Shaped by nature, not by man

The word GOGOTTE is pronounced ‘go-got’

gogotte 1

 

Quartz and chalk were fused

millions of years ago

to create  gogottes

 

gogotte 2

 

These two gogottes were from Fontainbleu. They were on sale at Christies auction house in London

Mad cow

we don’t see ev’rything

that we consume:

might be germs with any bite

 

Bovine_500

From time to time, the United Kingdom is subject to agricultural diseases that need to be accompanied by nation-wide restrictions to limit spreading. A frequently occurring example of this is so-called foot-and-mouth disease. During such epidemics, those not involved in agricultural activities, such as hikers and tourists, are confined to roads, told to keep out of fields where traces of the disease may be lying.

During one outbreak of foot-and-mouth, we were spending a holiday in Wales. Wherever we went, we saw signs and barriers that prevented free movement across the countryside. What with the incessant rain, it made our trip rather dreary. We stopped for lunch in an ugly little town in central Wales. The most attractive looking eatery was a dowdy pub, devoid of any architectural merit. We sat down in its ageing dining room, trying to avert our eyes from the peeling wallpaper and a horrible worn carpet that badly needed to be replaced. Things looked up when the inn-keeper arrived to take our food order. We were attracted to beef steaks. There was a bewildering range of options for this on the menu.  Our host patiently explained the differences between the different types of beefsteak, explaining how the tastiness of the meat itself was related to its fat content and distribution within the cut. Fillet steak, for example, has little fat, not much taste without sauces, but wonderful texture. He recommended rib-eye as being the cut with just the right amount and distribution of fat to be tasty on its own. He was quite right, we discovered in that unattractive dining room in rainy Wales.

bovine

Some years later, Mad Cow disease (Bovine spongiform encephalopathy) became a concern in the UK. One evening, when we were going to a theatre near St Martins Lane in London, there were large headlines about the disease on the front page of the latest issue of the Evening Standard newspaper. Before the performance, we entered a branch of McDonalds for a quick snack. Almost everyone in the café was eating beef burgers, despite the headlines on the newspapers that some of the customers were reading!

Shortly after this, we went on a driving trip through France. In one small town, we walked passed a small restaurant with a sign hanging in its glass-fronted door. It read (in French): “We might be mad, but our beef is not.”

While the Mad Cow scare was at its height, we were invited to stay with some friends in Belgium. We had stayed with them often before. We asked them what they would like us to bring from London. They said they would love a home-made curry, enough for about twelve people. Although I am married to an Indian, it is I who makes the meat curries in our family. I prepared and cooked a huge lamb curry. As it is only a few hours’ drive between London and Belgium and the curry would have to be re-heated before being served, we thought it safe to transport the casserole containing it without refrigeration.

There were more security checks than usual at the English end of the Channel Tunnel. After our car had been examined, and the engine checked for hidden items including explosives, we were asked if we were carrying any meat products across the English Channel. We mentioned that we were transporting a casserole of cooked lamb curry. The security officials looked puzzled, told us not to move, and then walked away towards an office. One of them returned, and asked:

“It’s lamb, not beef is it?”

We confirmed that it was not beef.

“And thoroughly cooked?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what with all those spices, we’ll let you take it through the tunnel.”

Nobody asked us about meat when we arrived in France. We drove through a bath containing disinfected, and then headed for our destination.

Read this before travelling under the English Channel!

This is an excerpt from a book I wrote some years ago about travels with my late PhD supervisor, Robert, and his late wife Margaret. Every summer, they used to travel with their caravan to Northern Greece – a nine day journey, camping along the way. Here is what happened on the first night across the English Channel.

HARK 78 Ptit S Bernard RDH AY MH

L to R: Robert, Margaret, and Adam  

After docking at Calais, we drove a short distance southwards towards the village of Coquelles. Having driven right through the village, we stopped in a lay-by situated in the midst of ploughed fields. There was neither a house nor a person in sight at this isolated spot.

At this point, I should explain that Robert and Margaret preferred to camp ‘wild’. That is to say, they preferred not to camp in officially organised camp-sites. This preference was not based on financial considerations, but on a desire to spend time far from the madding or maddening crowd. Robert once told me that his idea of hell would be to be trapped forever in a bus full of passengers chattering incessantly. I trust that St Peter has sent him to a better place!  Robert told me that if were to be born again, he would like to be reincarnated in the form of his pet horse named ‘Hobo’. This pampered creature spent all day in a huge field in the open-air, and lived an ideal life, neither having to make or listen to small-talk nor to attend committee meetings…

HARK 78 Ptit S Bern Camping

 

…Soon after we parked at our first camping site in the northwest corner of France, I felt the need to pass motion. There was not a toilet to be seen where we stopped and there was none in the caravan. The compartment in the caravan that had been designed to be used as a toilet was being used instead as a wardrobe and general storage cupboard. I wondered what arrangements had been made for evacuating one’s bowels. I asked Robert. Before he replied, he handed me a spade and a pickaxe. When I had these heavy implements in my hands, he pointed at the ploughed field across the road from where we had parked. He told me that I was to dig a hole in the ground, do my ‘business’, and then cover it up, taking care not to leave any signs that the earth had been disturbed. Robert was a keen environmentalist, but definitely not a ‘tree hugger’.

Armed with my workman’s tools, I entered the field and hid behind one of the few small windswept bushes near one of its boundaries. This was the first time that I had ever used, or even held, a pick-axe. So, I raised it high above my head, and brought it down sharply towards the ground in front of me. As soon as the cutting point of the tool hit the hard earth, it bounced of it. The ground was as unyielding as concrete. I tried again, but with the same unproductive result. By now, I could feel that things were becoming urgent and if I persisted in trying to dig a hole, I would soon find myself in an embarrassing hole. Making sure that I was not observed, I voided on to the surface of the earth, rather than beneath it, and then I returned to the caravan.

rob map

Late in 1994, nineteen years after I defecated onto that field near Cocquelles rather than beneath it, the field no longer existed. It had been excavated and destroyed to become a part of the French terminal of the recently constructed Channel Tunnel.

 

Beneath where I had once squatted, thousands of passengers now stream daily on their way to and from France.

I have been one of them.

 

aegean

FOLLOW ADAM YAMEY’s ECCENTRIC ADVENTURES WITH HIS PROF  HERE