Avocados--Great Sale

The news flash of the day (so far) is that avocados are on sale at the market this morning--10 for only one Euro!  I got several, in different stages of ripeness, to have with my dinner until Saturday's market.  I passed by the tulips at the florist, thinking that I would see what was in the market before I bought them.  There were none at the market and on the way home, not 15 minutes later, the tulips were gone.  There's a lesson there, Charlotte.  I should stop dithering about the cassoles--the handmade, traditional vessels in which one cooks cassoulet--and go ahead and buy them.  They're on sale until Saturday.  I just worry that they will break during shipping, or, like the package I already sent to Brookings, never arrive.  I don't want to lug them back to the states in my luggage because they are very heavy.

The other piece of news is that my butcher told me that the reason everyone is helping me with my French--he gave me a lesson this morning about "half"--was because I am "sweet."  No doubt there are plenty of people who'd like to set him straight.  

This morning's topic at the tabac was the sky in Carcassonne.  I know how to read the sky in Brookings, but I can't seem to get this one figured out.  When I think it looks like rain and take the umbrella, I end up being the only person carrying one.  It felt rawer outside than it has for the past several days, so who knows?  Marie assured me that it was going to rain.  Of course, the parapluie--the umbrella, was at home.

So there you have my boring yet wonderful day.  I am so grateful.  Company is coming and will be here in about a month.  It will be great fun to introduce my city to new eyes. 

Upstairs Neighors

Does the river ever get into the basements?  Or erode the foundations?

It's getting to be a Pacific Northwest kind of neighborhood here at 34 Rue du Pont Vieux.  Or at least a western United States kind of neighborhood.  I met my upstairs neighbors today--Richard and Sandy.....from the San Juan Islands in Washington state.  So--there are 6 apartments in this building-- Washingtonians on the 3rd floor, an Oregonian and a Brit on the second floor, a Nevadan and a Manhattanite who owns property in Colorado on the first floor.  As far as I know the maisonette is empty, so right now, everyone in the building is an English speaker. In one respect, it's nice to discover new friends and hear familiar accents on the stairwell.  In quite another, it makes it more difficult to be totally immersed in French.  For me, the temptation to initiate a conversation when I hear English being spoken is too great to resist.

 Richard and Sandy were here in this building for three months last October, November and December and are here for a month this visit.  Jason is getting quite the repeat business, and that's testament to his care and attention to his clients. 

And hats off to Richard--he climbs these spiral straight up stairs after a knee replacement.  Good for him! I am also happy to report that the steps to my place no longer give me a moment's pause.  I climb them at least twice a day and sometimes more often. I am making progress!

Sandy told me that during this visit, one of the greatest pleasures they have experienced is being recognized by the shopkeepers here.  We all have a need to belong, to be taken in by our tribe. 

And on an unrelated note--I cringe a little when I hear someone refer to what I am doing as a "vacation."  I don't think vacations encompass laundry, washing, scrubbing the toilet and bathroom sink and shower, vacuuming, polishing the furniture, cleaning the refrigerator and sorting the recycling.  That was my morning!  Some adventure, hmmmm?

More photos from Quillan January 14, 2014

I loved the yellow shutters

Closed for the season

A grand old building

Quillan

View from the "ramp" up to the chateau.  The bones of the mountains show through.

First of all, it's pronounced "Kee-ohn."  I am not trying to be snotty, but French is such an odd language, and I would not like anyone, especially me, to be embarrassed.  I guess people here smile up their sleeves when the English tell them they've been to "Qwil-len."  

Place de la Republique--I think there's one in every village

Secondly, it's in the Haute Vallee--the high valley, so I assumed it would be colder and rawer than Carcassonne.  It just goes to show me that I should never assume anything.

The transfer bus from Limoux to Quillan--with a great driver

The sun was shining this morning, so I decided to take myself to Quillan.  I had actually considered it and Couiza, which is on the way there, as possible locations for this six-month adventure.  I am so thankful that I chose Carcassonne.  These little towns are beyond charming, but very, very remote.  Yes, there is train service of sorts, but maybe only once a day.  I am convinced daily that I made the right choice, but I wanted to visit and walk around these little towns.  

The train station in Quillan

The French railway has a deal--for 1 Euro you can go from Carcassonne to Quillan or any of the little whistle-stops in between.  And, no catch, it's only 1 Euro to return.  While the Moffits were here, we took the train to Limoux for this very deal.  I read in the paper last week that the SNCF, the French railway, is going to close a number of these little-trafficked lines, and sadly, the Carcassonne-Quillan run is one on the chopping block.  I surely hope that it gets saved somehow.

The curved wooden door of the Tourist Bureau

Here's the drill:  You take the train from Carcassonne to Limoux and there transfer to a  huge motor coach, with all the comforts--including free wifi.  Amazing.  That bus makes a couple of stops along the way, and the ride is scenic and comfortable.  We came along this same route with Jason on our outing to Peyrepertuse last month, but this time I was able to see more of the countryside from the greater height and wider windows.  It is such beautiful countryside.  The vines are taking a well-deserved rest from all the work last season of turning soil and water and sunshine into grapes for the vintners. 

A house off the square near the church.  Charmant!

Our bus driver was quite skilled.  The streets of Quillan and Limoux were not designed for great huge Mercedes motor coaches.  They were designed for donkey carts.  So, we found ourselves stuck in a place where someone had parked a truck and it looked impossible for the bus to get by.  We sat and honked and honked--in vain.  Finally, the driver inched his way past, with, in his words, "cinq (5) centimetres" to spare.  It was an amazing feat of driving. 

Ruins of the chateau look down on the town

The town of Quillan is charming, but shuttered. The fountains have been drained, many doors are closed for the season.  I didn't make this trip yesterday because I suspected that on a Monday, things would be closed.  Apparently in Quillan, once tourist season is over, the town really gets quite sleepy no matter what day of the week it is.  I arrived at the tourist office two minutes before they locked the door for lunch and was able to get a recommendation for a place to eat. The people there had to rack their brains to come up with a place that wasn't closed.  I walked around a bit, tried to get into the church, because I could hear someone practicing the organ inside.  Whoever it was could play well.  Alas, the door was locked.  The library was closed.  The Cathar exhibit was closed.  I did walk up the very steep hill to the chateau ruins.  They were open but there was nothing and nobody there.  Nice view, though. 

This is the "Ramp"--too steep! Yes, I climbed it.

The very best part of the day was the 45 minute conversation I had with the proprietress of the creperie where I had a coffee and a crepe.  We actually talked--she is from Normandy and moved south for better weather.  She plans within the next year to sell her place in Quillan and move to Spain--for better weather.  We shared some laughs, she helped me with my French, talked to me about the creperie business in the summer.  It was simply delightful. 

A view into the heart of the wall

Quillan has an odd feel to it, for me.  I guess it's a sense of being semi-deserted, a result of absentee owners and seasonal businesses.  It's surrounded by  low mountains that feel old, like time has sand-papered away the skin and bones are showing through.  The buildings are mostly field-stone at their core, and have been plastered over during the years with layers of more modern materials.  But at their hearts is the stone of the countryside. 

The chateau from the other side.

The Aude flows swiftly here

On the way back to Limoux, we had to stop to let a couple off the motor coach--they thought they were going to Perpignan, not Carcassonne.  It was raining by then, not hard, but certainly wet, and they had to go back to the train station to sort it all out. The guy was blaming his wife; I imagine a heated argument took place on the walk back.   I am always grateful when I have managed to get the right connections, and get on the right vehicle.  And hey--they were French and they couldn't get it figured out!  I shared some pleasantries with a gentleman who was on his way home to Toulouse. Thank you Richard Tomlinson, my high school French teacher, for the wonderful start he gave to me in speaking the language that allows me to  communicate with my fellow travelers here in the south of France.  By the time I arrived in Carcassonne, it had stopped raining, but it was decidedly colder than it had been in the mountains.  Go figure!  All in all, it was a very good day.

The church at the heart of the town

Bare Bones

Saint Michel's bell tower through the trees

Today after church, I took myself over to Le Dome for lunch.  The special today was boudin noir--a dark sausage made with pig's blood.  I am not a great fan of sausage, so I took a pass and had a salad instead.

That restaurant doesn't get many stars, I think, because it's not fancy.  There's not much "ambiance" but I have always found the food full of flavor.  Apparently, so do the locals, because it is always busy with obvious non-tourists coming in after church for lunch on Sundays.  People greet one another, bring their families, read the paper, visit and linger. I like it and the waitress recognizes me now and treats me like a local as well. 

Then I went for a little walk.  I love Carcassonne at this time of the year.  It's stripped down to the bare bones.  The trees are leaf-less and this allows for better views of the buildings.  The streets are empty of both tourists and traffic on Sundays.  The amusement rides of the holiday festivals have been put away, and the public spaces have a stripped-bare look to them.  It's as if the city is revealing its bones to me.

I guess he liked his pipe.

I notice something new almost every time I go out on a Sunday.  I can dawdle in the intersections if something catches my eye, since there's scarcely any traffic.  The stores and restaurants are almost all closed, so I am not distracted by the colors and smells. Today, I discovered a sculpture dedicated to one of France's military heroes.  The carving is done out of the famous red marble of Caunes-Minervois.  The French paratroopers are stationed here in Carcassonne, and he was one of theirs. 

The view of Saint Michel's bell tower through the bare trees along Rue Barbes  also captivated me. I suspect that this is a very different place in June, July and August.  One day I will find out for myself just how different it is.

Mid-Point

All For Carcassonne!

Today marks the midpoint of my stay here.  I arrived here at the apartment on October 11, and what an amazing three months this has been.  This trip has brought me experiences I could never have imagined.  I am trying very hard to make the most of each minute here, and to think of my glass as not only half-full, but overflowing.  

The street is a-buzz

I finished the big state report I was working on; it's submitted and error-free.  That does not mean I am off the hook; on the contrary, I found a number of glitches in the software system that I need to run to ground.  I am going into my busy reporting season as well, so I will have to be very disciplined about getting some time in every day to avoid any last minute logjams.  I think I can do this.

B B King sets a festive mood

I am tired today, but I did get myself out to the tabac, the mediatheque  and the market.  I didn't really need anything, but I did run into some people from the Protestant church.  The Saturday morning market is as much a social event as it is a place to get some onions. At the library this morning, I picked up a book entitled 1001 Books to Have Read During a Lifetime.  I can't resist a list, it seems.  It's more than just a list--it's got illustrations and reasons why the selections were chosen.  I told the lady at the checkout that I had better get busy, because I was already old.  She got my joke!  In French, no less!

Jean-Claude's headquarters

Later, I found myself in the middle of a political rally.  I can't resist seeing what all the fuss is about whenever I see a crowd.  BB King's music was coming from the speakers (maybe he is a real vote-getter), people were visiting with one another and having coffee and soda.  I'm not sure about wine, because it was before noon.  As much as the French love their wine, I don't see people having it for breakfast! It felt festive and serious at the same time. People here love their city, and I certainly do understand why.  I love it, too.

Still Working

I just finished an enormous spreadsheet and am awaiting its results from the state....please cross your fingers that everything that I had to do and calculate by hand passes muster.  This particular spreadsheet is 158 columns wide, and 1740 lines long---and if one cell is incorrect, the report is in error.  You can all do that math......I marvel at technology and what it allows us to accomplish.  If all is well, I get the weekend free, and it looks as though it might be nice.

For now, I am going for a little stroll to get the paper.  I get too stiff from sitting here at the computer for extended blocks of time like I have been doing for the past 10 days..... Perhaps a little walk to the library would be a good thing, since I have a couple of books to return.  I read the most wonderful book, Gastonomie meridionale, by a man named Prosper Montagne.  He is from the Languedoc region and his essay about cassoulet is nothing short of a love letter to the concoction.  That essay alone is worth the price of the book.  "The origins of this wonderful dish are lost in the night of time."  Love the way the French write!

Immersion or Drowning? A Fine Line

The chestnut cooker is the figure on the left (of the group of three) on the middle"hillside"

I had my first formal "lesson" in Occitan last night.  I am not sure this is the right place for me to be, since it is really a conversation practice class full of people who already can speak the language.  I now have 1000% more empathy for students who come from another country and are expected to take all of their courses in English.  We peg them as slow, when in reality they are coping with enormous language issues.  

I found that not only was I expected to know basic French (how else were they going to translate the Occitan for me?) but I was expected to know poets, and writers and artists. We were given a photo by a well-known-to-everyone-but-me artist, and then people went around giving the Occitan names for the objects in the photo. Then we were given two writings by an Occitan poet, Max Roqueta, and Mirhela, the instructor, read aloud.  Thankfully I was able to follow along, but I had to use my finger to do so.  How stupid did I feel?  But I am getting used to that feeling, and would rather follow along with my finger than be completely lost.  What would I learn that way? 

 

I was able to pick up words here and there.  I did feel like I was drowning in more than one instance.  I had trouble making Mirhela understand that where I live, there are no chestnuts, much less those big cookers that the Occitan people use to cook them.  She thought I didn't understand the word chestnut, and got out a little figurine from the creche tableau to show me what she was talking about. I told her that I understood what she meant, but we HAVE NO CHESTNUTS IN BROOKINGS.  She looked thunderstruck (thunderstricken?) She couldn't imagine a place on Earth with no chestnut trees.  I am going to send her a picture of the place where I live and maybe she will understand.  

I will probably look for a more structured class, one suited to someone who is a rank beginner, like me.  But everyone in this group has been so very nice to me, so I will continue attending.  I can only improve. (God knows I can't get any worse!!)  They encourage me-- one guy passed me a note during class, saying that his wife is English-- and they go to great lengths to make sure they invite me to their scheduled gatherings.  And the most amazing thing happened today when I went to get the paper.  A car stopped in the street, the driver rolled down the window and said, "Bonjour, Carlotta!" (that's my name in Occitan).  It was someone from the class.  I hugged my smile all the way home.