Yvetot: Day 3

Today Frankie played a 1/6 ranked Frenchman who was in his mid 30s. After the match he told us that in 1999 he was 800 in the world in singles and near the top 100 in doubles, so he could definitely play. He was left handed and 99 percent of his shots were looping forehands to Frankie's backhands. Normally, this pattern is not so good for Frank but the match started off well anyway.

Pascal on the far left. About 5 sheep graze in the middle of the picture while Frankie plays on the far right.

 After dropping serve to go down 0-1 he broke back and held to go to 2-1. Neither player could find a way to win a game on the side of the court closest to me and when Frankie came back to my side he dropped the next two games to go down 2-3. When he went to the other side he went back up 4-3. And went he came back he was down 4-5. He left again and went up 6-5. Finally the Frenchman broke the curse and held to take the first set to a tiebreak. Frank played sloppy and went down 5-2 but somehow clawed his way back to 5-5. And that's where the video below begins...

5-5 in the tiebreak. What happens?

After the odd curse of the near side in the first set, the second set was much more normal. Both players held until 3-4 when Frankie was broken. He had chances to break back but the Frenchman held to grab the second set 6-3. Frank didn't play any worse in the second but the Frenchman stopped going for shots and just did not miss anything. With so many balls going to Frank's backhand it was tough for him to get on the offensive.

The third didn't start out well with Frankie going down a break 2-4. He played a solid game and at 40-30 hit a nice backhand pass that clipped the outside of the side line, right near, but certainly in front of the baseline. The Frenchman ran back, called it out, and then circled some random mark beyond the baseline. When Frank came over to inspect the Frenchman started to appeal to the crowd for support of his call, which was an odd thing to do. This tactic of calling the ball out and then circling a random mark was a common one for the Frenchie as he did about 3 or 4 times and there's really not much you can do about it. Frank fought hard but dropped the third 2-6 to lose 6-7 (5), 6-3, 6-2. He played pretty well and this was not a bad result for playing a solid 1/6. He certainly had chances and hopefully can get the next one.

We're staying at Pascal's again tonight and then tomorrow we will head north to Vueles-Les-Roses, the coastal village where our next tournament is. We don't play until Saturday so we'll have a few days to relax on the beach which will be fantastic. Once again, I'm writing this blog from the Yvetot Tennis Club where our buddy Pascal left us in charge because he had to go dinner. Right now we have the keys and are going to lock up here shortly. It seems it doesn't take too much to gain the trust of the French. 

The sheep were about 10 feet from the court. 

-Max

Our First Day Out of the Flat

**I added a few pictures and a video of Frankie's match yesterday to the previous post. Check them out.

Pascal 'teaching' Frank how to string.

Our first day on the lam was quite interesting, but nonetheless successful. I'm writing this from the clubhouse of the Yvetot Country Club. Frankie plays in the quarterfinals against a 1/6 ranked player at 17:30, about 2 hours from now. Right now he's stringing away on this antique stringing machine that Pascal the tournament director, who's yard we currently camp in, insisted on teaching Frankie how to use, despite the fact that Frank is quite capable of doing it himself. Teaching us something we already know how to do is quite typical of Pascal. Don't get me wrong, he's an extremely nice man, but perhaps because of the language barrier he endlessly repeats himself and goes over every detail in minutia. Last night for example, he sat us down for 20 minutes and showed us on a map how to get to his home even though I showed him I had an iPhone that gave us the same directions. But he insisted, and he's just too nice to say no to.

Leaving Rouen for the last time yesterday.

Fortunately for us, Gustavo is good friends with Pascal so we have had a seem less transition from our flat in Rouen to Pascal's yard. After Frank's match last night we made the 20 minute drive to the tiny village of Yainville, where Pascal has lived for the past 36 years. The route Pascal insisted we take was very pretty and all along the way we drove though the rather majestic French countryside. His 22 year-old son welcomed us to there home, and then showed us to our 'camping spot'. We sent up our tent, which is comedically large, and waited for Pascal to return from the club. When he did we sat in his kitchen for over an hour drinking tea and chatting about a variety of topics.

Driving to Pascal's house...

...and one more.

The front of Pascal's home. We're camping in the backyard.

Our tent is so big...

...like really, really massive. At least 15 feet long and a bit over 6 feet tall in the middle.

This morning Pascal and his wife invited us in for breakfast and we had a great meal overlooking the city of Yainville and Pascal's yard. It's pretty darn cool that by playing tennis in these tiny towns we've been able to experience some things that a large majority of travelers just never would get to do. We'll be staying at Pascal's again tonight, and possibly the night after that as well, but it's hard to say. I'll try to give a summary of Frankie's match later this evening, but our internet is much less predictable, and thus my daily reports may become less predictable. But I'll do my best.

Our breakfast spot. 

We encountered a cow on our way to Pascal's. 

-Max

Yvetot: Day 2

*Update (7/31/13) Added a few pictures and a video of Frankie's match. Sorry about the poor quality, but taking quality pictures / videos through glass is impossible. 

This country is full of stingy tennis players. And I say that in the nicest possible way. Every person you play is a backboard. There are no easy matches. Hell, there are no easy points. That being said I will give you a little glance into my match yesterday, and Frankie's match today.

As I mentioned I played a 31 year-old Swiss resident. He grew up in France and went to university in Paris but, as he told Frank and I, he now lives in Geneva because it is impossible to get a job in investment banking in Paris. Furthermore, he explained that as of last year the income tax rate in France is hovering around 60-70% which makes living in this country very difficult. We started the match outside but at 0-2 it poured rain and we moved indoors. The indoor courts at Yvetot Tennis Club weren't exactly like American hard courts, but they certainly were the most similar surface we've played on since we've been here. I dropped the first set 0-6 relatively quickly. I certainly didn't play well, but as I mentioned in the beginning of this post people here just don't away free points, and I was making way too many errors. In the second set I was much more completive and it stayed on serve until 3-4. I had game points to take it to 4-4, and even missed a sitter volley on game point, but he broke and then held for a 0-6, 3-6 win. I wasn't very happy with the way I played, mainly because I played so dumb and just gifted away games. Later in the evening we returned to the flat for the last time, had a few drinks with Gustavo, and went to bed.

Fortunately the score cards you see weren't my score...but they weren't that far off.

In the morning we frantically packed all of our stuff and made our way 40 kilometers to Yvetot, a town of about 10,000 in Northern Normandie. We had planned on stopping in Beratin, a town about halfway between Rouen and Yvetot, to try and get some issues with our phones worked out, but we had no time so we headed straight to Yvetot. Frankie played at 3:30 and almost as soon as we arrived he went on court. He was playing a 15/1 French teenager who, like apparently everyone here, was a backboard. Though he was a 15/1 ranking, we've both learned that you can't really take rankings too seriously. Everyone is good, and I mean that. The match started well for Frank, he was moving well and hitting the ball with confidence. The match stayed on serve until 2-2 when Frankie got hot, and parts of the backboard began to fall away. Frank took the next four games and the first set 6-2.

Frank up 4-1 in the first set.

 It's worth noting that in every service game Frankie faced break points but managed to hold every game in the first set. The second set started much the same with the real difference being that  the young Frenchman had decided that he was simply no longer going to miss. In the second set he probably made less than 7 or 8 unforced errors. He made Frank work for everything. Both players held until 1-1 when Frank got first blood and broke to go up 2-1. At 3-1 the Frenchman broke back and both players held until 5-4 when Frank played a fantastic game and broke at love to win 6-2, 6-4! His first win! He plays in the quarterfinals tomorrow at 5:30.

 Match point Mr. Allinson...

Game. Set. Match. 6-2, 6-4. Frank's first W!

Gustavo helped us befriend the tournament director and we're headed to pitch our tent in his backyard tonight. Check back tomorrow and I'll have pictures and video of today and tomorrow. As well as little more explanation of our interesting new relationship with Pascal the tournament director.

I forgot my license in the SFR store so we had to go back and get it. I wasn't very happy. 

Frankie found it wildly entertaining.

-Max

Yvetot: Day 1

You're not getting much today. I lost 0-6, 3-6 and played terrible so I'm kind of pissed, have had slightly too much wine, and am in no mood to rehash a garbage match. I played a 31 year old Swiss hedge fund manager and got rolled. Just an awful match on my part. I'll go into a little more detail tomorrow after Frankie plays in the afternoon.

On the plus side Frank and I finally got French phones today so our loving parents can contact us with slightly more frequency (if they desire). Again, sorry for the brief post, but I'll give you'll a full recap tomorrow. At least I hope I will. Tonight's our last night in the flat so internet could be harder to come by in the future. But rest assured, I'll keep blogging daily, or at least almost daily.

A replica of the Statue of Liberty. Since they gave us our statue, isn't making a replica of their own gift some convoluted version of Indian giving? Or maybe they're just quite proud...

Sincerely, 

A lovable loser. Max.

Tourly

When you write about the matches you play every evening, as I've been doing with this blog, you begin to notice trends in your game (and in my case, trends in Frankie's game as well). And if I start a match by digging myself big holes early in sets one more time, some poor Frenchman is going to lose his head.

On the way to the club.

Today we traveled about 100 kilometers to the village of Tourly. It's a tiny town in some rural part of Northern France. Unlike yesterday when we traveled on a highway, today we traveled through the French countryside on roads so narrow two cars can barely fit. Gustavo had told us that the club was tricky to find as it was just two indoor courts in the middle of a corn field. He said, "It look like corn, wheat, corn, tennis, corn, wheat." And he really wasn't exaggerating. The club was actually located right behind a large corn field with absolutely nothing else around. Save for a small little lake that some guy was aggressively fishing.

The view of the club from the highway. Notice it is quite literally behind a corn field.

Frankie had decided he wasn't going to play because his elbow was bothering him a little (don't worry Richard and Wanda, he's fine) so I stepped in. Because it was a small tournament I started in the semi-finals and was facing the director of the Tourly Tennis Club in my first match. He was an older guy, probably about 45, and in the warmup he looked awful. Except for his serve. Despite not bending his knees and using a motion that resembled a fairy sprinkling pixie dust, he dropped bombs. It made no sense.  Before I get into the match it's worth trying to convey just how French this guy was. In fact, after the match Frankie laughed for 30 minutes as he recounted all of the Frenchman's (as well as the French crowd's) antics. To start, when I looked down to bounce the ball before my serve he would slide his feet together, go up on his tippy toes, and twirl his racquet in front of his face before finally getting in a decently athletic position. He also texted every changeover and Frank said he was constantly receiving messages with excessive heart and kiss emoticons. And every time he missed a shot, he would do a full reconstruction of the stroke he had just erred on. Some people do a brief swing to try and mentally fix their error, but this guy would recreate the entire moment. Finally, apparently every time I called the score in French the French people next to Frank would mock my French accent. Which, given how poor my French accent probably is, is moderately acceptable.

Frankie lakeside near the club. Later, some older Frenchman was casting three fishing poles at once.

However, despite the director looking bad in the warmup, I wasn't looking to hot myself. I was a bit fatigued from the drive, and the court we were playing on was unlike anything I've ever played on. It was some sort of concrete topped with a fine layer of dust that caused every ball, and especially slices, to skid and never get much higher than your hips. And while on most surfaces the director of the club probably played like he warmed up, quite poorly. He had clearly been perfecting his indoor, concrete court tennis game for a number of years. He utilized the serve, slice, and sprint to net approach which, given that the ball stays so low to the ground, was pretty damn effective.

In the first set I immediately found myself down 3-0. I'm starting to think I should just give up the first three games of sets to save everyone the trouble of having to play them. The only plus side of getting down early so frequently, is I'm quite adept at getting back into sets. I battled back and managed to get the first set to 5-5, where I proceeded to play two poor games and lose the first 5-7. It was much like the match yesterday in that I was down big, came back, then once I'd evened the score, let it slip away. In the second set I came out sharp, had good focus, and was able to get into more of his service games and steal several breaks. In about half the time it had taken to complete the first set I'd evened the score one set a piece with a 6-2 win.

The club. There were just two courts inside this barn-like structure.

In the third set I brought out the shovel and went digging again. We traded holds to make it 1-2 when I gifted the Frenchman an easy break. He held serve and now held a fairly commanding 1-4 lead. But again, I'm pretty good at coming back. I managed to hold, break, and then hold again to even the match at 4-4. At this point about 20-30 people were watching our match, furiously clapping whenever the director won a point, and making just enough noise to not be insulting whenever I won a point. Frankie insists it wasn't true, but I'm fairly sure the crowd hated me for my antics throughout the match. Due to the nature of this old man's frustrating play I had been yelling 'Come on!' and 'God dammit!' all match, depending on whether or not I'd won the point. The Frenchman held to go to 5-4 and I then I played an excellent service game and held at love to make it 5-5. Again the Frenchman held, and again I played a solid game to take it to a tiebreak. In the tiebreak I jumped out to a 4-1 lead before hitting the stumbling blocks. He played a few solid points and I made a couple of errors and in an instant I was down 4-6. I saved one match point, but carelessly missed a forehand long on the next to lose 7-5, 2-6, 7-6(5). I was maddeningly frustrated after, but you win some and you lose some.

In the afternoon Frankie and I finally made it in to downtown Rouen when it was still light out, we've been there at night, where we wondered around the town and went inside the cathedral. I thought it was pretty cool but Mr. Frank was unimpressed and says there are much better cathedrals elsewhere. Our next tournament starts tomorrow in a town called Yvetot. Even though we're starting in the same round, I play at 17:30 while Frankie doesn't play until Tuesday. If Frankie and I were to win, we'd both play our second matches on Wednesday, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there. We only have two nights left in the flat before we hit the road, but we're excited because we're both ready to get out of Rouen and check out the rest of this fine country.

Cathedral Notre Dame in downtown Rouen. That's the tallest spire in all of France at 151 meters.

And a view from behind.

And one more from inside.

At a kebab eatery. I'm not exactly sure what Frankie was up to. 

-Max

Étretat

Long post today. Lots of pictures. Lots to talk about. The day started way too early. We had to be out the door by 7:20, but there was an absolutely massive lightening storm at about 6:00, and the huge gusts of wind caused our windows and doors to be slammed open and shut which woke me up quite early. After our early rousting, we seamlessly made our way 100 kilometers northwest to the coastal town of Étretat. The courts were right on the main avenue so we had no real trouble finding them and in no time I was one court.

The match lineup for the day. I'm second from the top (they added an extra 'L') and Frankie is fourth from the top.

Etretat Tennis Club

Frank was on his photo game today.

I played a 5/6 ranked Frenchman who was probably in his mid 20s. He had absolutely destroyed a 3/6 ranked player the round before so I knew I was going to be in for a fight, plus he didn't miss a single ball in warmup so I was a bit on edge to begin the match. Before I knew it I was down 1-5 in the first set. I was pressing very hard, pulling the trigger too early, and going for winners when I had no business doing so, which resulted in far too many errors. Eventually I calmed down and settled in to the match. Slowly but surely I managed to claw my way back into the set. But it certainly wasn't easy, every point was a grind and we frequently had 20 to 30 ball rallies. Finally after some scrapping I found myself at 5-5 in the first set. I'm sure getting good at coming back from behind, perhaps I should not dig such deep holes to begin sets, and maybe I could win some easy matches? But that's not really my style. At 5-5 I played a poor service game a got broken, and then he held with relative ease to take the first set 7-5. 

In my first match I was able to hit backhands with just a little tape job. Exciting stuff!

In the second set I was determined to play tighter tennis, use bigger margins of error, and not give this damn match away. But I guess I like playing from behind because in no time I was down 2-0. He had points to go up 3-0 but I fought it off and held to get to 2-1. He held again to go up 3-1, and had multiple break points to go up 4-1. Once again I held him off and held to get to 3-2. The next three service games were held with relative ease and I found myself serving down a set and 5-3. I held quickly and then was faced with having to break to stay in the match. I got up 15-40 in his service game but gifted him two points, which sent the game to deuce. At deuce we played a long point that ended with him roping a forehand winner. Match point Frenchman. Again we played a long point which ended when I hit a backhand off the line causing him to shank his shot. I guess it's worth mentioning that these were not the lines we were used to playing with. These lines protruded about an inch off of the court, so when the ball hit them it would fire in some random direction. It was very annoying. At deuce he hit a rocket serve which I was unable to return and again I found myself down match point. We had a long rally and I finally got a short ball and hit an approach to his backhand corner. He threw up a lob and I pulled down the overhead. But I hit it right down the middle and he was able to fire a forehand crosscourt, I reached out and hit the ball of the very end of my frame. Luckily for me, it trickled over the net. He was shocked. He was sure the match was over, but today the tennis god's were on my side. I managed to win the next two points to take the match to 5-5 and then played very quickly to capitalize on his momentary shock. I think I won the next 8 points and took the second set 7-5. 

A couple of points from my first match.

In the third set I was on fire and he was battling depression. Every forehand I hit was a laser to his backhand corner, and time and time again I finished with solid volleys at the net. It wasn't the easiest set but I came away with a 6-2 win, for a 5-7, 7-5, 6-2 result. I think this is the first time in my career I've won when down match points. It was pretty cool. My second match was scheduled for 16:30 that afternoon and I was slated to play Daniel. The same Columbian I'd lost to in our first tournament. 

I win! 5-7, 7-5, 6-2

Frank warming up, he's on the far side.

Next up was Frankie. He was playing a 3/6 French teenager. The guy was quite tall, had a big serve, and a solid forehand. By the time I hopped out of the shower Frank was down 5-2 and things were not looking great. I watched a few points, and then had to run and get a sandwich because I was starving. When I got back Frank had dropped the first set 2-6, but was up 2-0 in the second. And then I watched 45 minutes of magic. Frank played probably the best tennis I've ever seen him play and was just absolutely roasting the guy. After dropping 6 of the first 8 games he won 8 of the next 11. Which put the match at 2-6, 6-2, 2-1 with Frank in the lead. What made the display even better was the tournament director had insisted I sit with him and have some wine and cheese while watching Frankie play. Even though I kept telling him I couldn't drink any wine because I had a match in the afternoon he absolutely refused to let me leave without pouring me a glass. So what could I do but drink it? I really can't overemphasize how McGirt Frank was playing. Moving his feet like a clay court master, he was running around middle balls and hitting every forehand as hard as he could. Had the match continued on the clay, it would've been over in 20 minutes. 

The tournament director informing them they'll be moving indoors.

The barn with a track for a court.

Instead, it started to pour. The tournament director tried to wait it out for about 10 minutes, but quickly decided that it wasn't going to stop and that the match had to be continued indoors. I hadn't even noticed they had an indoor facility, because they hardly did. They had one court inside a giant barn. It's actually too kind to call it a court because it wasn't a surface I've ever seen. I can't be sure, but it felt exactly like the material that running tracks are made out of, and there were lines for every sport possible on the court. Volleyball lines, basketball lines, badminton lines, tennis lines, you name it, you could've played it in there. It was ridiculous. And the worst part was the speed. The outdoor red clay plays like quicksand. On the clay every ball you hit bounces of off the terra battu and holds for a split second before gently releasing. On this indoor surface the ball didn't even bounce, it would just skid. A hard flat serve wouldn't bounce higher than your knees. Unfortunately for Team America this was just what the Frenchman needed to have a chance. His big serve was far more effective indoors and he immediately regained all of the confidence he had lost. After trading holds for several games the Frenchie broke Frank to go up 5-4 and held for a 6-2, 2-6, 6-4 win. It was really too bad that it started raining because Frankie was absolutely given the guy the business before the storm. 

Frank's backhand has improved a lot since we've been here. Also, notice all the random lines.

After Frank's match we wandered into town and headed down to the beach. It was too bad we didn't have more time to explore because the city was really cool and the ocean was beautiful. There were several natural arches in the cliffs and the water was a translucent blue. We only had about 45 minutes in town before we had to head back for my second match. During the warmup for match number two I could feel my mind wandering, which is never a good thing. The hardest thing for me about playing two matches in a day isn't physical, it's mental. I can play pretty much all day long, but focusing on a tennis court for me then 3 hours in a single day is quite the challenge. In 5 minutes I was down 3-0. But I rallied, playing really solid tennis to get the match to 4-3, before dropping the first set 6-3. Unfortunately for me I had to use one hand for all of my backhands in my second match because I'd used my left arm so much in the first match that it was just too soar and painful to hit a two-hander (but at least my backhand felt great in the first match). Not that that has anything to do with how the match went, but it certainly didn't help. In the second set it was much of the same, I got broken early and couldn't get it back and lost the second 6-4, for a 3-6, 4-6 loss. Daniel's such a wise player that he only serves my injured backhand and gets a lot of free points that way, making it nearly impossible for me to break him. That being said, I played pretty damn good, and certainly much better than the first time I played him so nothing to be upset about.

The famous Etretat arch.

Ceron (Columbia) versus Sabel (USA)

After my match we headed back into town to grab a bite to eat before we hit the road. Because this was a very touristy town everything was quite expensive so we settled on some little fast food stand. As we sat and ate the thunder clouds rolled again and eventually let loose. This was no ordinary storm, this was a god-damn monsoon. It was raining so hard it hurt when it hit you and the power throughout the city kept flickering on and off. When we finally made it back to the tennis complex Gustavo and Fercho howled in laughter because we were so wet. It was the kind of storm where you have to sprint at full speed to make any progress because the wind was blowing so hard. I'll admit, I was a bit worried at one point.

Downtown Etretat

Tomorrow one of us plays in a tournament in a town about an hour away. We're not sure who's going to play yet because it's up to us to decide. Because we're the same ranking we can decide at the last minute who is going to play. We're both a little banged up, Frank's elbow and my wrist, so we'll probably make the call in the morning. I forgot to mention I won our first 'prize' today. For making it to the quarterfinals there was no cash. But I won a plastic bag with a hat, some Madeline's, a bottle of champagne, and some pens. Very random.

My winnings!

Fercho had to get back to Rouen in a hurry to see a woman. So he rode back in our trunk/backseat.

So long,

Max

Irony

Gassing up for the journey. Good thing we did as we spent a lot
more time driving than anticipated.

In the end, we spent about 4 hours just eating a meal. Not that the meal took 4 hours, it only took about 20 minutes, but the whole venture to get the meal took about 4 hours. How is this possible you may ask? Well, for the second straight day, we got hopelessly lost in the city of Rouen. You would think after getting lost several times we might invest in a GPS. Well, here's the irony for you. We got lost trying to find a place that sells things that make it so you don't get lost, i.e. a GPS. Hopefully we'll have better luck tomorrow. But, we did get to see some cool parts of the city and we met a French guy who was disgusted that Frankie was from the same state that George W. Bush hails from. Or at least I think he was disgusted, he didn't speak a lick of English, but insisted on having a 10 minute conversation with us where he repeated, "Barack Obama! Black! Black! George Bush! No! No! Clint Eastwood! Texas!"

Cool looking statue in the middle of a round-a-bout.

I liked this house.

Tomorrow we play our next tournament in the city of Étretat. Étretat is a relatively touristy city on the Normandie coast that from all accounts is very beautiful. Gustavo told us that a lot of famous impressionists painters used to spend time up there painting the cliffs. We're both quite excited to see that, and hopefully excited to take a plunge into the ocean. I play at 9:30 and Frank at 11:00. Although Étretat is only about an hour away, we're taking our own car to this tournament so we have to be out of the flat by around 7:30, because I anticipate getting lost. If we win, we both would have matches again in the afternoon, and then depending on how we do, we will either play another round of this tournament on Sunday morning, or one of us will play in the semi-finals of a different tournament. It's confusing, but as I've mentioned before the system is fantastic and allows you to play a lot of tennis.

My 'La Tomatina' ticket!

Before our venture into town we got about two hours of tennis in this morning, but without a doubt the most exciting thing to take place today was the purchase of our La Tomatina tickets. La Tomatina is a famous tomato festival that takes place in the little town of Buñol in Southeastern Spain. Every year on the last Wednesday of August, 20,000 people gather in the town center and trucks dump 40 metric tons of tomatoes on the streets. After someone manages to climb a greased pole and retrieves a ham from the top, the festival begins, and people spend hours winging tomatoes at one another. This year it takes place on August 28th, about a month from now, and I can't wait.

All the trash bags have tails on them. We have no idea why. 

Wish us luck in the tournament. I'll let you know how it goes.

-Max

Growing Pains

Our new tent. This is not my picture so I'm not happy posting it. But whatever.

Nothing like being lost in the middle of a decently large French city, driving a car you're just figuring out how to operate, to test your nerve and ability. I believe it's called trial by fire. But I'm writing this, so we lived with out any real problems to speak of. We decided to make a trek to "Decathlon", the French equivalent of a Big 5 Sporting Goods, to try and find a tent. It was only about 20 minutes away, but we don't have a GPS, and the GPS on the iPhone's doesn't really work here. Using direction we wrote down from the internet we managed to make our way there. But on the way home we took a wrong turn, or possibly several, in these god-for-saken roundabouts and ended up right in the heart of Rouen. After some panicking, I calmed down, and with Frank's brilliant navigating, we managed to make our way back to the flat. I didn't realize until after we got home that I'd sweated through my entire shirt in the process. But some good did come of out as now I'm quite confident in the car and we did manage to get a tent. An awesome one at that. I think the tent selection here is far superior to that of the U.S. Although admittedly, I haven't been tent shopping in the U.S. in a while. It looks super fancy, but it was only about $120.

Picture from the other day. Left to right: Gregorio, Fercho, and myself. Unfortunately, Gregorio returned home to Columbia yesterday to play some Futures tournaments in Ecuador. 

Before and after we went shopping we played tennis. We were hitting the ball damn well today, and probably got in a bit over 3 hours of play. In the morning sessions we played a set and Frankie took me down 6-3. He played really well, and more importantly he played really smart, something (no offense Frank) he doesn't always do. It was definitely his best set to date on the clay and I'm looking forward to our tournaments this weekend to see what kind of damage we can do. Pretty light blog today as we didn't do anything all that exciting. I cooked up some Mexican feast for dinner, we've been cooking a lot because it's so cheap and delicious, and am considering an early bedtime tonight. Although realistically, that won't be happening.

Our gym. We've yet to realize it's potential. Maybe tomorrow. 

-Max

A Day of Learning

Our baby!

I learned three things today: how to drive a manuel car, how to play 'La Vaca', and that while I'm quite good at tennis, compared to some, I suck. The day began way too early, at 10:30, when we went to pick up our rental car. Given that neither Frankie nor I really know how to drive a manuel transmission car, we had to go with Romero (a coach) and Pedro (Gustavo's father) so they could drive us to the rental site, and then one of them could drive the car back to the flat. That was a relatively easy process and we ended up with a badass 2013 Fiat Punto. It's a 'utility' car, so it only has two seats in the front, and then a very spacious backseat for all of our stuff. Gustavo says it's perfect for us, but really it was just very cheap to rent, so it's great. When we got back to the flat we got driving lessons from Pedro. His English is not great, so our lessons were quite interesting. He has two phrases which he really enjoys saying. The first, "You must listen! Listen! Listen to the engine!" We're not entirely sure what's he talking about, but he repeats it endlessly, so we listen. The second is, "You must feel the gears, feel the car! Like a woman! Feel her!" After we got our lessons, we practiced driving in the parking lot and zipping around the block for a few hours, and we're about to go practice some more. Despite my concern about how difficult it was going to be, it's really not all that hard. In fact, I ended up driving to the tennis club later in the day. Granted, it's only 10 minutes away. But with a few more days of practice we'll be ready to go.

Pedro with his finger to his ear. "You must listen! Listen! Listen! Listen to the engine!"

Pedro and I...he's probably to telling me that I must, "Escucha! Escucha Max, escucha!"

Pedro and Frankie

Learning to drive. I'm sure you'll appreciate Frankie's comments. He's just so funny.

At 16:00 I drove Frank and Daniel to the club where we met up with this older guy named Benjamin to train. Benjamin was a rather portly fellow and initially I was a little concerned that he might bring down our level. In hindsight, I'm an idiot. Not only did he not bring down the level, he was one of the best players I've ever played with. Getting a point of off him was near impossible, and by the end he was roaring with laughter because he was toying with us so badly. Despite getting our butts kicked, we were lucky to learn and play one of the most fun training games I've ever played. It's apparently very popular in France and Columbia, but I've never heard of it. It's called 'La Vaca', or 'The Cow'. It's a baseline game with two teams of two players, where the first team to get 5 vacas wins. You get 1 vaca by winning three consecutive points. The catch is as soon as you win a point, the player on the other team who wasn't playing immediately hops in and can feed the ball anywhere they want, and as hard as they want, as long as they bounce it once before they feed it. For example, if I play a long point that ends with me hitting a volley winner. My new opponent can sprint in, bounce the ball, and fire a lob over my head. The feeds are live, so if you miss the feed it counts as a point. The pace is really fast, so not only do you get to play tons of fun points, you get a good workout. We were on opposite teams, but Frank and I were in over our heads and got repeatedly pummeled by Daniel and Benjamin. Not only would these guys beat us at normal tennis, but they were also excellent at this game. Nonetheless, it was a lot of fun, and I'm definitely bringing it back to the States.

From my match yesterday. You can barely make it the evil Frenchman on the other side of the court.

As I mentioned earlier we play our next tournament Saturday morning in some town on the Normandie coast. Gustavo says it's very beautiful, so I'm pretty excited to check it out. It's sort of a weird situation though. You see, Frank and I both play in the morning and then if we win we play again in the afternoon. However, a referee from a different tournament called Gustavo and said he needs a 2/6 player to fill a spot in his tournament on Sunday morning. This other tournament is capped at 2/6, meaning no player ranked higher than that can play, so whoever enters will automatically start in the semifinals. If they win and make it to the finals they earn € 60 and if they win the tournament (meaning they only have to win two matches) they win € 100. Not bad. So what we're going to do is register for that tournament as well. That way, if one of us doesn't win both of his matches in the first tournament on Saturday, he will play the other tournament on Sunday and try and earn some cash. Again, if you don't understand the French system this is probably a bit confusing. But hopefully I did a good enough job explaining it.

Driving to the club yesterday. From left to right: Fercho, Daniel, and myself. 

Until tomorrow,

-Max