Alors, mes amis, where were we?
Well, it’s
festival season in France and all sorts of things are happening from ‘Vide
greniers’ everywhere in the smallest towns to ‘fêtes foraines’ (fairgrounds) in
the bigger towns with open spaces, accompanied by live music, dancing and
eating and drinking, and usually fireworks.
A big fête is due here in the port
on the 5th and 6th August with a firework display as well as the most import thing for most Frenchmen - a 'concours de peche', a fishing competition.
Judging by the number of anglers on the canal and river sides I am amazed that fish still allow themselves to be regularly caught, (and mainly returned to the water now, rather than to the table). Laddie loves to watch them and has to be restrained from diving in to pursue the float and learning new French phrases from the bank side. He is getting quite fluent now and enjoys huge cuddles from our frequent visitors and passers -by. The conversation always goes like this:
'Qu'est-ce qu'elle est belle!!'
Me: NON! 'Qu'est-ce qu'il est beau!' He is a garçon. 'Ah, yes he is called Laydee.'
Me: NON! 'Laddie'. Lady is a woman. Ah yes. 'Viens ici Laydi'.
Then, 'where are you from from, Holland?'
'No, Angleterre'
'Do you own the boat?'
'Yes, we come here every summer'
'You sail it from England?'
'No, we bought it in France'
'Really?' (Said with surprise.) 'And what do you do with it in the winter?'
'We moor it in France in September and pick it up in April.'
And so on.....
We have been in St Flo so long that Laddie has trained all the locals who come to their social club (picnic table) every afternoon under the trees in the port, to throw the ball down the slipway for him. Mind you, they have little choice as he runs back soaking wet and sits between their legs and has a good shake, but they don't mind and I get a handshake from them as they arrive and a 'bonsoir' as they leave. (we're fortunately not at kissing stage yet).
Judging by the number of anglers on the canal and river sides I am amazed that fish still allow themselves to be regularly caught, (and mainly returned to the water now, rather than to the table). Laddie loves to watch them and has to be restrained from diving in to pursue the float and learning new French phrases from the bank side. He is getting quite fluent now and enjoys huge cuddles from our frequent visitors and passers -by. The conversation always goes like this:
'Qu'est-ce qu'elle est belle!!'
Me: NON! 'Qu'est-ce qu'il est beau!' He is a garçon. 'Ah, yes he is called Laydee.'
Me: NON! 'Laddie'. Lady is a woman. Ah yes. 'Viens ici Laydi'.
Then, 'where are you from from, Holland?'
'No, Angleterre'
'Do you own the boat?'
'Yes, we come here every summer'
'You sail it from England?'
'No, we bought it in France'
'Really?' (Said with surprise.) 'And what do you do with it in the winter?'
'We moor it in France in September and pick it up in April.'
And so on.....
We have been in St Flo so long that Laddie has trained all the locals who come to their social club (picnic table) every afternoon under the trees in the port, to throw the ball down the slipway for him. Mind you, they have little choice as he runs back soaking wet and sits between their legs and has a good shake, but they don't mind and I get a handshake from them as they arrive and a 'bonsoir' as they leave. (we're fortunately not at kissing stage yet).
Vide Greniers:
Unlike UK there are no charity shops in France as we know them (it is thought they would damage the local economy) so everyone tries to dispose of their old clothes and bric à brac via the Vide Grenier (loft clearance). These are held after heavy local publicity in open spaces in parks or community car parks every weekend. People pay a small fee to spread their unwanted stuff on a cloth on the ground or a trestle table and other people come to spend a morning poking around and scoffing at the dozens of little pot figureens and other accumulated detritus which seems to go round and round year after year. I doubt whether much money changes hands and reports of falling attendances are in the local paper, but the bigger ones create huge interest and parking problems nearby.
Unlike UK there are no charity shops in France as we know them (it is thought they would damage the local economy) so everyone tries to dispose of their old clothes and bric à brac via the Vide Grenier (loft clearance). These are held after heavy local publicity in open spaces in parks or community car parks every weekend. People pay a small fee to spread their unwanted stuff on a cloth on the ground or a trestle table and other people come to spend a morning poking around and scoffing at the dozens of little pot figureens and other accumulated detritus which seems to go round and round year after year. I doubt whether much money changes hands and reports of falling attendances are in the local paper, but the bigger ones create huge interest and parking problems nearby.
Now, as you know, the biggest festival is the 14th
July (Bastille Day ) to commemorate the founding of the Republic, with a public
holiday and huge firework displays in the major towns. This year the big
display was cancelled in Auxerre at the last minute (lunchtime, as boats were in
the process of being moved out of the way on the river Yonne). Apparently now
it is necessary (presumably as an anti terrorist measure to have an explosives
licence signed IN PARIS and someone had either forgotten or not bothered.
Anyway one of Auxerre’s biggest events of the year didn’t happen, but get this:
According to our local daily paper, the Yonne
Republicaine, during the celebrations on the nights of 13th and 14th
July a total of 897 cars were burned, and 368 people arrested. Wow!
That’s what I call a serious celebration. According to the Minister of the
Interior ‘the number of incidents was limited due to the large deployment of
the Forces of Order, and only slightly more than last year’. That’s OK then.
Chatting to Vincent, the port manager here, I remarked
on this, and he seemed totally unsurprised.
‘So do people buy, or even steal, old bangers for the
purpose of a ritual burning?’ (thinking of Guy Fawkes effigies on our bonfires)
‘No they just burn any car. They’ll be insured.’ End of.
While on the subject of cars, 326 people died on
France’s roads in June, up 15% on last year. About one third are due to alcohol
and another third due to speeding. How many are due to speeding drunks is not
noted. I’ve no idea how this compares to the UK, but every day in the local
paper there is a photo of yesterday’s mangled wreck either wrapped around a
tree or another car and the number of dead or injured. You get the names of all
the services who have attended from the hospitals, the police inspector and the
mayor as well as the ‘pompiers’ (firemen) who often take the injured to
hospital. If you’re in trouble in rural France you first dial 18 for the
pompiers and they’ll be first on the scene for any emergency it seems, not just
fires. The local mayor never fails to attend at some stage – good for votes I
guess. In between you’ll get various levels of police and Gendarmes and private
ambulance services, helicopters, whatever it takes- everyone wants a slice of
the action, (and there seems to be plenty of that).
On the plus side we have been taking advantage of
reunion with our air-conditioned car to get away from the waterside and into
the beautiful Burgundy countryside with its rolling hills and massive forests
of oak, ash and a wide variety of hard and softwoods.
We deliberately choose
cross country D roads (Departmental, not national) to get to our destination
and yesterday we drove for 2 or 3 hours on empty roads for mile after mile
through acres and acres of smiling sunflowers and harvested wheat fields under
a sunny blue sky, and weaved through tiny villages and farms as old as time
itself with the occasional dramatic chateau peeking out from behind a screen of
trees and then disappearing when you turn off to look for them. Huge birds of
prey circle in the sky reminding me to drink plenty of water otherwise my
corpse will be contributing to the world wildlife fund. Along the canals herons wait patiently and
then glide gracefully away and settle 100 yards further on to wait for you to
catch up and repeat the exercise over and over seemingly without boredom.
In amongst the empty narrow streets of a tiny village
with dilapidated shutters are sudden surprises: a children’s playground with
bright shiny equipment designed for fun and special exercises which would put
our British swings and roundabouts to shame, and a small art gallery. Breath-taking
views on the way back from the heights of Chablis and dropping down to the
valley floor with literally the world’s supply of Chablis grapes as far as the
eye can see, every row trimmed to perfection, up and down the steep hillsides,
with tractors ‘on stilts ‘ continually watering and pruning this huge source of
wealth for the region.
The canal weed cutter finally arrived here last week - quite a contraption ! No wonder it takes so long to get from place to place - have a look at the video - nope video won't load so you'll have to settle for a picture!
Don’t know where this stuff comes from but hope you
enjoy it.
Ratty and Mole
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