured farmlands, and, of course vineyards. Lots of vineyards. Oh, yes.

Peg and I have done a bit of sailing over the years…the Virgin Islands, the San Juan's in British Columbia, shorter jaunts on Champlain and elsewhere…and one of the key tasks that a bare-boater faces is provisioning. Stocking the boat wisely has implications for the degree of independence you can enjoy as a voyager, as well as for the quality (and efficiency) of the fare you consume along the way.

Needless to say, provisioning a barge for a countryside jaunt in France is a different matter. The fact is, when you get hungry on the Midi, rather than go below to rustle up well-considered provisions, you simply turn the wheel to the left (or right), bump the barge into the grassy shore, tie it up, toss your bike(s) ashore, jump from the boat with an empty sack or pack, and peddle off to the culinary Nirvana that is rural France. Were I rowing this canal this summer, my biggest concern would be trying to figure out which Fat Camp I'd need to patronize upon my return…and for how many weeks.

So…again, you ask, "This is fascinating stuff, Al, I'm really riveted, but what's with Kathy's whimsical Dr. Paniche photo?"

"Paniche" refers to the style of barge we chartered from Locaboat. A nifty little craft, it was spacious enough for five but sufficiently maneuverable to negotiate locks and docks with ease.

The hat is a different story and, let's face it, the real story. The photo would be otherwise unremarkable were it not for the hat, nes pah? Our barge was equipped with numerous bumpers (fenders) to prevent us from scraping the sides of the vessel as we transited locks. Sadly, one of our bumpers was a casualty of an "event" involving the wall of a lock, tearing in half amid the bloodcurdling screams of my crew….or perhaps it was poor Billy Bumper himself?

Anyway, with a little trimming, my crew fashioned Billy's top half into quite a stunning headpiece, one that commanded attention and respect among the locals as we locked through. Attired in the white coat, brandishing a staff (the brush), fortified by the viticulture of the countryside, and egged on by my shameless crew, we were expedited through each and every lock after Billy's untimely demise.
"Ugly Americans?" I think not. Natty? Improvisational? Resourceful? Perhaps. You be the judge. At least we gathered some smiles for America along the way, if not enhanced international respect. (I should think that Obama's international stature would soar should he don such a hat during his next press conference. McCain…not so much. Could be a little scary, in fact,)

On a more bittersweet note, last Friday we graduated our 60 eighth grade scholars. It was gratifying for me and my dedicated colleagues to see so many great kids now move on to the rigors of high school. I find eighth graders to be enthralling because they are in a state of such enormous transition. Physically, emotionally, socially, and intellectually, they are in metaphorical fusion with themselves and the world, which makes it incredibly invigorating (and challenging) to work with them. Anyway, they're off to the next life- stage, and while I already miss them and the wonderful pattern and rhythm of the school year, alas, they must "go." In fact, that's what I told them at the end of my brief remarks and a favorite poem: "Just…..go!"

And…they did. Sigh.

Two weeks from today - give or take a day - I should be pushing off from Lake Erie on my way to Whitehall. I'm excited, if a little concerned about my physical conditioning (at least compared to the prep for The Big Row in '06), but I'll be ready.

Hey, are ya comin' with me via the blog? I'd love to see some activity on the "Comments" board! I enjoy the therapy of writing, to be sure, but I'd be delighted to have some company. And if there is anything you'd like me to riff about, clarify, or expand on in future blogs, just let me know!

Hugs,

Mr. Frei