Feria and the Cercle Taurien

Young matador

Ruffles of the flamenco

It's Feria time in the south of France.  Carcassonne is not the only city to celebrate this Spanish connection.  Many towns do this, and according to some people I spoke with today, do it better.  But I live here, so I will celebrate here.

Feria decorations inside the Cercle Taurien

I have friends who are members of the Cercle Taurian here in Carcassonne.  It's a private club that is housed in an old decomissioned (de-sanctified?) church right off Place Carnot.  The club itself is a place to celebrate all things having to do with bullfighting.  Surprised that I would associate with something so controversial and on the wrong side of it even?  I am surprised at myself, but I have given this whole bullfighting business a lot of thought.

It is about the b

I will never support the torture of animals.  But I have never actually seen a bullfight--although today I met my first real matador.....so I am of the mind that I should perhaps learn a little about it before condemning it outright.  I do know this--these animals live amazing, pampered lives.  They are well cared for, as prized possessions often are.  I will take--any time-- the life of a corida bull over the life of any steer who lives its life on a US feedlot from birth to slaughter.  There's no question there as to  animal cruelty.  And I have no right to completely dismiss a part of another culture without first learning something about it.  The other circumstance in bull-fighting's favor is that the bull sometimes wins--a matador was gored and killed two weeks ago in Nimes. 

So, even though this club celebrates all things from the bull-fighting culture, many of its members are non-attendees to the ring itself.  They are, however, one of the most convivial groups of people I have ever met in Carcassonne.  Today, during Saturday of Feria I went for lunch and a drink with friends at the "clubhouse."  

Flamenco in the streets

The featured guest was a young man--the bullfighter.  He was the skinniest young man I have EVER seen, quiet and unassuming. If he weighed 125, I would be surprised.  

What courage it must take to stand his ground while a 600 or  700 pound animal with horns is bearing down on him.  I tried to give him a glass of Limoux cremat, but he declined.  I explained that I was new (ish) to Carcassonne and certainly new to the corida world.  He invited me to the bullring after the festivities in the street....but I have no car, so I won't be able to go.  However,  it is something I am going to do before long, because I want to make up my own mind after my own eyes have had a chance to see what this is all about.  

The matador guest of honot

One of the dancers is my next door neighbor

 There were flamenco dancers showing off in front of the building--and as it turns out, one of them is my next door neighbor here at #4.  Carcassonne is such a small town, really.  I watched the young, and some not so young dancers with their swirling layers of ruffles and realized that these Latin cultures really understand suggestion.  Less showing and more imagination is the best recipe for seduction.  

Lots of activity and locally run bodegas are on tap for tonight over on Boulevard Barbes.  It might be a good thing to go out for a street-food Feria dinner.  I am wary though, because it's bigger and glitzier this year than it was last year.  According to people I met at lunch today, it's not navigated the jump to bigger and glitzier very well--it suffers from poor organization.  I so loved Feria last summer,  when it was a modest, local fete put on by locals for locals.  I hope it still retains that charm.  

This is the mom of the little girl in the photo above

Humid work

Finished!

I have been working on a translation of a book about the history of La Cite--I can't really say that it's about Carcassonne, because aside from mentions of its existence and its effect on the Cite, the lower city doesn't get much ink.  The book is about the fortress and its many incarnations: a shelter from brigands,   a relatively unimportant Roman outpost, a possession of the Count of Barcelona,  a military fortress, a church stronghold and target of the Inquisitors, a neighborhood of textile workers, a nearly deserted ruin and now a historical monument/tourist trap. I have had to work harder, academically, than I have done in many decades and that in itself has been eye-opening and humbling experience.  Ms Smartypants isn't so smart these days, it seems.

I frequently wanted to give up , but I was equally determined to see this through.  As I got deeper into the book, my love of the learning process was rekindled.  I had lost it, for lack of time and attention, since leaving formal academic studies.  But this project was somehow different--I didn't have to do this for a grade, nor was I under any time constraints.   I could give my curiosity free reign to take me down Internet rabbit holes which led to essays about felting, articles about ecclesiastical vestments, writings about the construction of stained glass windows. I learned about Tectosages, Charlemagne's children and the definition of xylography.  While I was furious with the authors for using arcane terms and technical jargon, some of which are in no dictionaries I can lay hands on, the book's lack of a glossary forced me to look deeper if I really wanted to understand what the writers were talking about.  So, I kept at it.

My tools--blank notebooks and dictionaries

Hours of scribbling and countless ink cartridges

The process has humbled me and also made me realize how much my attitude about academia has changed.  Once upon a time I could show off my complex sentence structure with the best of them.  It's not so easy for me now; I can't seem to hold onto the subject/verb thread  of thought, which  embellished by subordinate clauses, results in a structure that incorporates everything I want to say about a topic into one single sentence.  More importantly, I don't find it a very effective way to communicate. 

Work for an insomniac

Thus, I have finished the handwritten, rough draft of the translation.  The next step is to type it, smoothing out the enormously complex French sentence structure into fluid Americanized English.  After all, that's the readership I would like to serve;  the deliberate, philosophical French reader can read the original..

There are also some thoughts rumbling around in my brain about contacting the publisher to see if I can get permission to have my translation printed.  But that's a far piece down the road yet.  My friend Martin, whose French is more fluent than mine is coming over next week to help me smooth out the rough spots--sentences in which there are too many idioms, too many pronouns to which I cannot find the antecedents.   I am also torn about whether or not to "fix" the writing--eliminate the repetition, better organize the paragraphs,  work on a better flow from one subject to another.  Then it's not just a translation, is it?  

I have the additional issue, should the publishers give me permission to somehow market this, of not legally being able to work in France.  First and foremost, I want to stay completely within the boundaries of what keeps me legally able to live here and will do nothing to jeopardize that.  If that means nobody is ever allowed to read it, except for the visitors who come to my home, then so be it. 

I want to think that the hard part is done, and the rest of this project will be a piece of cake.  However, I have been involved in too many projects to know that the "next step" usually brings its own set of problems.  I want to take and incorporate into the  text my own photos of the interesting points the authors mention.  It seems that what started out as a simple translation exercise has turned into something quite a bit more involved.  

The final page

And that, I am forced to admit, has been the basic theme of my entire life.  Changing countries didn't change that!  Oh, and xylography is the art of making prints using wood blocks.

A Dangerous Morning

I fell in love

I read in yesterday's paper about a puppy and kitten show to be held today and tomorrow.  It's been ages since I have been out and about chronicling Carcassonne events with my camera, so I decided that it and I would attend. Market and chores could wait today.  I have been entertaining thoughts of a pet for some time now, and wondered if I could perhaps find a little toy poodle?  

Tibetan Spaniel puppies

A very ancient breed

I don't think I really want a puppy or a kitten--I told the man in the tabac this morning that I am too agee to have a baby dog or cat.  It's not necessarily the expense of a pet--it's the time investment that scares me. But,  I figured it couldn't hurt to look, right?

Cairn Terrier

Oh my heart!!! I lost it at least three times this morning.  I was greeted by some Tibetan Spaniel puppies--and they were so calm.  The lady breeder told me that they are very "zen." and I replied, "Like the monks."   In the crate right next to it was a little white Bichon Frisee....be still my heart.  Bu that breed requires regular grooming to look its best.

A boy surrounded by his puppies

There were little chihuahuas and mastiff puppies as well.  Not too many ShiTsu's,  and how I fell in love with a Cairn Terrier.  He was full of energy and personality.  King Charles Cavalier Spaniels melted my heart as well, and I understand that they are wonderful pets.  

A little bisou

Chihuahua puppies play together.  Could we take them ALL?

And then---I came to the kittens.  Oh my heart, my heart.  There was a basket of kittens marked like little leopard/tigers.  Their mom was being put into a harness, for a walk perhaps, and was as docile as could be.  I loved the way the breed was marked.  There were long-haired cats, which I am not sure I want because I really don't want the shedding issue that comes with them.  

Mama Bengal gets harnessed up

And her kittens take a little rest

Unusual markings

All of the animals I saw were in beautiful shape and well cared for.  There was a vet on-site going from booth to booth, examining the animals, not only checking the papers for necessary vaccinations, but checking the animals as well.  Plenty of the puppies were snoozing, or playing with one another, and some were curious about all the people, especially the children (and children at heart) who'd come to say hello.  I saw at least one adoption.  What I did not see/hear were animals barking or crying in distress.  Everybody seemed content.  

The vet checks up on things

Mama

And puppies

A new family

I didn't go so far as to ask about pricing.  I am sure these animals are not inexpensive, because I saw signs all over the place advertising payment plans.  The advantages of getting a dog from one of these breeders is that you know what you are getting.  The downside is the guilt that comes from knowing that there are countless dogs facing euthanasia if nobody comes forward to give them a home.  I did take several cards--what might be the best thing is to see if any of the breeders has an older animal they would be willing to part with.  It can't hurt to ask.  And I have to do some real self examining to see if I am indeed ready for so big a commitment.

A Tease of Autumn

Using every last bit of the chicken

I am thoroughly enjoying living in a four-season climate once more.  It's better than the Mid-Atlantic, where I grew up, because here, summers, while hot, are not quite as humid as those I remember in Creagerstown.  I don't have air conditioning, and I don't really wish for air conditioning.  I am lucky enough that the fairly constant winds keep my home pleasant on most days.  

Don't get me wrong, we've had some 90 degree days here--a little heat wave last week toasted us nicely.  But there have been hints of fall's inevitable arrival.  The platane trees no longer have the sheen of early June to their leaves, and many fallen leaves go skittering down the street, sounding to me like rainfall.  It's not an unpleasant sound; I will take it over motorcycle engines revving up, any time.  And the sky has been sort of unsettled from time to time in the past few days.

What happened?  The day started out bright and cloudless!

The morning started off bright, cloudless and cool.  I even awoke to find myself completely under the covers, something that has not happened in months.  Usually I get too overheated and kick them off, or simply lie down and sleep, top sheet-less.  It felt like a nest again this morning.

 

Later, I found myself, without a great deal of planning, making chicken stock.  I purchased a roast chicken at Saturday's market, and this morning, the carcass and some assorted veggies and seasonings went into the making of a stock.  It's probably destined for the freezer, but there are some split peas in the cupboard....split pea soup in August??!!! Unheard of.

Feria, perhaps my favorite festival here in Carcassonne, is coming up in a little over two weeks.  And  "Re-Entry" (going back to the classroom or office from annual vacations) is fast approaching.  I love it that the stores are just now putting out their "Back to School" displays--and school starts on September 1.  

Un-seasonal sky

I am getting my papers and documents amassed for my early September appointment at the Prefecture for the renewal of my Carte de Sejour--my papers which allow me to live here legally.  All these signs and activities point out that fall is poking its head slightly above the horizon.  And I am glad.  I love autumn.  And I especially love autumn here in Carcassonne.

Derelict--Make Up Attempt #2

From the kitchen window

My second half of July was quiet as I couldn't really walk for extended distances and times.  Not being able to wear shoes will do that to a person. One does not need shoes, however, to dust and wash the floors.   Quiet as the second half of the month might have been, it was not uneventful.

I love the silhouettes of my neighbors on their roofs

Plenty of oooh's and aahh's

I had a front row seat for the fireworks of July 14.  They are world-class and I heard that there were 700,000 people in town to watch them.  That's surely possible, because you can see them not only along the River Aude, but there are some perfect vantage points along the Canal as well.  I enjoyed them from the privacy of my kitchen window and got some interesting shots and a great video of the finale.  

Their train arrives

Guests arrived the following week.  Jen Berger, a woman with whom I worked in Brookings and her sister Kim arrived for a quick hello on their way to Barcelona where they would board a cruise ship for ports of call along the Mediterranean.  Kim's son is a dancer employed by the cruise line, so there would be a reunion of sorts as well.  

Dinner and a concert--10 P.M. or so

I met them at the train station--I was wearing shoes for short periods of time now, as my toes were healing and I did not want to re-injure them.  We returned to the apartment and then headed out the door to Place Carnot for some supper.  I had maybe the best veggie burger I have ever eaten---so good.  I told my guests that I had arranged a concert in their honor and they thought I was joking.  I was about the arranging and it being in their honor, but we were treated to a free performance by Kid Creole and his Coconuts....all as part of the Festival of Carcassonne, which spans the entire month of July.  Big name acts cost money and their concerts take place up in the outdoor theater in La Cite.  Other acts--the B list??? perform for free at a stage set up at Place Carnot.  The restaurants benefit from the crowd, it's all outside and is really relaxed.  Kid Creole was quite the showman.

Scoring socks at the Arab market

The next day Jen and Kim went off to the Cite, exploring the Chateau Comtal and the various stores and boutiques selling a variety of kitch and very expensive clothes.  That night I took them to my go-to restaurant, Le Ble Noir, a creperie offering genuine Normandy whole wheat savory crepes,  I have never been disappointed in the food and the owner is a charmer.....usually giving me a hard time about my language skills.  He has been seen feeding the homeless once regular service is done---so he gets MY business such that it is.

Saturday we were off to the markets, both the "Arab" market and the food market.  I scored some socks--three pair for 1 Euro.....and some spices and almond meal at the Arab market.  We stopped at Place Carnot, as the locals do, for coffee and a croissant.  I do love Saturday market, even with the annoying tourists who clog up the aisles, gawking at the red peppers and fava beans.  I got another melon--they have been so good this season.  

Too soon it was time for Jen and Kim to catch their train to Barca.   I took a nap.   We had a day or two of cooler weather and a little rain, to settle the dust.  I made real progress on my translation work--I have about  50 more pages to go.  Enforced house-boundedness meant that I made some significant progress on what has turned out to be a fascinating labor of love.  

Rain on my office window

 

 

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Dereict? Make-Up Attempt #1

A fellow 3:00 A.M. traveler....

I knew I was overdue for  post, but I was stunned by how long it had been since my last entry.  July has come and gone--and I am wondering exactly where the time went.  I will just have to hit the highlights.

One of the Canals of Sete

One of the many food stalls

I thought this looked particularly good

My friend Shelley and I made what turned out to be, for me, a disastrous trip to Sete in the first part of the month.  I bought new shoes--my old New Balances were in dire need of replacement.  And I wore those shoes to Sete, and proceeded, during our forced march on a hot day around the town, to rub blisters on both feet.  Ugh!  But Sete was lovely- we went there on market Wednesday.  Sete has the BEST market.  Bought some vanilla paste, a group of new napkins (6 for 10 Euros--I can hardly beat that price) and some tapas--black olive, garlic and tomato, and some hummus.  Their indoor market is also wonderful and runs daily. Shelley scored some balsamic vinegar from a stand that sells various olive oils on tap!  Worth a return trip.

Shell buys some---vanilla salt!

Sketching during lunch

Along the Med

This IS France, after all

Inside the theater in La Cite--Goodle image d

I made the blisters much worse the next evening by walking in shoes without socks  to my friend Veronica's house.  From there, her husband drove us to La Cite so we could attend the open air performance of the Marriage of Figaro.  We stopped for a glass of sangria and aperos at one of the many open air cafes near the theater.  I did bring my camera, only to have it confiscated.  I get really angry about that.  I get it that they don't know me well enough to know that I would never, ever use a flash.  Moreover, I have been on their side of the stage and I would never, ever think of photographing or videotaping the performance.  I understand about intellectual property and the right not to be videotaped and uploaded to the Internet, especially when what they are doing is their livelihood.  But what I don't get is why the security forces don't also confiscate cell phones.  All I wanted were some photos of the theater as the sun was setting and after dark.  So, yes, I was not happy when throughout the opera cell phone flashes provided a certain visual static to the performance.  After it was over, at nearly 1 in the morning, there were complimentary glasses of wine to speed us on our way home.  As an added note, Figaro could act as well as sing, the Count was wooden with a great voice, Susanna was splendid and the poor Contessa struggled with D'ove Sono.  The orchestra was behind the singers, on stage, in seated in a carousel-roofed structure.  And the walls of the Cite gleamed golden.  It is a magical place to watch an opera.

It was then that  I did the real damage to my toes--walking down the mile or so from the butte to my apartment.  What made it sort of worthwhile was seeing the activity still buzzing at that hour of the night.  I think of my city as sleepy little Carcassonne, but maybe I am the one who's sleepy.  Arnaud was still entertaining clients at his wine bar, and several restaurants still had lingering diners.  People were walking on the streets and the gypsies were, as ever, plopped in front of their doorway, shrieking to the universe.  I guess if you can't keep them quiet you may as well join them.