Reset Password
Reset Link Sent
| Blogs > wickedeasy > wicked and that ain't so easy |
nationalism
|
nationalism  The families on the beach were putting down their blankets, grandmothers, setting out the parameters of their space for the day. It was not an easy beach to get to, set as it was in a smallish cove, the access a brambled rock strewn path from high above, not marked. I had to drag my moped down with me, but it was my favorite beach. Not a tourist beach, no umbrellas or frosted drinks, no waiters scurrying back and forth, just locals usually, sturdy souls who wanted quiet, privacy, a nude beach where everyone felt safe. The couple that had set up on a large flat rock were German, a couple staying in a pension in the village where I also lived. They had already established a reputation the day before by taking a picture in front of the war memorial, commemorating the death of all the village men over 6 and under 70 when the Nazis pillaged France, killing the resistance fighters. As the couple laughed, striking poses, asking reluctant passersby to take a photo, they might have guessed at their indiscretion, but no. Later that evening at the local bar, the room stilled when they entered, the bartender attempting to shoo them out, saying the bar was closing. The man, undeterred demanded a drink. The room watched as he gulped it down, and then choked. His limonade, pernod with a touch of water must have burned. The couple stayed, determined. The room emptied, the villagers refusing their company. The man, sat wide legged on his rock, staring at all the , leering, his hand fondling his cock. Grandmothers pulled les petites femmes closer. His wife though quite beautiful, seemed vague, not to notice, or care. He sat drinking beer after beer. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the umbrellas opened. The Mediterranean sun is a devil. Families gathered in their shade, eating, napping. The German and his bride fell asleep too sprawled naked in the sun on their flat rock. The grandmothers nodded each to each. It was as it should be. The played happily, the beach again safe. At the time of leaving we began to pack. His tortured scream woke his bride. She gasped as well. The lobster red of his white, white skin was frightening. The pointed but were herded by their families to the path. As he attempted to stand, the bride grabbed his arm to stand as well, but fell back as he shook her off. No one reacted. The Germans did not speak French, their pleas for help, if indeed there were any, went unheeded. I had one good look at his raw penis. The honeymoon was clearly over. As we crested the hill, I looked back. They were struggling to dress. One of the Grandmothers took my hand, gently pulling me along. That evening, the bar was full. The story of the lobster man was told, retold by the old women who were plied with drinks. The couple had left the village in an ambulance. had run behind it, singing the national anthem. I took a picture of one small boy with a tiny flag. The bar stayed open late. You cannot conceive the many without the one. |
||||
|
Comment. The pic is of the village. It was an achingly beautiful place to live. I was treated like family in this village where I lived for nearly a year. it had outer walls that were about 5' deep, you could lie on the window sills and tan. it coiled, like the inside of a snail shell and opened to the inner courtyard where the mayor and the rich had their homes. as you walked the cilds you could touch the walls on either side. a neighbor could hand another a plate across the "street" so to speak. oh it was stunning. all stone. You cannot conceive the many without the one.
| |||
|
Even the sun was in on the revenge. How sweet is that last laugh !
| |||
|
What a great story. It has been my experience while traveling out of the country, that there are many people who remain clueless as to how they affect a city when they enter it. I'm so glad the people welcomed you in, sis. I know I would treat you like my family... kk The observant make the best lovers, I may not do right, but I do write, I have bliss, joy, and happiness in my life, Kitkat Come check out my blog KItkat1415 check out this post by me Adventures In Body Grooming #39 April Topic Link: What Lies Beneath If April Showers Oh Bloody Hell What Kind Of Weather Turns Me On Bloggers Symposium 40
| |||
|
It is just awful to disrespect someone else's place of pride no matter your nationality or place of birth. Again, there is never any excuse for rudeness whether you speak the language or not. You can "feel" your error like a cloak (Virtual Symposium Group) use Virtual Symposium Group
| |||
|
This is just wonderful. Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra
| |||
|
I'm always impressed by your stories and your writing. This one is no different! 
| |||
|
Great Post WE, and a Beautiful Village! I can imagine the Bar that evening  Visit my Blog Older but no Wiser and find out more
| |||
|
That is an excellent and touching story Wicked.. Good to see they welcome you in with open arms. I have traveled all over the world and people forget sometimes they are not back at home when they enter the a new country.. They don't respect the traditions of that country. Like over in the middle East we had to wear long sleeve shirts and pants and something around our head when we were working in that area. They didn't want to see women with shorts or tank tops on with their hair all over the place. it is a beautiful picture and image you left us too. hugsssss V Become a blog watcher sweet_vm
| |||
|
You have a wonderful way with prose. 
| |||
|
No doubt about the message in that story. Vive La Difference
| |||
|
When I spent two weeks in France a while back, I remember being a little worried about being American because that was at the height of the period when the U.S. government was down on France...the "freedom fries" nonsense. But everyone who I met was lovely. They all remembered that we were on the same side in WWII and focused on that. Also I think one of the beauties of traveling is you find people are just people, no matter how misguided their government might be. I hope it plays out the same way when I'm traveling this spring.    
| |||
2/6/2017 10:17 pm |
oh that was a fandamntastic story.. thanks.. one can only hope that there is the same type of rock at Mar-a-lago.. face piles of trials with smiles.. MOODY BLUES please feel free to visit my blog happy blogging
| |||
|
This is such a terrific story, wicked. Thanks for telling it. At times I feel like that in my own country, as if there were really two separate nations here, one that wants to belong and another that wants to thump its chest and boast. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
|
Become a member to create a blog
