Bergerac, a kinder, gentler place.

Today we get up and as it’s Sunday we have a leisurely breakfast, me the toast and coffee, Cindy has mixed slices of fruit and coffee….separately, and Caleigh has a bowl of sugar coated cereal with milk…..combined in a bowl, without the use of a spoon. In record time we are wheeling down the French country side. “Good job team, the beach master at Dunkirk would be proud of you.” For all my constant buffoonery at their and my expense, I couldn’t buy…ask for better traveling companions. We make the 26 kilometer drive in just under a half an hour, the day is crystal clear. Sunny but cool, and we arrive at noon. A note to any filming location scouts out there, you want a gorgeous ancient French river town location with no one to get into your shots, late January on any Sunday. One word Bergerac, France. Alright two words. We park our zippy little Citroen in a lot by the river and get out. After about five minutes we close our collective mouths and smile, nice, a little too nice. I scout the roof tops for sniper positions, none, look around for police barricades, none. guys in hazmat suits pointing at us, nope. Well lets go into this deserted ancient city. Again its Sunday in the offest of off seasons and every tiny block has a boulangerie, which if you didn’t know is where the French manufacture their currency, the baguette. We walk down narrow architecturally decedent streets, every example of French architecture is represented, well all the good examples, they fortunately didn’t have a mini Pompidou center discarded in it’s midst. The main Church steeple was cocooned in scaffolding and netting giving it a decidedly industrial artsy look to it, like a Hugh Ferris charcoal sketch, had only the weather been overcast and gray. We stopped across the street from the still life steeple and ordered a few treats from the Patisserie, I got a café éclair, Caleigh got a strawberry filled doughnut, and Cindy intelligently ordered a baguette sandwich sub thingy. Mine was so better than Caleigh’s. We continued around this empty city, Caleigh commented on how much she liked Bergerac, which was so unlike her, not about being positive but about analyzing a city’s merits and comparing it to a more hip metro city. I think she was dead on, it’s a very intimate city, but it has layers, there is the romantic aspect of the older section, with a statue of Cyrano De Bergerac, who if you must know did not come from Bergerac. Then there is the river, with all the nice bridges, and boat ride offerings, on my favorite river; the Dordogne. And there’s a commercial section I didn’t see, nice if a city can do it, and the outer environs.
The surrounding countryside did not abruptly slam into the outer defensive suburban ring, instead it cooperated and blended in with out drama, there were Gironde styled houses surrounded by their acreage, and small farmhouses scattered close to residential streets. We continued on our walking tour and came to a city square where they must hold their weekly market, great location. Across from the market square was a memorial honoring the fallen in 1870, surrounded by a beautiful garden. It was at the memorial for the battle of 1870 where I took a half dozen of the most beautiful photographs I’ve ever taken of some frosted flowers. There were little things that added up to a well thought out city plan, public toilets, by which I mean available for public use not some toilet by itself in the middle of a sidewalk. I won’t make that mistake again, hey I thought they had just installed it, not that some bozo…mime had dropped it off and had to go park his Renault. Cindy had wished that more things were open so we could experience it in it’s more natural state, but I have to disagree. We were the recipients of a divine gift, we got to road test this city by our selves with out having to wait in bumper to bumper traffic of people. We will return in a couple days to Bergerac, hopefully on market day to see the spices they use to flavor this most beautiful city.

Bordeaux redux; sil vous plait...ball

When I was young, about twelve, I was visiting my grandmother and grandfather in Providence, R.I. My grandfather was at Brown University as the dean of students, and I was at Gram’s with my family. During the course of the day, my mother left Saskia my younger sister, and I alone with Gram. Well to make a long story short, I scraped my knee up pretty well, and was on the porch crying. She approached me and sequestered Saskia into the kitchen to pour some glasses of fresh lemonade she had just prepared. I remember this frail elderly matriarch sitting down next to me and holding my hand and looking into my tear stained face and sweetly ask me, “ Do you know where you find sympathy in Webster’s dictionary Henry?” Quivering I meekly answered, “ Why no Gram, where would I find it?” Still looking into my eyes she answered, “ Between syphilis and shit, now get in to the kitchen and help Saki get those lemonades.”
Well we just got back from Bordeaux and that’s how I felt the entire way back. My own fault really. Caleigh and a couple of her friends had plotted,…planned on taking the train to Bordeaux and meeting a few fifteen year old school chums enroute. Simple huh, and no I’m not out of my #$%$@ing mind. We were informed by a couple parents this was the norm. This was also reinforced by our daughter, who obviously had no stake in the outcome. Well throughout the week the plans were fine tuned, to the point where it still didn’t add up, so I volunteered to drive them, and Cindy offered as well to make a day of it. Well that was as good as this fieldtrip ever got, the best laid plans of mice and men…..more like two wet feral cats fighting in a small canvas sack. The day before we were to leave, one of the friends cold / flu hadn’t gotten any better, and for her wellbeing she would stay at home. It was at that point that Cindy and I were considering just calling it off, but insanity prevailed.
“High and inside swinging , Strike One”
Driving to the wine capital, soon to be whine capital we approach Bordeaux, splendid visually, ok so which map shows the best route into the city center…..
”Low and away swinging, Strike Two”
We finally get over the river and head 180 degrees wrong by north west. We deduce our mistake and correctly circumnavigate to get back on course about twenty minutes later. By now the other friend gets her bearings and correctly identifies the correct subterranean parking structure. Parking is rewarding and as we exit the garage, the rain stops. “Lord thank you for this sign, we shall have a bounteous journey in thy name, and by the way, we are not worthy………..
"Just inside, One ball, two strikes”
Caleigh gets a hold of their friends who arrived earlier. We have cell phones. What could go wrong?
“Back in the batters box batter!”
With our child safely in the hands of one twelve year old and three fifteen year old girls, we set off to explore the wonders of Bordeaux. We walk street by street, a little unnerved as we see the scale of this ancient metropolitan cityscape. As we near the end of this main shopping promenade we start seeing a lot of scary individuals, poster boys for pick pocketing, passport dealing, camera stealing, white slave trade recruiters, and Jacques le Ripper wanna bes, oh my.
“In the dirt swinging, Strike three .”
O.K. we got our phone, “Hi Caleigh, everything O.K.?, …No I’m just checking in …..Hey do me a favor put the Nikon in your purse and lets…ah meet….so where are you?….uh huh.. Hagen das, O.K. where?……..well what do you mean you don’t know, go out and look…………..O.K. we’re near, we’ll be there in fifteen minutes……….no of course you can finish your ----- ice cream.” click We get there and are met by her in the street without her jacket on and without her purse. Ah Fudge,.. “Cal, where’s your jacket and the Camera and your purse?……..O.K. good you left it at the table with your friends, go get them now, …no I don‘t want to discuss anything, go get the camera“………..So she returns and see that everything is fine…..even though ice cream is today’s special replacement item on the menu for good warm healthy lunch…..
”Batter hit by the pitch!……..one ball three strikes, back in the batters box batter!”
So Cindy and I, along with the really valuable camera, head into a nice restaurant. I have the Risotto avec Champignons, she has the Fruits of the land, which was canard, jambon, foie gras ( thinking of you Gary) the meal was great, we paired it with a 25cl caraf of Bordeaux red. We’re finishing our meal and the cell phone rings and I meekly answer……….nothing. Crap the phones dead. Cindy asks for the phone and turns it back on correctly, Caleigh calls back…..“Cal call us in fifteen minutes, were finishing up lunch.” we pay up and depart the restaurant, realizing that had the phone really been dead we would have been somewhere with out a paddle by north west.
“Ohhh, hit by another pitch, right in the back of the neck!……..back in the batters box batter!”
We call her and learn that the other friends have just left so we set up to meet her just down the street. Well not the best laid plans, but we meet up with them and continue by going into a few different stores and head to the parking garage, which we do find. Well all loaded up, ticket paid at the Caisse we proceed to leave this wonderful city that we’ll need to return to. Ideally to make better memories at next visit. The sun is shining and we depart Bordeaux, after spending twenty minutes trying to find the ramp to the bridge.
“ Batter hit by another pitch………back in the batters box batter!…..batter!”
We get on the bridge and at one of the many rotary’s mistakenly head wrong by north east this time. We head northerly for quite a few kilometers and tour St. Emilion then finally make it back onto the correct route and then home.
“Batter is ejected from the game!”
So my mother returns from whatever task she had to accomplish leaving Saskia and I with Gram. I’m still sitting on the porch, looking dejected, alone with my empty plastic lemonade glass. “Well hey sweetie, everything O.K.?” she asks knowing I’m sad. “I scrapped my knee on the sidewalk, and it still hurts.” I whine “Hey, how about Knock, knock?” She knows I try to invent knock, knock jokes to make her laugh when she’s sad. “Yeah that would be swell, thanks.” anxious…..“Knock knock” my mother says……..Real quickly I reply..” Who’s there”….As she starts up the stairs into the house I hear. “ So boo fuckin.”

Love in the time of Consumption

Well, after two days of lying in state, on the second floor of our rented farmhouse, I have emerged from my slumber and am attacking the keyboards once again. Neither sleet, cepacol, or the weight loss functions of consumption shall keep me from the appointed stories. Cindy dealt with the same mutant cold / flu double whammy with a lot more perseverance than I. I was reduced to a coma like condition, with an exaggerated nasally whiny “ leave me alone to die all alone in this bed”. In retrospect it was a miserable combo, one I wouldn’t wish on anyone, well maybe a couple people. This all started after we took Caleigh to a local Doctor, and she was diagnosed with a sinus infection. So after an exam, and the prescriptions ( 3 ) we were out about 32 euros‘. All of you that think that socialized medicine is the root of all evil, I pray never have a child with a serious sickness that forces you to sell everything in order to provide for your loved ones. Sure they play the accordion way to much in their music, but their priorities aren’t linked to health and pharmaceutical companies profit lines. I won’t mention politics or religion again, as this is blog tries to rise above the primordial issues of state and religion. Primordial or Byzantine? Caleigh is flourishing, today at school she is taking an exam for her International Scooter license, too bad the reference material is in French, as it should be, but I believe she will have someone translating for her during the test, and before the test she should have time to review with a school chum the regulations for that exam. For those of you that think what a trooper she is, in reality she doesn’t have it too bad, the school lunch program runs about 113 euros per trimester, and the food is great, the main problem is they only have an hour and a half in which to scarf it done. This weekend our little Audrey Hepburn is going to Bordeaux with 5 other friends shopping. We’ll drive Caleigh and two of her friends to Bordeaux, and the other three older girls will take the train. Then Cindy and I will window shop, as Caleigh will have our weekly allowance as shopping monies. Then horrors of horrors we’ll meet up with the group and escort the little campers home, much to their embarrassment. When I was a kid, if I had a problem with plans my folks made the solution was real easy, sit at home and play with a piece of wood and a hoop. And the hoop wasn’t a new hoop, nor painted. Well if we’re going to be in Bordeaux, I might have time to research some of their local products, or at least buy a couple bottles…..ah buy a couple samples of their specialties. Cindy and I have deduced that the best lunch deals are at local brasserie’s, and just order their special that day. We had been to cafeterias, hotel restaurants, and the occasional LeHoutearx for their famous buffalo wings. We had some pretty bad meals until we stopped at a couple brasseries, not exquisite, but a lot better than our regular fare, and reasonable. Well I’m sorry for the delays in getting posts done but I’ve been under the weather, what exactly does under the weather mean?

Viva La France or Viva la differance!

Today Cindy and I drove around the immediate area, we drove northwest towards Sainte Foy le Grande, then south and inland towards Pardallian. Our mission today was to get a weekly planner as required by the school for Caleigh. We’ve managed to shop for all 52 items and only require the planner to finish off the list. Kind of funny and maddening at the same time. We’ve translated the list and matched it with the items at four different stores, and this silly planner has bested us. We bought a daily, weekly, and monthly, but can’t find a the correct weekly type, after returning the others we’re S.O. L. or as they might say here Merde outta luck. So we’re driving through the rolling hills, it’s still winter, the trees are bare. As we drive by the trees appear to have been uprooted and shaken of all soil and stuck back in the ground upside down, just the bare roots sticking up in the air. We’ve had rain, and in a few months the those bare limbs will start to sprout green. Caleigh has still got a steep learning curve to deal with in the French school, at thirteen her spirit still pushes her onward, but the language barrier does get frustrating. In all the articles I had read previously, there was a two to three month span of frustration to look forward to. Well not look forward to, but to be ready to lend emotional support to. She to her credit was prepped prior to and still has a very mature approach to it. I see it as her knowing that she is getting small bits at a time, that hopefully as the French saying goes. “Little by little the bird builds it’s nest” is an apt saying. When you think of the complexity of a nest, then the monumental task accomplished by a small winged creature, that piece by piece, constructs this marvel of nature. I think it equals the magnificence of a spider web, incomprehensible in scope, and elegant in its simplicity. That’s what she’s doing, piece by piece putting together sounds, words, and sentence structure to adapt to her existing language base and parallel it to another alien language. Christ, I have Cindy occasionally proof read my observations, and she must be flummoxed by someone of my age murdering the English language and grammar, which is my primary language. Well, I’ve got to keep this short, as tomorrow morning I’m driving the petite students to the bus stop. Next morning: Got up late, thought I had the morning off as I’m coming down with what Cindy has been fighting all weekend. I picked up the kids and as I was driving up the last hill to Soumensac, the tour (School ) bus was heading down the hill, so I enquired where to for the next bus stop and was given basic directions, dropped off the kids at the second stop in time. Today Cindy and I drove down south to Agen, A beautiful river side city. We try to take different routes around the area, trying to see as much as possible, when taking a long drive. Today our goal was the large department store Darty. Our main objective was to see Agen, after reading about it, but it gave purpose. Let me continue with the ending,…or maybe not the ending, but another chapter in the absurd. We have been trying to get a weekly planner for Caleigh’s school, not any run of the $%&^&ing mill planner, but a magic three bean planner for school. Today we drove to Agen, and knew there was a Darty enroute to Agen, just this side of Agen, printed the store locator and everything. Well everything but find it, we are quite competent in all of our day to day tasks, chores, etc. This planner will have probably cost us, 125 dollars in gas, 8 dollars in incorrect planners, and one marriage. Actually it has become a mildly funny rallying cause for us. We have seen more of France, laughed in traffic instead of nerving out, learned more routes around our town, and gotten comfortable filling up our gas tank and we‘ve done it together, and we’re enjoying our time together, instead of worrying if we were going to be bored of each other while Caleigh was in school and we were stuck together. Which is something we hadn’t planned on, who needs a fuc$%^g planner, we have each other.

the price is right

Well today should be interesting, we have our 10:00 class / senior care providing appointment. Cindy and I answered an add placed outside the local tourist Information office. It read something like. “Lady, licensed to teach English would like to make a mutual arrangement to offer French Lessons, enquire at“. And so on. We met her with her cat Lord Nelson, who was, as cats should be, very disinterested in us. She was a mature lady, we met for an hour, and she was extremely interesting, in the nice way. It is only upon reflection, and I can’t say for sure why, that I felt a little light go off in the back of my dimly lit mind. Was this going to be a mutually beneficial set up or were we, the naive American rubes, being set up. The deal is that we will help her with grocery shopping and lend a hand with household stuff, and she would help us with French lessons. There are either so many ways to spin this, or I am essentially “a ungrateful spoilt little shit“, ( Thank you Mom for providing me with that phrase, it’s really paying off big dividends now) who has no appreciation, blah, blah, blah. It’s a sad state of affairs when the offer for / to help is regarded with such cynicism.
“My what sad times we live in when voyaging ruffians say “Ne” at will to old ladies, why, there is a pestilence upon this land when even a hard working organizer of shrubs cannot make a decent living…..” Paraphrasing “Monty Python’s Search for the Holy Grail.”
So we’re going to drive her to the local Intermarche and help her shop, we obviously will learn a great deal about French products, or be told to quit lollygagging about and fetch the cat food for older incontinent cats, but with fish flavor not that smelly beef one. You see there’s no polite or funny way to spin this, I’m sure as you read this, someone; where it’s nice and hot, is routering my name on the back of a chair, in a waiting room called Purgatory.
I’m not going to post this until I return and write about how it went, so right now as you read this I’m Driving Mademoiselle Fleur (The French version of Driving Miss Daisy ) in a 2008 Citroen not a 1949 Packard. May God have mercy on my soul.
I’m back:
O.K. so it wasn’t that bad, she really is a dear. Cindy had a fun time conversing, learning about different French produce, products, and shopping methodology. And I, I mastered the French version of shopping carts, gliding next to a woman of advanced years with walking aids, while I steered an independently minded four wheel steering cart. I never once ran or nudged into her. Well, if I did, I pointed inconspicuously to the elder man with the nose bubbles beside us.
There was a false start, when the card reading machine wasn’t accepting her card, after about five attempts I gave Cindy a glance, she was looking at something else, bastard that I am. I’m thinking how subtle I am, and this nice elderly woman is having doubts cast on her from the slow learning one in the group. Another good thing was learning about three different places to shop. Believe me with the hit we’re taking on our U.S. dollar to Euro conversion, we need any help we can get, and isn’t that the first step to recovery.

This weeks bargin

The wonderful storybook town of Eymet, seems as though it is for sale, piecemeal. We stopped in today at an English / French run immobilier ( real estate office) to see what kind of deals were being had on the local market. We were told of a small townhouse that was reduced from 89,000euro’s to 39,000euro’s, all it needed was a new roof and an interior remodel. I can handle an interior remodel all day long, and into the night, but the place seemed too small and dark. So after I dropped Cindy back at the rented farmhouse, I drove into Eymet, walked for an hour around the town. There was a beautiful little townhouse, (74,000euro‘s, 3 bedrooms; I think if you click on the photo, it will open in another window ad enlarge) the picture of which is posted above as this post’s photo. The exterior details are mind numbingly beautiful. To replicate that level of quality and detail would be really cost prohibitive. The drawback was that its on the wrong side of Eymet, on a traffic street and surrounded by commercial blight, garages, other not so beautiful houses. Too bad really, such a nice elevation. As I walked around Eymet I noticed a lot of Agency signs, seemed as though there were two houses for sale on every street.
There was that Farmhouse I described in my last post, so I asked him about it since there was one of their signs out in front of it. He was really pleasant, helpful, but wasn’t sure what I was talking about. Turns out either a competitor or goofy adolescent, or whomever, decided to place one of their agency signs in front of the house. I recalled seeing a hand painted sign out in front of it as well, and told him. I got his card, really liked him a lot, and later drove by the farm house and wrote down the telephone number on the custom Boo Radley hand written sign. When I got back to the farm, I e-mailed him the number on the sign. So any of you reading this, get in touch with me and we can rebuild an eleven hundred year old Farm house structure, free; water damage, structural issues, mechanical equipment, play it right I’ll even let you throw in a pool. The season in Dordogne is unlike any in the world. I’d bank on it! E-mail me and I’ll write back with our banque account information, real quick like. Hello, h-e-l-l-o, any body out there? The number you have reached has temporarily been disconnected ………………………..Limited time only. You-all come back now, yahear.

this is us, this is them, kinda

After our first month in France, I wondered what differences really stood out. I think the most glaring difference was that we spend no time in front of the television. We spend time on the computer surfing the internet, however less time than at home. We only have one point of connection here, which requires us to have shifts. Cindy gets up early and checks her e-mail, the banking statements, and our other bills. While Caleigh is at school, I can log on and research stuff, and when Caleigh gets home from school, she researches ( I-chats with friends). The main reason we don’t watch T.V. obviously is that a: it’s in French, b: the programming is worse the in the states, and c: there’s nothing on, like in the states.
I do recall when we first arrived, someone told me that there is a big difference in attitudes, here in France they don’t care if an athlete has 18 other girlfriends behind his wife’s back. (No that’s not right a golf course has 18) 12 girlfriends behind his wife’s back, he’s just a man. In the U.S. they make a big deal about it, like our priorities are askew. I should have mentioned that European sponsors were also hightailing it off that endorsers putting green, pretty lickety split. I understand what he was implying that we are provincial, and puritan in our values, morals. Its an easy shot to take the intellectual highroad, the stance of how paparahtsi-ish we are as a nation, that’s easy, but try defending the worshiping of Jerry Lewis?
Minor differences are numerous, whether its correct here, or in the states, or neither.
Go into any market in France, and you’ll see: Fresh produce, like in the states, but more selections in France. In France, there is the same stuff in every food supermarket, every region has their specialties sure, but the overwhelming selection is good healthy food , fresh goat cheese, brie, fresh baguettes, meat with out hormone, additives, and organic, and a little bit of sugary cereal, potato chips, and candy. In the states you go to a market in Larchmont village or Encino ( affluent Los Angeles neighborhoods )and there will be nice selections with maybe one isle of twenty selling crap. Go to that same market chain on Western and Crenshaw or Labrea and Pico ( economically challenged neighborhoods )and there will be fifteen isles of crap to four good isles. It’s bizarre, when I lived on Windsor near Crenshaw same thing, Cindy and I were floored. I’m no sociologist, or economist, but the message is pretty odd. I understand supply and demand, basic day to day stuff, but it’s not like that here. The radio stations here take a little getting used to, in the states sure they play most of the same songs repeatedly, but push the scan or preset button and you can find another desirable station, in L.A. anyway. In France I found a likeable station, left to do some errands and came back an hour later, turned on the radio station got busy doing something then it dawned on me twenty minutes later. “ Damn, this guys been talking about something strait for twenty minutes“, it seems they have talk hours and music minutes, maddening. Well the driving here is pretty civil, and I can only compare it to L.A., where I’ve lived for the past twenty years, so that wouldn’t be fair. We don’t have wacko’s here going into schools and shooting kids, that does happen once in a while in Germany, if I recall correctly. We were led to believe that it’s hard to have a bad meal in France, we found that to be true the first two times we were in France, we went gaga over the taste sensations. Each meal seemed to outdo the last, this time not so much. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve has some fun meals, but surprisingly we’ve had some really bad. We went to what I called the French equivalent to Hometown Buffet, we didn’t know that going in, but we knew it going out. I ordered “Faux Fillet”, Faux means false, like Faux marble, it’s a painted finish that looks like marble, Fillet like Fillet-o-fish, a fillet of seafood. Faux Fillet here means sirloin cut of meat, when asked how I like it cooked I answer “medium” that’s actually a little rare, well I was told that meant a little rare, what I got still had a pulse, which was a good thing because all the muscle in my piece of raw gristle was getting a workout. The knife had the French equivalent of Playskol written on it. I ended up leaving half of it still pulsing, hidden under the Mt. Everest side of fries. And as we know fries are the same the world over, except in the states they’re called Freedom Fries.