Walk With Me

Start our walk on the Bastide side of the Aude, at the foot of the Pont Vieux

I had a nice long walk yesterday afternoon and another again today.  And neither of those factor in the walk to and from the markets, post office and library.  I figure it doesn't count as a real walk if it's somewhere you have to go anyway.  That's just normal exercise.  The weather here has been spectacular, although quite windy, and we are all taking advantage of the brilliant blue skies and warm mid-autumn sun. 

We're going to stroll by this place on the Cite side of the Aude

Looking back at the Pont Vieux.  What are those two people on the bridge saying?

This morning, I made the rounds of the markets and then this afternoon, went on a guided tour of St. Michel's cemetery.  A local historian, who reminded me so much of Walt Schroeder (those long-time Brookings residents will recognize the name).  Knowledgeable, witty, patient, he pointed out the "important names" interred in St. Michel's.  The cemetery is bedecked with chrysanthemums and people were bringing in baskets full even as I left to walk home at about 4:45.  It made me realize that Carcassonne is very stable--these families have tended these tombs for generations.  My only complaint is that all of the notables were men.  Does Carcassonne not have any important women? (Other than Dame Carcas, without whom the city might be named Charlemagneville)

La Cite watches--stupid power line

Looking downriver, Pont Vieux first and Pont Neuf further downstream

I took lots of photos and I am happy with many of them.  Come, let me show you my neighborhood.  

Yes, they are holding hands.  He had a bunch of flowers in his basket.

 The Aude is low, but swift.  We are headed for the footbridge,  Once the winter rains happen upstream, we may not see its surface again until spring.

Wind whips the grasses over the fence

Headed for the footbridge

Headed down some very steep steps

Very pretty river

On the bridge looking upstream

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the footbridge looking downstream

On the Cite side of the Aude 

Park's flowerbeds are ready for s nap

Sunlight through the ornamental grass

One of those goofy platane trees

Gulls play in the river

Is this cotoneaster?

Statue at Gambetta wears chrysanthemums

Colorful carousel

Misses and Hits

Some people here have asked me what I miss about the United States.  My list surprises them.  Maybe as I settle in, things will change.  At present, it's not a very long list.  Here goes:

Peanut butter....I know, silly, isn't it?  I can find small jars of sugar-loaded Skippy at exorbitant prices.  The equivalent of $5 US for a tiny jar?!!  So, yes, I confess to missing Adams No-Stir.

Cheap make-up prices.....I have yet to figure out why make-up and perfume are so expensive here, where they are produced.  But let me tell you, hell will freeze over and I will be skating on the ice before I ever pay $50 for a tube?wand? of mascara.  Besides, it makes my eyes itch.

Steel-cut oats.....cereals in the grocery stores are for children.  It's hard enough to find cold granola or muesli that's not full of sugar, and hot cereals are almost nin-existent.  I managed to find oatmeal, finally, in a health-food store out of town.  But they've never heard of steel cut oats.  Never mind, there are plenty of other things for breakfast.

Lemon-scented furniture polish....What I have managed to find here smells heavily of cinnamon, but it's not pleasant.  I will keep looking.  

I think that's about it.  I might say that there are people I miss, but technology allows me to call, write or video chat with them regularly.  It doesn't feel much different to me than when I lived on the West Coast. 

And instead of focusing on the negatives--the things I don't miss, I will make a list of the things I like about living here:

Fresh, flaky croissants, whenever I want them....they're not doughy, not greasy, and I have to run the vacuum after eat$ing them.  After that first frenzy of croissant-eating, I find that I now want one only occasionally.  Oh, and instead of carrying a $3 each price tag like those at Bakery By the Sea, these are only 85 cents.

Public transportation....oh, how I do not miss being behind the wheel of a car.  Maybe that will change one day, but I love hopping a train or catching the bus.  And, I love walking.  I get to interact with people on the street.  Just today, SNCF, the national train company announced that for FREE, their riders can download an app on their phones or tablet or access a website that will access books to read while on the train.  They are pioneering this project on several of the local lines I take.  How cool is that?  A country that promotes reading.  Imagine!

City encouraged recycling bins.....we are all encouraged to recycle and the city provides the bins to sort our waste.  Glass only in one, food waste in another and all other recyclables (plastic, paper, aluminum) in the third.  You put your things in at street level, but the material actually is stored underground. 

Fresh, ripe produce....either at the thrice weekly market, or from the fruit and vegetable stand right around the corner.  Bananas there were 99 centimes a kilo today--that works out to about 45 cents a pound. Cheaper than at Ray's back in Brookings!  And I don't have to buy a pallet to qualify for the price; two bananas, which are plenty for me as a single eater, cost me 24 cents.  

As I settle in to my new home and learn the ways of a different culture, I expect that there will be some things I shall indeed miss.  But for now, the list is small and insignificant. 

Lechery and Laughter in Limoux

St. Martin's in Limoux from the Old Bridge

I took the train down to Limoux today to take part in a mixed media art workshop that began at 2:00.  I have always wanted to be better at art--drawing, painting, photography.  In school I always took the music courses--band and choir.  I never regretted that decision, but always yearned to be able to draw and create something from nothing.  Today I would have a chance to do just that!

Vineyards show colors in the hills above town

I went a little early--I caught the 10:36 train from Carcassonne.  I wanted to take my  camera for a walk, maybe capture some photos of the autumnal scenery.  The vineyards were spectacular; the yellows and scarlets brilliant in the late morning sun. 

There were plenty of photo opportunities and a few shots turned out well.  The Aude was running low but clear.  I meandered over to the cemetery; I could see chrysanthemums already had been placed on the family tombs.  While I was there, looking for some photo opportunities, I was approached by one of the cemetery workers, dressed in day-glo green.  I am not sure what the hazards are in the cemetery that the workers need such brilliance, but someone, somewhere, must know.

Cemetery is behind this wall

Anyhow, this guy struck up a conversation, asking about my taking photos. The ensuing interchange went something like this:   I asked if photos were permitted; I did not want to be disrespectful.  He replied that it was fine.  He asked me if I was alone.  Yes.  Certainly I had left my husband back in England?  No  No husband, ever.  And I am from the United States.  American?  Yes.  I was toute seule (all alone)?   Yes.  No children?  No.  No companion?  No.  Did I want one?  Maybe, if the right one came along.  Perhaps it could be him. Did I think he was handsome?  Oh yes, very handsome. (He was in that no shave for 3 days grizzled kind of way and what was I going to say?),  Good, because he thought I was cute.  CUTE!  Maybe he could be my companion?  I am too old for you. 

By now I am edging toward the entrance.  It was lunchtime, after all.  I mentioned that, and he replied that he would be having his lunch in about 8 minutes. (No doubt prepared and put on the table by his long-suffering wife)  Then he said, "Madame, au revoir," and held out his hand for me to shake.  I shook it, and as I did, he asked if he could have a kiss.  No, it's too soon.

All of this took under 3 minutes.  This man believes in letting no grass grow under his feet, I guess.  Maybe being surrounded all day by the tombstones in the cemetery have made him realize that time is fleeting, but really?  Three minutes?!!  But he was so good natured that I couldn't get all affronted and huffy.  Ah well, if I need a date for the prom, I know where to find him, and hey, it's been a bloody long time since anyone told me I was CUTE.

Memorial to the end of WWII catches late morning shadows

I enjoyed a Caesar salad for lunch.  It was similar to what one gets in the States, except it had a lot of onions on it.  I had forgotten that in Limoux, it seems all the salads are laden with onions. And I had a glass of wonderful rose--I read somewhere that the better roses are so pale as to be nearly grey.  At first I thought she had given me a glass of white--it was that pale.  Oh my, was it ever a good glass of wine!

Last leaves of a severely pruned plane tree

Then it was off to the workshop.  I had inadvertently stumbled into a nest of Brits; the instructor and all of the students there were British.  The workshop accomplished exactly what I expected--I was able to lose myself in the process and not be concerned about the outcome, which is a good thing, because there was a reason all those years ago that I took music.  It's frustrating to want to do something so badly and to have absolutely no gift for it.  We were painting and gluing, and working with ink, and I had all three things strung from hell to kingdom come.  Neat-handed I am NOT.  But I did enjoy the company, although it was a little disheartening to learn that these folks had been in France for years and still hadn't learned the language.  It's a lesson to go far, far outside one's comfort zone to really learn a new language.

At one point our instructor was relating a story about bras and one client who never wears one, although she most definitely should.  Apparently she and her un-bound ways are well known to some of the people who were there in the workshop.   The lone man, a lovely Brit who confessed to being 83, very quietly asked, "And where might this be?"  We all nearly fell from our stools laughing. 

I practically ran to the train station to catch what I thought was the 5:08 back to Carcassonne, but as it turned out, that train runs on Sunday only.  So I waited for the next one, due to depart a little after 6:00.   By the time we left Limoux, the light was rapidly fading from the sky, and it was dark by the time I got home.  The autumn time change brings early evenings.  I was tired, really tired, from all the walking I had done.  When I look at the distances to and from the train stations, and roaming all over the town of Limoux, I logged a few miles in my New Balances.  I was lulled by the regular clacking of the wheels--how I love train travel, especially in the dark.  It does wonders to free up my imagination.

Ghoulish platane tree

What a splendid day I had, and I am most grateful. 

Trees near the train station catch the last of the day's light

Sunday Doings

We changed back to Standard Time from Daylight Savings Time last night, so I got my extra hour of sleep, and did I ever enjoy it!  The good thing is that it is easier for me to wake up when the sky lightens earlier.  The downside, of course, is that the daylight ends earlier.  I have always thought that the very definition of richesse is being able to rise and retire with the sun, with no alarm clocks ruining our sleep.  

Mums at Portail Jacobins

I took my camera for a walk today, looking for the colors of autumn.  We don't have the colorful maples of New England here.  The leaves of the platanes don't run to brilliance; they turn a brittle brown and fall to the ground.  But the flowers here are still putting on a show, especially near the fountains.  I watched the watering patrol doing its job earlier this week.  They have quite the system to keep all of the city's flower boxes thriving.  

Sunlight on the wall of the Bastide

On the way to get my paper, I was stopped by Mrs. Rabat, who told me that they had an American in the shop and asked if I would like to meet him.  I said of course and she introduced me to Boscou, a guy from Chicago, currently living in Paris and who visits Carcassonne every so often to eat and drink well, and commune with the locals.  We began a conversation, or rather I should say he began to talk.  I have never, ever met a bigger boor.  He barely came up for air, and he cut me off every single time I tried to add to the conversation.  He was awful. Really!  I was able to get away with the excuse that I needed to get to the tabac before they closed.  Boscou is of Pakistani or Indian (sub-continent, not Native American) descent, and I was left wondering if his rudeness to me was an expression of his cultural upbringing or whether jerks are jerks no matter what their roots!

Side street in the Bastide

I took lots of photos; a few were worth keeping.  La Belle Helene, a  canal boat whose owner Norma and I met at the #2 bus stop at Leclerc, is berthed back in the port, snug for the season.  I got some exercise, had a chance encounter with a lovely older lady on the street, soaked up some sunshine.  I hope everyone could have such a peaceful day.

La Belle Helene at her winter berth

On my way home I got to smiling--maybe Boscou was Mrs. Rabat's revenge for all the flirting I have done with her husband!!!

Colors of autumn

Nesting

Tidy "dining room"

I am not sure if it is the changing light that is responsible for the change in my biorhythms or simply my body's reaction to the absence of stress, but I am feeling a great urge to nest.  I am sleeping better than I have in perhaps years, and trying, not always successfully, to adapt to a new routine without feeling guilty.  Decades of needing to be up and out early have imprinted themselves onto my psyche and it's hard for me to think about not leaving the house until lunch or later.  

Kitchen ready for cooking

Yesterday I cleaned--really cleaned--my house.  I haven't a lot of room, so even the smallest bit of clutter can feel like chaos.  But I scrubbed and dusted and polished all morning long.  I don't want to do this every day, but it certainly was rewarding.  I felt uneasy at not leaving the house until after lunch, as I am used to getting out, at least to get the paper, early in the morning.  So I am learning some new patterns.  

Working in the living room, with laundry drying on the rack

Fresh flowers are NOT a luxury

After lunch, I went to market and returned with ingredients for chicken parmigiana.  My house was immaculate, and soon, dinner was in the oven and my little apartment smelled like a home.  I brewed a pot of tea and settled in for some writing.  It was misting a little outside and the ever-present afternoon wind was stirring the leaves of the tree outside my window.  I was (and am) filled with gratitude for such a perfect day in my nest.

Slow Monday

Mondays are slow here.  Many shops are shuttered and dark--they've been open for part of the day on Saturday, or like my butcher, on Sunday, and are taking a well deserved break.  The library is closed as are several of the nearby restaurants  Whatever is needed can wait until Tuesday. 

Additionally, we are at the beginning of a two week vacances scolaires.....school break. I am so glad I didn't need to be anywhere near a train station last Friday!   Since the city buses are used to transport students to and from school, they are running on Saturday schedules for the next two weeks as well.  So, even though there seem to be more tourists here than there were last week, the streets had a quiet, slower rhythm to them today.

I made a pot of cauliflower-cider soup, which turned out to be delicious.  I don't think that reflects on my skill as much as it does the quality of the ingredients.  I love getting fresh produce and am learning not to buy too much at any one time.  Clementines are showing up at the market, as are chestnuts and the orange-est  pumpkin I have ever seen.  It's obviously a different variety than I grew up with in the States--the flesh is thicker and more vibrantly colored than what we used for Jack-o-lanterns.  Halloween here is not the big buying opportunity that it is in the States, either.  I did see a notice in the paper that the cemeteries are going to be having longer hours in preparation for All Saints Day. That's a far more important holiday.

On the way to the bakery this morning (to get a mini-campaillette to go with my soup)  I stopped in at a decommissioned Dominican church that's used for art installations.  There was a new showing of some work by a local woman artist.  The theme for this installation  is the celebration of women.  Her style is Picasso-esque, not really to my taste. (I struggle when the eyes are both on the same side of the nose)  But there is no denying her ability. I am told that Carcassonne has a vibrant visual arts scene, but I haven't stumbled onto it yet.  I will keep looking; I have only just begun poking around. 

 

Surrealism at Gambetta

I think there's a story here

I love Carcassonne Saturday mornings.  I never know what will greet me when I am on my way to the market.  This morning's errand list involved getting only half a dozen eggs at the market--I am well stocked with everything else I need.  But I wouldn't dream of staying in on Saturday; there's too much going on.

At first I thought it was tai chi

I knew there was going to be a bicycle repair workshop this morning, but I mistakenly thought it was going to be at Gambetta.  Instead, after taking out the garbage and the recyclables, I found all these folks dressed in black performing movement to sort of New-Age-y music.  I think this is the same group I saw the last time I was here, during the Fete de St. Vincent, at the Art Museum courtyard doing some wordless tableaux with food that culminated with them smearing whipped cream in each others' faces. 

I watched for a while.  I expect their photos to be in at least two of the three local Sunday papers, because I now recognize the photographers from those newspapers.  This performance, again, without words didn't make much sense to me, but my, were the performers ever earnest.  At first I thought it might be a tai-chi demonstration, but it quickly became apparent that it was performance art.  

Very earnest--does one guy have a halo?

Actually, I love this kind of art--big installations like the umbrellas at Lourdes, or  performance art.  I think that is one of the truest missions of art--to be a part of our surroundings and to give us pause in our daily comings and goings to think about something other than getting eggs at the market.

I never did find the bicycle repair workshop--I don't have a bicycle--yet.  I was hoping to make some connections with people who could steer me in the right direction to buy a used one.  Even though it's turned a little  autumnal, there will still be nice days to ride along the Canal.  I did get to the library, excuse me--mediatheque--to renew my old library card.  I did get the eggs and listened to a fabulous guitarist at the market.  I did get into a good conversation with a guy on the street handing out leaflets urging us to stop the EU-USA transatlantic trade pact. Oh, and I did find nutmeg at the spice stand.   

Sky reflected in the swan at Gambetta's carousel

I did some housework--laundry, mostly, which is drying on the rack as I write this.  I will have a Skype video call with my sister, and then there is a J.S. Bach choral concert at 4:00 that I would like to hear.  I found the movie schedule at the library and a notice advertising a writers' workshop that meets on Thursday mornings.  How is all that for a morning well spent?

Another Face of Lourdes

Pilgrims on their way to the baths

Lourdes second face is not as  garish as the one I saw first.  The second face reveals a place of pilgrimage.  I am not Catholic, so I can't begin to understand  Lourdes' significance.  But I do think of myself as having a spiritual side, and I am drawn to Lourdes because of the possibilities for growth I found there.

Peaceful, spacious grounds

 There are documented miracles connected with Lourdes and its waters.  I am going to neither defend nor dismiss them.  I do believe in a Power greater-- much greater-- than my self.  It's easy to scoff at all of the people who come to Lourdes, believing or hoping that drinking or bathing in the water will offer healing.  I adopt the position of choosing only for myself.  

Statue at the head of the candlelight procession

As hard as it might be to do, I would like to separate the Lourdes experience from organized religion, namely the Catholic church.  I want to look at it from a purely spiritual experience.  The candlelight procession, when I could shut out all of the extraneous stimuli--the chattering and the shuffling of feet and the side conversations having nothing to do with the rosary recitation, brought me closer to the that meditative state I need to connect with the Divine. 

Hundreds of these lit candles shone during the procession

When I could be mentally quiet, I felt connected to these hundreds and hundreds of strangers, all sharing the same ritual.  I could feel the power in that connection.  We were united in carrying our lights out into the world; I believe that Light is within us all and my part is to carry my own light out into the world.  I didn't say it was easy or that I am successful much of the time--my base humanity gets in the way far too often, but I think that's what I am supposed to be doing here on the planet, at this time and in this place.

Along the riverbank

Non Catholic that I am, I would take that walk again and again, because it was a form of meditation for me.  I know that might be heretical, but they can't kick me out of the Catholic church; I am not a member.  I am already a heretic.

Steep limestone hillside

The next morning, I walked the grounds of the Sanctuary.  This was the Lourdes I was expecting.  It was serene.  It was quiet.  There was a mass at the Grotto; all the seats were full and the people who lined the walkway were respectful and responsive.  There were no shrieking groups of teenagers or loud tourists asking for directions or complaining that the food was overpriced or not like it was "back home" (in Italy, in Korea, in Peru or the U.S.)  People waiting to get into the baths were quiet and patient.  There were people scattered on benches on the grounds or sitting along the Gave (the river running through the town and along the Sanctuary grounds) engrossed in their own thoughts.

River Gave, swift and clean

People do not come to Lourdes to buy trinkets, or marvel at the clever lighting schemes.  This stillness, this meditative state, this pilgrimage is the reason why people come to Lourdes, and no amount of neon can really negate that.