Autumn has arrived

There are several ways to tell that autumn is here, but the most convincing is the vendange, the wine harvest. Last week, on a cycle, it suddenly struck me, even though it was 25 degrees and felt like summer. An enormous tractor, towing an even bigger trailer, joined the road a little ahead of me. I couldn't see what was in the trailer until I caught up with it. It turned out to be a heaving mass of purple grapes, the biggest quantity that I have ever seen in one place. Probably at least a ton. A little further on, a grape harvester was at work, slowly wending its way along a row of vines. These huge machines, which seem to be always painted blue, are interesting to watch. They completely envelop the plants, and seem to be chewing them up with huge plastic teeth. But, behind the machine, the plants emerge apparently unscathed, apart from the fact that they're denuded of grapes. These machines are much in demand this time of year, and regularly start work at 04:00. A few kilometres further on, in the village of Le Fleix, I passed the wine co-operative building. All the doors were open, and I was almost knocked off the bike by the smell of fermenting (rotting?) grapes.

Mention of the tractor reminds me of one of my French cycling friends who recently had an altercation with a tractor. He had turned quickly on to a narrow side-road, featuring an even narrower bridge, with the sun in his eyes. He didn't immediately notice that the bridge was entirely occupied by a very large tractor. He managed to avoid hitting it head-on, but couldn't avoid the huge back wheel, and descended rapidly off the bike on his left side, bruising everything from his ankle to his ear, and damaging several ligaments in his shoulder. It could be worse. He could be dead. He has no broken bones, and will be cycling again shortly. We have asked him, however, whether he'll be expected to pay for the damage to the tractor. He doesn't get the joke.

A few days ago, on another cycle, I came across, for the first time, a sunflower harvester. This is also a vast machine that moves much more quickly than a grape machine, and throws up clouds of dust. It cuts the stems off half a metre from the ground, for reasons unknown to me. The sunflowers grown around here, and there are a lot of them this year, all go to make sunflower oil.

Another sign of autumn is to be found in the fruit and vegetable market. A few days ago, only one stall had any charente melons. I bought one, and she said to me that these were the last of the crop. The numbers of stalls selling peaches and nectarines has dropped to just a few. Soon there will be none. They only sell stuff in season. There are still plenty of figs and walnuts. Last week one of the supermarkets was selling figs from Turkey! And, the Dordogne is covered in figs. That's the difference between the supermarkets and the markets; the latter sell only local produce. The supermarkets are also selling garlic from Argentina! There should be a law.

Today, I came across an apple-picking scene. There are huge orchards to the west of the town, and they've been festooned with big green boxes for weeks. These are the boxes into which they place the hand-picked apples. Today, I met a full-size articulated truck loaded with hundreds of green boxes, full of apples. I often wondered if they had mechanised the apple-picking, but they just climb ladders and place the apples in crates which are then emptied into the boxes.
How much do you know about compost heaps? I have a big compost bin, and I know one thing now that I didn't know before. In hot weather, you can listen to the compost at work. You can clearly hear the wildlife chomping away at the the vegetable matter. In fact, if you have the stomach for it, you can lift the lid and watch them in action! It's gone quiet now that the temperature has dropped.

One morning recently,  we awoke to the sound of men's voices in the garden/driveway next door. We noted that the outside light had been turned on, - a rare event. The husband has a heart problem and cancer and a number of other things wrong with him, and has been taken away by ambulance (the SAMU) previously. So, we concluded that this was another such event. Later that day we met Madame, and expressed our concern for Monsieur. She said it was nothing of the sort. It was the men arriving to close the pool! At twenty past six? An hour and a half before sunrise! Only the French!
Sarkozy is back in the news. He never really left. He had been before a Tribunal de Grand Instance, charged with accepting large sums of money from Liliane Bettencourt, the richest woman in France, before being elected president. She owns L'Oreal. He has now been acquitted of all charges. Every time they show a clip of him, they also show Mme Bettencourt, a wizened old dame, being led along. She has gone completely loopy in recent years. She is also living proof that the L'Oreal anti-ageing products don't work! (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-2449482/Woman-suffers-blistered-face-using-LOreal-anti-wrinkle-cream.html)

The big news today is the weather. The French are nearly as obsessed with the weather as the Irish. I can't understand it, as they get the weather that you would expect most of the time. But, it's still news when it happens. In summer they suddenly announce that it's hot on such and such a beach, and they go there and interview a few bucket-and-spade wielding visitors to confirm that it's great seaside weather. Today they're excited that it snowed in the Alps and some other (high) places. So they show a herd of cattle battling their way through a snowdrift, and interview the farmer about the hardships of winter, as if this is something new. It turns out that the snow arrives on this very day most years! The intrepid reporter is dressed like Nanouk of the North, and looks like a snowman by the time he's finished his live report. All he's missing is a carrot for a nose.
Watch this space!

Escape to America!

Sojourn in America

We started in Los Angeles, picked up a car at the airport, and a GPS (Tomtom) which had been previously ordered, at a branch of Walmart, the legendary retailer whose stores remind one of the third world. While there we bought a US cell-phone for less than ten dollars, and a coolbox! By the time we got to bed, it was 07:00 (the next day) back in Dublin, which we left earlier in the day.

Las Vegas was next. We drove through uninhabited semi-desert for hours on end. Las Vegas is just plain awful. But, it's on the way to interesting places, and has plenty of accommodation at reasonable prices. There is no other good reason to ever visit Las Vegas. The hotel we stayed in, the Excalibur, had 4,000 rooms! The lobby had literally hundreds of gambling machines, being played at all hours by people of all ages, including little old ladies in Zimmer frames. Eighteen of the 25 biggest hotels in the world are on one street in Las Vegas. Stay away from Las Vegas.

That's the Excalibur Hotel!

From there we drove, through more semi-desert, to Zion and Bryce canyons, where we spent two nights in Ruby's Inn Best Western Motel, right beside the entrance to Bryce Canyon National Park. The following morning, I got up before dawn (05:30) to see the sun rise over Bryce Canyon and take some photographs. This was a cold experience, must have been about -5C. But, it was worth it, and nice to get back indoors for breakfast. Bryce is famous for “hoodoos”, pieces that stick up like stalagmites, and come in many shapes and colours. There are many viewpoints along the edge, each with a different scene to ogle or photograph. Getting out of bed for dawn, one of the coldest experiences of my life, was worth it for the view, and the colours.

Bryce Canyon at dawn

The next stop was the “city” of Moab, Utah. A “city” in America is anywhere with a postal code. Some have as few as 50 residents. Moab is situated between two parks, Arches and Canyonlands. Arches park contains interesting sandstone features projected upwards, many of them (hundreds) in the form of arches. Canyonlands is quite different, although one of its best-known features is the Mesa Arch. It contains various canyons and rifts in the ground, some of which you can drive down into, if you have the nerve and a 4-wheel drive vehicle. I had neither. It also features a big hole in the ground called Upheaval Dome. There is a long-running debate about its origin, with some claiming that a meteorite caused it, while others attribute its existence to natural geological events. One thing is agreed, and that is that its existence preceded that of the Rockies mountain range.

Mesa Arch in Canyonlands National Park

We then moved on to Mesa Verde. You never heard of it? Neither did I. It's a valley surrounded by cliffs where Puebloan (indians) lived for 600 years. During their last 50 years there, they built a lot of living accommodation, much of which still survives. (Why shouldn't it; there are older houses in the centre of Bergerac!) But, there is a mystery attached to it. Around 1300, about 50 years after the building “project” began, the entire population (maybe 11,000 people) disappeared. It seems that they moved to New Mexico and other places, but nobody knows why. Answers on a postcard? Drought is the chief suspect. Mesa Verde is not worth seeing, unless you're an archaeologist. There are 4,000 archaeological sites in Mesa Verde.

The Cliff Palace in Mesa Verde where several hundreds lived

Next town was Kayenta, which is close to Monument Valley. This is Navajo indian territory, and a visit to the only supermarket in Kayenta will quickly remind you of this fact. Remember the old indian women portrayed in western films, with no teeth and smoking a clay pipe? Kayenta is full of them, with matching men. But, Monument Valley is spectacular. We saw it first in bright sunshine and clear blue skies, but with a strong breeze blowing sand everywhere. We returned later to catch the setting sun. It is completely desert territory. And, the Navajo own 16 million acres of it, almost the size of Ireland. The downside of this is that, unlike the National Parks, they haven't bothered to build a road through the giant monuments. The reason for this is clear. The road is so bad that most people won't risk their car on it, and instead hire the indians to drive them in open trucks, at considerable expense, and profit to the indians. Luckily, the most famous sandstone structures can be seen, and photographed, from the visitor centre. They look spectacular in the setting sun, with the long shadows, but capturing it with a camera is not so easy. In the restaurant, there is no alcohol available. This is not because it is in the “dry” state of Utah; it's because that's the way the Navajo want it!

The “Mittens” East and West at Monument Valley

Having survived the Navajo indians, we headed for Lake Powell. This is not a natural lake, but arises from the construction of the Glen Canyon Dam in 1966. It took 17 years to fill up, and the resulting lake stretches through some spectacular scenery, featuring the sandstone gorges along the Colorado river. The Lake Powell Resort is close to the town of Page, Arizona, which is close to two notable attractions. The first is Horseshoe Bend on the Colorado river, and the other is Antelope Canyon. Horseshoe Bend is open to everyone, but Antelope Canyon is controlled by the dreaded Navajos who charge $26 per person for entry. But, it is quite spectacular despite its small size, and the cramped apertures that visitors have to squeeze through during the visit. Page is not a big town (think Ballybofey), but, on one street there I counted at least ten churches, all of different “christian” sects. Small but religious! We had breakfast is a diner there, and were entertained by three old-timers a few tables away trying to figure out who fought in the Hundred Years War, and who won.

Horseshoe Bend on the Colorado at sunset

Antelope Canyon – a sample of the rock formation and colour

After all that, the Grand Canyon, the main object of the tour, was still to come. That was the next stop. Two nights in the Yavapai Lodge, named after an obscure indian tribe. And, breakfast and dinner in the Bright Angel Lodge, named after one of the layers in the canyon sides. We entered the park from the Eastern side, so we had 20 miles along the rim before reaching Yavapai. Of course, from the road, you can see nothing as it's heavily wooded, but there are many “overlooks”, points where you can stop and view the canyon. This is the South Rim of the canyon, and of the 277 miles, only about 30 are developed for visitors. Beyond the village where the accommodation was situated, private vehicles are not allowed along the rim, but a fleet of shuttle buses, driven by retired people, ferry visitors to the rest of the viewing points. This service runs like clockwork, every 10 or 15 minutes from 04:30 in the morning until after sunset. It was interesting to see the canyon firstly in the mid-day sun, then in the fading light at sunset. And, the following morning, I got to see the sun rise over the Grand Canyon, a wonderful experience.

The Grand Canyon in the light of the setting sun

Apart from Las Vegas, the least-anticipated point on the “tour” was Bakersfield, California, where we were to stay overnight on the way to Yosemite. It was over 500 miles from the Grand Canyon, through the Mojave desert, a long way to travel in a day. When we arrived there, we were met by a sandstorm which, among other things, was blowing tumbleweeds across the streets. Like a scene from “The Last Picture Show”. It's not a place I would rush back to, but it has a significant number of Basque people living there, strangely enough. As a result, there are Basque restaurants, one of which we patronised with some success. The French influence brings some sense of civilisation to the place.

One of the down-sides of travelling on American motorways (highways – or interstates) is the difficulty of finding edible food at rest stops. Ninety five percent of rest stops have fast food outlets only, from the big chains – McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Dunkin Donuts etc. - all serving very fast poison. If you're lucky, sometimes there is a traditional diner, not cordon bleu, but edible. And there's a table and a plate and a proper knife and fork! But this experience is all too seldom. The only way to be sure of something edible is to bring your own, which is why we had a coolbox. We filled it every morning in some supermarket or other food emporium, and survived hunger as a result.

After the wonderful city of Bakersfield, we came at last, via Fresno, to Yosemite. We hadn't seen rain since the tour began, but we saw it in spades in the two days of Yosemite, as well as mist, clouds and hailstones. Only a small part of it is accessible by car, and we explored all of that through the rain. The giant sequoia trees were, for me, the most impressive sight. It is difficult not to be impressed by trees that are hundreds of feet tall and thousands of years old.

Giant sequoia – scale apparent with normal-sized (out-of-focus) woman in foreground!

After Yosemite, the “tour” descended into a series of visits to friends and relations, including many small children, one of them just born. But, the real “tour” was over. The “highlight” of the latter part was being robbed of my wallet by a black pick-pocket in Baltimore's Thurgood-Marshall airport. I didn't even notice it until the following day, by which time he'd managed to spend $1500 on my debit card! I should have realised that the noisy diversion which he created in the lift wasn't for the good of anybody's health. We live and learn!

Spring in Bergerac!

They mentioned congère on the radio this morning! I was still in bed. Congère means snowdrift! Ten days ago (or so) the television news made a big fuss about the arrival of spring. Almost the way we would have if we had got one sunny day in Donegal in the good old days. They interviewed people on various beaches, children building sandcastles etc. None of these people were in bikinis; they were all in overcoats and hats! But, nice weather had arrived, although not unusual for the date. (It reached 22 degrees here in February a few years ago). Now, all of a sudden, they're talking about snowdrifts on the news headlines. The northern quarter of France has been hit by winter, and it's serious. 40,000 people without electricity, airports closed, the channel tunnel closed. And, it's moving southwards, reaching here on Friday. We expect to survive!

I went on a walk with the walking group this morning, and the main topic of conversation was also the weather in Normandy. This was because two of our members, Réné and Jocelyne had moved there last year. Much to the delight of all present, Normandy has about two feet of snow. Several of them had rung Réné to remind him that it was still spring down here! Nobody understands why they moved up there, even though they are natives of Normandy. Most of the other members are also “blow-ins”, from places like Lille and Paris, and they have no intention of going back.

The lunchtime news is featuring chateaux this week, and they started yesterday by looking at the hill-top chateau of Beynac, which some of us have visited. Interestingly, the interior turns out to be quite spectacular, and probably worth visiting. Usually, the interiors are disappointing. Even a chateau as spectacular as Chenonceaux (the one that straddles the river Cher) in the Loire is very tame on the inside. People of average height have to duck to get through the doorways, as it must have been built for dwarfs. But, Beynac looks big and spacious.

Yesterday, I arrived back from shopping and stopped in the lane-way to empty my mailbox of junk mail, invoices, cheques, marriage proposals etc. I noticed a gaggle of women outside Mme Rumeau's gate, with Christiane among them. The latter broke the world record for 20 metres advancing on me in some haste, apparently to warn me about these women. But, she started by kissing me on both cheeks, - twice! She then announced in terms of desperation that they had “escaped” towards my hovel! When I got there, they had already got Therese out of her migraine-infested bed, and were regaling her on the doorstep with tales of religion, backed up by a document which they were presenting to her. I asked them if they were “perdu” and they replied in the negative, before leaving. They turned out, predictably enough, to be the local battalion of Jehovah's witnesses. Therese had no idea who they were, despite listening carefully to their story, and had never heard of the “Watchtower” label, which was on the document. It has now been recycled.

The news at lunchtime announced that the snow in Normandy etc. is now a “crise”. The 40 minute bulletin consisted of 35 minutes of snow reporting and five minutes on the new pope. (There is no new pope yet!). A minister was wheeled out from a Crisis Committee meeting to be grilled on the crisis. He was asked predictable questions such as “seeing that the snow was widely and accurately forecast, how come all the services were taken by surprise?”. Familiar?? His answer was that everyone is doing his best to cope with the worst storm in 40 years! But, it is serious. Thousands of people marooned in vehicles. Miles-long lines of trucks abandoned on motorways. Many roads and motorways are closed. People sleeping on trapped buses and trains. It is still snowing, and -10 is expected tonight. Snowdrifts are up to six feet high. Almost the entire RER system in Paris is shut down. And, it will continue until the weekend at least. TF1 tonight had reports from about 20 locations, from intrepid reporters dressed up like Nanook of the North. Little Jessica Lederman reported from the Gare du Nord, looking for all the world like a snowman. And, it's heading south!

Have you ever heard of bitter cress? It's a small weed, with a tiny white flower, not easy to see. Normally, it's not a problem, as it's too small to compete with flowers, shrubs or vegetables. But, thousands of bitter cress plants is a different matter. And, that's what I have now in the garden. There is an epidemic of bitter cress. It's not confined to my garden. It's the same on roadsides, public spaces etc. Some conditions have come together to allow every bitter cress seed in France to germinate at approximately the same time. The real problem is to eliminate them before they manage to seed again. The bitter cress system of dispersing its seeds is possibly the best in the plant world. The tiny white flowers fade and become small green tubes, facing upwards. These eventually turn black. That's when they're ready to go. If you touch the black tubes, seeds fly up and hit you on the face! So, one plant can scatter hundreds of seeds over a wide area, ensuring several more crops! But, eliminating them is easier said than done. Many of them are too small to see. Once the flowers go, they're almost all impossible to see. If you know what to do, please don't keep it to yourself.

I enclose a photo of my little nectarine tree, one of the few bright sparks in the garden just now.

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!

First visit of French class!

At last, four intrepid travellers arrived in Bergerac. They flew Dublin Bordeaux, then we made our way to St. Emilion, in hot sunshine. This visit included walking up steep streets, sight-seeing, drinking champagne, eating panini, shopping etc.

Later they checked into a small hotel in Bergerac, and went to the Gallen hovel for introduction to wife, drinks, and dinner. This lasted until well after midnight, when it was required to go to bed to prepare for the exertions of the next day.

The hot sun didn't return, but a tour was taken which took in Beynac, La Roque Gageac and Domme. Beynac was explored in some detail, but the rain commenced and shortened the exploration of the latter two. However, we found lunch in Domme, dry and warm.

The next step was to see two "bastide" towns, Monpazier and Beaumont. These were found to be dry (as was Bergerac - all day) and Monpazier was interesting, and is regarded as one of the best looking bastides. Beaumont is also nice but less spectacular.

We also passed through Couze, famous, autrefois, for the manufacture of paper. It still has a paper museum, and a fine restaurant, Au Fil de l'Eau. The Couze river joins the Dordogne here, forming a weir in the process. Our restaurant for the evening was "Lou Brageirac", very French!

The third day was for exploring Bergerac, starting with the markets, the clothes market, the fruit and vegetable market and the covered market, with it's classy delicatessen and cheese shop. We also explored the squares, the statues of Cyrano, the traditional  (and very old) buildings. Mary photographed everything! We encountered two bird-watchers, one of whom lives 100 metres from chez Gallen (Claude Subirat); the other lives in a house that is part 14th century, part 17th century.

We also met a woman (Helène) out of my conversation class.

The sun came out, allowing us to walk along the river to the lunch venue, chez Gallen.

Later, we visited the Chateau Monbazillac, with its tasting centre for the wine of the same name, mostly sweet, to go with dessert or with melon starter. Our restaurant later was Le Bistro du Coin, run by George and Chris, from Derry and England.

Sunday was spent going to church and getting back to Merignac airport in time for the flight, in seriously heavy rain!

Thank you all for coming.

My photos are at : http://seamusbergerac.shutterfly.com/64 and they look alright on the "Slideshow" option. But the others have more pictures, especially Mary.

Early summer in the Dordogne

Another update from the Dordogne valley, where the river has been as high as I have ever seen it. It's slowly returning to normal, but the boats that do the one-hour tours are still not running, as the loading area is still flooded. To board the boat now, you would have to wade in waist high water!! And, that's not allowed.

The most recent excitement was the election, and the demise of the much-despised Sarkozy. On live television, they counted down the seconds (like New Year's Eve!) until 8 p.m. (closing time of polling stations), and, on the dot of 8 the screen showed a picture of Hollande and 52%, and that was taken as the result. It was based on exit polls. But the exact result, which emerged some time during the night, gave the winner 51.7%, only very slightly different. I have no idea how they count the votes so quickly. There are no voting machines, just ballot papers and pencils. But, they count all 63,000 stations in a matter of hours. In Ireland, the exit poll could be well off, especially if Fianna Fail was involved. At the last election the exit poll showed them getting 3 or 4 per cent less than they ended up getting. People were ashamed to tell the pollsters that they had voted for FF! Anyhow, Angela Merkel can't wait to get her claws into Monsieur Hollande. She wants to see him in Berlin as soon as possible! 

The garden was in bad shape after five months of neglect. It had rained every day in April, and continued for our first five days here. But, I put on waterproofs and waded in the next day. Weeds, many of which also grow in Dublin, grow much more quickly here, and also get much bigger. My compost bin is now full to the brim, and the trailer is half-full of harvested weeds. I also planted some marigold borders, and several planters, hanging baskets etc. And, once the rain stopped, I cut the grass. It's not a big area, much like a typical suburban lawn in Dublin, but it looks better cut, and fertilised. At last, the rain stopped, and we've had only  few showers over several days. It's to be 27 and sunny on Thursday. I'm more concerned about late next week, when several members of my French class arrive for a three day visit. I don't want them to go home covered in rust.

Our neighbour, Madame Charrut (Christiane), arrived during dinner, covered in photo-copies of maps and correspondence with the city council and with the water company (Veolia - who run the Luas). It's seems to be about the abolition of septic tanks, as well as the disposal of rainwater and bath/dishwater. Anyhow, it will cost money to comply,  --- thousands she thinks! Phil Hogan, eat your heart out. There may be scope to share piping (and cost) with neighbours, who are all non-compliant. The inspection is free, (and the verdict predictable) but the work is at our expense, and obligatory! I said to her that I  might end up in prison, and she fell into convulsions of laughter. I missed out on the inspection phase by not being here, but I'm probably still covered by the revised bye-laws. She offered to open the gate for the inspector, but he said not to bother. Maybe it's not as urgent as she thinks. She enjoys a big drama. She's still convinced that gypsies from the other side of the town are coming to rob us, and maybe cut our throats for good measure. Her house is fenced in like Fort Knox, locked day and night. We lock our gate at night, only because she insists. Her poor husband is not at all well. According to Christiane, he has at least 17 things wrong with him, and it's hard to decide which is the most serious. But, she told me on the phone, before we left Dublin, that she had to summon the SAMU (emergency services) to drag him off to A&E due to an irregular heartbeat. But, he was home again the following day.  He's a very nice man, who was born in Algeria (a pied-noir - or black-foot) and earned his living driving a taxi. She also told us a big story about the man who had started to trim her extensive hedge system. Apparently, he discovered some kind of lump on the back of his head, and next thing you know, he couldn't walk. So, he's in hospital recovering, while the hedge continues to grow. A couple of years ago, she employed some cowboys to cut the hedge, and asked them to lower it a bit, as well as giving it a haircut. Unfortunately, they applied most of the pruning to the other side of the hedge, the one that we have to look at. And, the result was a severely butchered hedge (it's leyland cypress) with no greenery at all visible from our side. She never mentioned it, but I know she was embarrassed when she saw it. Two/three years on, it has recovered quite a bit.

The big excitement before returning to France was the party for my mother's 90th birthday. I'm the eldest of her 8 offspring, 5 male and 3 female, and all 8 made it to the event, including one from Australia and one from Canada. She's in reasonable shape for 90, but slow and shaky on her feet. However, she managed to get up and dance, and sing "The Homes of Donegal" and "The Black Velvet Band" as well as staying up until two in the morning, which is more than I could do! 16 of her 29 grandchildren, and three of her seven great-grand-children also turned up. I'm not sure that I ever want to be 90.

Of course Jennifer's recent engagement (second youngest) was also trundling along, with make-up trial runs, selection of wedding dresses, searches for suitable priests etc. etc. going full steam ahead. It's great to be at arms length from any further developments, as Jennifer is given to jumping up and down just a little at the least opportunity! I don't remember this quantity of drama when we got married, 200 years ago. Surely, it was simpler then? I remember being surprised halfway through the Mass to hear a tenor launching into "Panis Angelicus". But, that sort of haphazard planning is not good enough any more!

To get an idea just how many English people live in this area, all you have to do is to attend the twice-yearly sale of used English books, organised by Phoenix, an animal rescue charity. They take in any books you want rid of, give you nothing for them, and sell you any book you want for one euro. Tea, coffee, buns, cakes, quiche etc.are also on sale for one euro. They regularly take in €10,000 in a day! Huge numbers turn up, making the little town of Campsegret feel like Little England for a day. A lot of work goes into organising the thousands of books into alphabetical order of author.

Anyhow, it's nice to hear the sound of lawnmowers again, a sign that summer is on the way!