bonne pour la sante

The fun continues the next morning when we set off on a hike along the sea-side. Chastity, Bonne and I are at the front, making friends left and right due to our innate coolness, and our plan to forage blackberries off the passing branches as we walk. Today we are hunter-gatherers, we have decided, and for some reason it makes us very popular with our new classmates.

Mel, a short, sex-obsessed Bostonian, also wants to be a hunter gatherer. So does Graham, who has frazzled hair and is wearing an Elmo t-shirt. And then there’s Rose and Dee-Dee, two classmates from Brooks Academy. Every hunting gathering mission needs a leader, so naturally I appoint myself it.

Munching contentedly on blackberries, our troupe marches merrily “Onward!” I shout, punching a fist into the air and charging ahead. As we round a bend, the path tips sharply downward towards where the sun is glistening off aquamarine water. Caught up by the perfect moment, I beckon eagerly to my compatriots before skipping off, combating their cries of, “Omigod, how old are you? Five?” With the occasional resonating, “Hoorayyyy!!!”

Frolicking is infectious, however, and pretty soon there is a parade of teenagers bounding across the rocks. We stop to forage some tasty prunes (“Oh! Les vaches!” Exclaims Pascale, our French professor and tour guide, rubbing his hands before grabbing a handful) and it is not long before we find ourselves questioning the edibility of seaweed. Pascale assures us that it is indeed bonne pour la sante (good for the health) and we decide that, since this is a hunting gathering mission, we must concur.

“C’mon, Anne, be the penguin,” demands Mel, pushing me forward. We have just been discussing how penguins push each other off of icebergs to test for sharks.

I hesitate for a moment, then shrug.

“Ok,” I say, wondering what effect it would have on my popularity if I were to dunk my head in the water and come up with a mouthful of seaweed, like a moose.

I decide to nibble daintily on the leaf instead, and other brave souls follow suit. Salty, but not all bad.

We continue on through cornfields and forest, past farmland and empty fields, past cows and bulls and horses. We don't see any wild boars. Finally, we climb a long and steeply ascending hill to where the buses are awaiting.

The hunter-gatherers crash in the back, trading stories of past Europe experiences and taking in the passing countryside.

"I could get used to this," I think.