Mediatheque and Jackasses

I took myself off to the library today.  I wanted to return the books I got last week....quite frankly, they were not my cup of tea.  I could never get into the book about the woman who'd just had the baby and wanted to kill it.  She was heralded as a breakthrough writer for daring to voice what other people, i.e. women, only thought but never spoke aloud.  Maybe when my language skills get better. ...

I went looking for a guide to birds.  I want to go the arboretum tomorrow and thought that a field guide to the area birds would be helpful.  I found one for mushrooms, but nothing else.  I even looked later in a couple of bookstores, but have had no success.  I will try the Internet, I guess.  Certainly there are bird-watchers in Carcassonne.

A sign on the garage door across the street from the library. You would think it would not be necessary to post a sign.

I actually need to pay closer attention to the time, and schedules  The library--excuse me-- la mediatheque doesn't open until 10 and I was a little early.  I am still getting used to a more languid pace.  One questionable advantage of having a herd of children living overhead is that one is awakened by 7:00.  So, I was raring to go, bright and early.  I had to wait outside for a couple of minutes, and it was a mite chilly.  But I survived.  A nice local man came by, also early, and we chit-chatted for a bit.

As I was in line to return my books, I asked them for information about the AVF, an organization here in Carcassonne for newcomers of any nationality, even French.  It's a group that meets to share common interests.  The ladies behind the counter did not know what I was talking about, but, voila--the lady behind me in line happened to be a member!! She pulled out her card, gave me the phone number and address.  What a great stroke of luck.  That was the second wonderful thing that happened to me before noon today.  The first was receiving notification that I have had two poems accepted for publication.  No big deal to anyone but me.    So, perhaps I should go buy a lottery ticket, since the universe seems to be smiling with special fondness on me today. 

From my desk at the library.

I sat in the calm of the library and wrote for a couple of hours.  It was time well spent.  I don't have the distractions there that I seem to have here in my apartment. But once my hind end started to rebel, I figured it was time to stretch my legs.  I headed off in the direction of the train station.  I wanted to get information about ouigo, the discounted TGV program and to learn about the 1 Euro fare from Carcassonne to Quillen, a little town south of here. As I left, a man approached me and asked in flawless French, if I knew where the mediatheque was.  I was able to answer in flawless French.  Made my day!!!!  People have been stopping me in the past couple of days to ask directions.  I must have this air about me that makes me look like I know where I am going and what I am doing.  (It's all an illusion)  Actually, I seem to have an approachable face, and most of the time, I can help.

La mediatheque est ici!

 As I came to an intersection, I heard the familiar twang of American being spoken.  Mom, Dad and three kids...who sounded suspiciously like the herd upstairs.  The woman was carping, asking, "Isn't anything in this town open?"  I trudged along behind them and their children, just listening.  Is it eavesdropping when the conversation you are hearing is really loud?  Finally, after the third comment about the "boolangeree" being closed, I offered, in my own American twang, that there would be something open at the Place Carnot, just up the street.  I asked where they were from, and was told "We live in France, but not in Carcassonne."  I told them I understood, but where in the States were they from?  Did they think I couldn't tell they were American?  Their reply was "South Carolina."  

They never thanked me for the information.  They never acknowledged a fellow traveler, they never asked where I was from.  I turned the corner, down toward the post office and muttered, "Assholes."  I hope they never did find the "boolangeree."  And they wonder why it is that Americans leave a bad impression.  I really do think they are the people who are renting the upstairs apartment.  

If you don't want to be treated as a jackass, don't act like one.