Sunday near Bordeaux

 Let's see, there was a tortue in a jardin . . . oyster shacks in a spot whose name I have already forgotten (Lesley, please help me . . .) but whose picturesque qualities I have not and there was sand . . . a mountain of it to climb, the Dunes de Pyla (autrement dit Pilat), with a new friend and Pater and bright children with boundless energy horizons to contemplate meditations on the