October 2010

France is in turmoil. Ostensibly about the very reasonable proposal to raise the retirement age by two years; it would still be one of the lowest in the EU. But, it's more about Sarkozy, corruption in high places, the rich getting richer etc. The result is chaos, with flights delayed and cancelled, trains disrupted, student marches, and, worst of all, a fuel shortage. Almost all the fuel depots and refineries were blockaded, so that no deliveries could be made to filling stations. Now, about 20% of stations have run out. However, many of the blockades have been forcibly lifted, with deliveries restarting. Dustbin collecting has also been suspended in some cities, including Marseilles and Montpellier. We have had to postpone a trip in the camper due to uncertainty about the availability of diesel for the return trip.

The summer has passed like a rocket, with a succession of visitors. The last visitors left only three days ago; one of my sisters (Nora) who lives in Canada, and came here with husband (Joe) for their 40^th anniversary. Luckily, the weather was still dry and sunny, but quite cool.

We did spend some time in the Alps (see photos on http://seamusphotos.shutterfly.com/), but that was cut short by a need for one of us to get to Dublin in a hurry (which I'll explain later). So, I delivered Therese to Geneva airport from whence she sailed to Dublin. That left me with 2^nd youngest daughter Jennifer, and, in a few days we made it back to Bergerac, camper still in one piece. A few days later, I brought Jennifer to Bordeaux airport for her return flight to Dublin. About halfway there, the overheating light came on in my ancient high-mileage Renault Scenic. However, when I slowed down, the light went out, even though the temperature needle stayed above normal, but not in the red zone. I presumed that my “meccano” could sort this out when I got back to Bergerac. It was not to be! About 5k from Bergerac on the way back, I decided to do some shopping in Carrefour in Prigonrieux. Just as I entered the car park, the car ground to a rapid halt, accompanied by a dragging sound that I have no wish to hear again. With the help of a motor-cyclist, I pushed the car into a parking spot, from whence I summoned the breakdown crew via my Axa emergency number. They said it would be 45 minutes, so I did the shopping while waiting. The “Rameau et Fils” truck duly arrived. The deal is that they bring you to the nearest garage. In this case that was only 200 yards away, but, as that wouldn't get me or the shopping home, I negotiated to go to my local garage, 100 metres from my hovel. He took one look under the bonnet and announced, rather helpfully, that the engine was banjaxed. I knew this already. A seized engine is not hard to spot. My local mecanicien confirmed the verdict, and estimated €2000 to repair it, more than the car is worth.

A few days later, I bought a little Citroen with my First-Communion money.

Getting rid of the crocked Renault is another story. In Dublin, I would have to pay someone to take it away. I thought that the same would pertain here, but everyone I asked said “non” and suggested advertising it for sale. So, last Wednesday afternoon, I placed a free small ad (“une petite annonce”) on www.leboncoin.fr, and sold it the following morning for €600, the asking price. I had to phone another buyer on his way from Bordeaux to tell him to turn around, as it was “vendue”. I had six replies in that short time.

We ate in the “Restaurant au Coin” last night, which is run by two gay men, one of whom (George) is from Derry. They have a menu for €16 featuring a choice of 10 starters, 10 main courses, and 10 desserts. As you might imagine, they regularly have to turn people away.

It is raining like stair-rods here today, the first wet day in two weeks. It seems to confine itself to Sundays, as in “a week of wet Sundays”. So, I couldn't do any bike riding today. Sunday morning is the big time for biking in France, but there's no point in getting drenched in the name of exercise.

Christiane Charrut (our neighbour) brought us over a tarte tartin last night. (She left it on the window-sill with a note saying “bisous” from her and Pierrot). Now, I have to eat it for dessert.