Biarritz: Day 6--details of all the bits and pieces

Beach-bum day. One problem: absolutely perfect weather, leads to absolutely clear blue skies, which leads to absolutely red skin, which leads to absolutely painful movement the "morning after." Well, okay, I'm not burnt, but I am a bit rosy. However, the pain and the suffering in the sun was absolutely worth it because I got to spend the afternoon with the boys, crashing into and running from salty wave after salty wave. Pure fun: all in a days' work, right?

So, I've gone crazy. I've taken to running the 114 stairs that lead to the beach every morning. In effort to follow the program set forth by the Health Nazi book that I told you about (I'm still keeping the title anonymous), I am trying to incorporate anaerobic exercise into my daily "ritual of hyper-movement," as I like to call it now. You can imagine how much I looked forward to the beach this afternoon after running the stairs up and down six times this morning. Pure sweat: all in a days' work, right?

Today's thought: everyone wants to know that someone is there.
I loved watching Milan at surfing class this morning. He loves the class and just adores trying to surf. He is an 8-year-old boy who captivates every aspect of life, sans regret, so taking on a new challenge is ordinary to him. I waited for him at the surf shop, and when I handed him his towel, he said to me (in French) "I didn't see you. Where were you?" His inquiry took me off guard just a bit, but I disregarded it immediately in effort to get him warm and to get out of the way of human traffic in front of the surf shop Plums.

As we strolled down to the beach after lunch, the lingering thought of Milan's question resurfaced and I smiled ever-so slightly, still offering it no further thought. But, when Milan camped next to me as I lay under the sun, rather than bounce in the waves by himself, my mind began to put the puzzle together. He asked me if I wanted to crash into the waves with him and, with emphatic excitement I hopped up and we ran into the heavy water, full of thousands of little kids. We bounced about, chasing the waves and laughing as best we could with mouths full of salt water. When I pushed my way through the water to dryland for a break, Milan braved the oncoming waves alone, now taller and stronger. But, he kept looking back, checking to see if I was there. I noticed for the first time today something new: he has more fun when someone is watching him. He would rather sit still with someone than play alone.

I stood there smiling and just kept swirling that thought around in my mind. I wandered over my own memories of great times, always remembering that someone else was watching me. It is certainly true that everyone wants to know that someone is there to watch them chase their dreams, to tackle their greatest challenge, to cheer for their success, to pull them out of the mud, and even to re-direct their wandering eyes. Even 8-year old French boys want to know that someone, be it their friend à l'ecole (at school) or the American girl living in their house, is watching them have fun.

I am thrilled to know that you are watching me as I travel. I raised my glass to you as I sat literally next to the waterway just across the bridge, in true Hollywood-in-Europe style, enjoying my Carpaccio de boef (beef carpaccio) and the great company of the family and one of their friends at a brilliant little Italian restaurant in Bayonne (10km from Biarritz). It is to you that I dedicated the entire soirée last night.

Thanks for watching.