Bon Fin- A Good End

The Marche de Noel is empty now

My cold is in the departing stages now, and for that I am grateful.  It's well timed that it should leave with 2013. I know that it's cliched to take stock of the year, but I have been doing just that, and don't really give a fig for who thinks it's hokey.

Dismantling some of the amusements of the season

One of the things that I have learned is to ask questions, ask questions, ask questions. Everyone here is thrilled to be of help. And I never know the turns the conversation will take.  More than ever, I am learning the wisdom of being receptive to what others have to teach me.  It's no longer important for me to tell them what I know--and critical that I let them tell me what they know.

Today I asked the clerk in the papieterie to tell me the French word for ladybug....it's coccinelle for anyone who wants to know...and that provoked a 10 minute chat about the end of the year.  She told me that here people wish one another a "bon fin"-- a good end, more than wishing one another a good New Year.  I don't think it's because they don't want one another to have a good new year, but rather that they want to stay in the moment.  First, have a good here-and-now. We'll turn our attention to the new year when the new year gets here.  It's not a bad way to look at life.

Calm and still reindeer ride

The reveillion--the New Year's Eve celebration--is quite a source of pride to the French.  They spare no expense for the meal for family and close friends.  I was watching a news program the other day and the reporters were asking people what they were spending on the meals.  It was not uncommon for people to spend 40-60 Euros PER PERSON on the food. And that's not counting the champagne, an acceptable bottle of which will cost 30-40 Euros, even here, where it's produced. 

My own fete will be considerably more modest.  I am taking stock of all the good things of 2013, and there are too many to count.  I think 2014 will be equally blessed, but I will let it take care of itself in its own good time. First, I wish  a bon fin for me and for all my friends and family.

Open to the Unexpected

34 Rue du Pont Vieux   My apartment does not have exterior shutters.

  
I woke this morning feeling as though something had happened in the world and I had missed it.  Some of that sensation was due to waking late, which is to be expected when I didn't get to sleep until nearly 3 in the morning.  After that first feeling of panic, I realized that if indeed, the world had passed me by, I am perfectly fine with where I am.  If I could somehow freeze time, order up my personal Groundhog Day, I would do it gladly.  I am so happy with where I am on the planet.  

Nonetheless, I had work to do.  How I can wreck a perfectly neat living space in under 30 minutes completely baffles me.  But I can, and do and therefore set about, at the beginning of each day, to give my apartment a good tidying, full of the misguided belief that I won't have to do it all over again tomorrow morning. The sunny day energized me and I was able to get those mundane chores done that propel our lives forward--taking out the recycling, buying the newspaper, getting letters to the post office.

Place Carnot ice rink at night

If there's any day to be a little off-kilter here in Carcassonne, it's a Monday.  So many shops are closed that I might as well wait until Tuesday to do any real shopping or run errands. I finally finished one of my library books and would have liked to return the book, but the library is closed on Mondays.  I wanted a card to send to a friend, but the papieterie is closed today.  I did get a mini compagnette (a small "traditional" baguette) and I stopped at the butcher shop, visited with Michel and got two pork chops. When was the last time the butcher actually cut your pork chops to your specification? 

I have been thinking about the unexpected turns this Carcassonne adventure has taken. I never expected to learn an Occitan Christmas carol.  I never expected to end up playing the hymns for a Sunday worship service.  I never expected to eat wild boar.  One thing that I did "right" in coming here was to come with an open heart.  That philosophy has served me well, and it has made me wonder what would happen if I lived my "real" life with this attitude. 

Out on the street there is a sense of getting on with things now that this holiday business is winding down.  The city workers are collecting the Christmas trees that lined the streets of the Bastide.  The holly and mistletoe have disappeared from the flower stalls, which are beginning to fill with masses of glorious tulips.  I am sorry to see the Christmas season fade away; I enjoyed it tremendously this year.  But my heart is open to what is to come.

Canal du Midi

Canal du Midi

One benefit of being sniffle-y, cotton headed  and feeling generally punkish is that I give myself permission to watch television without guilt.  Tonight the French TV's Arte Channel aired one of a series of documentaries about the canals of the world.  Tonight's segment was about the Canal du Midi, the canal that runs through Carcassonne.  

White kepis of the FFL

They showed clips of the French Foreign Legion.  The Legion's 4th Regiment is stationed in Castelnaudry, a town near Carcassonne and on the Canal.  I have seen their white kepis at some of the ceremonies here in Carcassonne. I always wondered about the Foreign Legion.  The very name conjures up romantic images of the desert and running away to find adventure   These guys are tough, and I could be wrong, but I don't think they allow women in the ranks. 

World Capital of Cassoulet--self proclaimed.

Castelnaudry has another claim to fame--it claims to be the home of cassoulet. This town is the first stop on the Carcassonne-Toulouse train route and is on my to-do list for next week, weather and sniffles permitting.  There's a windmill there I want to see as well as the Canal itself.

Occitan banner

They also showed clips of Carcassonne, the walled cite, of course.  I learned that it's the second most visited monument in France, after Mont Saint Michel. This segment featured a teacher of Occitan who also announced rugby games.  His co-host, announcing in Occitan, was the husband of the woman who hosted last week's Occitan Christmas workshop.  What are the odds that I would come to a city in France that I'd never visited before and watch a French language show that featured someone I actually know, (admittedly only in passing, but nonetheless, I know and have spoken to) speaking a language I had never even heard of until I got here?  Life is pretty interesting.

Sete

They also aired some segments from Sete, which is where the Canal meets the Mediterranean.  It's known as the Venice of the Mediterranean, and apparently during the summer the town hosts a jousting festival--but instead of horses, the lancers use boats and try to knock their opponents into the canals.  It looks like great fun. Sete is also on my to-do list, and soon.

It was thrilling for me to know that I have been at least in the train stations in each of these towns.  Castelnaudry is on my list for next week, weather permitting.  Beziers is also on the canal, and is the home of the man who in the 1700's conceived the idea of a canal linking the Mediterranean and the Atlantic through the south of France.  They have a flower market there, second only to Nice's, on Fridays, that I would like to see.  Fortunately these places are all on the train line and the tickets are not terribly expensive.  

But how much fun would it be to see all of these by boat?  There was a lady who operated her own little grocery store on her boat--she got in fresh croissants and baguettes every day, and her clients came to shop by boat.  Another man got the original plans for the first barge that hauled merchandise when the canal opened and built a replica of this boat and launched it.  Artisans who make cassoulet casseroles have their studio on boats. People are living their dreams on this canal.  

Permission to come aboard?

Now there is a trip to take--why not spend a year traversing the Canal du Midi on a boat, mooring where and when the spirit moves you?  The pace is the slow pace of the water.  The countryside is beautiful. It would be a real adventure!

Boxing Day

Christmas in Carcassonne was quiet.  It was warm and sunny here--when I took out the garbage and recycling, and purchased my newspaper, I didn't even need a coat. I made some delicious leek and vegetable soup, took care of some household chores, and then went for a walk in the gorgeous sunshine.  I came across a patisserie that was open, and treated myself to a slice of buche de noel.....that very French concoction--the yule log.  I didn't purchase an entire log, because I would eat an entire log.  Believe me, one slice was rich beyond even my imaginings.

Later in the evening, we had a thunderstorm, of all things.  There has been very severe weather up on the North Atlantic coast area of France--flooding has washed away parts of buildings.  People were without power for the holiday.  Officials closed the airport in Nice, so many travelers were stranded in the south of France.  Today we are to get some wind, but it's not supposed to be too cold. 

I Skyped with friends, read and felt myself coming down with a little cold.  So, I took myself off to bed after a dose of Airborne.  It was actually a perfect day, and I felt blessed.

This morning, I am still wrestling with a little cold.  After getting my morning paper and my daily French conversation, I went to the pharmacy right next door to the tabac to get some lozenges for my sore throat.  I just preface every conversation now with, "I'm sorry, but I don't speak French very well."  I explained that I had a little cold and a sore throat.  Together we found some lozenges and I made my way to the market for some fruit.

There is a big controversy brewing in France about the pharmacies.  You must buy all of your "medication" from a pharmacist.  You can't go to the grocery store and buy an aspirin or any other over the counter medication; you have to go to the pharmacist to get it.  The lawmakers are trying to end this monopoly on the OTC medications and allow them to be sold in a "regular" store.  Predictably, the pharmacists are against this change. 

So, Boxing Day finds me tucked into my apartment, feeling only slightly sorry for myself because I have a little head cold.  I now have a real excuse to stay in and read, and have tea, toast with milk and a soft-boiled egg--the healing foods of my childhood.  There's soup melding in the fridge if I get hungry and the sun is warming my living room.  I have plenty of lemons for my drinking water, several good books and plenty of pillows and warm blankets for napping.  It's shaping up to be another perfect day.

Christmas Eve Plus

The creche at the front of the church

I reluctantly got myself ready and out of the house for the 6:00 church service.  I am glad that I went.  Because there's no musician in the congregation, they rely on recorded music and tonight it was a Bach Christmas.  The service was very simple--nobody preached a sermon or made anyone feel bad for not attending except at Christmas and Easter.  There were readings; each was followed by a piece of Bach.  The first and last readings were presented in French, another in Spanish, another in Occitan and another in English.  It was a simple, beautiful service.  I love the beauty and power of words and music.  Afterward there was vin chaud--hot wine.  

Rudolph is one happy guy

On my way there and home again,  I passed through Place Gambetta.  Rudolph and Santa were busy with the children.  Stores were still open when I went and just closing when I came back home.  I can tell you that my butcher worked a very long and very hard day today.  A few of the huts at Gambetta were closed, but the ones that were still open to serve the crowd were doing a brisk business. 

I love this tree

 I wanted one more picture of the silver tree--I just love that tree, and the blue swoops of lights in the trees. I am afraid I will forget what they look like.  As I snapped photos, I was treated to a fireworks display.  It captured perfectly the way I feel about Carcassonne, Christmas, and indeed my life right now.  Celebratory!

Love the reds and the greens of the fireworks

        And the police stopped traffic while this went on; it wasn't lengthy and nobody seemed to mind.

I know that it's a little blurry, but I kind of like that effect.

Christmas Eve

My Christmas

I went out to the market this morning and everything was bustling.  I bought some fixings for vegetable soup and a mini baguette to enjoy with it. I stuck to my normal route, getting my newspaper and stopping at the butcher shop.  There I bought an already made pot-pie, but not like any pot pie I have ever eaten before.  This one was filled with wild mushrooms and bits of foie gras.  There is a reason why this man's shop is rated the best butcher shop in Carcassonne.  I wish I could send one of these to every one of my friends.  Heavenly.

And I am having trouble with my e-mail account, but I think it might not be me; it might be Yahoo mail.  I do hope they get it fixed soon. 

A little treat

Christmas Eve evening and Christmas Day will be quiet for me.  I knew it would be thus when I made these plans, and I am really fine with it.  I am really preferring simplicity and minimal "stuff" in my life.  I have good books, homemade soup with fresh vegetables, a little treat, and red tulips. I will attend the Protestant service this evening and tomorrow, weather permitting, I will take myself for a walk to parts I have not yet explored.  It's supposed to be quite windy, but as long as it's not either bitterly cold or rainy, I am fine. I am better than fine; I am in France.

And I have tulips

I have grown a little weary of the kvetching about whether it's Merry Christmas, or Happy Holidays, or whatever the current expression is, and especially weary of all those dreary posts on Facebook.  It doesn't seem to be an issue here in France like it is in the US.   If someone wishes you something that you don't celebrate, and you can't get past the terminology to feel and receive the genuine well-wishes behind it, then I don't know what to say. How sad for you.  I am truly grateful for all I have and all I have been able to experience and I hope that everyone feels as blessed in their own lives.  Merry Christmas!

Cite Photos

stairs up to the cite walls

Sunny and beautiful again here today.  It's a little colder than it was last week, but certainly not hat and glove weather. After much chore-doing here in the apartment, which included a big chunk of time writing, I took myself down the stairs for the newspaper and a walk this afternoon.  My kitchen is so spanking clean that I might just go out for dinner this evening, except that I just remembered that it's Monday and so many restaurants are closed on Mondays.  We'll see.

I found a new-to-me route up to the walled cite today.  I cropped out all of the cars, so I can pretend that I am looking at what people saw 800 years ago....

From the square in front of this church, looking up to the walls

 






I don't think this entrance is used any longer.

You just know that there were steps here, and thousands of feet passed over them.  I want nothing so much as a shovel and a trowel to start digging to find what those people left behind.

These severely pruned plane trees are starting to look normal to me.

I now see why they don't use this exit from the cite for the parade of torches, even though it is one of the most dramatic approaches/exits.  There's no pavement.

The flanks of the Cite

Peering around the wall, I could imagine myself a medieval spy, looking for any weakness in the walls of the Cite.

These stones didn't just fall into place of their own accord.  Human hands placed them. I wonder about the people who built this--what were their daily lives all about?  What did they eat? What did they wear?  Who did they love?  What made them happy? 

And notice that there are niches for notes, either from a spy, or for a true love.

Local Products

It's a really old congregation

At the end of the service this morning I asked if I could see and maybe play the piano--it's actually a little electric organ.  I really can't play, but I can pick out the melody well enough to sing to.  Earlier, by the time we had  finished the last verse of O Come O Come Emmanuel, the pitch had dropped so low that even I was having trouble singing.  Music is such an important part of the church experience for me; if it's lousy, I can't get past it.  I took the hymnal and played the piece, and was even able to play with both hands--a very simple arrangement, obviously. I think it might have been the first time in months, maybe even years, that live music echoed in that sanctuary.  But some old crow came over to me and said that it was "too high."  I felt like it was a case of "No Good Deed Goes Uncriticized."  I apologized ( Lordy, I do a lot of THAT) and explained that those were the notes that were written. The woman in charge has asked me to play the carols next Sunday, but I am going to decline.  I am not a good enough musician to transpose on the fly and I couldn't find a feature on the organ that will do it automatically.  The last thing in the world I want to do is make other people uncomfortable. I didn't know four of the five hymns this morning, but fortunately I learned to read music, so not only was I reading the French for the first time, I was also sight-reading the melody.  That isn't always easy when the tonality keeps shifting. Some very nice gentleman came over and asked me if I knew the hymns.  I told him no, but I can read music.  Thank you Jim Fisher, Dean Reindollar, and Thomas Fugate, my elementary school music teachers.

I think there's quite a bit of $$ here

After leaving church I strolled over to the Dome where vendors were presenting products of the area.  The local "region" extends from the Mediterranean to the foothills of the Pyrenees.  The Aude is the largest wine producing region of France and is also the second largest agriculture-based region of France.  The vendors were inside the convention "hall" as well as in booths set up all around the perimeter.  Today's features were fresh foie gras, and fresh truffles.  Neither of which I can afford.

Fresh foie gras

Fresh foie gras is banned in the US, I think.  I have to confess that I love it, but have absolutely no idea how to prepare it.  I usually leave that to the professional chef.  And I also love truffles, but again, really don't know how to cook with them, other than shaving them onto and into dishes like potato puree, or risotto.

Mussels and fresh oysters

No matter, it was fun to look.  There were cheeses from the Pyrenees, but I'd bought some yesterday already.  And seafood, fresh as could be, from the Mediterranean.  I am not used to seeing shrimp with their heads still attached and looking at me, but I have no problem decapitating them.  Growing up in a household that killed its own chickens took the squeamishness right out of me.

Ham.anyone?

I saw local hazelnuts, noisettes, and walnuts, les noix.  I remember that we always had a bowl of nuts and a nutcracker out on the table during the holidays. People still do that here.  Breads, oils, wonderful dry ham--I love Serrano ham, thinly sliced.  It felt like a festival just by itself.  And people were forking out tidy sums for the nougat, the meats and cheeses.  It's a fete, and the best one can afford is what one puts on the table, for family and for guests.

You'd Think I'd Never Seen Farm Animals Before

Everyone is busy, busy

It is stunningly gorgeous here today in Carcassonne. It's sunny and clear and fairly mild.  I think every single resident of the city was out this morning, either at the Arab market, at the Place Carnot market or the post office. Things were pretty packed, but nobody seemed very grouchy about having to wait to be helped or to get through the crush of people with strollers and rolling grocery sacs.  I was glad to have mastered the post office self service machines, because it meant no real standing in line for me, at least there.

Henny Penny ponders an escape?

The young farmers were around the corner at the Dome.  I meandered there to see what was happening.  It reminded me a little of the 4-H booths at the county or state fairs back in the states.  However, there were a few differences. Notice the way they cleverly disguised the "fence" with slabs of bark-covered wood.  In France, presentation is everything.  The chickens weren't in pens or cages, nor were the rabbits.  Yes, there was a fenced off area for them, but the allotted area was as big as the areas for the larger farm animals, and they could run freely.  One chicken in particular... maybe she was a scout, or a spy chicken... insisted on walking the parapet. At one point, some kid approached her and just whaled on her. That kid quickly got a swat on the behind and a good scolding from his papa. Good for you, pere. The hen didn't seem any the worse for it, thankfully.  She consented to pose for her portrait.

Sweet face

I loved the little donkey--such a sweet face.  The pig actually reminded me of someone I once worked with.  There was a big shaggy dog keeping company with the goats, the grey momma cow had a little nursing calf, and so did the brown cow.  How contented and clean were all of the animals! There was no sense of stress or distress. I don't care if I sound naive. I got a great deal of enjoyment from seeing the animals and their caretakers.  The day that I can't find joy in something so rustic--well, I hope such a day NEVER comes.

Cheese of the Pyrenees

My slice

And there were, of course, vendors selling the products of these animals.  I bought some Pyrenees cheese. The man who cut and sold me the slice of the cheese was the man whose hands had made it.  What a great thing--to know the provenance of our food. Some of the booths hadn't yet opened; there was a big cluster of obvious farm-hands around the main food stall, waiting for it to start selling.

Momma and baby

After leaving the farm exhibit, I walked down to the boat where they are exhibiting photos of the Canal du Midi in an attempt to raise funds to  save the plane trees from the blight that is affecting them.  Nobody was around, but I will go back and buy the set of postcards that go toward the cause. 

Goat-herd?

Perfect day for a sun-bath

Lots of greenery is for sale at the market and I see people coming away with bundles of holly and mistletoe.  The stores were busy but I didn't get any sense of that dog-eat-dog fight for the last "must have" toy this year. I encountered a group of Santas--complete with electronics.  Guitars, saxophone, drums and singers offered up Latin flavored jazz numbers.  Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, helped in part, I am sure by the good mood of the weather.  It definitely feels like a holiday is near.

Now we know what's in the sleigh---electronic amplification equipment

Occitan Atelier

Wicker man, from the Pont Vieux, now has blue lights.

I took myself off to a workshop this evening over the bridge on Rue Trivalle.  I must have rocks in my head, because the whole purpose was to share Christmas stories and vignettes about Occitan Christmas customs. I just wanted to go and listen, and not draw any attention to myself.  I hadn't left in enough time, so I was about 5 minutes late.  I hate that!  There were about 20 people, mostly middle aged, but some in their thirties, sitting on folding chairs in a circle around the woman who was obviously the leader. Of course, all eyes turned my way when I came through the door and I had to explain my presence, since these people obviously already all knew one another. The lady asked who I was and I explained that I knew not one single word of Occitan, and in fact, could barely speak any French, but I was learning and very interested in the Occitan language. Later, she asked me if I had a name or should she keep referring to me as Miss American?  Cute!  Actually I liked her, even though she didn't ask the two guys who came in after I was already seated to explain themselves.  Probably because they already knew one another.

This is like one of those I Spy works.

Every once in a while she would translate the Occitan for me, a word here or there. She had a Mac laptop and some music recorded on it.  Another lady passed around words to an Occitan carol, and we learned it and sang it. If you think French is hard, try Occitan--words ending in "as" are pronounced as if they ended in "os."  Why don't they just spell it that way? Even though I didn't understand every word of the carol, I could at least carry the tune....unlike some of the other singers. We all have our strengths and weaknesses.

I liked the hillside and the little dog

Then she read a story, involving turkeys, a wolf (maybe more than one) and a bell ringer who at some point was red-faced, sweating and had a pounding heart.  She was a FABULOUS raconteuse--I loved her voicing and her expressions.  At some point, I was laughing because everyone else was streaming tears laughing. That kind of amusement is contagious, even if you don't understand a word of what is being said. 

Sorry for the blur

Once in a while one or another of the group nearest me would turn and translate something into French. Thankfully I could understand.  The man in front of me with the very odd hairdo clued me in about the as-os pronunciation. 

About this photo

 (The red/gold banner is the Occitan banner. The grey-bearded figure to the left is the husband of the woman who was our hostess for the evening.  I have seen him at one other Occitan evening--the lecture about Simon de Monfort.)

The hillside

I can't tell you how welcome I was made.  During refreshments (some very delicious and very potent local brandy) a number of people came up to me and expressed their amazement that an American would be interested in their ancient language.  I explained that while I had gotten only a word here or there of the reading, it sounded like music to me and I loved it. The man who'd been sitting next to me drove here from Barcelona to attend this workshop.  I asked him how he'd learned the language and he explained that it was close to Catalan, and he grew up speaking that dialect.  Others had learned it at their grandmothers' knees and are trying to keep it alive in their minds. 

The "atelier" was a most interesting room.  Cluttered with paints and paintings displayed on the wall, it also contained an illustrated manuscript in progress, bits of ceramics, stained glass, paints, papers, and this great "scene" containing figurines, plants and shells, all of which have some significance in Occitan history.  

They took great pains to invite me to their 12th Night celebration, only instead of January 6, they are holding it on Jan 3. I wouldn't miss it for the world, if for nothing else than to hear that lady read again.

I came away with a sense of real tradition--traditions that go back not decades, but centuries.   I so appreciate that these people are keeping the traditions and the stories behind them alive. 

Blue man waves me home.

Being Recognized

This decoration really struck my fancy.

A wonderful thing happened to me to today while I was in line at the post office to send a letter to the US.  This French post office has really adopted the self-service concept, but they have a whole force of people who do nothing but rotate, helping out where ever there seems to be a long line forming. Long as in more than three people.  These folks help you through the self service process if necessary.  You aren't simply thrown in to fend for yourself.

I obtained what I needed, but still had to pay at the register, so back in line (the very short line) I went.  I looked up and a gentleman caught my eye and then I saw the flash of recognition in his eyes.  It was Joseph, the owner of  Le Cozy, the jazz club around the corner. He came over and greeted me. I told him that Diane and Jerry had departed, but I would be coming in tomorrow evening.

Too bad this establishment was closed.  

 I am used to being recognized by the people in the library, although my poet hasn't been there the last several times I have visited.  And some of the shopkeepers where I do my marketing recognize me.  The butcher waves when I walk by. But this was being recognized out of a normal context.  What a great feeling.