A last look in the rear vision mirror at the top of the hill and the Pyrenees dips
below the horizon. Round the bend and
through another quaint French village – stone buildings and houses splashed
with colour in the flowers in window boxes and brightly painted shutters that
adorn the windows.
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| Vineyards everywhere on the way to Carcassonne |
It’s been a wonderful 4 weeks. Eventful, fun, energetic, learning.
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| My home for a month - I was staying in the bottom apartment |
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| Me, Ruth and Rob |
Ruth and Rob (refer earlier post) accepted me as a HelpX
worker – I emailed Ruth 6 months before coming over. This was, in part, to get to spend some time
putting down some (shallow) roots and doing some work after a busy travelling schedule,
partly to see what being on the other side of HelpX is like (we have hosted
HelpX and Wwoofers for that last 15 years at home on our farm) but largely to
exchange some of my labour for some climbing with some people who are top of
their game.
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| The Ariege Region |
This part of the expectation was exceeded and I ended up doing more climbing in this month than I did on the climbing leg of my trip in Thailand. I’m very grateful to Ruth and Rob for giving me that opportunity and (patiently) teaching me how to move beyond a metaphorical crawl with my climbing.
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| me on a climb - need to practice more footwork |
Vive la difference
Provincial France (at least this part) is a universe away
from the French cities. There are quaint
habits and differences that are a mix or delightful, frustrating and weird in
equal measure.
At one point, there was a French law that required
every town to have it’s own town
hall. Not sure if this arcane law still
exists – though every small township (and large one) seems to have them and
these (Mairie) are often a hive of activity.
There really seems to be a local village community spirit to these. In “our” (I’ve been there only a month and
starting to personalise it!) village of Loubierres, I passed what looked like a
practice for Halloween last Wednesday night – until Ruth reminded me that it’s
actually the kids circus training
night. That’s been going for 4 years and
most of the village kids go to it – to learn juggling, acrobatics and a range
of other circus stuff (physical education dressed up in fun clothes!).
Hop on any French train and you can’t help but be impressed
by the efficiency and cleanliness. For a
country that’s not strong on service or schedule, this particular piece of the
travel puzzle has a Teutonic feel to it.
That’s until you see the French train conductors and breathe a sigh of
relief that you must be in France as you look at their uniforms that look like
they have come straight from a cat walk in Paris.
Service is an interesting concept in provincial France. The French serve themselves first and other’s
needs after. While this was frustrating
at first, there’s a balancing act here somewhere and that started to dawn on
me. At home we are used to the
convenience of late night and 7 day shopping – available at our whim. There are people serving in those shops and
behind those tils.
Here – on Sunday everything is closed (including many of the
public service amenities). Most shops
open around 10.00 – then it’s a mad scramble to get what you need from them
before they close their doors for 2 hours for lunch. That’s right – there’s no such thing as
rostered lunch breaks to provide coverage – the shop announces you have 5
minutes to get what you want and clear out before it closes it’s doors. Opening again around 2.00 then up until
around 7.00pm in some cases. In the
intervening lunch hour, there is a mini traffic congestion as everyone goes
home to have lunch together with their families. 4 sets of rush hour – though in the villages
of the Pyrenees, that equates to a few extra minutes on the journey.
In the small villages as you drive by at lunch time, you see
families (of all different ages) sitting at a table outside eating lunch and
communing.
On the topic of traffic – there’s a little competition to
see how many foreign cars you can spot..
A bit of mental arithmetic at the end of each journey and you would be
lucky if more than 10% of the cars you saw weren’t French. Either there’s a fierce patriotism here or
the import duties on foreign vehicles are enough to make you patriotic (a
little of both I think?). Most cars are
small and economical and indicators are clearly optional.
The French take pride in their land – including the little
plots that adorn the back yard of the old houses. Most are immaculately kept – though not with
lawns but with vege patches.
So,with a two hour lunch break, a unionised working week of
35 hours or less and school that runs 4
days a week (the local school is closed on Wednesday and also enjoys the 2hour
lunch break in between each day) it’s hard to know how France will or can
compete with some other industrialised nations.
One word that has it’s origins in France – and you realise
why when you’ve been here a while:
·
Bureaucracy
One French phrase – ditto
·
Jeaux de vivre
Right angles
If you are lucky enough to own, live in or work on any old
building here you soon come to realise there’s no such thing as a straight
line, right angle or level. Decide what
you would rather have – a modern and symmetrical building/construction of modern materials that will be lucky to see
out it’s half century, or a quaint old building hewn of stone, oak and tiles
that is up to half a millennia old and brimming with character? Theoretically I know which I would opt for –
though when the “brimming with character” bit becomes a DIY maintenance task it
becomes less romantic.
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| The ceiling in the house - 400 year old oak - not a straight line in sight |
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| Ruth on an 8a grade project |
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| Laurence on an 8a roof climb - you wouldn't guess she is in her 50's! |
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| the old Cathar castle in Carcossonne |
At times while working on gib board, plastering, stairs or
roof beams I would have a chuckle and wish that my friend John the builder were
here – it would drive him completely insane.
After all, life in a straight line sounds pretty boring.
If you do manage to go to a local swimming pool at a time
it’s actually open, then make sure you are covered for the dress code. While I have a perfectly good pair of
swimming shorts made by “speedo”, they are not acceptable for swimming in the
pool. You need briefs (Budgie Smugglers
as some call them), a swimming hat and goggles.
Things I’ll miss:
·
The cheese (emmental)
·
The wine
·
The history
·
Climbing in the Ariege
·
The people I’ve met
·
The weather (autumn and 28 degrees)
·
Driving/cycling through the villages
·
Not seeing any shopping malls
·
Living in a 400 year old house
Things I won’t miss:
·
The bureaucracy
·
Waiting for service
·
Supermarkets without eggs
·
French telecommunications
·
Opening hours of “public amenities”
·
The ceiling height of 400 year old houses
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