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.

High Summer 2010

You know it's high summer when the French start to talk about the “canicule”. The current one is not forecast to be as bad as the one in 2003 which killed hundreds of old people, living alone. But, it's hot! And, it's forecast to exceed 40 in places in the next few days. It makes the news headlines all the time, which is what would happen in Ireland if we ever got a heatwave. The warnings about how to survive probably have a basis in the 2003 experience, but they include advice to check on people living alone. They also include “orage” warnings, although I'm not sure what you can do about it in advance, even if you know a thunderstorm is coming. Some this summer have brought hailstones literally the size of your fist, which have wrecked cars, conservatories, caravans and even the roofs of houses.

I went cycling yesterday with five others, instead of the usual two. The two extras are Yves and Jean-Michel, both members of my walking group, and both retirees from the north of France. I understand a lot of what Jean-Michel says (which is a surprise to me), but he usually speaks slowly and distinctly. Maybe it comes from his background as a gendarme in Paris, where he often had to say things like : “I am arresting you under rule 1024, sub-section 178 of the Napeolonic code, for using excessive violence against the referee”. “If you say anything, I will write it down and use it against you in due course”! Yves is more fun, but I understand much less of what he says. Tant pis. Towards the end of the two-and-a-half-hour “parcours”, I got a puncture, despite having a new tyre, fitted only the previous night. This was a major incident, with all four joining in on the repair. Rene said that this was appropriate for a “vedette” like myself!!

Another sign of high summer is the flowering of the sunflowers. Jean-Claude has many hectares of these, but he seems to have planted them at the wrong time, as they were drowned by the heavy rain in May. Now, they're too dry and a month behind schedule. So, the start of the cycle is delayed so that he can organise the big watering “cannon”.

There is also a big display starting from the Albizia trees, with their pink blossoms. They're very common in bigger gardens here. Unfortunately mine is too small to host one. There is a smaller version, with chocolate leaves, but I have never seen a fully grown one. I suspect that it's still too big for my plot. The photograph is taken in the village of Creysse.

The third big sight here is late summer is the profusion of Langerstroemia trees. They have only just started to open, but there are long lines of them on some of the approaches to Bergerac, and, in full bloom, they are very impressive. I'll include a photograph at a later date. They're much smaller trees than the Albizias, and I have two of them, in different shades of pink!

The French soccer disaster is still news here, with the new manager, Laurent Blanc giving his first press conference yesterday. The cyclists and walkers blame Ireland for the debacle! If Ireland had put out France, (and they had the opportunity), they argue, much embarrassment would have been avoided!

The other big story is Madame Liliane Bettencourt (no relation to the ex-hostage), and her money. She is the richest woman in France, founder of the L'Oreal beauty empire, and the fourth richest in the world. She was recently found to have invested much of her ill-gotten gains in various overseas tax havens (or “paradises” as the French call them), and, even in France, that's illegal. However, the real fun is that her chief investment adviser just happens to be married to Eric Woerth, a minister in the Sarkozy government, and the man in charge of financial rectitude! A new revelation appears almost every day. The latest is an allegation that as much as 150,000 may have been paid into the Sarkozy election fund from the Bettencourt fortune. The legal limit for an individual is rather low, at 150 euro! Nobody has yet resigned on this one. But, two ministers resigned a few days ago for other financial irregularities. One had spent 12,000 of the people's money on Cuban cigars. The other had spent 130,000 on a chartered flight, so he could visit the Haiti earthquake. Not a mention of Charvet shirts.

Some good news: My neighbours' 15-year-old daughter recently won the French judo championship in her class. Her sister got her Bac results on Tuesday, but I can't yet confirm how good her results were! But, her mother wasn't impressed by her level of application.

The vineyards are also starting to look summery, with little green grapes becoming visible among the leaves, and those funny-looking tall thin tractors driving around with sprayers attached, seeking something to devour.

The downside of hot, dry weather, is the need to water the garden. For reasons which I don't understand, the previous owner of this house connected hot water to the outside tap nearest the garden! So, before starting to water, I have to remember to turn off the water heating first. Otherwise, we suffer from scalded plants! Then, I have to remember to turn the heat on again, or the next person to have a shower will complain about how long it's taking for the shower to get warm!

Watch this space, - and keep in touch!

Spring 2010

It's 26 as I sit here, expected to be 29 here tomorrow, hottest place in France, "temperature estivale" as the weather woman puts it. But, it's going to break on Friday, and stay broken for a week or more. Suits me as I'm about to plant out marigolds, and go on holidays.

I'm still struggling with the garden, and the 4-week drought doesn't make it any easier, nor the fact that I injured my left elbow removing a headrest, resulting in "golfer's elbow" in someone who detests golf!

Yesterday, for the first time in a month, I went out on my bike to try out the partly-healed elbow. As I exited the town, I noticed, to my astonishment, two men carrying a cow along the side of a field. Strong men, the French, I thought, or very light cows. On closer observation, it was, of course, a replica, fabriqué en plastique, but looking, for all the world, like a Friesian. They make them right there, along with garden sheds etc. Didn't we have a herd (troupeau?) of these in Dublin a few years ago, before the graffiti merchants put paid to the experiment? Didn't they write something on one in Phoenix Park about it being better looking than the vache who was president at the time, Mary Robinson?? Am I making all this up?

Easter is big stuff in France. I go to church an odd time, and, usually, it's not difficult to find a seat. But, on Palm Sunday, or on Easter Sunday, unless you arrive a half hour early, no seats will be available. They all turn out, and they dress up like it was midnight Mass at Christmas in Ireland. Also, on Palm Sunday, they bring half the garden to church. None of your cypress rubbish, but enormous lumps of various kinds of shrubbery. The main one seems to be a version of privet, but, the "official party" carried date palm fronds ten feet high. In every town in France, as you enter it, there is a blue sign telling you what time Sunday Masses are at. (This is despite the fact that the church was one of the targets of the Revolution, and has, since then, been treated badly by the state). The only exception that I have ever seen is Bergerac. As you enter Bergerac from the Bordeaux side, there is a blue sign saying "Culte Protestante, 10:30 Place Cayla". This is protestant territory. (Imagine calling it a cult?!). The 100 years war featured strongly in this region, followed by the wars of religion, with many "events" between protestants and catholics, the outcome often determined by who was in charge in England, and the throne also rotated between the two "cults". There are many landmarks to this era, including the covered market, which was built on the ruins of a protestant church which the English forces destroyed. There is , also, at the south side of the older bridge in Bergerac, the foundations of a drawbridge, which the catholics used to pull up, to stop their north-side based protestants from crossing to murder them. I now live, in perfect safety and harmony, on the north side of the Dordogne!

One of the features of the church here is the music, which is terrible. And, to make sure you get full value, there is always a person at a microphone to direct affairs. It's usually a woman, and a few tough-looking cookies occupy this position, but, for Easter, a bald man was recruited. He arrived in jeans and shirt-sleeves, and set about it like a day's work. It took me a while to realise that he was the image of Christy Ring. (Cloyne? Cork? Hurling??). And, the little old prêtre was a cross between Willy Nelson and Padre Pio, with a funny little Jewish-looking skullcap. It takes all kinds, and we have most of them in Bergerac.

I need  haircut before my trip to Dublin. Should I ring NAMA?? How about a pension "top-up"? Only asking.

There's a big row here at the moment about polygamy. They've discovered a man, a muslim naturally, living in Nantes, with four wives and twelve children. What bothers the French most about this, is that he lives, in his two houses, entirely at the state's expense, and has never worked a day in his life. He gets "l'alloc" (short for "allocations familiales"), pretty much seen as a government premium for having twelve "gosses". And, by coincidence, they've just banned the "voile intégral" or burqua, in public, which makes all women look more or less the same. So, as long as only one wife "appears" at a time, nobody can tell that you have more than one! Anyone appearing with a covered-up face now faces an on-the-spot fine of 22 euro, the same as the amount that you pay to see a GP! (Except they've just increased that to 23!). So, he can't hide them away any more. Anyhow, the "victim" of this witch-hunt, who does not appear to be telling the whole truth, is called Monsieur Lies! It's like an april fool story. Some of the muslims interviewed wanted to know what was the difference between having a few wives and the other French custom (which I'm considering) of having a mistress or two!! C'est la vie!

Today, farmers are driving 1600 tractors into the centre of Paris to protest against low prices for their products. there are threats that they will dump "fumier" (a nice word for "dung") there, but no sign of that so far.

But, the vineyards are looking better, with a few leaves on each plant, and blossoms on the apple orchards. Summer flowers are in blooming in the garden, so things are looking up. Figs are formed on the figuier, and I might even get a few nectarines.

High Summer 2009

It's often so hot at night that we leave a window open in the bedroom, covered, of course, by a mosquito net. So, all kinds of noises come in during the night, including ambulances, trains and church bells. But there are also wildlife noises, including at least one owl, which the experts say is a tawny owl. One other sound puzzled me, for a few nights. Eventually, I realised that it was the frogs in the Dordogne river, about 100 metres distant, croaking away like the Frogs of Aristophanes. I first heard them when camping four years ago, just before we bought the hovel.

Early last summer, the French classes, with the English classes, had a lunch in a restaurant near Issigeac, and we sat with a Frenchman, Jean-Claude, who spoke a little English but a lot of French. After discussing the relative merits of the Irish and French economic models, I discovered that he was a cyclist, and that I had regularly traversed a road near to where he lived. Then, it dawned on both of us that we had met briefly on that road, about six months previously. He and a friend had come out from a side-road, and I had spoken briefly to Jean-Claude, before they disappeared down another side-road. So, I wrote down his phone number, so that I could phone him and arrange joint bike-rides. Naturally, I lost the piece of paper before I could use it. This year, just last month, the same criminal gang had another outing, a picnic in a big barn this time, and there was Jean-Claude again. This time I took his number, and he also took mine. I rang him a few days later and arranged to meet in St. Aubin on Sunday morning. After 20k or so, we met a cyclist going in the opposite direction, whom Jean-Claude stopped to speak to. He wanted to introduce him to me. I realised immediately that I already knew him better than I know Jean-Claude. He was Rene from my walking group. He is also the friend that was with Jean Claude when we met briefly a year and a half earlier! Even France is small. So, the three of us now go out regularly, once or twice a week. It's somewhat limited by the fact that Jean-Claude has a business in Pau, 220 km away, where he spends three days a week, usually driving up and down on the same day. They bring me on all kinds of routes, through farmyards, vineyards and along river and canal banks, roads that I would never have discovered on my own. Jean-Claude is determined to learn English, so half the ride is spent teaching him how to pronounce difficult phrases (for a Frenchman) like “daughter-in-law”. He says a sentence in French first, so I'll know what it's about, then in English and asks me to correct it, while speeding down a hill at 30 miles an hour! It does give me a chance to practice French conversation, as does the walking group.

The walking group meets every Tuesday morning at 08:30 (except for the trip to Bordeaux, when the time was 07:00), at a pre-announced venue, and we walk for about two and a half hours, over all kinds of terrain. This includes country lanes, roads, and forest trails, some of which can be rough and muddy, especially in winter. Walks proceed in all weathers, snow and thunder included. There are around 20 members, only 4 of whom are not native French speakers (one Irish, one Dutch, one English and one Belgian). So, all conversation is in French. Sometimes I have to stop some of them in mid-conversation, to find out what all the laughter is about. On one occasion, it was about some unfortunate who found himself with a sudden onset of the QSs, while riding a scooter. I was sorry I asked! They called it “une grosse betise”. But, I'm trying hard to understand spoken French, and it's not easy!

Last Monday, 13^th July, we had the father and mother of all thunderstorms. The temperature had been in the high 30s in the afternoon, which is often the signal for fireworks. For the whole night (the fun started about 11 at night) it was difficult to sleep, what with the heat, the thunder, the roar of the rain (about 3 inches fell) and the blinding flashes from many directions. It seemed very close at times, and it was. Five houses in Monbazillac, only a few miles away, were hit and burned. It made headlines on the national news on Tuesday. Of course, by lunch time on Tuesday, the weather had recovered, and we could hear them testing the sound system for the Bastille Day fireworks later in the evening. Sure enough, the fireworks went ahead, and were quite spectacular. They fire them from an island in the Dordogne, near the town centre, and begin at 10:30, just when it gets dark. Huge crowds turn up, dragging folding chairs, mistresses, picnic baskets, children, go-cars etc. etc. It's a national holiday here with everything closed. And, when it falls on Tuesday, many people and organisations take the Monday as well “pour faire le pont” (as Agnes would say). So, it's been a long weekend.

The temperature just now is 36, with serious thunder warnings for tonight, a repeat of Monday, when we had no such warnings. Pompiers are on standby throughout more than half of France!

Late winter 2008

I'm back here a week today, and still awaiting the first cloud. It's cold at night, ice on the pool this morning, but, in the afternoon,

it is warm enough to sit in the sun for several hours.

Two days ago, I got an email from Revenue, to say that the reason that I couldn't acess their ROS service for PAYE was that my employer had a fada in its name!

If you don't believe me, I'll forward the email. (Forfas does have a fada!).

Yesterday, I got a phone call to say that the problem had been solved.

My hovel in Dublin 15 is up for sale. Any offers? I hope to sell and buy an apartment for ease of maintenance from a distance. But, very traumatic all the same.

I brought my camper to the repair-man this afternoon, having waited 5 months for the German manufacturer to provide the necessary parts. No wonder they were runners-up in so

many world wars and world cups. The camper/caravan shop is a father and daughter outfit in a village called St. Nexans. I went there first in September, and he said he could do nothing before November, as he

was due to have one of his knees replaced! He appears to have survived this event.

A builder is arriving tomorrow morning to put "proper" doors on the garage. Doors that can be closed, and will keep out the draught, frost, heat, cats etc. It's not a garage any more,

and, maybe, has never been, so it could do with doors.

I sowed grass seed in late November, before repairing to Dublin for Christmas. It is not the recommended method of seedng a lawn, but there is grass sprouting now in the very place where the lawn is supposed to be. I also have some spring bulbs to look at, but, otherwise it's "wait for spring". But, I'm still planting shrubs. I find it hard to pass a garden centre without buying something.

November 2007

This time I include a link to some pictures, mostly taken this morning, to give a feel for Bergerac in a wintry setting. Every Wednesday and Saturday, from early morning, there is a steady stream of "oul wans" walking towards the centre, wheeling their empty trollies. They all converge on the market stalls, grouped mostly around the giant Notre Dame church which dominates the Bergerac streetscape. You can buy almost anything there, especially fruit and vegetables, much of which is exhibited by the actual growers. I spotted at least three vegetables this morning which I did not recognise; I wrote down the name of one of them for later dictionary perusal. Topinambour, that's what it's called! ( Helianthus tuberosus for the classicists!). Looks like ginger root on a bad day. I think it's known as the Jerusalem Artichoke, and makes great soup when mixed with potatoes. But, I never saw it before. Another one looked like a bunch of dandelion roots (known as pis-en-lits) and maybe that's what they were.

This area is full of fortified towns or "bastides", which were built in the 1300s mostly for easy defence. Part of the technique la in joining all the buildings together, so the enemy couldn't sneak up on you using a short-cut.  We visited one recently, about 20k from here, called Issigeac. You can look at the website (http://www.issigeac.fr/) where you will see that it's built in a circle. The strange contradiction is that, despite its shape, it doesn't have a centre! Anyhow, we had lunch there, and survived. It has two big buildings; one that used to house the bishop of Sarlat (was he that big?!). The other is the church of St. Felicen, and is the coldest building that I have ever set foot in.

I'm not sure if the bastides played a part in the wars between the Catholics and Protestants, which were big stuff in this area, at one time. Bergerac was a predominantly Protestant town. It is still the only French town that I have ever seen that has a sign for Protestant service at the speed limit "Ballybofey go mall slow" warning. All others have the Mass times, but here it says "Culte Protestant, Service Dimanche 10:30 Place Le Cayla". I'm not sure my friends in Donegal would like to be referred to as a "cult". Could be worse, of course. I understand that we live on the Protestant side of the river. At the other side of the old bridge (there is also a "new bridge") there is still the foundation of a fortification that was capable of being closed, to prevent the Protestants crossing the bridge and wiping out the Catholics!

Anyway, Christmas is coming. They have been erecting lights and trees for the past two months, but none of them have been turned on yet. I think Saturday is the day for the switch-on. There are daily announcements on radio (insofar as I can understand them!) of planned appearances by Pere Noel at various shopping centre venues. Already, some shops are offering all toys at half-price.

Yesterday, a chicken came into the garden. She clucked and scraped for a while, ate some of my grass seed, then flew up on to a wall, considered her options, and disappeared. I don't think any of the seven neighbours with whom I share a boundary keeps chickens. She must have come a distance, - "chicken on tour".

I have another French class tomorrow. The topic is OVNIs (UFOs to you and me!). She will read a story, a sentence at a time. We're expected to write it down, make sense of it, translate it, and repeat it back.

Early November 2007

The other morning I awoke early (09:00!) to alarming sounds of activity. I thought, at first, that it was the resumption of building work on a river-bank site about 150m away,

which had been stopped recently. However, when I emerged on a bicycle to go to the boulangerie, I discovered that it was much nearer home. Three men with high-viz hats, armed wth drills, had surrounded Mme Rumeau's house. It emerged that a termite attack had caused their visit. From the look of them it seemed to me to be an uneven battle; it was brown trousers time for the termites. The men were not, of course, drilling holes in Mme Rumeau, but in the walls of her house, a foot apart and a foot up from the ground. Termites will eat your house given a chance, particularly any part of it made of wood. They look like ants, but paler, and with one less body section. You cannot sell a house without a recent termite assessment. You can sell it with the termites, as long as it's declared, and the buyer is happy. Maybe keep them as pets! There are a dozen or more companies specialising in termite obliteration in  this area. This group spent two days on the job, and then departed, tired but happy. (And probably well paid. €2,000 or more).

We had the great feast of Toussaint the week before last, all saints to you. A bank holiday here, in a country that's officially anti-religion. The country is covered in chrysanthemums for a week or two. They are sold to be placed on graves, and graveyards are a mass of colour just now. Huge pots, some several feet across, are everywhere. Even places that open on Sunday were closed on Toussaint. But, the boulangerie was open!

I joined a French class, at last. Of course, it will never be as good as the one I left, but........

It's given by an older lady with very big teeth. But she's very helpful and competent.

Every second class is spent using a book "ASSIMIL Using French - Advanced Level". It's quite a small book with 70 2-3 page "lessons".

She reads a sentence from the book and picks on someone to repeat it as heard (this rotates). (The books are closed). She then asks for a translation. Then, in turn,

everybody else repeats the sentence. Finally, she writes it on the white-board for all to see, and explains a bit about it. There are short exercises in the book for each lesson as well.

As I have been to only one class, I don't know what the other class type is, but I understand that the most recent subject matter is "flying saucers"! There were six others in the class, five English and one Dutch. It costs €20 for the year, or €30 for a couple. Tres cher.

Still working on the garden which is coming along. Nothing died while I was away, but weeds thrived as well.