Letter from the Dordogne

What a difference two weeks make! Two weeks ago the Saturday market was deserted, both by vendors and customers, particularly the latter. It almost looked as if the plague had descended on the region and greatly reduced the population. This morning I went off to the market expecting a similar scene. Nothing of the sort! It's like high summer there, with crowds of people milling in all directions, and the gaps in the stands all filled up. It's a cold morning, about 1 degree, but the sky is blue and the sun is shining. Maybe that's the difference, but it's still only mid-February. It will get up to 12 degrees in the afternoon, like it did yesterday, when it felt like spring in the garden, with robins and tits singing to beat the band.

A recent big story here has been the “mariage pour tous”; a change in the law to allow gay people to marry. It required 110 hours of debate in the assembly before it became law last Tuesday. Huge demonstrations against it were organised, particularly in Paris. The big “hero(ine)” of the affair is Christiane Taubira, the minister for justice. She's a low-set, slightly tubby woman, of African descent, around 50, with tight dreadlocks, who gave as good as she got during the debate. She never got upset, despite some biting attacks, but delivered withering put-downs with a smile, usually to applause from all sides.

The “demission” of the Pope also caused headlines, in an officially secular country, with much speculation about whether he was pushed, who are the favourites to succeed him, and what is it all about. It was like watching RTE apart from the language. They wheeled out a lot of “experts” to pontificate on the situation. All they were missing was Kevin O'Kelly. Much was made of the last “resignation” of a Pope, in 1415. What they didn't mention was that, on that occasion, he really was pushed. (There were two Pope at the times, one in Avignon, one in Rome, and an “antipope” - the first John XXIII).

Of course the horseburgers made the news as well. At first, it was just a curiosity, as horse meat is not a problem for the French. (I have been often asked why Les Anglais have a problem with horse meat). However, it became a big story when it became clear that there was probably criminal activity involved. Passing horse meat off as beef is a highly profitable pass-time, as beef costs four times as much. The Italian mafia have been mentioned as a likely component of the incredibly complex supply chain. (They were found to be involved in a meat scandal 10 years ago). But, they eventually settled on a company in Castlenaudary, near the Pyrenees, Spanghero. If you follow rugby, you will remember the name. Walter and Claude both played for France; the former was one of the best number 8 forwards in the world. The Spangheros, however, sold the business some years ago. The department of health have withdrawn their licence, which effectively has shut the plant, which employs 300 people. Spanghero says it bought beef from a company in Romania and sold it on, as they received it, to other meat processors. It was labelled “beef” by the Romanians, but was actually horse. The authorities here don't believe Spanghero, and the enquiry goes on. The Shergar jokes are beginning to get tedious at this stage!

There have been two celebrated U-turns here recently. The first is on the warning signs for radar speed traps. Over a year ago, most of them were removed amid much hand-wringing. Some of them were replace by displays of your actual speed. Now, they're all being put back up. The second is on the breathalyser kits. From March last year everyone had to carry a breathalyser in their vehicle, but the date after which it would become an offense not to have a kit was the 1^st September, later moved out to 1^st November. It was impossible to find a breathalyser in that time due to shortage of supply, and, as November approached, it was announced that the 1^st of March was the new date. It was also announced that a study had been commissioned to determine if there was anything to be gained in proceeding with the project. Now, it's been cancelled, and the hundreds of people engaged in manufacturing the breathalysers are about to be laid off.

I went on a bike ride through the vineyards this afternoon, in the rather cool sunshine. The fact that I needed sun glasses reminded me a little of summer. Vineyards look quite dead in February. The only activity is pruning, surely the toughest job in wine-making. The weather is usually freezing, cold hands, cold feet, cold everything! And, unlike carrying sacks of potatoes, pruning is not an activity to warm up the pruner. They regularly work alone; at best in pairs, so it's not a social activity, unlike grape picking. At least in pairs thay can break the monotony by talking about women, religion or even politics! The vineyards of Saussignac had all been pruned, with the single surviving shoot tied neatly, parallel to the ground, to the lowest wire. Further on, at Gageac, many vineyards hadn't seen a secateurs; others had been pruned but not tied in. This was repeated all the way to Monbazillac. In some cases, the pruners had left two shoots instead of one. Being a non-drinker, I have no idea why this is so.

I passe through the tiny village of Cunege, where I was once bitten by the smallest dog in France, I still can't work out how a dog so small could bite my ankle while I was cycling past. His owner, a middle aged woman in a navy blue pinafore, just looked on “not saying nothing”, as John Wayne would put it.

Not much grew while I was in Dublin for Christmas. The exception to this is, of course, weeds. I now have a world class centre for the study of two weeds, bitter cress and ragwort.

I'm also annoyed that my lone camellia hasn't blossomed. It's covered in big fat flower heads which show no sign of opening. My neighbour's giant version of the same plant has flowered long ago. Answers on a postcard, please.

Another headline maker here for several days was the famous Courbet painting. “L'origine du monde”, which has been on permanent display in the Musee d'Orsay for the last eighteen years. The television stations took great delight in showing it in close-up as background to the story. The painting shows a woman's nether regions in some detail. As you all know, Gustave Courbet painted it as a commission for an Egyptian collector of erotic art, who fell on lean times and sold it to pay his ESB bill. A long time later it came into the possession of the Musee d'Orsay. When they first hung it, they put plate glass and an armed guard in front of it, to prevent I'm not sure what?! However, that's not the story. A French man, a few years ago, bought a painting of a woman's head from a dealer. The dealer wanted 1600 euro, but he beat him down to 1400. He suspected that it was a Courbet, and eventually persuaded the world's top expert on Courbet to examine it. The expert spent two years doing all kinds of tests, and announced that not only was it a Courbet, but it was originally part of “L'origine du monde”! They suspect that Courbet cut off the woman's head to save her reputation. She was Whistler's partner, and Courbet's girlfriend, and she was Irish, Joanna Hiffernan. But, the real story is that the 1400 euro painting is now worth 35 million!

January 2013 in Bergerac

After a French class reunion, a family wedding, Christmas, a severe dose of a “flu-like virus” and several adventures, we eventually headed back to Bergerac, by Aer Lingus to Bordeaux. The flight was on time and landed early. The navettes to the station go every 45 minutes, and we expected to get the 5:30, but made the 4:45; very unusual. This meant we could make the 6pm train rather than 7 or even 8. We managed that as well, and arrived in Bergerac at 7:28. The rest should be easy, but France (and Bergerac) is different. This is where it gets difficult, within walking distance of home! There are no taxis. Therese's knees seize up during 2-hour flights, so walking is difficult. So we ring, first on my mobile. I get a message “active call barrings”. Then we try her mobile. We get a message “ active call barrings”! (We discover later that there is a dispute between Vodafone and SFR, so we should select Orange in the meantime. Who would know that?). The nearest call box refuses to take my nice new debit card, but accepts Visa. I phone the taxi; he says “no problem, sit tight, a few minutes”. We sit (stand) tight for 20 minutes, - no taxi. I call again (each call costs €2.50!), he says “have patience, sit tight”. After 10 more minutes, we decide to walk, knees or no knees. Those of you who have visited Bergerac will know that the footpaths are not one of the highlights, and are completely unsuitable for dragging suitcases. (I did offer to go and get the car, but this was turned down!). However, we made it in one (two!) piece(s). As we walked up Rue Catherine (famous for a certain patisserie), we found it blocked by two cherry-picker cranes supporting men who were (on January 29^th) taking down the Christmas lights! The world here moves at a slow(er) pace.

The first thing we noticed is that it is warmer here. Quelle surprise! Between us we have three missed calls from our neighbour, Christiane. But, she's been here anyhow, having deposited milk, butter, eggs, steak, potatoes, onions, sweet potatoes and cheese in the kitchen/fridge, as well as leaving the post on the table.

First thing next morning (Wednesday) it's off to the market to buy fruit. But, the market has almost disappeared! Even since November. I had forgotten how much it thins out in winter. And, very few customers as well, despite the mild morning. My cheese-woman Valerie is still there in the covered market, and she has recommendations for me, with offers to taste. I stick with the 18-month Comté.

Wednesday afternoon there is a pre-arranged French conversation in Annemie's house, my Dutch friend. She has arranged for their neighbours Alain and Michelle to join her and Robert and me for a 2-hour language session. They're trying to learn English, and we're trying to learn French. We haven't quite found the formula for getting the most out of the two hours, but we have another session in two weeks. I arrive home to find that Christiane has arrived to regale us with stories of her sick husband, the state of Mme Rumeau (our other neighbour), and the latest burglaries (and murders) in the area. Not to mention the need to beware of gypsies who will come and kill you while you sleep.

First thing on Thursday, it's off to the barber. Except on Saturday, he cuts by appointment only, so I took the precaution of phoning him before I left Dublin. For the first time ever, I understood a conversation between the barber (Jean Louis) and the previous client. It was about the over-supply of apartments in Bergerac. Apparently, there are 1900 empty, but some of them are run-down (“vetuste”) and not habitable. It's surprising, as rented accommodation here doesn't seem to be particularly cheap.

Next thing, having had my hair pruned, I headed off on a bike ride, my first since November. 40 km in an hour and a half. Great to get back on a bike. The farms and vineyards look pretty desolate just now, as does my garden. The only thing in bloom is a row of pansies, and they looked better two months ago than they do now. But, there are plenty of weeds in bloom, including ragwort with seed heads.

Then, in the afternoon (is this a very boring story?) I had my “normal” French class. Some of them seemed genuinely pleased to see me. At the conversation session, later on, they really pleased to see me, due to the fact that they need at least one English speaker for the class, and there is only one other regular, an English woman called Gillian. Gillian has been building a new house for ages and has had to miss classes to manage various crises. She has not found French tradesmen very reliable, a common theme among the “blow-ins” around here. They don't arrive when they say they will, they take longer than expected to do the work, shrug their shoulders a lot, and they charge more than initially estimated. A familiar story?? In fact, it's not my experience. We have had five “jobs” done here, by three different men/firms, and all of them started on time and finished on time. Maybe we were lucky.

It's now Saturday, and I've been to the market. It's also very small and deserted. I don't remember it being this small other winters, and this is my sixth. Spring will be along shortly!