EXTRACT/
I gazed out on a geckoless sea, as the French boat, "Karak" left this morning. Sunday 16th February, 2003. The couple were my favourite people in Peniche even though we only talked in passing. As I made my way to a pastelaria for breakfast, George was on his way back from the covered market clutching a plastic bag full of rolls. He shook my hand firmly and then held up his rolls. I exclaimed, "Ah, du pain" ("Aha bread"), George, eyes smiling, replied, "Mais oui" ("But yes"), Feeling really competent in speaking French I plunged into the shallow pool of my knowledge. I said, "Pour mange' avec du buerre et la confiture" ("To eat with butter and jam"), George, his beard looking like a tide rip over the shoal of his chin, said, "Certainement ... est le miel"
