marine life

After eleven hours of the TER (TGV for escargots and grenouilles sans bar) from Avignon via Montpellier and Bordeaux to Rochefort) I was ready for some fun, and more importantly some oysters. However there was/were none to be had. Off, then, by bus to La Rochelle, the old haunt of Eleanore (me pronounceable to the then presqu' inlaws) in my 'p'tite marine' incarnation (1993-1997) with hunky sailor horn- playing boyfriend, Franck. Straight to the old haunt - the Bar/ Brasserie 'La Marine' for the douzaine d' Ile de Re numero 3.

(The medium size, apparently the best, is number three, not two. The smallest is number one and the biggest number two. Correct me if I'm wrong Franck. Horrible symbolism there which we won't go into...), pain de seigle (no baguette crap here milord) and a pichet of Muscadet.
Some of the oysters flip wetly off their shells and down my throat with a slight fizz as if still alive, whilst others wait to have their membranes pierced by my molars, releasing me into a belief that all my senses are diving into the sweet ocean. The pain de seigle takes me back down to earth and the muscadet heightens the naughtiness of it all.
With a performance and ten hours return journey still to come, I have to say it was worth it.