Law and Order

Last week I had my first encounter with the forces of law and order here in Carcassonne.

After a dash to the Apple Store in Montpellier on the Saturday before last, we left our UK car in the open air parking by the Boulevard Varsovie - it is free on Saturday afternoon and on Sunday and I knew that I would need it early on Monday morning before I had to pay for parking.

Our Renault Laguna has only just arrived back in it's spiritual French homeland after looking after us for 7 years in London. It had made the trip down here many times and was in fact our means of transport when we first came to tour this region and when we first looked at 42rvh, but I only have one parking space here so the Renault was sitting in the public car park until I could find it a permanent home.

Alas, when I went to get it on Monday morning it wasn't where I left it - it was nowhere to be seen.

I trudged down to the Gendarmerie to report a stolen car but was told that it was 'pas vole, mais enlevee' (accents missing I know) - not stolen but towed. It appears there was a 'brocante' on the Sunday morning and there were signs inconveniently placed so that you couldn't actually see them telling you that parking was prohibited for that day - somehow we failed to see the inconveniently placed signs - car was towed.

There were 5 gendarmes lurking around the reception desk of the police station. The one with the biggest moustache and the thickest incomprehensible accent did all the talking, another wrote out the fine and gave me the form I needed to get the car back from the 'fourriere' (car pound) and the rest said nothing but tried their best to look cool and intimidating, which worked very well.

Despite my best efforts I left none the wiser as to where my car was and what to do next to get it back.

At the Mairie they told me I had to go to the Gendarmerie - thanks. At least the "Police Municipale' told me where the car pound was - well sort of - opposite the Decathlon store, tucked down a little side road. We drove up and down the road for half an hour before we spotted the place, which was of course locked up - but at least we could see the Renault and knew where it was.

We were trying to decide what to do next when an Audi Avant pulled up driven by a swarthy (and handsome, apparently) Mediterranean bloke who demanded what we wanted, disappeared and returned with a key, extracted €96 from me and gave us back the car. He was in fact very charming about the whole thing and told me I needed to visit the police station to pay the fine before he gave my wife a cheery wave as he left!!

I went to the police station again the following day and was greeted by a completely different group of gendarmes who couldn't have been more helpful. 'Yes, you can pay the fine here' and 'Yes, the signs could have been more clearly displayed' and 'Yes, this is the same desk that issued you the ticket'. It would seem that the great Socialist French state is still working to keep as many people in employment as it possibly can - obviously the policeman who issued me the ticket was not authorised to receive payment for said ticket or he would have undoubtedly told me so at the time - wouldn't he?

The towage and the fine cost me €130 in total so a permanent solution to the Renault parking was needed. A friend had told me that the underground parking in town was no more expensive long term than renting a private garage, so that seemed to be the best option.

So it was that I took the car to the Place Gambetta and spoke to the man in the office on the lower ground floor.
"I'd like to buy an annual parking ticket please"
"No, not possible", was the reply
"A quarter?"
"Non"
"A month?"
"Non"

I could buy a seven day pass that would (nearly) take me to the end of the month. Then, I hope, I can buy a monthly ticket that will take me to the end of June and then I can buy, I think, a half yearly ticket to the end of the year and then, finally, I will be able to buy an annual ticket - but if I don't turn up on the last day of the month or the first day of the following month I will have missed my chance! Bonkers.

Bonkers indeed but part of the charm nonetheless - there are things about France that are very different but unless you go with the flow you will just find it all too stressful. So I can't buy an annual season ticket from 20th May to 20th May next year - I have to go back at the end of the week and start the haggling once again.

Just remember, it's all part of the charm

A new start

So much for my April pronouncement about restarting my blog writing in earnest - six weeks has passed since then without a word being typed here - it's time to get up to date.

Here is the shortened version of events;

- the Winter was spent mostly in London trying to decide where our future lay - that is, was I moving back to London or was Debrah moving out to France?

- it was complicated by Christian moving out and going to college in Falmouth, being unhappy and missing London, Amy finishing college and getting a job in London and moving in with us and stressing out Debrah cos she wasn't Christian and by me not earning very much money for several months when I could have tried a bit harder to find some work.

- we decided to sell our London apartment without knowing any answers and got an offer that we didn't expect and so accepted still without knowing any answers.

- a fabulous few days of weather in France plus some very bizarre signs and pointers from a totally unexpected source convinced us both that our future lay in France (don't ask because I couldn't ever possibly tell anyone what really happened - but well spooky that's for sure)

- the whole London sale thing became a complete nightmare of buyer pulling out on exchange and trying to force the price which he did but he was already paying over the odds so in the end we still got an excellent deal but it was incredibly stressful and annoying to say the very least.

- we officially moved to France on 1st May 2010

- we have been trying to combine two lots of furniture and household effects into one and now have a storage container full of stuff on the edge of town which still needs to be sorted out.

- Debrah is heading back to London every other week for a few days because they insist on paying her good money to do so but she isn't happy about the whole thing so we shall see how long that lasts.

- 42rvh is stacked full of clients in May and June, despite the economic meltdown, the political vacuum in the UK and the mysterious ash cloud which I am convinced is some sort of sinister hoax designed to meltdown the airline industry.

- our recently imported UK Renault got towed last week, because I didn't notice the sign for the brocante the next day, which cost me about 130 euros in total which is very very annoying but a damn sight cheaper than it would have been in London.

- we are both very very happy with our new life in France and very much in love

There you are - what more can I say?

New Blog Start

My blog writing has become extremely tardy of late but that's because there is so much going on but at the same time nothing is actually confirmed so I don't really want to go public with it all. To hell with that, you might say - this is a blog not a press release and that would be a very valid point of view.

My blog writing has become trapped between saying what is happening and what I feel and how it is and treading a fine line of being publicly and politically correct because somebody might read it and get upset. I am not sure how this state of being came about - many of my past blogs have seriously upset a huge number of people and was I bothered - well yes, but actually no.

I don't think there is any point writing a personal blog unless it is says what you feel, think or believe, even if that be wrong, erroneous or misguided because none of us is perfect, all seeing and knowing or beyond reproach. If we get it wrong then plenty of people will tell us so and that's how it should be and hopefully we learn from those experiences.

Where am I going with this? - not sure really but hopefully tomorrow I will just start writing my blog once more, outlining my everyday experiences and relating what is going on in my life without the censor's pen, political correctness or being over-sensitive about upsetting people (mrs lady wife excepted of course)

Recycling our lives

After another few weeks in London with Debrah, I flew back to Carcassonne today ahead of the Easter weekend. Debrah is following in a couple of days for a well deserved break from her job and her office.

The last few months have involved an enormous amount of soul-searching by us both as we determined to solve our 'living in different countries' conundrum. It hasn't been easy but decisions have been made and our lives are about to change which is all very exciting - but more of that another time.

Back here in Carcassonne and excitement is measured in different degrees from life-changing decisions. The programme for the Summer music festival has been announced and we have new recycling bins on the corner of the street - oh, and apparently sushi has arrived somewhere in town.

This year the music festival starts earlier than normal, in mid June, and goes on well into August which I think is a good move. It used to be crammed into three weeks of July with concerts every night, which was too intense. There will be the usual mix of classical, dance, theatre and contemporary French and International music - the highlights of which are Bob Dylan, Carmen, Jamiroquai, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Mika, Ballet Bejart, Motorhead, The Cranberries, Saoud Massa, Simple Minds and Roberto Alagna. Something for everybody there I think. Tickets go on sale tomorrow.

Now then - waste collection - not a topic to set the pulses racing, I know, but actually it has always been a bit of an issue here in the Bastide, the very heart of Carcassonne. Because the streets are so narrow and because most of the building are split up into apartments, it is impossible for everyone to have their own dustbin - so there are bins at every junction and there are collections three times a day, every single day of the year, which is most impressive.

The problem though was that everything went in the same bins and therefore recycling just didn't happen. There are bins/collection points for glass, paper and cardboard and plastics at different points throughout the town but human nature being what it is, they weren't used as well as they should have been.

Now at least we have a recycling bin and general waste bin on every corner if not in every home. Sure, it isn't perfect and still requires everyone to do their own waste separation but so does every recycling system that exists anywhere in the world. I was encouraged by my first trip to the bins - it very much looked as if everyone was playing their part - good for them.

As for the sushi, well I need to do a bit more exploring and research to find out exactly where and what has arrived - it remains to be seen whether Carcassonne is yet ready for such a bold move but I hope so - if the quality is good it will be a welcome addition to our culinary options.

I don't believe it

What an extraordinary day!

On Saturday I was sat outside Cafe Saillan enjoying some lunch, some wine, some chat with friends and 20 degree heat from a cloudless blue sky. I have the beginnings of a suntan to prove it.

Today, it has snowed incessantly from first light until 6.30pm this evening and dumped a good six inches of the stuff right here in the centre of town. The strong wind meant that the snow was drifting and is considerably deeper in places. I can only imagine what it must be like up in the Haut-Vallee and the Corbieres hills.

The snow warnings were around whilst we soaked up that magical South of France sunshine, one of the main reasons we live here, but you never really believe that it's going to be as bad as predicted - just covering themselves surely.

When I first got up it didn't look that bad - a smattering of snow and just a few flakes falling. A false dawn. It didn't stop snowing though and it was very sticky stuff. I ventured out to the pharmacy and felt like a snowman when I got back.

My departing guests left early on a train for Toulouse. My arriving guests were flying into Toulouse from Hamburg and driving down to Carcassonne. As the hours went by and the snow continued to relentlessly pile up and I had heard nothing from them, I wondered if they would arrive at all. When I heard that the A61 autoroute was blocked I feared the worst.

But sometime after 4pm the doorbell sounded and a very slightly shocked mother and daughter, here to practice French (no point looking at me then), stumbled in from the snow wearing inappropriate shoes. Poor things. It had taken them three to four hours for a journey that should take an hour and a half at most.

There was no point them trying to explore the town or walk up to the castle (I later ventured out to survey the scene - when I got to the old bridge I couldn't even see the Cité for the snow still swirling around in the air) so I persuaded them to take a bunch of dvd's and snuggle up in the safe and warm of their suite for the evening.

Earlier, I had noticed that the tree in the courtyard was looking in a more stressful state as the day developed with the weight of the snow pulling down the branches dangerously low to the ground. Whilst preparing my supper this evening, I heard an almightly crack and swooshing sound and knew what had happened. I rushed to the bedroom window to find a huge branch had come down onto the courtyard, neatly resting next to my snow laden car. I will have to deal with that tomorrow - I just hope the other branches manage to hang on in there.

At least it has now stopped snowing and indeed there are signs that some of the snow is melting. It had better get on with it - I am not sure that I could cope with yet another flight cancellation on Wednesday.

Hosting and Cooking

The flight was an hour late because of ice and snow at East Midlands but that allowed the morning rain to clear here in Carcassonne - so in the end it worked out just fine for my four new guests yesterday.

They are a jolly bunch, much taken to laughter and joking and having a good time, which is what you expect from guests on a weekend break (we have had some dullards here in the past) so it was a pleasure to spend an hour with them last night over some canapes and cocktails in true 42rvh style.

In fact the canapes had all been devoured by the time I had mixed the drinks, which for me is a compliment - it means they enjoyed them. They were particularly enthusiastic about the beetroot puree and goats cheese which is extra pleasing because it was the first time that I had served that particular combination.

It was drizzling and cold again this morning when I sauntered down to the boulangerie. I haven't had to put a client breakfast tray together since the new year but it all soon fell back into place. As with the canapes the night before, there wasn't a crumb left on the tray when I went to collect it.

By the time I went back to the market the sun was shining out of a cloudless sky - it was so nice to feel some warm-ish sunshine on my face. It is still just a bit early for anything new and springlike in the market and the cold winter won't have helped that - but there were signs that things are about to change - the first artichokes up from Spain and tulips on the flower stalls - but for the most part it is still apples, pears and oranges or cabbages, leeks, carrots and blette. All of it fabulous of course but I am itching to get my hands on some new season produce.

I roasted a piece of beef this evening following a recipe from a new cookbook that Debrah had bought for me at Christmas - the recipe was titled 'Grandma's roast beef' and is one of those traditional French recipes handed down through generations that is classic in it's composition, simplicity itself in the preparation and delicious in it's consumption - without actually doing very much to anything the flavours and textures came together sublimely.

It helps enormously that the beef from M Campaci in Les Halles is some of the best beef I have ever eaten or cooked anywhere. I have written before about the traceability of his meat - not to a herd or a farm but direct to the individual animal that the joint came from. I adore that he always tells me, without me ever asking, exactly how long to cook it for and at what temperature - and it isn't because I am English and he thinks I don't know how to cook because he tells the 90 year old grannies just the same and they have probably been cooking beef joints since before he was born. It's just what he does as a true artisan of his trade and I love it.

It was a shame that I didn't have anyone to share it with me and I will be eating the rest of the beef all next week, but I won't hesitate to cook it again, will definitely do it for Debrah and would have no hesitation serving it to guests. A success.

Travel

The plane landed on schedule at exactly 2.15 pm, which meant that we were all subjected to the ridiculous Ryanair fanfare of smugness that announces an on time flight arrival. Annoyingly it was the only thing about my journey to France that was predictable.

My bus, yes I did say bus, changed it's destination half way through the journey to Tottenham Hale Station - so that it terminated at Tottenham Town Hall, which is a good half mile short of where I wanted to be to catch the Stansted Express to the airport. Bit of a discussion with the driver ensued along the lines of I'm not paying again for the last half mile. To his credit he was sympathetic to my concerns and issued me a transfer ticket for the no 41 that was coming up very soon behind us - who knew they had such things or that public transport personnel actually gave a damn in this day and age (don't get me started on the 'let's have a few days off at the drop of a hat for no good reason' tube drivers).

A ten minute delay and a sprint from the bus to the platform to just catch the train. Phew. No time to buy a paper, or a ticket for that matter but it's only a 45 minute 'Express' journey and the guard would be along to take fares no doubt. Wrong in every respect. The train pottered along at barely walking speed for most of the way, taking 20 minutes longer than it should have done and no-one appeared to make me buy a ticket - just someone rather half-heartedly trying to persuade me to buy a coffee type drink. Er, no thank you.

I negotiated security without problem and just as I was about to be enticed by shopping opportunities that I could ill afford, the gate number popped up on the screen for my flight - I decided to head straight over to gate 44 and parked myself near the front of the non-priority queue. Ten minutes on and there weren't that many people at the gate which is a bit unusual - except if the gate number has been changed on the main boards but not announced on the tannoy - the rest of the passengers were happily assembled at gate 42. When the announcement finally came there was a fair amount of course anglo-saxon uttered in the vicinity of gate 44 which I cannot repeat here.

Remarkably I still managed to get a seat on the front row in the plane and figured I'd be out of the airport and home before most people had collected their bags. Perhaps not. When I last flew to London the front steps on the plane malfunctioned and I had to wait for everybody else to get off from the back door before I could disembark - what are the chances of that happening on consecutive flights? I have no idea but that's exactly what occured. How very very tedious.

My good friend David was at the airport to collect me, which was very kind of him - he was so busy chatting away about what had (not) been going on in Carcassonne in my absence that he drove, on auto-pilot, off towards his house rather than mine - which just about summed up my whole journey.