Canal Morning

Blue Snail

Boats on the "Mediterranean" side of the lock

This morning was devoted to picking up trash along the banks of the Canal du Midi.  I was actually surprised by how clean the banks were.  The water is murky and muddy, but I suspect that has more to do with the gunk that falls in from the overhanging trees than it does with trash floating in the water.  There was the occasional plastic bag, but the towpath was pretty trash-free. I expected cigarette butts and dog poop, but found neither.

Far from home

Even farther from home

What a nice morning it was for a working walk along the water.  I have to confess to being distracted by the plants I kept seeing.  At one point I stopped under an oak tree and listened to the scrabble of the acorns dropping onto the sandy towpath.  It sounded a little like rain, except the drops were big, and green and, ouch! hard. 

One of my "distractions."

I kept looking for the signs of the platane cutting that I saw a year and a half ago, but nature had already overgrown the depressions left by the stumps.  The oaks don't seem to be affected by the same blight that has invaded the platanes. 

Another distraction

I recognized some of the plants; I have known red clover and dandelions since childhood.   But lots of the flowers were new to me, so I will go to the library next week and see if I can locate a field guide to the wild plants.

Orange bumper

The canal was busy this morning, hosting plenty of boat traffic, lots of bicyclists and hikers.

Busy morning along the canal

 I asked a lone fisherman if he was having any luck, which elicited some good-natured complaining from him.  As I walked by, I could see the boat dwellers living out their lives--having breakfast, washing hair, sanding some woodwork--in full view of all passers-by.  Without exception, they waved and smiled and replied, "Bonjour."  It is un bon jour, indeed.

The workers who were cleaning the water while others of us walked the banks.

Saturday Markets

Colorful straw goods.  I want one of those "carriers."

Saturday is the big market day here in Carcassonne.  And on a day this glorious, there is no better way to pass the time than out in the open air, surrounded by color and movement and the energies of the market.

More of the mayor's flower boxes

When I was here in 2013-14, the "Arab" market was at Place Gambetta.  Now that the mayor has completed his envisioned renovation of that square, the "clothing" market has been moved to the linear park along Boulevard Barbes. 

The "clothing" market

This market was always filled with an eclectic mix of offerings, and in its new location, it is even larger, noisier, and more colorful.  Some of the things displayed are, quite frankly, junk.  But, the local "department store" wanted 18 Euros for a soup ladle; here I can get one for 1 Euro.  At one table today I could have bought socks, nail polish, jumper cables and a coffee pot.  There were a few purses that called out to me, but I managed to resist their siren song.  It's really fun to walk through.





 I actually did buy a tablecloth for 8 Euros.  I think I got a pretty good deal as I did see one in a shop window on Rue Verdun for 154 Euros! 

      

                                                                      

What I love about the market as much as the colors and smells are the voices of friends, men and women, trading gossip, family news and who knows?--mybe even good-natured  insults.  Make no mistake, the Saturday market is definitely a social event.  

 

Fountain at the Porte des Jacobins

 After wandering along Boulevard Barbes, I made my way through the Porte des Jacobins to Place Carnot, where the food is sold. People develop relationships with their favorite vendors. 

This scene plays out hundreds of times

I recognized many faces from my time here two years ago.  I was looking for some more of those little ugly apples;but there was not a single one to be found.  There's a lesson in buying what's in season, right?

I buy olives from this vendor

I did not need anything else, as my larder is stocked, and for once I was able to walk away from the mounds of jewel-colored produce.  I did buy three little tomatoes for my salad tonight, Sunday dinner and Monday lunch.  A much reduced market occurs on Tuesday and Thursday mornings.   So, I spent 40 cents at the food market today. 

Some goat cheese, anyone?

Then it happened:  I ran into someone I knew at the market.  Just like everyone else, I was getting my sustenance--both nutritional ans social.  A great sense of belonging washed over me.  I am exactly where I am supposed to be at this point in my life.

Carousel at Gambetta

Saturday morning

After visiting with Jack and Linda, I made my way nearly home to Place Gambetta, where I stopped for a cafe and a croissant and some conversation with three British women tourists who are winding up their holiday today.  The new kiosk there is a pleasant place to have a coffee, people watch and do some writing; I indulged in all three.  Is there a better way to celebrate Saturday morning?

Ho Hum

Okay, I have been here for two weeks now and feel like I am settled in.  The worst of the jet lag is behind me, I have my knives--hallelujah--and I have pretty much gotten the kitchen stocked and equipped.  I have been doing nothing but some writing and tending to household chores these past few days: marketing, making pea soup, laundry, unpacking a couple of boxes, straightening cupboards and organizing the "pantry."  No more or no less than the things everyone does in daily life.  No matter how much one "lives the dream," the dishes still need to be washed and the toilet bowl needs a weekly scrubbing.

Compare to the price of Brie in Brookings.  And is it ever DELICIOUS!

I have also been doing a lot of thinking.  Every time I make a purchase, even though it's something I feel like I need, usually for the kitchen, I worry that I am back on the path of accumulation.  After all the agony of dismantling my life and making my load on the planet so much lighter, I worry that every "thing" I buy is a step in the wrong direction.  Hopefully the pendulum will swing back to the middle. 

I may take the train over to Albi tomorrow; there's an antiques show that I would like to attend.  And then tomorrow night, there is free Jazz on the Canal.  It's a kick-off event to a work party I plan to attend on Sunday, to clean the banks of the Canal du Midi.  What a great idea--to have a party to celebrate upcoming work!  

This week's bouquet--happy happy sunflowers

I believe less and less in coincidences as I get older.  I had planned to make one or both of two things my "project" once I got here.  One is the train station and the other is the Canal.  And there in the paper was the article about the work party.  So, when asked, I can just tell people that I came halfway around the world to pick up trash!

View of my dining room

"Perfumed" Garden Tour

Entrance to the garden

This past weekend, all Europe celebrated Les Jours du Patrimoine--Heritage Days.  There were tours and lectures, concerts and exhibits explaining origins and history.  Even the Protestant Church that I attend in Carcassonne had a series of posters placed around the sanctuary showing highlights of the church's history.  It was as if people were saying, "Here we are; this is where we've been and this is what we are about."  What an amazing coordination of effort--tv stations, newspapers, radio. posters--all manner of advertising and urging people to go out and learn something of their history.  What a concept!

The red tailed parrot who kept whistling

I chose as my highlight of the weekend a guided tour of the "Perfume Garden" in Limoux, a small town about 13 miles south of Carcassonne.  To get there, one takes the 1 Euro train down and the 1 Euro train back.  It was a spectacular weather day, and the timing was perfect. I could get a reain, take the tour and get the next to last train home.  You have to be careful, because the Sunday and school holiday schedules are not the same as the normal Monday through Friday schedule.  I wouldn't like to be stranded, so I pay attention.   I attended church, came home, changed clothes and walked back up to the train station.  Because of work on the train tracks, they put us on the autobus, which sometimes I prefer, because it actually goes through the little hamlets along the way--Leuc, Pomas--and I get to see the actual village, rather than simply the train station. 

End of the season figs

The directions printed in the paper to get to the Gardens were perfect and involved only a little walk along the bike path.  It was, as I said, a gorgeous day and the walk was easy and relatively short.  I arrived at the Garden a little early and was welcomed by the owner who promised he'd ring the bell to gather us at 3:00, when the tour would begin.  After admiring the pair of parrots right outside the front door, I took a seat, a bottle of water and my journal and occupied myself right up until the bell did indeed sound.

Although it looks like graffiti, it is natural

We gathered and the owner, incredibly animated, began regaling us with tales of how this garden started out small and little by little it has grown.  When asked how many people he had working for him, he let us know that he had "an army of two--himself and his wife."  That's why they have limited hours for visiting; they are busy working the rest of the time.

Our guide, explaining the way this tree is pruned

Our guide emerging with a handful of "duff"

One of my favorite ornamental grasses

Not only did they have the two parrots at the door, there was a big aviary where there were 6 or 7 more, only these were the expected green-feathered variety.  I go the impression that they were trying to provide a haven for birds that may have been abandoned.  

Hibiscus haven for Mr. Bug

Lots of arbors, and good mix of shade and sun

What I appreciated the most was this man's obvious love and enthusiasm for his life's calling.  He patiently explained what the plants and trees were, what pruning methods he used, how he dealt with invasive species.  He was knowledgeable and didn't seem to mind those "experts" in the crowd who wanted to show off their own knowledge.  God, there's always someone, isn't there?

Some of the last pink roses

I have to confess that at about the time we reached the ornamental grasses exhibit, I drifted away from the group.  As long as only he was talking, I could understand him, with the exception of technical terms that are simply not yet in my vocabulary.  But when everyone is talking at once, I get lost.  My language skills will get there one day, but are not there yet.  So, instead of being frustrated, I just took myself and my camera off on our own little tour.  I figured that now that I know where it's located, I can come back on my own and ask him specific questions.

And the last of the yellow roses

A sure sign of autun

The gardens are extensive and just the right mix of formal and eclectic for my taste.  Their exhibits range from the Medieval Garden to the Park for the Donkeys.  There's a Moonlight Garden, and a Tropical Garden ( I did learn that certain butterflies are crazy for banana tree flower nectar), Scented Geranium Alley, a Dry Garden, and of course, a large selection of roses.  It is, after all, the "Perfume" garden.  

These leeks look ready to pull

Grapes growing overhead

The roses were nearly over.  Some were those "cabbage" roses that don't form the tight buds we associate with long-stemmed beauties, but are big, blowsy, . powerfully scented blossoms.  Some looked like the wild roses I remember from childhood.    And yes, while some had already formed the "hips" those that remained still emitted their sweetness into the warm late-summer afternoon. 

Where else but in France?

These are "Elephant Head"--flipping the bird, more likely

For me, this garden was perfect--a mix of familiar and exotic.  I got to see the donkeys and the three honking geese, blindingly white in the sunshine.  "Three little maids from school are we..."  I loved the birds,  and was fascinated by the collection of ornamental grasses.  The plants are practical: leeks and basil and tomatoes. Or they are showy: dinner plate dahlias and fuchsias.  The place needs hours, maybe days, to truly explore and appreciate.  

Catalpa? 

 I am already looking forward to my next visit.

"Three little maids from school are we"

A Little Walk

Le Pont Vieux

We are enjoying spectacular weather.  Yesterday the skies were full of the puffy cumulus clouds whose shapes give rise to stories of alligators, princess' carriages, steam shovels, and winged horses that live in the still-a-child part of our psyche.  Isn't it wonderful to have the time to simply sit back and enjoy, and imagine...?  I am a lucky girl, indeed.

Notre Dame de la Sante and her olive tree

 

I had been saving the re-acquaintance with my beloved Aude for just such a day. My camera and I set out for a walk.  I am chagrined to say that I didn't get far, nor did I walk very fast.  In learning to see, I am now noticing much more than ever before.  Some may think I should develop a little more discernment, but for now, everything interests me.  

Peeking inside the front door

So, let me take you on the walk (and I use that term in the loosest possible sense) I enjoyed yesterday.

A closer look at the reflection

I started at the foot of the street, at the lovely little chapel, Notre-Dame de la Sante.  It sits right at the end of the pedestrian bridge, le Pont Vieux, that visitors to the Cite are in a hurry to cross. She's not flashy and there's not much about her that beckons.  It's kind of a square little building that looks as if someone either forgot to add a tower, or sawed it off.   I imagine this little chapel gets ignored--a lot.  

But yesterday, the light coming through the very plain stained glass was being painted all over the opposite interior wall.  The reflection reminded me of Impressionist paintings, only more vivid.  I had to go in and visit with it.  

Blue votives and thank you plaques

While in there, I noticed that the votives were blue, instead of the red and clear ones that I am used to in other churches.  Maybe blue is Mary's color?  The wall contains the candles lit in hope, and is tiled with the Mercis of thankful petitioners.  It is a place of quiet contemplation, of simplicity.  I like to come here and sing, just to myself, or to the Universe, when nobody is around.

The tree is l laden with fruit

Outside is the olive tree I remember, and it is loaded with fruit.  Having grown up in the Mid-Atlantic,  olive trees are exotic: ancient and biblical.  I love their silvery-green slender blade leaves.  This tree seems like a big one, and I have no way of knowing that or determining how old it is.  Timeless.

The mayor of Carcassonne mounted a campaign this spring to make sure the city is filled with flowers.  There are planter boxes everywhere I look.  He has indeed turned it into a "city of flowers" and well cared for ones at that.  I love that the city fathers, even when they disagree, manage to put Carcassonne first, as if they are proud of her, and want her to be beautiful for her guests.

I lingered on the upriver side of the Pont Vieux, the Old Bridge.  Those with an engineering mindset will be drawn to the fact that its arches are not all the same  span-width.  Apparently they should be?  I am drawn to it for all of the footfalls it has absorbed.  Who were these people?  What stories are contained in its stones?  It was withstood raging waters--I have seen the Aude when she is on the verge of losing her temper.  This old bridge (nearly 700 years old) has withstood some fierce battering. Whoever built this did not know the term "planned obsolescence."

Does he see me?

And when I got to the banks of the Aude, my heart gave a little thunk.  Yes, the ever present La Cite watches over the comings and goings, but it is not important for me to go up there.  Not yet.  It will be there, minus a few hundred tourists, in the uncountable days to come.  For now, I am content to poke among the grasses and plants, and places and people of the Bastide.  

The Aude through the foliage