Un Cafe Creme

I am getting into the habit of enjoying a coffee out once in a while; the cheapskate in me balks at 2.50 for a cup of coffee, when I can have pots and pots at home for that price, but then I remind myself that it's the seat and the ambience that costs.  And on a sweet-air day like today, it is a bargain.  I seat myself in a wicker chair in front of the briocherie facing Place Carnot and take out my notebook and order a large coffee with cream.

Two German women, one old, one young (mother/daughter?) chat non-stop at the table to my left. The serrated edges of their language unnerve me.  We are all enjoying the sun, which although a little weak today, hints at coming strength.  I watch the people going by, some purposefully, as if on a mission, others bewildered and clutching the Office of Tourism's free maps.  Some saunter by, in a stride expressly designed to turn heads. The cusp of the season brings all manner of dress: shirtsleeves, coats and scarves, boots and sandals.  An elderly woman accustomed to better times walks by wearing a full-length fur. 

An older gentleman seats himself at the table next to me, and orders a glass of rose.  Carefully he removes his cap, folds it and places it on the table.  His wine arrives and he counts out the necessary 3 Euros with movements contained and stiff. His hands are shaky and he must steady his wineglass with both hands.   He is wearing black wing-tip oxfords but no socks. 

A coffee machine churns and whirs behind me.  We are not as jaded here as Parisians; we crane our necks and look up at the drone of a small plane overhead.  Pigeons bob between tables on the never-ending search for pastry crumbs gone astray.  I sit downwind of a smoker and wrestle with the temptation of a habit I left behind me 37 years ago. 

There is no rush.  Read, write, watch the world go by for as long as you like.  My grand creme is reduced to a dollop of foam at the bottom of my cup and my "cookie" goes untouched.  I feel myself in sync with the pace here, my place on the planet. 

Another place to while away the time with a glass of wine

  

Bonne Paques--Happy Easter

Spring is coming!

Just a few observations this Easter Sunday.  After a spectacular day yesterday, I heard it raining in the wee hours of the morning.  It's actually a nice sound, dripping from the curved clay tiles. But now the sun is out, so a walk is definitely in order this afternoon.

One of the arches of the Pont Vieux

There are a lot of tourists in town, mostly Spanish and British.  Restaurants that would normally be closed today are open.  I am not sure if this heralds the beginning of the season, or because it's a holiday and lots of people like to go out for Easter dinner.  I find myself helping people with directions--I have mentioned before that I must give off an air of something,(I would like to think it's kindness)  because tourists are always asking me for help. 

Saw these growing wild along the banks of the Aude

I had a little tumble in the market yesterday.  I don't think anything was seriously injured, except my dignity.  I had that awful "shaken" feeling that comes with a fall, but I walked home and up the stairs with only minor difficulty.  However, my right knee had a knot on it the size of a small orange and was too painful for any words in my vocabulary.  Since I am a typical American in my need for ice, I always have plenty on hand.  It proved very useful yesterday afternoon.    I was wearing jeans, which everyone knows are darned near bullet-proof.  Both knees look like raw hamburger, but I am so happy I didn't tear the jeans; they're my favorite ones.  A fall nowadays leaves me shaken in a way that never happened 60 years ago.  I guess all that milk or all that weight bearing have made my bones very strong.  I ache today, but the shock is worn off and walking actually helps with the stiffness.

One of the light fixtures by the bridge

I told Marie about my fall; she shared with me her own story of taking a tumble right up the street.  It is a small comfort to know I am not the only person to whom this happens.  What bothers me as much as the pain is that I am so embarrassed.  I am twice the size of so many of these people; it's hard enough to blend in.  Something like that only calls unwanted attention to me.  The other thing that made me frustrated was that a perfectly BEAUTIFUL day went unexplored as I could not put on anything to touch the raw skin, and I needed to be near the ice pack.  Oh well, I DID count my blessings that nothing seriously went wrong.

Easter dinner will be a turkey thigh, roasted fresh potatoes (the first in months), broccoli salad, fresh steamed peas, apricot and mushroom dressing and fresh strawberries for dessert. When I bought the turkey from Michel, I didn't recognize it at first; it's so big I thought it was a cut of beef! It makes me wonder just how big was the turkey who donated it.   I am craving ONE slice of coconut cake, but that is not going to happen today.  I am still chasing down the required ingredients.  I promised a slice to the couple at the market from whom I buy eggs.  She asked for the recipe.

Maybe he caught an Easter trout?

Today's paper laments the passing of the Easter egg hunt.  I wondered about that.  I saw that there were some in a couple of villages closer to Toulouse, but I didn't see anything here in Carcassonne.  Oh well, to keep those traditions alive, someone actually has to organize things. It's hard when the torch doesn't get passed.  

Shapes of the river

I hope everyone enjoys the holiday.  Lots of things are closed here on Monday, a bit more than the usual quietude after the weekend.  After all the work for Easter Sunday music this morning, I am ready for a down day.  And a day where my body can just recover from its shock.

La Grande Lessive--Art on a Clothesline

Place Carnot

Today we celebrated the Great Laundry Line of art.  This is actually celebrated annually worldwide and Carcassonne has participated for the last six years.  Such a simple concept has a powerful effect.  In our own way, each of us have the capability to produce art.

At the newly renovated park at the post office

By the fountain at Carnot

Basically any art form is accepted as long as it will fit in a standard sheet protector.  The city puts up lines throughout the public spaces and people pin their creations to these lines: thus the laundry line theme. 

A list of events

Students at the workshops

When I saw this festival in 2014, there were more clotheslines but fewer activities.  This year, I noticed that it was not just school children who contributed, but various groups presented.  There were a couple of civic organizations whose members produced artwork.  There were more activities: lectures, hands-on tables and workshops, and a concert this evening.  On my way home from the market, Alan and Mirhela from the Occitan center were at the Dominican chapel, and Alan was in full form, telling stories in Occitan to enthralled school children sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

Laundry blowing in the wind

Not all were "whites" handing on the line

I saw bead art, photography, collages, abstract art, contour drawings, mobiles along with pencil and crayon sketches and studies. 

Contour lines

cut-outs and paste-on

celebration of color

Where are those notes going?

"Mobiles"

This really does look like laundry

What was as impressive as the fact that all of this art was created and encouraged was the fact that people were actually taking time to look at it.  And think. 

Two of my favorites

 

Such is art's power. 

Art needs to be viewed

Palm Sunday a la Calvin

Fruits of Palm Sunday labor

I swear, the Calvinists here make the Lutherans of Brookings look downright hedonistic!  Today is Palm Sunday and do we wave palms and sing happy songs?  Absolutely NOT!  I have to chuckle  when I think of how many times I told the Lutheran Church choir to smile; we were joyful!  I definitely have stumbled into a worship experience very different from any I have ever done before.  And I have been in Methodist, Moravian, Baptist, Episcopal, UCC,  and Lutheran services with an occasional Jewish Friday night Shabbat thrown in for good measure. These people are serious.  They are not having anything remotely like Holy Week services; instead there is a debate about the Myths of Christianity.  It should be interesting, but I have tickets to the opera that night.  Verdi will win out every time with me.

I also learned that in the Languedoc, we don't use palm branches anyhow--we use olive branches.  As in actual branches.  I guess they're too heavy to wave around and march around singing.  In fact, the day, Dimanche de Rameau, doesn't mean Palm Sunday; it literally translates as "Branch Sunday."  And there was a big communal meal after service, which I did not attend as it was out of town. 

I know it's supposed to be the first day of spring, but it's chilly and a little drizzly here.  After coming home, I have spent the afternoon cooking....broccoli salad is marinating in the fridge and I spent the greater part of the afternoon baking oatmeal cookies (with walnuts and dried cranberries).  The afternoon had a very familiar feel to it, as that's what I used to do back in Brookings.  I would come home and cook for the week.  I do NOT want to get into the habit of doing that here.  I am retired, after all.  

Now I will take some cookies to the neighbors.  

What I Have Learned

Cutting platane trees along the Canal

 I have learned so many new things since coming here that sometimes, I swear, my brain is sore, like a muscle that gets over-used.  Among the mundane information I have acquired, I can list things like: the discovery of white beets (really, I had no idea and what does that do to the expression "red as a beet?"); the number #3 Bus line back into town doesn't always come all the way to the Dome, (It's best to have the printed schedule with you) and you are forbidden to photograph the faces of police officers.

Attaching the crane cable

On another, more important and more difficult level, I have had to learn new measurements-- kilos and grams instead of pounds and ounces; new temperature readings (maybe one day I will simply think in C and stop converting to Fahrenheit); how to play the piano (thank God all those composers are dead and can't hear how badly I butcher their creations)  and a new language (that has been harder and yet more joyful than I expected).  It's no wonder that I feel tired sometimes. 

Working in the trees

The second most important thing I have learned, especially true when it comes to learning to adapt and thrive in a new culture-- is that what I know is not nearly as important as what other people have to teach me. I know that I have often been guilty of wanting to impress others with my vast knowledge on certain subjects and it's perhaps a natural response.  I see other people doing it, often not even allowing the first person in the conversation to finish his or her sentence.  I wonder why we do that?  Oldest child know-it-all-ism?  Insecurity?  Having no significant person in our lives who will listen to us?  That speculation is for another time and with people who know far more than I know about  human behavior .    

Activity reflected in the water

Asking for help or for information from other people and then, actually listening to their answers rather than planning what I am going to add to the conversation has opened more doors for me here in southern France than perhaps anything else I could have done.  

Yesterday it happened again.  First of all, I got to learn about white beets....and how excited the young woman at the market was to share that information with me.  She beamed when I guessed that they were potatoes.  It made for a pleasant conversation and took our relationship from mere vendor-purchaser to one where I feel like a recognized client.

Piece of the tree is brought across the Canal

Later in the afternoon I decided to take a long walk along the Canal.  I was looking for signs of spring.  It was a warmish day and the air finally lacked the teeth of winter.  Suggestions of spring were all around me: flowering trees in full ball gowns; the city worker firing up the lawn mower at Gambetta; the tour boats chugging east on the Canal.  It would seem that the only place where spring is not in evidence is inside my apartment; these thick stone walls of the building hold the cold like the proverbial sorceress's bosom. 

Suspended by the cable

My preferred walking route was barred and fenced because workers were taking down the very sick platane trees.  These trees are much loved here in France, often photographed and line both sides of the Canal in many spots.  They've been afflicted with a blight that, if not discovered and treated in time, results in certain death for these mighty trees.  There's been a lot of controversy over the drastic measure--cutting--but I think these trees were too far gone to be saved.

I probably should have turned around, but I skirted the fencing and the barriers to get closer to get some good (or in my case, okay) photos of the work.  Nobody came forward to stop me, so I drew closer.  Eventually a young man in coveralls approached me.  I told him that I used to live in an area where there was a lot of tree cutting and I would like to send back some photos to my friends...."of how it's done in France,"  He finished my sentence for me with obvious pride in his voice.  Then he proceeded to walk me to the towpath and drew a line in the gravel.  He explained to me that this would be a great spot for photographing the action, and that I should wait behind the line.  Eventually the crane would bring the tree across the Canal and add it to the other pieces of the tree that were lying there.

Added to the pile

 I should not have been in that work area, but I guess I don't look reckless.  And the young man was right; it was the perfect spot for getting a good shot of the action.  After the tree was brought to his side of the Canal and laid with the other pieces, he came over and talked to me some more about the trees.  The red color of the wood indicates blight.  He talked about pruning the platanes, and trying to stem the disease.  He let me get close enough to touch and smell the cut wood, and then he took pictures of me.  Finally he told me, rather reluctantly, that I should probably go, because le chef would not be happy to see me there.  I thanked him for his time, and his indulgence and for the information.  More learning.  

Red interior

I didn't set out to have a photo session of tree cutting, but it's what presented itself to me.  I would say that the single most important lesson I have learned is to be open to whatever presents itself.  The Universe, the Divine will always put something interesting in my path if I will stop to see it.  

Bigger tree than I thought

What to Wear?

I read in the paper that there is a conference this weekend of naturalistes--people who know the local plants and animals.  They are offering workshops, exhibits, and the chance to learn about the biological riches of the Aude. The organizers have gathered artists--painters, photographers-- to help with the teaching, as well as people from the various societies for protection of the environment. The birders will be there as well. What a collection of experts and information in one place!

The article went on to state that there are over 6000 species of flowers that include 37 species of wild orchids.  I can hardly wait to learn what's what.... It runs for two days and I am planning to attend on Saturday, as the bus does not run on Sunday.  

One of the 6000 species

I needed to find out which bus serves Lycee Charlemagne, so I stopped into the tourist office to get the address.  I went on to explain that I was very interested in this conference was was really excited to attend.  However, I think I must have used the wrong word--naturistes, instead of naturalistes.  

I believe that I asked her for the location of the nudist conference....thus the odd look!  But I got the information I needed--it's the #8 bus! Hopefully we will all be fully clothed.

Irish Night at Bar 98

While I was out running errands yesterday I saw a sign outside of Bar 98 that they would be having traditional Irish music lessons at 8:00 yesterday evening.  It was too much to resist, so I e-mailed my upstairs neighbor, Susan to see if she wanted to go with me to check this out.  Saint Patrick's Day is coming after all, but more to the point, I did bring my hammer dulcimer with me and it would be nice to actually get to the point where I could play it--in public, with other musicians.  So, off we went.

I might add that I tend to be a night nester.  I usually go out in the mornings and afternoons, but evenings almost always find me at home.  So, this was a departure for me and a step out of my comfort zone.  I have never been truly comfortable in bars, as I am really not much of a drinker, but this felt different.

Bar 98 is an eclectic place.  It doesn't seat very many people--perhaps 20 at most. The owners, Didier and Norma both speak excellent English and Norma often sports their infant son on her hip.  Didier is a fan of live music, and even though they are pressed for space, he hosts local musicians several nights a week.  Last night was Irish, Friday it's hip-hop. (I will be skipping that one.) There seems to be a knot of regulars who gather to have a drink, read the paper, discuss local or not-so-local politics and meet their friends.  Last night saw an international mix of people there, some Canadians, a Scot or two, several Brits, Martin, who's Irish and a token American.   A glass of red or rose will set you back all of 2 Euros, but last night, I broke my pattern and ordered a beer.  Didier usually mans the bar by himself, therefore service can be a little spotty.  You can't wait for him to come around to take your order--you just take your glass up to the bar if you want a refill.  It's a friendly place with a casual atmosphere. 

Me and my red scarf (and a beer!!!)

A funny thing happened on the way in--I was greeted warmly by some woolly haired guy and introduced to someone called Serge...as if he had been expecting me.  As it turned out, he WAS expecting some woman, and the clue was that she would be wearing a red scarf!  You guessed it--I was wearing a red scarf.  I don't think the expected girl ever did show up.  It was an innocent and pleasant enough mix-up and broke the ice.  Any reservations I had about being a stranger melted away pretty fast with THAT welcome!

The musicians

The music started out with two fiddle players, a youngish woman and an older guy, who obviously was the one in charge.  At about 8:30 a group of people came in laden with instruments--mandolin, penny whistle, flute, guitars, a viola, and a drum that looked like a bodhran, but without the cross frame.  I learned later in the evening that they are from Limoux, which has a very lively music scene, maybe even more so than Carcassonne.  They played jigs and reels and waltzes and were still at it by the time Susan and I left at about 10:30. 

Making toes tap

One of the musicians--flute, drum, guitar

At some point during the evening a couple came in.  The guy carried a guitar case; he and the woman with him seemed to know all the other patrons in the place.  During one of the breaks, I turned to her and introduced myself, as I had overheard her speaking English.  She commented that I looked familiar--and as it turned out, we lived next door to each other here at 34 for the months of January and February!!! Her name is Debbie and I had met her only briefly on the steps during her sojourn here.  Obviously not a long enough meeting to remember her!  How embarrassingly serendipitous!  She is, by way of her copain, Martin, who is an Irish balladeer and guitar player, plugged into the local music scene.

As a result of meeting them, I was introduced to the group of musicians who were amazed and delighted to learn that there is a dulcimer (if not a dulcimer player) in town.  The older fiddler turns out to give lessons in traditional Celtic music every Wednesday evening.  I asked them for the names of 5 tunes I should learn so I could play with them and they kindly obliged.  They invited me to the free lessons this evening and to bring my dulcimer and play with them when they get together.  

I am not good enough to play much in public, but as it turns out I do know three or four tunes already that they know and play...whether or not they are in the same key remains to be seen, but it will be fun to sit in with them.  I don't know if I can make the lessons tonight--it's a bit of a hike and it's pouring down rain as I write this.  My dulcimer case is not waterproof and it's pretty heavy to lug for any distance.  We will just have to see what the weather does.  Neither the hike nor the weight of the dulcimer will keep me home, but the rain will.  I don't want to ruin either my case or my instrument.

Didier joins in from behind the bar

I no longer believe in coincidences.  I think there was a reason I stopped to read that sign outside Bar 98--to connect with Debbie and Martin, to get a toehold into the local music scene.  I don't go out at night, but decided to do so last night.  I have looked inside Bar 98 with interest, but have never overcome my reticence about entering.  Now I feel like that barrier has been breached and I feel perfectly comfortable going in there.  Didier knows my name and I know his.  I am looking forward to more live music evenings at Bar 98.

Oh, and a huge thanks to Susan.  I forgot my camera, but she had her cell phone with her, so we were able to get some photos for today's article.

Measuring Success

Attention:  Traffic disrupted.  Work in the Bastide.   We were warned

Just as I have had to re-calibrate the way I define rain, I have had to re-define "success."  I don't know if it's because I am not going to a place of employment every day (I refuse to say I am no longer working--I work plenty) or if it's because I am coping with some side effects of getting older, but a successful day now means something different than it did 20 years ago, or even a year ago, for that matter. Thus far today has felt like a success.

What a mess

Men at work

The big item of the day was getting the ink cartridge changed in my printer.  It's a different model from the one I had in the States and its internal workings are arranged a little differently.  I have grown to intensely dislike dealing with technology--hardware and software.  I long for the olden days when there was a phone number with a human at the other end who could walk a person through these kinds of processes.  Now, the hardware no longer even includes written instructions, and for someone like me, the pictographs don't help.  So, I put off changing that ink cartridge as long as I could, but today it had to be done.  It took me a while and a bit of turning the printer on its ear, but I managed.  The problem is that by the time it will be necessary to replace the cartridge again, I will have forgotten how.  This issue is not necessarily tied to being in a foreign country, but as the instructions, meager as they may be, are written in French, one little misunderstanding can add hours to the process.  But, it's done.

Pedestrians use the other sidewalk

The second major success of the day is getting hardware on the shutters so that they can be latched open.  We get some pretty hefty winds here on a regular basis, at least in the spring, and the shutters have been banging around, disturbing me and my neighbors.  Until today, the only solution was to latch them completely closed, which I hate, because it makes my apartment very dark.  Jason, my landlord, had tried a solution about a month ago, but the hardware he purchased just wasn't right for the task.  Today he arrived with very low tech hook and eye arrangements and I am thrilled to say that the wind is blowing, but my shutters are securely latched open--no more banging about.  

Looking toward Gambetta--really, what a mess!

I make a to-do list almost every day, as I need that little bit of structure to move me forward.  Today I have been able to cross off quite a few of the items, including getting this blog posted.  I wonder how other retirees handle the temptation to simply while away the time with a book or a puzzle.  I am happy to say that my house is thoroughly clean and almost always tidy, unless I am in the middle of a project.  It has to do with time and time management.  Success is measured more modestly--no state report deadlines met, but an hour's practice at the piano mean it's been a good day.  Or getting an ink cartridge replacement  accomplished....tomorrow I start on my taxes. 

The photos are a way the city measures progress and success....Rue Verdun, the main north-south artery in the Bastide, is torn to hell and gone.  Someone told me that they are replacing the gas lines.  Business and traffic are completely disrupted.  But they are working diligently and expect to be done sometime in April, which is no small feat, I think.  It's a major undertaking.  One thing I will say for Mayor Larrat--when he decides he wants something done, by golly, it gets done!  Just like me and the ink cartridge!!!

It's easiest to just walk up the middle of the street

Tupperware a la francaise

Energy efficient mixer

I went to my first French Tupperware party this afternoon, and I had a BLAST!  My friend Marie, from the tabac invited me a couple of weeks ago.  I didn't realize that Tupperware was even still in business and I hadn't been to a home party in at least 40 years.  Remember "burping" the lids and those yellow, orange and brown bowls? 

These products have a familiar look

I met Marie at the tabac and we collected her neighbor,Valerie, a UK expat who's been here 10 or so years.  While it was helpful and familiar to have another English speaker in the group, the language of the day was French, French, French.  We walked to the home of Marie's friend, Marie-Martine, who was hosting the party in her wonderful home overlooking the Aude and la Cite.  

Oven safe bakeware and a perfect poulet roti

We proceeded to spend the afternoon cooking, making mayonnaise, with and without chopped cornichons, floating islands (meringue balls in creme anglaise), and little chocolate gateaux with molten centers.  We exchanged recipes, and I got lots of tips about ingredients: where to find them, how to store them.  I finally learned the difference between levure and levure chemique and which one is the familiar baking powder.  I felt so at home, and could ask the most basic questions about cooking without ever once feeling stupid.  These people can't help enough.  

Made mayonnaise in here...no electricity needed

One of the biggest selling points about several of the items in Tupperware's line completely indicates the difference between European and American values.  Two of their gadgets, a food processor and an "stand mixer" DO NOT USE ELECTRICITY.  This is a very good thing, which might give my American friends an idea about how expensive electricity is here in France.  These French people are also more environmentally conscious than most Americans I know (and are teaching me to be more aware every day) and embrace technologies that are gentle on the planet. 

Blinis for the homemade mayo

I was also interested to see the direction in which Tupperware products have headed....lots of environmentally safe items for micro-wave cooking, as it takes less energy.  More cookware, lightweight, which I appreciate, as I no longer want to deal with heavy mixing bowls, heavy cookware, heavy serving ware.  Marie-Martine had roasted a chicken and vegetables in one of their bakeware items, and it was gorgeous.   We did have a little excitement when the cat discovered it!

There's that 70's orange I remember so well

I managed to communicate, both from the listening/comprehending end and the speaking end.  I am sure I wasn't smooth about it, but if I didn't know a word, I just asked what it meant.  People understood me and I understood them.  From that standpoint, the afternoon was a great success.  From a camaraderie standpoint, the afternoon was a great success.  I have two new friends now in town, with invitations to meet for coffee or a glass of wine.  

In Marie-Martine's kitchen

At some point in the conversation, Michel Rabat's name arose.  I am not the only person who's lost her heart to him.  I wonder if he has any idea how many women in town have enormous crushes on him.  More importantly, I wonder if he has any idea in what high esteem we hold him and his family.  His reputation for quality products and ethical business practices is unequaled here in Carcassonne.  

So innocent and nearly full of roast chicken

Floating islands and chocolate cake with molten center

Hmm.....Tupperware, of all things, brought us together for a wonderful afternoon of conversation, sharing and conviviality.  I can hardly wait for the next party.  

Looking out Marie-Martine's living room window