Monday 22 July 2019
I spent the weekend getting sand between my toes on Bayonne Beach, finishing the book I was reading and scoping out a route through France. Today, three hours to Condom.
What can I say? It was a good distance in the right direction, had an aire and the potential for lots of knob jokes, which I shall uncharacteristically resist! Condom has no responsibility for its name being misappropriated.
As long ago as 1666, the English Birth Rate Commission (who’d imagine such a thing at that time) attributed a downward fertility rate to use of “condons”, the first documented use of that word (or any similar spelling). Other early spellings include “condam” and “quondam”.
A variety of unproven Latin etymologies have also proposed, apart from condon (receptacle), condamina (house), and cumdum (!) (scabbard or case). It has also been speculated to be from the Italian word guantone, derived from guanto, meaning glove.
Nothing to do with Condom.
Condom is pretty, but hot as hell today. I’ve chosen to come inland with temperatures nudging 40 for a few days.
There’s a town festival going on but no need for those umbrellas, though it’s always good to have access to protection.
Condom is known for its production of Armagnac,
and the county it sits in, Gers, is home to D’Artagnan.
Therefore, there is an association between Armagnac and the musketeers. Armagnac societies around the globe call themselves musketeers.
There are Armagnac tours to top producers and cellars hereabouts, a reason, if one were needed, to visit this area.
Some of France’s prettiest villages lie north of here,
and, apart from the cathedral,
there’s not much more to the town of Condom, there are castles and so on nearby.
And when else would I see this activity on my tracker?
Great trick if you can do it!
Time, 23:20, temperature 31 degrees; a cold shower is called for.