Dave's Travel Journals
Vive la Bière!
Frejus, France
By Dave Fox
Other than my thinning hair, and my beer belly, and my scrawny arms, and the fact that the skin on my back is about to start peeling off in sheets because the throngs of Riviera beach babes who were anxiously awaiting my arrival were apparently given wrong information about which beach I was on today and therefore never showed up to rub suntan lotion on my back... other than these few things... I am outrageously sexy.
But one can never be too sexy, and in my journey toward becoming a international playboy, I have been trying to reduce the size of my beer belly.
I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, "That's simple, Dave. Just drink less beer."
This is a glaring example of why I am more successful in life than you. You are always trying to take the easy way out.
Benjamin Franklin once said, "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy." And we're talking about a man who nearly electrocuted himself flying a kite in a thunderstorm, so you can't dispute the fact that Mr. Franklin must have had a lot of experience with beer. My second grade teacher, Mrs. Silbey, taught me that Benjamin Franklin was a smart man. So to honor Ben, I have been trying to reduce my beer belly without reducing my beer consumption. Instead I have turned to exercise and occasional healthy eating.
Take today for example. After a goat cheese salad for lunch, I walked across the street to the beach. On the beach, I engaged in calorie-burning activites such as spreading out my towel, rolling over, and turning six pages in my book.
I went to the beach with my friend Gaëlle while her boyfriend Martin was out scuba diving. After we all went home, Martin asked me if I wanted to get ice cream while Gaëlle was in the shower.
"I will not eat ice cream with you," I told Martin. "However, I will walk with you to the ice cream shop."
So we walked -- I think about three or four blocks. There were many enticing flavors, but I resisted. Then, on the way back to Gaëlle's family's apartment, I said to Martin, "Let's get more exercise. Let's walk to the supermarket and buy some beer."
So you can see how beer is helping me lose weight.
For dinner tonight we went out for mussels. The restaurant had a long list of choices: mussels in tomato sauce, mussels in curry, mussels with ginger, etc. When it comes to mussles, I am a traditionalist and usually get the "moules marinières" -- the basic ones, which are usually cooked with a little onion and celery in white wine. But this restaurant wasn't putting celery in their moules marinières, and celery, I have been told (or perhaps it was a strange dream), is the only food where you burn more calories digesting it than you consume when you swallow it.
Then I noticed that the mussles in beer and cream contained celery, so ordering was a no brainer.
Life is good here in Frejus, a cute little village on the Mediterranean with traditional French Riviera decor such as lots of neon and 37,212 cars per square centimeter.
Tomorrow Gaëlle and Martin fly home to Amsterdam. After I drop them at the airport, I move eastward to Villefranche, where I will perhaps drink a little less beer and instead sample a traditional French beverage called wine. I am told it is good.
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