As an American living across the pond, having a secondary news source to, say, the New York Times, is pretty much essential.

If for no other reason than to keep track of the English Premier League — which may be the one sports competition we covered in Abu Dhabi that I will remain interested in, long-term.

It also is handy if the source in question retains journalism standards of some significance, and also is authoritative.

Which has led me to … The Guardian.

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France has lots of exotic landscapes. People from outside the country tend to think of the mostly flat region, around Paris, when they think of France geography. Because that is what they have seen.

Or maybe the hilly fields of Normandy.

But a sprawling mass of land in the center of the country, known as the Massif Central, has lots of dramatic up-and-down scenery.

Even this part of southern France, generally thought to be made up almost entirely of rollings hills, right on down to the sea, has surprising terrain.

We discovered that, anew, when we stumbled over what we are going to call the Grand Canyon of the Languedoc.

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Many baseball people like to say “the triple is the most exciting play in the game.” I prefer the triple play.

Seven hundred and three triple plays have been recorded in the history of the game, going back to 1876, and the 703rd was turned tonight in Chicago by the White Sox against the Texas Rangers.

This triple play was unprecedented, in one regard.

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One of the reasons I did not play Little League baseball, besides being too shy to join a team of kids I did not know, was the possibility of being hit by a pitch.

I knew how hard a baseball was. I remember my 9- or 10-year-old self tossing one, squeezing it in my hand and, at a young age, being surprised and almost shocked that it pretty much felt like a round rock inside a thin cowhide coating. In my neighborhood we used a rubber-coated ball that was less likely to break things — windows or bones.

I eventually played high school baseball and accepted the risk that I could be hit by a pitch … though I don’t think I ever was.

If you make a point of getting out of the way of the errant inside pitch, if you don’t dig in too deep in the batter’s box … you will rarely suffer the hit-by-pitch (and experience the dubious reward of a pass to first base) only rarely.

Which brings us to today’s news on the HBP front.

Brandon Guyer of the Tampa Bay Rays was hit by a pitch three times in one game today — and stayed in the game, even after the trainer came out to examine him after the second plunking, which hit him on the elbow.

Guyer tied a Major League single-game record jointly held by several ballplayers with a higher threshold of pain than most of their brethren.

Here is the thing about multiple HBPs:

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Remember the big SoCal sports story of January 12?

NFL owners voted 30-2 to allow the Rams to move back to Los Angeles, after 21 seasons in St. Louis.

Over the next few days came stories about the reaction in Los Angeles, where the team might be headquartered, where it might train, what sort of talent the club had …

And then it seemed as if the Rams dropped out of the news cycle. At least from the perspective of living in France and following ESPN, the New York Times and Britain’s Guardian newspaper. (And I wonder if the team got much more attention from local media, in Los Angeles.)

And, remember, the Rams played in greater Los Angeles from 1946 through 1994. Imagine how ignored the San Diego Chargers or Raiders would have been had they moved to L.A. this season.

So it probably was a very good idea for the Rams to trade six high picks over the next two drafts (a 1, two 2s and a 3 this year, Nos. 1 and 3 next) to get the top pick in the 2016 NFL draft — which goes off on April 28.

Had they not made this deal, a week ago, I might not have even noticed the NFL draft, the league’s biggest offseason news event, is looming.

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After the hike of two days ago brought us to the edge of a pair of fairly large bodies of … something liquid-y … we have an explanation on what we were looking at.

It comes from a 30-year resident of the town where we are staying, and one of the community’s most prominent members?

So, what are we looking at there?

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President Barack Obama travels to Saudi Arabia this week for talks with the most powerful nation on the Arabian Peninsula, the hosts, but the American president also plans to meet with other regional officials from the Gulf Cooperation Council.

The GCC includes the UAE, and Obama may for a moment wonder why the Emirati president is not there.

Which strikes at the heart of the curious case of the UAE’s unseen president.

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It can be jarring or amusing to do a bit of investigation on the “flavor” of potato chips, while traveling the world.

In the U.S., “original”, barbecue and sour cream-and-onion flavors probably cover about 90 percent of the chips sold.

Not so in the rest of the world.

In Hong Kong, shrimp-flavored potato chips are popular.

In Japan, wasabe- or teriyaki- flavored chips are easy to find.

In the UAE, ketchup-flavored chips can be found in every grocery store.

In England, salt-and-vinegar is a very popular variety.

And in France?

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The little towns in this part of southern France are usually separated by a valley and a ridge.

The former is generally given over to agriculture. Vines, mostly, with a few olive groves and the occasional wheat field mixed in.

Then comes the ridge, which inevitably is crowned by trees and bushes. You climb up one side, walk down the other, and then you are in some other town’s sphere of influence.

The whole of the land hereabouts is connected by narrow roads or, more often, dirt tracks. Often wide enough to accommodate a vintner’s small truck and always big enough to handle a hiker or a biker or a motorcyclist.

The thing about the roads here, which is counter-intuitive to most Americans (or Emiratis, for that matter), is that to be on a French road or even a path means — 99 times out of 100 — you are on your way somewhere.

As opposed to your path just petering out, with you left in the middle of nowhere and no choice but to go back where you came from, which certainly happens in the American west as well as the trackless deserts of the UAE.

Here, the track would not be there if it was not linking Point A and Point B.

Which brings us to the takeaway … that hiking on the trails around this green and hilly part of the Languedoc, looking for the two weird reservoirs (above) we have seen on Google Maps, is not as scary as it might be. Because dead ends are rare.

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When you live in Smalltown Anywhere, the notion of a bunch of people showing up, just a short drive down the road, ready and willing to play live classical music for you … well, that’s exciting. Not to be missed.

So we gladly made the 20-minute drive to a not-quite-as-small French town, and paid 20 euros each to enter the church there, where a regionally based orchestra was playing Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, with choir and soloists — an ambitious undertaking that was the musical equivalent of a suicide mission.

After a dreary Puccini requiem, deservedly obscure but blessedly short, we were a bit … shall we say, “concerned” … over the virtuosity of the orchestra in front of us. Even before they launched into one of the most celebrated works in the classical music canon before a crowd of several hundred.

And, oddly, we found ourselves looking at the coming 80-90 minutes with a sort of morbid fascination akin to watching a slow-motion train crash. How bad could it be? Let’s find out!

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