The Biggest Spider in Southern France (La Plus Grande Araignée Dans le Sud de France)
We flew into Nice from JFK, rented a car and hit the road for Marseilles, to pick up Jacquie and Rob, who had flown from Seattle.
There they were, sitting on a small strip of ground near the entrance to the Airport, looking a little worried, as we we were about 30 minutes late. Roughly 4,000 miles and we were only a half-hour late? I was beginning to feel a little cocky.
Hugs all around and back into the car. We then headed northwest, skirting around Aix en Provence in the direction of St. Jean de Serres. There were wrong turns, mistaken exits, and downright dangerous maneuvers (at one point I even started to back up on an onramp, a decision that was quickly and loudly vetoed by my fellow travelers - I told you I was feeling a little cocky.)
On we drove, under the bright blue Provencal sky and over the parched brown October earth, until we finally reached our destination. Mas de Puech.
Mas de Puech is an old farm and small vineyard that had recently been renovated as a summer vacation destination. Owned by a British couple, the clientele is usually British. Though the temperatures were still in the 70s, summer had long since past. The Brits were back in their rainy homeland and we had the entire place to ourselves. Well, almost.
The building was a good sized old brick structure, semi-covered in stucco, the color of which complemented the thirsty soil surrounding it. There are 7 units in two stories. Each is an independent apartment, complete with small kitchen and a washing machine. Ours was on the corner, overlooking the grapevines and with a wide terrace outside our front door. Just across the terrace was a lovely, but now closed, swimming pool. Fallen leaves shimmied across the tarp covering it.
Other than the wind in our ears and the crunch of gravel underfoot, the place was completely silent. If it hadn’t been so clean and the garden well maintained, you would have thought nobody had been here in years. The atmosphere was like an old spaghetti western - strangers rolling into a dusty town that has been unexpectedly - and recently - deserted. Trouble was surely brewing.
I opened the heavy wooden door to our apartment, slowly. Light spilled into the room, illuminating the big wooden shutters on the two large windows and the tile floor of the kitchen opposite the door, about 30 feet away. We clumsily shuffled our way in, our bags suddenly heavy as the exhaustion of the trip caught up with us. Jacquie was the first to venture more than a few feet beyond the front door, and she was now frozen in terror.
“OH. MY. GOD!” The only words to escape her lips.
Marissa was at her side in a flash. “What is the mat… oh, holy shit!”
“Is that real?” Jacquie stammered, unable to move.
“I hope not” Marissa cried, as she headed for the door. “You deal with it or I am driving back to Nice and getting on the next plane to Broad Brook.” She said to me as she bolted through the door.
“Ah, ha ha! Wow! Hey! Whoa!” Rob was there now, uttering monosyllabic expressions in a way that unnerved me. It felt as if what he was seeing was beyond comprehension. Indeed, what I saw when I arrived nearly struck me dumb.
Exhaustion was forgotten as the adrenaline of fear kicked in. My senses were suddenly sharp and I began immediately to take in details:
From the tip of the back right leg to the tip of the front left was a span of about eight inches. And these weren’t those wispy, hair-thin daddy longlegs kind of legs, either. These were eight long, muscular legs and they held a substantial body between them, like four Russian balerinas carrying a large mink duffel bag.
This was one big spider.
“Oh my,” I said, trying to sound calm.
“OH MY GOD!” came Marissa’s voice, from the safety of the doorway.
“Um, yeah, you two are going to have to do something about this...” Jacquie added, seriously, nervously, as she placed Rob between her and “it”.
“What do you think, Matty?” Rob spoke first, looking around the room.
His quick move past panic was exactly what I needed. It was time to solve a problem. Like two Clint Eastwoods in The Man With No Name, it was our destiny to rid this dusty town of its menace.
But how?
I don't want to smash it," I heard myself say in that out-of-body-experience way only fear, or cannabis, can induce.
"Yeah, he didn't do anything to us. He doesn't deserve to die." Rob responded, sounding as calm and magnanimous as Christ himself.
"Well, I was thinking more of the mess it would make..." I replied.
"DO NOT SMASH THAT THING! WE HAVE TO LIVE HERE FOR A WEEK!" Marissa ordered, loudly.
"Use a broom! Use a broom! Use a broom!" offered Jacquie, chanting like a cheerleader on speed. I was waiting for "Push 'em back, push 'em back!" but it never came.
"No, a broom will smash it..." - Rob
"DON'T SMASH IT!" - Marissa
"Okay, we got it. No smash!" I said, the pitch of my voice rising with fear and agitation. "Maybe you two should step outside."
"Fine." - Marissa
"I'm getting the hell out of here." - Jacquie
As the room quieted back down, Rob and I scanned the rough tile counter tops and the wooden dining table. The wind blew a lone cloud across the sun, dimming the room. I immediately looked back at the spider, in case it had been waiting for darkness to make its move. It slowly lifted one long front leg, stretching it out gracefully, sexily, even, only to leave it hovering perhaps a quarter of an inch off the ground. I felt like I was being taunted:
"Moi? Je ne pourrais jamais te quitter, mon amour," it said, in my mind, with a voice fit for a David Lynch film.
We resumed our search for the right tool and as the light came back into the room both of us landed on the answer at the same time: a large, shallow fruit bowl.
I picked it up. It wasn't too heavy and the lip of the bowl looked like something those legs could easily step over. I pictured using it like a giant steam shovel. Swoop it down, scoop up the spider, transport it to the patio and deposit it over the wall. It was happening so smoothly in my head, like the climactic scene in Star Wars when Luke uses the force to destroy the Death Star. My courage thus bolstered, I held the bowl loosely in my hands and turned toward my foe.
I walked forward slowly, crouching closer to the ground with each step. I held the bowl at arms length and upright, forming the scoop I had pictured in the heroic scene in my mind. The lip of the bowl touched the ground, just next to the closest leg.
I was getting a close-up look now. It was textbook arachnid, a spider out of casting call, the Mother of all Spiders. The word CEPHALOTHORAX scrolled across my mind:
That CEPHALOTHORAX could feed a French village. Pâté de CEPHALOTHORAX, Terrine de CEPHALOTHORAX, CEPHALOTHORAX, CEPHALOTHORAX, CEPHALOTHORAX...
The spider would not move. I pushed the bowl forward and it rested its leg on the lip. I couldn't go any further or I would smash it. It couldn't climb onto the bowl because the angle was too acute. We were at an impasse.
Crouching on the floor, arms extended, I was as a supplicant before a deity, praying for enlightenment, healing, or maybe just alms so that I might live one more day. I was completely at the mercy of this creature, silently pleading with it to cooperate so that I might have my life back. Every mistake I had ever made, every failure, every disappointment, came rushing to my mind. This was the sum total of all my fears, and it wasn't going anywhere. My arms grew heavy and my legs numb as the frustration of this stand-off mounted.
"Turn the bowl over" Rob suggested, his wits apparently well intact.
Ahhhh, yesssss. I replied as I flipped it upside down, immediately seeing that the change in angle was just what was needed.
The spider had backed up a step while I flipped the bowl, but this time I pushed the edge against its legs more quickly, smoothly, confidently. It stepped on board, like a maharaja mounting its favorite royal elephant.
I headed to the door as the spider slowly, gingerly walked across what was now a dome shaped throne of sorts. It stopped near the top, for a split second, as if to admire all that was its kingdom. I was just past the threshold when it headed straight for me, with blinding speed.
"Whooaaa..." I instinctively began rotating the bowl, flipping it over at least twice, keeping the spider upright and in the same place, on its own special treadmill. I made it through the door and on to the patio. Just a few more steps and I was at the wall.
I grunted unintelligibly, flinging the bowl several feet ahead with both hands, where it came to rest against the wall. I then said a silent prayer to a god I don't believe in that the spider was still on the bowl, or on the ground, or on the wall, but most importantly, not on me.
I saw movement.
There it was, walking slowly away from the bowl and into a crevice on the wall. The plan had worked. My loved ones were alive, I was alive. The biggest spider in Southern France had been evicted from our home.
I picked up the bowl and headed into the apartment. It was time to start our vacation.
