From the Newspaper

Maybe part of my love affair with the French stems from their love of and use of language.   French newspapers areoffer a great example. Today's weather forecast called for the Aude to be sec et doux. That translates to dry and sweet...but upon further reflection, I think it means dry and mild.  I suppose some of my enchantment stems from my own incomplete understanding of the language. I would also mention that there are THREE daily newspapers here in Carcassonne, and if I don't get in early enough, my favorite sells out.  People here are still buying and reading print media, which gives me hope. 

The other day I was reading about a building that has provoked some controversy here in Carcassonne. The headline read, The Building Makes One Grind One's Teeth...How wonderful is that for a headline? Very descriptive and evidence that newspapers here do have a point of view!

In the same newspaper, they were writing about the little town, Cucugnan, where I had the wild boar for lunch.  It had been selected as one of the towns as a broadcast site for the national telethon that was held that first Saturday in December.  The local hunters' association was grilling sausages for the anticipated crowds.  I have to admit that it was on the windy side, but the paper reported that these hardy fellows had been cooking in "apocalyptic" conditions. (100 kph winds) That's enough to let you know they must've had a hard time keeping the sausages from blowing off the grill.  But it's so much more descriptive that "High Winds Make Cook-out Difficult" or something equally mundane.

This morning's headlines talk about being wary of unregulated horsemeat.  I asked my friend at the tabac about it, and she gave me a long explanation of the horsemeat trade here.  As with most things, you get what you pay for.  If you don't want bad products, buy from reputable vendors.

Today I read that there's a "salon" of sorts over the bridge tomorrow on Rue Trivalle.  People are gathering to share, probably mostly in Occitan, but they said they welcomed other languages as well, stories about Christmas. They invited people to share stories, poems, songs about the holiday. How charming.  I intend to go.  I can't understand a single word of Occitan.  I am barely grasping all of the French.  But can learn. And who knows,  I might even offer a little American carol--I Wander as I Wander, maybe?  Or how about Mel Torme's The Christmas Song?   

For the curious:  http://www.ladepeche.fr/grand-sud/aude-littoral/

 

Beautiful Sunday

You can just make out the Pyrenees in the center background

 It was so beautiful here in Carcassonne yesterday;  it made my heart hurt.  I had a boatload of chores to do, since I had been so lazy the previous two days. A trip to the recycling bins helped to make things tidier, and while I was doing that I got my Sunday paper.  I cooked up a pot of beef stew--it's amazing how far I can stretch a piece of beef with vegetables when the meat is expensive.  Delicious! And probably healthier.  I did some housework and sat down for some serious writing.  I am working on an essay about fear-induced paralysis--all research taken from my own upbringing. 

A table for resting your drinks and visiting with friends

But it was simply too lovely to stay indoors.  I took myself out for a walk around the neighborhood.  Whatever had been going on at the Dome on Saturday (I think it was an exhibit by the young farmers) was long dismantled.  I went down to the Pont Vieux and the Chapel of Notre Dame.  I like to go in there and sing when nobody's around.  It's kind of like praying.

Families enjoying the market

Hot wine, hot chocolate, hot coffee--it's a holiday!

Yum--so hard to resist

I felt like I could see all the way to Toulouse.  I could actually see the Pyrenees, and tried to take some photos, but I do not have a camera capable of that feat.  I meandered up to Place Gambetta, although I don't need or want anything from any of the huts there. It's distressing to see cotton candy being spun, but if it's only once a year, I guess that can't hurt too badly.  The booth with the knives is pretty interesting, as is the one housing the guy selling the nougat from Montsegur.  I walked by that temptation, but don't know for how long I will be able to resist.  Can you imagine seeing hot wine at the Christmas bazaar in Brookings?  I wish I had a way to convey the aroma via a blog--vin chaud smells so good.

The Christmas decoration in my window seat

So, today I made a run to the post office, got my paper, and am settled in the window seat to work. I miss all the excitement of having guests, and all the comings and goings.  Time to come back to Earth and get busy doing what I came here to do--live an everyday life.

I don't know this plant, but I love it. 

Christmas Concert

Place Gambetta--a fellow big foot

Diane and Jerry are gone and safely in London.  Bob and Chris are gone and are safely in London.  Jason is safely in London. It feels a little lonely here; I got used to having all those people around.

Yesterday I could not hold my eyes open.  When I returned from the train station after seeing Diane and Jerry off, I settled in to do some reading.  I have no idea if I even got one page read, much less an entire chapter. I woke up and it was after 1:00.  I tried to read some more, but just couldn't manage it.

I did check and take care of a few e-mails for the district later in the early evening, but then made the mistake of trying to read again.  I finally gave up and went to bed shortly after 9, and slept most of the night through.  I guess I was just exhausted.  The pace we'd been keeping, all of the activities we crammed into their time in Paris and here in Carcassonne and the anxiety produced by the last minute train issues simply did me in.  After the sleep-athon and a nice shower this morning, I was ready to resume my routine---but not entirely as it was.  Jerry and Diane's visit allowed me to go out in the evening, something I had not been doing.  I will work that into my routine.  Things are happening at night, and God forbid I should miss something. 

I went to the market this morning and got the makings for a beef stew.  I also bought a regional specialty called aligot--it's a mixture of mashed potatoes and cheese. Diane and Jerry and I had talked to the guy who was making a big cauldron of it on Thursday morning.  I promised him that I would return on Saturday, and I bought just enough for one person.  We chatted for a little while.  He asked where I was from and I told him the United States.  He talked of his experience living in Washington DC, New York City and Chicago. We both agreed that Carcassonne is a lovely city in which to live.  He gave me the warming instructions for the aligot. I understood him perfectly, and he complimented me on my French.  I had already bought the aligot, so I think he was sincere, and not just trying to be nice to sell me something. I tried the dish, just a spoonful, this evening, for dinner--yum, yum.  But what's not to like about potatoes and cheese? 

Saint Vincent, waiting for the choir

It was raining softly, but by the time I came home, it had stopped.  I spent the afternoon catching up on my writing and doing a little but of housework. I read the paper, and discovered that there was a Concert de Noel at Saint Vincent's church this afternoon at 4:00. 

I took the long way there, just because it was a nice afternoon for a walk.  When I arrived in Carcassonne, the city workers had the street leading there all torn to hell and gone, but now it's fixed and blocked off just for pedestrians.  Nice for a stroll.  I think everyone in the Bastide was out--skating at Carnot, sampling the carnival hot wine, or just chatting in the middle of the street with friends and neighbors. 

Choir de Saint Louis

 The concert?  Oh dear me....Silent Night AND O Holy Night on the same program!!!  In French, no less. They also did Berlioz's Shepherds' Farewell, and Bizet's March of the Kings.  It felt Christmas-y, that's for sure.  I have also decided that I don't like the sound of the piano in the cathedral, at least at Saint Vincent. I don't know if it's the acoustics in there, or the piano that's in there. No wonder there are tuning issues with it; there's no heat, and after about an hour and 15 minutes, even I began to feel the cold. How can they possibly keep a piano in good playing condition?

To my dear ORCA Singers: Yes, I give you a bad time, and drive you pretty hard. But I would match you up against any choir I have heard here so far, and do so proudly. (Except for the Soweto Gospel Choir--and they're pros, so that doesn't really count.) Just wanted you to know that. 

Au Revoir, Carcassonne

Blissfully unaware of the strike.

We have had a bit of anxiety here.   Yesterday, Jerry and Diane vacated their apartment at about 9:45 in the morning, and we all traipsed off to Place Carnot to meet Bob and Chris for a hot chocolate/coffee.  We had a lovely visit--I am going to miss my new friends and my old friends.  Bob and Chris set off to do some last minute Christmas gift-shopping and we three headed back to my apartment for a snooze in the sun (Jerry), some knitting (Diane) and working (that leaves only me).  We put together a soup and bread lunch and then did the dishes.  I realized at about 3:00 that I hadn't had a chance to read the paper.  I was sitting here at the dining room table and got to the section that deals with more regional news.....uh oh!!!  The trains were on strike. I didn't want to alarm the Moffits unnecessarily, but I said that I thought it might be prudent to go down to the station and see what was up.  Fortunately the station is only a 10 minute walk.  

We made our way to the station, which was rather full, but not with staff.  All of those windows were closed.  There was a reader board bearing news about the strike--which would be over by 8 on Friday morning.  However, Diane and Jerry's train was supposed to leave Carcassonne at 10:30 Thursday evening. The board gave a website to use to get more information.  Diane wasn't able to access it there at the train station using her iPhone, so we came back to the apartment to sort out what was what.  I went on line and sure enough, their train had been canceled.  This meant that they were going to miss the Eurostar from Paris to London.

After much trial and error, (which country codes to dial? do you need the extra zero? is it a French phone number or a UK phone number?) they were able to talk to a Eurostarcustomer service representative  who assured them that they would not have to purchase new tickets; Eurostar would accommodate them as soon as they could get out of the south of France.  I could see that the TGV was running if I could get them to Narbonne, but short of driving them there in a car, which I do not have, there didn't seem to be any way to get out of Carcassonne.

I was able to find a train leaving early this morning, so we decided to enjoy one more evening in Carcassonne.  I mean, we saw people sitting in the train station with young children.  There was a man sleeping in the entryway to a bank.  Things could have been much, much worse.  They were able to stay warm and sleep in my apartment, after we went to the Ble Noir--a crepe restaurant I have been dying to try.  

Jerry's meal

I have been wanting to patronize this place for several reasons.  First, I love crepes, and this place uses Bretagne recipes.  Secondly, I want to learn to make them and am looking for any and all ideas.  But most importantly, I heard from someone who witnessed it firsthand that this owner took the homeless guy who hangs out at the Carrefour front door, brought him into the restaurant and fed him a hot meal. That counts for a lot with me.  If anyone is going to get my business, it's going to be someone with those values.

Diane's dinner

So, after I did several hours worth of district work, we went to supper.  The meal was superb; Diane wanted to tell the owner that it was the best meal of her life.  He asked if we spoke French--I told him I did a little, so he handed me the French menu, and when I thanked him because I like to practice, he voiced his approval.  But there was no sense of scolding Diane and Jerry because they used English menus.  He was gracious, and had a wonderful  sense of humor.  

My crepe

The salad came in a crepe that had been cooked and then shaped, like a tuille into a little basket.  So clever, and so delicious!  Diane had a ratatouille crepe, Jerry had one with mushrooms and cheese, and I had one with smoked duck breast and potatoes...all scrumptious.   I had a dessert crepe--a swoosh of melted dark chocolate and roasted sliced almonds.  Divine. It was a wonderful meal in my wonderful city.  

Alas, it was up and off early this morning to the station. I presented their tickets to the man in the information booth this morning and he told them to get on the TGV headed for Lyon at 8:30.  Once there, they will need to find a train to get them the rest of the way to Paris, but I don't think that will be a problem.  Everyone is aware of the strike and are used to coping with the disruption caused by such things. However, I will feel much more at ease when I hear that they are safely arrived in Paris and then London.  

It's part of travel, and it's part of life.  We cope, we adapt, we make the best of the situation and try to find the humor and adventure in the situation.  Granted, it's not always easy, but people will help and who knows what new discoveries there are to be made when off the prescribed path. What's the alternative? To never travel? We are in France, not the wilds of the Amazon.  

And today, the article said that the postal carriers are on strike!

Off on the next leg of the Moffit adventure

Making the Most of Their Time Here

Place Andre Chenier, where the luge is

I am so enjoying watching Jerry and Diane discover  Carcassonne, and making their own adventures, quite apart from the ones I have shared with them.  They have adopted their own neighborhood bars, and on Monday they took a trip to the Mediterranean.  Carcassonne is a very liveable place and there is always something to do, I think.  Everyone is enjoying the amusements the city has put up for the holidays.  

Skaters at Place Carnot

Today we three walked the perimeter of the Bastide together for one last time.  The temperatures were mild; it was a nice day for a walk. We all resisted the temptations of carnival food and opted for a snack and hot wine at Place Carnot.  We watched the skaters and the vendors and I wondered about the character on the ice rink--was it Puss in Boots or a big mouse?

An overgrown mouse in a big red hat? The kids loved him.

Roasted chestnuts, anyone?

 Bal at the Chapeau Rouge

Students from the Bodega school

I was reading the paper yesterday and came across an article about the bagpipers I had seen at the Cite on Saturday.  The instrument is called  a bodega.  They are made of the skin of an entire sheep, with drones and a chanter (that's the thing with the holes in it where you play the melody) attached.  Unlike the fancy Scottish bagpipes, these make no attempt to disguise their origins--it's obvious that it used to be alive.  There is a school over in the Black Mountains, not far from Carcassonne, actually, where people can learn to play these bodegas.

This guy was a really good dancer

So, this school came to town and put on a dance last night at the Chapeau Rouge. They brought with them some southern Italian friends, who happened to have a little bagpipe band of their own. They also had an accordion, drums, tambourine, a Jew's harp (can you still say that or have I made a politically incorrect gaffe?), some kind of metal pipe, a weird kind of horn that sounded like a duck howling, a guitar, a ukelele, a bottle, and some instrument that looked like a round oatmeal box with a dowel sticking out of one end. 

The Italian "amis"

The bands began to play and the people began to dance...without artifice, without any sense of self-consciousness, across gender and generational lines.  I saw traditional men/women couples dancing, women dancing with women, at one point I saw two men dancing with one another, and even some children got pulled into the circle and were dancing with the adults. One girl with the build of a ballerina was obviously the belle of the bal ; she never stopped dancing all night.  There was a guy there who was also very good. Oh yes, there were some dancers who probably will never learn a sense of rhythm, but that didn't deter them in the least.  There were people there who were clearly in their 70's; there were children, and a baby in a stroller.  I think we were the only non-Carcassonnaises there. 

One, two, three, four, five, hop

This dance wasn't about "pairing" like dancing can often be..it was about moving to the music.  (Jerry might argue that they were trying to get away from it.)  It was about tradition.  The lady in charge talked about her grandfather playing this music, as did his grandfather before him.  These people are NOT going to let this die a weak and pitiful death, nor are they going to put it in a glass case of a museum for generations to look at.  They are making this music, these dances a part of their twenty-first century lives, and we all are the richer for it.

Country dancing in a circle. 

Monday, Monday

Inside one of the "huts" at Gambetta

Jerry and Diane have set off on their own adventure today, taking the train to the coast. It gladdens my heart to see them making themselves at home here in the Languedoc, which I have come to love so much.  I imagine this is how a parent feels upon sending a child to school for the first time.  They depart for London on Thursday evening, and Bob and Chris are leaving on Friday.  I think I might be a bit lonely when everyone has gone.

The Gambetta carousel

We have so filled the days since their arrival; when I look back upon what we've seen and experienced, I realize why I am exhausted.  Today I am sticking close to home--I will go out for the paper and to take out the recycling and the trash, but otherwise I intend to be home.  A load of dark clothes are in the spin cycle as I write this, and the drying rack is set up and waiting. It's going to be another magnificently sunny day, not too cold and my window seat is begging to be occupied. I have district work to do as well as some writing that came to me at 3:15 this morning.

Pere Noel is not just for kids

 

Frankly, I need some time to process all that I have seen in the past few days:  Pere Noel (a.k.a. Pope Santa);  the torch parade; the two choir concerts; the magic of the Christmas displays, Jerry's playing with the jazz combo...our 1 Euro train trip to Limoux, and our outing to the wilds of the Gorges de Galamus.   I am still vibrating inside from the Soweto concert yesterday.  Carcassonne has only about 50,000 people, but it is a vibrant city; there is always plenty to see and to do.  I am so lucky to be here, and I am grateful every day.

The swoopy, loopy blue lights at Gambetta

Note the penguins at the base of the tree

It's a holiday

Simple and effective

I love this tree

These are like nesting dolls

Lights of the Porte des Jacobins, going into the Bastide

I was here--I finally got Diane to take a photo of me on the Pont Vieux as proof that I really was here.  Sometimes, it's hard to believe.

A windy day on the Pont Vieux

 

Music, Music, Music

Yesterday there was a concert at the Basilica Saint Nazaire up in the cite. It was billed as a concert of English Christmas carols, Spanish and gospel songs.  The Choir of the Fleur d'Espine was performing.  

So off we went, trudging up the hill.  I have to admit that it was easier this time than the first.  I should simply make it a daily trek;  I would be in great shape in another couple of months.

I think those are real pig skins

While we were there we encountered a bagpipe band--a lady bass drum player and a cadre of pipe players.  The bagpipes are pig skins, I think.  You can make out the legs and the tail.  The players inflate them the old fashioned way--by huffing and puffing into them.  Then they seem to stay inflated for a while, and provide the airflow for the pipe.  It's definitely an outdoor instrument.  They played an arrangement of the folk song The Water is Wide, which I had always thought was an American tune.  Maybe all cultures can lay claim to it.  

We went in to the basilica and got seats about 20 minutes before the concert.  The wooden benches were hard, and the basilica was cold.  It made me think about the hardiness of the parishioners who've worshiped there for the past 900 years.  

Choir de Fleur d'Epine

The choir was small-- maybe 17 singers.  The altos and the basses had the bigger numbers, but the smaller sound.  The concert was interestingly programmed, with an emphasis on Spanish language songs.  It wasn't particularly Christmas-y, but then again, how would I know?  I don't speak Spanish, there were no translations nor were there programs.  Some of the things they did showed off the choir's sound, especially in that acoustical space.  I think they could have used a good English coach, and for the first time in my life, I heard gospels sung in French-accented English.  It did not work for me. I no longer can tell the ORCA Singers that they are the whitest sounding choir I have ever heard.

At the end of the concert, the young man who was directing made a plea for tenors and basses.  It's the same the world over.

I thought this was Pere Noel; Jerry calls him Pope Santa

Then we heard a marching band and the bagpipes again last night during the parade.  The Grande March Aux Flambeaux may be one of the highlights of my life.  We could see the torches coming down the cite steps, and then through the streets and across the bridge. Many of the participants were in medieval costumes.  That line of torches, the drum beat, the heat of the flames as they passed by all served to transport me to an earlier time.  I kept trying to imagine what it would have looked like if there were no other lights....it was fabulous.  What a wonderful tradition!  How lucky am I to have gotten to see it!

Torches coming from the cite (look to the left of the center of the photo, and you can see them descending the steps) and then coming through the street toward the Pont Vieux--the bridge where we are standing. 

Today, the capstone was set when we went to hear the Soweto Gospel Choir.  Something about those voices in those harmonies touched my core, and I found myself weeping.  The energy of those singers, the joy, the love of music, the rhythms, the dancing, all kept me spellbound.  I cannot recommend them enough.  In addition to traditional African pieces, they did great arrangements of Bridge Over Troubled Water and In the Arms of An Angel as well as Amazing Grace and the spiritual Amen.  Believe me, they knew what to do with a spiritual!  They ended with the South African National Anthem as their formal tribute to Nelson Mandela.  I am so happy I got to see and experience this group.

Finally, warm.