On a scenic train ride and proper French

The train North from Inverness went faster than the actual time it took. There was plenty of scenery to gaze at as well as wildlife. Somewhere along the coast the track came close enough to a beach to disturb a considerable number of grey seals who were sunbathing. They stampeded into the sea. I am half-convinced I heard their cries of alarm over the sound of the train. Farther North, I saw a red deer and her calf on the moors of Caithness. The train to Wick stops at a junction station, then reverses direction into Thurso. (The train was a diesel multiple unit (or DMU (Budd cars were DMUs)) with cabs at either end of the two car train.) At Thurso, the bulk of the passengers disembarked. One exception was a party of older people who had failed to exit the train in time. I gather they had tried to exit through an inactive door. Despite their pleas, the train departed, a slave to schedule. They remonstrated with a member of the crew who seemed to provide a solution. The train returned to the junction station where the party got off.

It was then off to Wick and one extremity of the British rail system. (Actually, it was only a passenger extremity as biking North to John O’Groats, I passed a bit of freight railway some miles to the North.) The ride to John O’Groats went very well. The open spaces and the sunny weather gave the afternoon a “Bring me that horizon feel”, even if the destination was a definite end point and the distance was only 17 miles. I guess it was the contrast with the day before.

When I stopped in Nairn yesterday for an afternoon snack, an employee of the establishment was have a smoke under an awning out of the rain. When she saw me arriving, she moved a sandwich board so that Leonardo might rest out of the rain. When I came out after a hot chocolate and a chocolate tiffin slice, there was a French-speaking couple examining the menu in the window. They were in front the bike, so I asked them politely to take a step back so I could get my bike. I did it so in French, bien sur. As I had come out of the establishment they were contemplating and I obviously spoke acceptable French, they questioned me about how good it was. I said I could only say that I had only had “un chocolat chaud et un gâterie” but they were good. There was a discussion of “le bon français” term, or more accurately, I apologised for not knowing what the right term was. We agreed that “patisserie” or “gâterie” were acceptable terms for a nonspecific confectionery.

Tomb of the Eagles tomorrow! And the weather looks good, touch wood. Also, this is post number 700.