I can't believe it is ten days since I last posted a blog, which means another ten days has gone by and it still feels as if there is tons of work to do. It seems as far away from being completed as it ever was.
No, that's not true actually. That is a bit of a negative take on things which isn't really like me. I am usually optimistic. The glass is half full and it will be alright when it's painted - that's me. But there's been a lot of negativity in the air round here lately and I've felt myself being dragged down into it.
It's difficult to describe without offending people but what use would this blog be if it wasn't honest to the realities of my life here in the Languedoc. So, will everyone stop telling me how to organise things and how to live my life, especially when my life is more sorted than theirs and please stop the hypocrisy and absolutely stop the racism and general doom and gloom. There - I've said it now. That covers several people in one sentence without naming any names or being too offensive I hope.
One person who has been absolutely most fabulous lately is my wife. I feel as close to her as I have ever done and I think she feels the same, which is incredible and wonderful and probably making you all sick. Hey, it's a good thing so don't you dare criticise. The problem is we are spending too much time apart from each other because of this strange double London/Languedoc life we lead. When we bought this apartment the plan was to be in London together and here together, not one here and one there. It's gone a bit pear shaped somewhere so I need to devise a plan to get us in the same country at the same time. For all the wonders of modern communications, there is nothing better than being in the same space and within touching distance.
It has been a big family week. My parents came down to visit for the first time. It might seem strange that they haven't visited before when we have had this place for over two years now. However, sadly, my father is mostly confined to a wheelchair and that makes life for him, and my mother, very difficult - and a first floor apartment that has been a building site for two years is not ideal. In fact, I'm not sure there is anywhere or anything that is ideal for them anymore which is a very sad and sobering thought. The wonderful and expensive hotel they stayed in turned out to have steps down to the room and gravel driveways are not wheelchair friendly. Very few places are - aeroplanes aren't, cars aren't and medieval castles aren't. My fathers wheelchair is very very heavy to push or to lift in and out of a car. I am amazed, and concerned, about how my mother copes with it all.
My hard working and faithful Audi/builders van absolutely could not have coped, so I hired a car for a few days to ferry my parents around and get them too and from the airport in Toulouse. The big Renault Scenic was ideal for the job but not so ideal for the archway under the apartment. It just, with wing mirrors pulled in, which makes reversing even harder, got through but then it had no room to manouevre once there. Ever the opportunist, I made full use of the Scenic's much greater load capacity by collecting the extra porcelain tiles that had been ordered for the apartment bathroom and kitchen and, after dropping my parents back at Toulouse airport, I hot-footed it to Ikea and bought back all the kitchen units for both the apartment and studio. After unloading all the flat packs all that remained to do was to take the hire car back. I am still not sure how and I am still really cross with myself, but after squeezing the Scenic back through the arch for one last time I crunched it against one of the many metal bollards that line the streets here in the bastide town - aaaahhhhhh! There wasn't much damage but there will be damage to my wallet that I could do without. I still can't quite believe it happened - especially as I was saying to myself "just one more time through the arch - be silly to scratch it now - doh!"
The other family event of the week was my youngest daughter's seventeenth birthday. I sent her a text message (actually I sent it to my wife first, who was a bit surprised as her birthday is in August). When I finally sent it to the right person, I got a reply which said "thankyou - I don't mean to be rude, but who are you?". That's great isn't it. My own daughter doesn't even have my mobile phone number on her phone so didn't know it was a message from her dad. Charming.
Mind you, with the week I've had (car scrapes and brain fades), I'm not in a position to have a go at anyone else. Let's hope I keep it all together this week - you'll be the first to know if I don't.
27 May 2007
17 May 2007
Dust
I really don't mind managing the renovation. I carefully account for every penny (centime) that is spent. I organise and plan the logistics of getting the right material and fixtures and fittings delivered and available when needed ( subject to the French system of not wanting to sell you anything!). I am very keen to learn new skills that will both benefit me and speed up the renovation process. I work on my London job whenever needed, at any time of day. I work on the renovation whenever needed, at any time of day. I keep the place clean. I prepare lunch and dinner every day. I do all the shopping as necessary. I leave the skilled work to the genius and help him as much as I can, which means I do a lot of labouring, and all the painting and the goddam, bloody awful, absolutely crappy job of sanding down the splatter shite that was indescriminately sprayed all over the walls and ceilings of the separate apartment and the studio.
I have raised this subject before but I hesitate not to raise it again. Attacking the walls isn't too bad as most of the dust falls straight down to the floor (most, that is). The ceilings, however, are a different matter, because they are impossible to do without getting absolutely covered with the resultant residue of plaster and dust - in my hair, in my eyes and despite my protective mask, up my nose and in my mouth.
We have tried to minimise the effects The walls are done by hand in small sections and cleaned up immediately. The ceilings are done at the end of the working day - all tools removed from the immediate vicinity, all interconnecting doors shut, the genius and his computer/music provider made scarce.
After five minutes, you are happily sanding away; arms don't ache, you can still see what you are doing and you are breathing normally but the air is a bit cloudy with the dust. After fifteen minutes, your arms are starting to ache, your eyes are getting bombarded with bits of debris, visibility is reduced and you are wondering how much more you can do. After thirty minutes you have more than had enough, your arms are burning, your eyes are smarting and clogged up and visibility is zero in the dust filled air. So I shut the door and leave the dust to settle until the morning when the first job is to clean up. In the meantime I become a walking dust ball - it is impossible to move from work room to shower without leaving a trail of dust. I look like a yeti - I look like a scary monster according to my wife. Everything I touch results in a small dust cloud. Taking my work clothes off before showering results in a large pile of dust on the bathroom floor. Please, please someone save me from the dust.
I have raised this subject before but I hesitate not to raise it again. Attacking the walls isn't too bad as most of the dust falls straight down to the floor (most, that is). The ceilings, however, are a different matter, because they are impossible to do without getting absolutely covered with the resultant residue of plaster and dust - in my hair, in my eyes and despite my protective mask, up my nose and in my mouth.
We have tried to minimise the effects The walls are done by hand in small sections and cleaned up immediately. The ceilings are done at the end of the working day - all tools removed from the immediate vicinity, all interconnecting doors shut, the genius and his computer/music provider made scarce.
After five minutes, you are happily sanding away; arms don't ache, you can still see what you are doing and you are breathing normally but the air is a bit cloudy with the dust. After fifteen minutes, your arms are starting to ache, your eyes are getting bombarded with bits of debris, visibility is reduced and you are wondering how much more you can do. After thirty minutes you have more than had enough, your arms are burning, your eyes are smarting and clogged up and visibility is zero in the dust filled air. So I shut the door and leave the dust to settle until the morning when the first job is to clean up. In the meantime I become a walking dust ball - it is impossible to move from work room to shower without leaving a trail of dust. I look like a yeti - I look like a scary monster according to my wife. Everything I touch results in a small dust cloud. Taking my work clothes off before showering results in a large pile of dust on the bathroom floor. Please, please someone save me from the dust.
16 May 2007
A new me?
Oh dear. My brain has stopped working. I am suddenly struggling to post a blog. I have only posted two in May so far and the last one was ten days ago. 'Struggling', I hear you say - I know, I know - I am writing now but am I saying anything? I have started writing this in the hope that inspiration will follow, but there is no guarantee, and you will be the judge of my success or not.
So, the last ten days - it has been pretty busy really. In summary, went back to London, did 3 days solid work, had a fantastic weekend with my wife, returned to France, got stuck into the renovation again, and it has rained every single day, both in London and here in Carcassonne. That sounds terribly bland, but actually it was all really good, apart from the rain, that is.
I am very happy and very excited that a second round of funding has been successfully raised for the company that I 'look after' in London. Firstly, it means that I have been paid for the first time in three months which is one great big enormous relief, to say the least. Secondly, it means that the project can progress, which will be fantastic for everyone in the entire world - I kid you not - the product under development is that good, but you will just have to wait and see to understand the magnitude of my claim. The important thing is that the project is back up and running and suppliers have been briefed and commissioned and initial agreements have been negotiated and signed.
The MD of the business keeps referring to me as her 'caped FD' - you'd have to ask her for an explanation but it is rather flattering to be thought of as some sort of superhero - and I don't mean that in any grandiose, inflated ego sort of way, because I have spent a good deal of the last two years putting myself down and thinking that I am not worthy - I have suffered a crisis of confidence in myself which led to a fairly self-destructive downward spiral.....but not any more. No more with the negative vibes. I know that this product will come to market and be a success. I know that the renovation will be completed on time and be fully booked from the start. I just know it, because I know that any problems along the way can be overcome and will be overcome - how sickeningly smug and positive is that - it is the new me.
So, the last ten days - it has been pretty busy really. In summary, went back to London, did 3 days solid work, had a fantastic weekend with my wife, returned to France, got stuck into the renovation again, and it has rained every single day, both in London and here in Carcassonne. That sounds terribly bland, but actually it was all really good, apart from the rain, that is.
I am very happy and very excited that a second round of funding has been successfully raised for the company that I 'look after' in London. Firstly, it means that I have been paid for the first time in three months which is one great big enormous relief, to say the least. Secondly, it means that the project can progress, which will be fantastic for everyone in the entire world - I kid you not - the product under development is that good, but you will just have to wait and see to understand the magnitude of my claim. The important thing is that the project is back up and running and suppliers have been briefed and commissioned and initial agreements have been negotiated and signed.
The MD of the business keeps referring to me as her 'caped FD' - you'd have to ask her for an explanation but it is rather flattering to be thought of as some sort of superhero - and I don't mean that in any grandiose, inflated ego sort of way, because I have spent a good deal of the last two years putting myself down and thinking that I am not worthy - I have suffered a crisis of confidence in myself which led to a fairly self-destructive downward spiral.....but not any more. No more with the negative vibes. I know that this product will come to market and be a success. I know that the renovation will be completed on time and be fully booked from the start. I just know it, because I know that any problems along the way can be overcome and will be overcome - how sickeningly smug and positive is that - it is the new me.
07 May 2007
Taking a break
Last week seemed to be really frustrating. It seemed as if progress was slow. It seemed as if the satisfaction of daily achievement had been replaced by a feeling of 'what have we done today?'
I'm not sure why this was. I say 'seemed' because, in actuality, a lot of progress was made. Most of the boarding is finished, all the plumbing is in place and just waiting to be tested with water in the pipes (a fairly essential step), the broken glass in the main living room has been replaced and so on. Despite this, somehow last week felt like we were standing still.
The extra porcelain tile order had not come in and the tile shop weren't sure why. My IKEA order for the apartment and studio kitchen looks like it will take longer than I expected to arrive and there is still a discrepancy between my order and their order confirmation to iron out. The false door on the front of the dishwasher fell off because my previously overpaid and useless builders had overtightened the screws on it and mangled the chipboard interior. I spent a large part of every day working on stuff for London, which is fine because it's my job, but is harder to manage when demands are spread over the week for an hour here or there rather than a block of time that I can devote solely to it.
So maybe it was a good time for us all to be taking a break. 'The genius' went back to England last Thursday to spend the bank holiday weekend with his girlfriend - he is back tomorrow. My wife flew down to Bergerac to stay with friends who have a chateau about halfway between Bergerac and Bordeaux - and I drove up to spend the weekend with her and them.
They bought the place four years ago and have transformed what was a house and outbuildings that had seen better days into a fabulous home and also, now, a fantastic holiday location, and they are now letting out the entire house or rooms for most of the year. Their renovation, which included extensive gardens, makes mine look like child's play, but then they had an army of workers, including 'the genius' in his previous role, to help them.
On Saturday evening they invited some English/French friends to dinner - that is English wives with French husbands. It was very interesting and a lot of fun. Both wives spoke fluent French and both husbands spoke very good English and the conversation moved back and forth between the two although mostly it was in English. The two Frenchmen were a contrast in French stereotypes. One, a wine merchant, was reserved, direct to the point of being rude and surly. Something upset him during the dinner conversation, after which he hardly said a word. The other, a lawyer and a confirmed socialist, was interesting, funny, chain smoking and wine drinking and thoroughly charming and entertaining. They could not have been more different and in their respective ways they represented both faces of France - engaging, beguiling and warm on one hand and yet reserved, distant and cold on the other. Needless to say the English wives lived up to expectation by drinking copiously and discussing their husbands intimate details with each other and all and sundry when it suited them - don't you just love them.
It was very, very good to spend some time with my wife away from the usual daily pressures of either Carcassonne or London. I think it was good for us both to be together outside the usual environments and made me realise how long it has been since we had a holiday together. I was especially happy that she decided not to go straight back to London, but returned with me to Carcassonne before we both return to the UK together tomorrow.
Mind you, the frustrations have carried on into the new week. As we came off the autoroute this evening I pulled into Tridome with the objective of ordering the seagrass flooring for the spare room. I was told that they didn't have enough and that they would only re-order when they had sold what they currently had - let's hope there is someone out there who wants a 2m piece of seagrass really soon! - what sort of stock management system is that? - I thought they would order another roll on the basis that I was a confirmed sale of 5.2m worth, but instead I was told to come back in about 15 days! - no wonder this country is falling apart from an economic point of view - like my previous experiences with the Audi service centre, they actively do their best not to make a sale wherever possible.
I'm not sure why this was. I say 'seemed' because, in actuality, a lot of progress was made. Most of the boarding is finished, all the plumbing is in place and just waiting to be tested with water in the pipes (a fairly essential step), the broken glass in the main living room has been replaced and so on. Despite this, somehow last week felt like we were standing still.
The extra porcelain tile order had not come in and the tile shop weren't sure why. My IKEA order for the apartment and studio kitchen looks like it will take longer than I expected to arrive and there is still a discrepancy between my order and their order confirmation to iron out. The false door on the front of the dishwasher fell off because my previously overpaid and useless builders had overtightened the screws on it and mangled the chipboard interior. I spent a large part of every day working on stuff for London, which is fine because it's my job, but is harder to manage when demands are spread over the week for an hour here or there rather than a block of time that I can devote solely to it.
So maybe it was a good time for us all to be taking a break. 'The genius' went back to England last Thursday to spend the bank holiday weekend with his girlfriend - he is back tomorrow. My wife flew down to Bergerac to stay with friends who have a chateau about halfway between Bergerac and Bordeaux - and I drove up to spend the weekend with her and them.
They bought the place four years ago and have transformed what was a house and outbuildings that had seen better days into a fabulous home and also, now, a fantastic holiday location, and they are now letting out the entire house or rooms for most of the year. Their renovation, which included extensive gardens, makes mine look like child's play, but then they had an army of workers, including 'the genius' in his previous role, to help them.
On Saturday evening they invited some English/French friends to dinner - that is English wives with French husbands. It was very interesting and a lot of fun. Both wives spoke fluent French and both husbands spoke very good English and the conversation moved back and forth between the two although mostly it was in English. The two Frenchmen were a contrast in French stereotypes. One, a wine merchant, was reserved, direct to the point of being rude and surly. Something upset him during the dinner conversation, after which he hardly said a word. The other, a lawyer and a confirmed socialist, was interesting, funny, chain smoking and wine drinking and thoroughly charming and entertaining. They could not have been more different and in their respective ways they represented both faces of France - engaging, beguiling and warm on one hand and yet reserved, distant and cold on the other. Needless to say the English wives lived up to expectation by drinking copiously and discussing their husbands intimate details with each other and all and sundry when it suited them - don't you just love them.
It was very, very good to spend some time with my wife away from the usual daily pressures of either Carcassonne or London. I think it was good for us both to be together outside the usual environments and made me realise how long it has been since we had a holiday together. I was especially happy that she decided not to go straight back to London, but returned with me to Carcassonne before we both return to the UK together tomorrow.
Mind you, the frustrations have carried on into the new week. As we came off the autoroute this evening I pulled into Tridome with the objective of ordering the seagrass flooring for the spare room. I was told that they didn't have enough and that they would only re-order when they had sold what they currently had - let's hope there is someone out there who wants a 2m piece of seagrass really soon! - what sort of stock management system is that? - I thought they would order another roll on the basis that I was a confirmed sale of 5.2m worth, but instead I was told to come back in about 15 days! - no wonder this country is falling apart from an economic point of view - like my previous experiences with the Audi service centre, they actively do their best not to make a sale wherever possible.
01 May 2007
Bank Holiday
It was a bit quiet yesterday. Actually it was a lot quiet. It was quieter than a fairly quiet Sunday, which, if you've ever spent a Sunday in France, you will know is pretty quiet.
It was a bank holiday. In England that means thousands of people at IKEA and Tesco and Homebase and Oxford Street and Longleat and the beach if it's sunny and traffic jams on all roads, even those that don't lead anywhere. In France it means there is one boulangerie open for about three hours, enough for everyone to get the bread that is vital to their daily existence, and that's it. Even the swallows seemed to stay in their nests.
Mind you, it rained all afternoon and evening. Two weeks of fabulous sunshine and then it rains all through the bank holiday - isn't that typical?
There is a race course here in Carcassonne, down on the bank of the River Aude, a little to the north of the town. I think it is used about twice a year for horse racing and trotting - a rather bizarre sport for us English to grasp as it involves a horse and a cart not running as fast as they could because they are only allowed to trot - so the one that runs medium fast very quickly will win but the one that runs too fast i.e. gallops, will lose!. Well, yesterday was one of those two days a year and sadly it rained all afternoon so no fun was to be had there, whether galloping or trotting
Also, the French Rugby League Cup Final, played here in Carcassonne, was subject to the ongoing deluge, which rather dampened the atmosphere for the home town side and was possibly a factor in the lacklustre performance and eventual defeat on the night. Oh well, it was not to be.
However, the renovation doesn't abide by bank holidays so it was full steam ahead, despite wifely thoughts from afar that we are not "getting on with it". I understand her frustration because it feels to me, at times, that it is all taking rather a long time and I have the benefit of seeing every little thing get done. Today we hope, finally, to connect the water into the separate apartment and test all the new plumbing lines. Fingers crossed that we don't have the same deluge inside as we had outside yesterday.
It was a bank holiday. In England that means thousands of people at IKEA and Tesco and Homebase and Oxford Street and Longleat and the beach if it's sunny and traffic jams on all roads, even those that don't lead anywhere. In France it means there is one boulangerie open for about three hours, enough for everyone to get the bread that is vital to their daily existence, and that's it. Even the swallows seemed to stay in their nests.
Mind you, it rained all afternoon and evening. Two weeks of fabulous sunshine and then it rains all through the bank holiday - isn't that typical?
There is a race course here in Carcassonne, down on the bank of the River Aude, a little to the north of the town. I think it is used about twice a year for horse racing and trotting - a rather bizarre sport for us English to grasp as it involves a horse and a cart not running as fast as they could because they are only allowed to trot - so the one that runs medium fast very quickly will win but the one that runs too fast i.e. gallops, will lose!. Well, yesterday was one of those two days a year and sadly it rained all afternoon so no fun was to be had there, whether galloping or trotting
Also, the French Rugby League Cup Final, played here in Carcassonne, was subject to the ongoing deluge, which rather dampened the atmosphere for the home town side and was possibly a factor in the lacklustre performance and eventual defeat on the night. Oh well, it was not to be.
However, the renovation doesn't abide by bank holidays so it was full steam ahead, despite wifely thoughts from afar that we are not "getting on with it". I understand her frustration because it feels to me, at times, that it is all taking rather a long time and I have the benefit of seeing every little thing get done. Today we hope, finally, to connect the water into the separate apartment and test all the new plumbing lines. Fingers crossed that we don't have the same deluge inside as we had outside yesterday.
28 April 2007
Cathar castles and Cup finals
I took myself off for a drive yesterday, not wanting to spend a lovely sunny Sunday sat inside the apartment, especially when there is so much to see, and so much that I haven't seen, within a couple of hours fabulous drive from here - and fabulous it is to drive on virtually empty French roads, and with the roof down on the car the countryside seems so much closer.
I decided to visit a Cathar castle that I have been meaning to go to for quite a while. My wife and I had driven to Peyrepertuse one Sunday two years ago after a Saturday that I'd like to forget when our relationship was at it's lowest ebb - inevitably there was a tenseness in the air that day, which was completely at odds with the stunning scenery and the spectacular location of the chateau. We drove up as far as we could but didn't make the final walk up to the remains of the chateau - in a way my visit felt like unfinished business.
However, instead of just the one, I visited two, because the route I took went right past (3km detour) another Cathar castle, at Puilaurens. One of the features of Cathar castles is that they were built, as were many middle age castles, in defensive positions on top of high ground. Now in England that probably means you have to walk up a slight rise to get to the castle, whereas in the Languedoc it means you have to be an experienced mountaineer with a strong heart and no dodgy knees. These things were built on the top, and I mean the very top, of mountains. How they achieved it, a thousand years ago, with the technology they had is an absolute wonder and a miracle. So visiting one was a good workout, and visiting two in a day required determination and stamina.
At Puilaurens you can see the chateau from the village, sat on it's promontary above, and it gets closer as you drive up the windy track until it disappears from view in the trees when you get to the car park and ticket office. You might think you are there but no, there is still a 500m virtually 45 degree climb up through the trees to get to the 'defensive zig-zag stone stairs' leading to the main gate. When I reached the top my thighs were burning and I was gasping for breath - I really couldn't have spoken for a couple of minutes and everyone else who was there had clearly gone through the same experience as they looked on in sympathy from their seated positions inside the walls - and inside the walls is an apt description because you can't get to look at the best thing about climbing all that way - the view. What a let down. You can walk around this medieval wreck with it's piles of rubble and trees and wildflowers where there were once dwellings and stables but all you can see outside is a glimpse through an arrow slit, here and there. The upper walls have crumbled or been stolen and are too unsafe, even by French standards, to let the public up there.
Between Peyrepertuse and Puilaurens is the Gorge of Galamus, which frankly sounds like something out of The Lord of the Rings. I expected to see trolls and elves and whatever the really ugly baddies are called, as I drove through, but mostly there were motorbikes of all shapes and sizes, and Gandalf didn't ride a motorbike, although in a contemporary version of the film he'd probably be on a Harley. Still, it seems that riding through the Aude countryside in convoy on a Sunday is a big thing to do - and who can blame them because I was enjoying the drive as much as the scenery and places I visited.
You can see Peyrepertuse a long time before you get close to it. It sits on top of a limestone ridge and defies description or explanation. You watch the changing angle of it's perspective as you drive along the valley to the north and then briefly lose sight of it as you round the end of the ridge before dropping into the town that sits below the chateau and then starting the long winding road up the mountain. You get as far as you can go, park up, pay and start walking - disconcertingly downwards at first as you walk around the end of the ridge to the entrance high up on the opposite side. Once inside you appreciate the vast size of this chateau and that it was constructed in three parts, you now only being at the lower end of something that climbs up with the ridge for at least another two hundred metres. The top of the topmost top bit of this chateau is absolutely awe inspiring. You feel as if you are on top of the landscape - you can see everything down four valleys on every side - even if the climb hadn't done so, the view would take your breath away.
By the time I got home I had been out for six hours and after the two climbs was feeling a bit weary. The day before I had taken my bike out for it's first (overdue) outing of the year. A gentle cycle down the banks of the River Aude which turned into an hour and a half of cycle exploration as I rediscovered the joy of pedal power. I used to think that going to a gym three times a week was how to stay fit - how wrong I was - Cathar castles, pedal power, a big property renovation and a diet of duck confit, garlic and red wine is the answer, and if anyone nicks that from me I will sue them.
Tomorrow (1 May) is a bank holiday here in France. It is also a Tuesday, which means there is this odd day between the weekend and the holiday. Proprietors of businesses up and down the land have said to themselves "Is it worth opening up today?". No. The fact is that because today was a Monday half of them weren't open anyway and the other half needed very little excuse to stay in bed. There are three bank holidays in three weeks here, all falling on Tuesdays or Thursdays, which basically means three, three day weeks, which you either respect or hate but either way it's going to happen.
Despite that, there is vast excitement in Carcassonne at the moment. The rugby league team has reached the final of the French rugby league cup. It is 15 years since Carcassonne won the cup and they have lost two finals since then - but they are in the final this year, which is being played tomorrow night in Carcassonne. The whole town has been abuzz all week as only a town can be when it is involved in a cup final - it reminds me so much of an FA Cup Final town in England, especially when it is not a big city involved. They have been talking about it all week and selling club shirts and tickets in the market and the bars and at Tridome, our favourite DIY store, who sponsor the local team. It will be a party whatever but I am really hoping for a home town win - I think the knock-on effect will be enormous, but also, I will be proud to be a Carcassonnais for the day - "Allez les jaunes et noires"
I decided to visit a Cathar castle that I have been meaning to go to for quite a while. My wife and I had driven to Peyrepertuse one Sunday two years ago after a Saturday that I'd like to forget when our relationship was at it's lowest ebb - inevitably there was a tenseness in the air that day, which was completely at odds with the stunning scenery and the spectacular location of the chateau. We drove up as far as we could but didn't make the final walk up to the remains of the chateau - in a way my visit felt like unfinished business.
However, instead of just the one, I visited two, because the route I took went right past (3km detour) another Cathar castle, at Puilaurens. One of the features of Cathar castles is that they were built, as were many middle age castles, in defensive positions on top of high ground. Now in England that probably means you have to walk up a slight rise to get to the castle, whereas in the Languedoc it means you have to be an experienced mountaineer with a strong heart and no dodgy knees. These things were built on the top, and I mean the very top, of mountains. How they achieved it, a thousand years ago, with the technology they had is an absolute wonder and a miracle. So visiting one was a good workout, and visiting two in a day required determination and stamina.
At Puilaurens you can see the chateau from the village, sat on it's promontary above, and it gets closer as you drive up the windy track until it disappears from view in the trees when you get to the car park and ticket office. You might think you are there but no, there is still a 500m virtually 45 degree climb up through the trees to get to the 'defensive zig-zag stone stairs' leading to the main gate. When I reached the top my thighs were burning and I was gasping for breath - I really couldn't have spoken for a couple of minutes and everyone else who was there had clearly gone through the same experience as they looked on in sympathy from their seated positions inside the walls - and inside the walls is an apt description because you can't get to look at the best thing about climbing all that way - the view. What a let down. You can walk around this medieval wreck with it's piles of rubble and trees and wildflowers where there were once dwellings and stables but all you can see outside is a glimpse through an arrow slit, here and there. The upper walls have crumbled or been stolen and are too unsafe, even by French standards, to let the public up there.
Between Peyrepertuse and Puilaurens is the Gorge of Galamus, which frankly sounds like something out of The Lord of the Rings. I expected to see trolls and elves and whatever the really ugly baddies are called, as I drove through, but mostly there were motorbikes of all shapes and sizes, and Gandalf didn't ride a motorbike, although in a contemporary version of the film he'd probably be on a Harley. Still, it seems that riding through the Aude countryside in convoy on a Sunday is a big thing to do - and who can blame them because I was enjoying the drive as much as the scenery and places I visited.
You can see Peyrepertuse a long time before you get close to it. It sits on top of a limestone ridge and defies description or explanation. You watch the changing angle of it's perspective as you drive along the valley to the north and then briefly lose sight of it as you round the end of the ridge before dropping into the town that sits below the chateau and then starting the long winding road up the mountain. You get as far as you can go, park up, pay and start walking - disconcertingly downwards at first as you walk around the end of the ridge to the entrance high up on the opposite side. Once inside you appreciate the vast size of this chateau and that it was constructed in three parts, you now only being at the lower end of something that climbs up with the ridge for at least another two hundred metres. The top of the topmost top bit of this chateau is absolutely awe inspiring. You feel as if you are on top of the landscape - you can see everything down four valleys on every side - even if the climb hadn't done so, the view would take your breath away.
By the time I got home I had been out for six hours and after the two climbs was feeling a bit weary. The day before I had taken my bike out for it's first (overdue) outing of the year. A gentle cycle down the banks of the River Aude which turned into an hour and a half of cycle exploration as I rediscovered the joy of pedal power. I used to think that going to a gym three times a week was how to stay fit - how wrong I was - Cathar castles, pedal power, a big property renovation and a diet of duck confit, garlic and red wine is the answer, and if anyone nicks that from me I will sue them.
Tomorrow (1 May) is a bank holiday here in France. It is also a Tuesday, which means there is this odd day between the weekend and the holiday. Proprietors of businesses up and down the land have said to themselves "Is it worth opening up today?". No. The fact is that because today was a Monday half of them weren't open anyway and the other half needed very little excuse to stay in bed. There are three bank holidays in three weeks here, all falling on Tuesdays or Thursdays, which basically means three, three day weeks, which you either respect or hate but either way it's going to happen.
Despite that, there is vast excitement in Carcassonne at the moment. The rugby league team has reached the final of the French rugby league cup. It is 15 years since Carcassonne won the cup and they have lost two finals since then - but they are in the final this year, which is being played tomorrow night in Carcassonne. The whole town has been abuzz all week as only a town can be when it is involved in a cup final - it reminds me so much of an FA Cup Final town in England, especially when it is not a big city involved. They have been talking about it all week and selling club shirts and tickets in the market and the bars and at Tridome, our favourite DIY store, who sponsor the local team. It will be a party whatever but I am really hoping for a home town win - I think the knock-on effect will be enormous, but also, I will be proud to be a Carcassonnais for the day - "Allez les jaunes et noires"
27 April 2007
Down but not out
It's Friday night and I am feeling a bit weary and, to be honest, a bit down. It has been a strange week in many ways and it's hard to put my finger on why I am feeling like this - it's not as if we haven't made any progress with the renovation and nobody has done anything to upset or annoy me, and yet I feel a bit tired and a bit frustrated and a bit sad for some reason.
My wife went back to London a couple of days ago and I am missing her terribly. I know that at this very moment she is on the roof of a Shoreditch penthouse apartment at a birthday party that I should be attending, and would be attending, if I wasn't living this double life in different countries. There are lots of good reasons why I am in France and not at the party and there are also many good reasons why I should be in London - my wife most importantly and my friends too.
Normally, at times like this, 'the genius' and I would go to the bar and talk the night away about sport and computers and cars and stuff that blokes talk about to each other which would help us both cope with not being with our 'ladies' - but he's suddenly gone on the wagon and all introverted and won't go out, which, frankly, is a bit bloody selfish if you ask me!
Perhaps it's the distinct feeling of Spring in the air that is getting to me. The swallows are swooping and whooshing, one chasing another, over the rooftops at dusk. The fields are full of wild flowers and, most dramatically, red poppies, whilst the hedgerows are full of wild iris and purple and white lilac - all plants that would cost a pretty penny in a London garden centre. The air is warm enough to have the windows open 24 hours a day and either the sun or the moon beams down at all times.
The downside of the open window environment is the increase in 'noise pollution' (don't you just hate that phrase) from the street. It is a by-product of living in the town, which I am used to from my many years in London, but the noises are different and unique to France and are exacerbated by the narrowness of the streets in the Bastide town where I live. French teenage boys have a love affair with mopeds far in excess of those in Britain and their ability to rev the shit out of them between the junctions 20 metres to the right of my apartment and 20 meters to the left is unparalled - it is a sound that renders any ongoing conversation futile at that precise moment. In addition, souped up car stereo systems reverberate off the narrow walls, which is very occasionally pleasantly classical or jazzy or spanish but is more often than not French techno or rap - the most hideous music style known to man.
Well, if that's it, I don't have a lot to put up with or complain about, do I? So I better snap out of this malaise and just get on with it, which of course I will.
My wife went back to London a couple of days ago and I am missing her terribly. I know that at this very moment she is on the roof of a Shoreditch penthouse apartment at a birthday party that I should be attending, and would be attending, if I wasn't living this double life in different countries. There are lots of good reasons why I am in France and not at the party and there are also many good reasons why I should be in London - my wife most importantly and my friends too.
Normally, at times like this, 'the genius' and I would go to the bar and talk the night away about sport and computers and cars and stuff that blokes talk about to each other which would help us both cope with not being with our 'ladies' - but he's suddenly gone on the wagon and all introverted and won't go out, which, frankly, is a bit bloody selfish if you ask me!
Perhaps it's the distinct feeling of Spring in the air that is getting to me. The swallows are swooping and whooshing, one chasing another, over the rooftops at dusk. The fields are full of wild flowers and, most dramatically, red poppies, whilst the hedgerows are full of wild iris and purple and white lilac - all plants that would cost a pretty penny in a London garden centre. The air is warm enough to have the windows open 24 hours a day and either the sun or the moon beams down at all times.
The downside of the open window environment is the increase in 'noise pollution' (don't you just hate that phrase) from the street. It is a by-product of living in the town, which I am used to from my many years in London, but the noises are different and unique to France and are exacerbated by the narrowness of the streets in the Bastide town where I live. French teenage boys have a love affair with mopeds far in excess of those in Britain and their ability to rev the shit out of them between the junctions 20 metres to the right of my apartment and 20 meters to the left is unparalled - it is a sound that renders any ongoing conversation futile at that precise moment. In addition, souped up car stereo systems reverberate off the narrow walls, which is very occasionally pleasantly classical or jazzy or spanish but is more often than not French techno or rap - the most hideous music style known to man.
Well, if that's it, I don't have a lot to put up with or complain about, do I? So I better snap out of this malaise and just get on with it, which of course I will.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)