Pictures-
Some houses in a small village east of Carcassone;
The Cherry Tree Patio in progress; Boot Sale; Ross, Jean and William; The main courtyard in the palace in the Citte; 2 views of the palace; and Peter, one of Jean's goats.
Chillin in Carcassonne
It’s been lovely, ‘asn’t it? Just settin around havin’ a cool one, on the porch? Aye, an it can’ get much better, can it?
Aye.
Another culture warp, it is, ‘Johnny’. In the drop dead gorgeous south of France, mind you, and my hosts are Scottish and the other helpxer is Irish, aye.
I have been negligent, for sure, about writing. I did need some time to not think about much, though. I have been helping with miscellaneous small stuff- like weeding, finishing a wood deck, and building a patio around a cherry tree with pavers. Also went with my hostess Jean to look at a house- she is probably going to sell this one as it is getting to be too much for her to take care of. Her husband William has had a stroke and is not strong enough to help much, but he still does a lot of small jobs. Jean is trying helpx for the same reason, but seems somewhat resigned to finding a smaller place. This one has a finished apartment in the basement (where I am staying at the moment) and a very quaint small cabin up the hill with its own swimming pool. She rents these out to people on holiday, most from the British Isles, and earns a living that, but it is still a lot of work.
Last Saturday Ross (Irish laddie) and I went to the old ‘citte’, the famous walled castle just outside Carcassonne. It’s a bit touristy, but so well preserved it is easy to get a flavor
of what it might have been like to live in such a place. The history period that is most referenced is around 1200 ad, when a growing number of people referred to as ‘cathars’ who generally were Christians who decided not to go along with much of the dogma of the Catholic church. This created an excuse for the Catholic church to crusade right there in what is now southern France, wiping out villages and doing the inquisition thing to try to eradicate the ‘heretics’. Carcasonne, or the Citte, was a major hold out when other cities were surrendering to the massive army, called the Host”. An interesting book, a historical novel about it is called Labyrinth by Kate Mosse.
We went to a car boot sale (like a flea market) on Sunday, and I might have picked up some nice antiques if I was wanting to ship stuff. We drove through several tiny villages on the way, and I got to see some of the countryside. It is all so pretty, peaceful, and green.
We stopped at one of Jean’s friend’s house, where it turned out the friend had left for Crete, and these other people were doing some watering, and immediately invited us to their house for wine and cherry-picking. Jean said of course- she is fond of being spontaneous. So we had a few glasses of wine with people from England, and picked cherries. We also had a bag of mulberries we gathered earlier, so Jean made jam when we finally returned ‘home’.
All three of the people I now live with are hysterical. They tease me about my American accent as much as I tease them about their respectively weird ways of putting things. “You wouldn’t get me the milk now, would ya” means please pass the milk. (Irish) Tree often means three. Tird means third. Etc. Most ‘tings’ are ‘massive’, 'brilliant', or someone is ‘mad about’ someting.
Jean likes to hide from me (or Ross) when we go somewhere, then laugh hysterically when I realize she is out of sight. She calls Ross Johnny, or Scott, or Toby. So far I don’t have a lot of nicknames. She also likes to sneak up on people. A guy was in the store the other day, looking around the corner of an aisle. I could see that he was a security guard and was watching some teens who were looking at makeup. Being very obvious, and with his butt sticking out in the cross aisle. Jean couldn’t resist trying to startle him He didn’t think she was very funny.
William is just as amusing. Maybe due to the stroke he had, he only speaks in one syllable sentences, and it is often difficult to understand him, but it is usually well worth the effort to figure it out. A very dry sense of humor- and he has taken to accusing me of all sorts of things. Says I like my wine (I do, but haven’t actually had much for a while). Jean found some old cigarette butts near the garden, asked who had been smoking. William quickly says “Phibi”. That’s how he says my name. I had bare feet this afternoon, after hours of hauling big slabs of pavers and wheelbarrows of cement it felt good to have no shoes on. He said I had ‘onion feet,’ kept pointing and laughing. Think he meant bunion, but I don’t have those either. Whatever. I think he likes me. Strange man.
France does a few things differently, I am learning. One story is about a British guy who moved here and bought a house. His first tax bill came and he thought it was outrageously high, especially since his road wasn't paved. The mayor had told him it would get done one day soon, but that was a year ago. He went in to complain, and most likely was a bit pushy about it. He got a new ammended tax bill a few days later...for a lot more than the first one. Nothing he can do about that, apparently.
I haven't been able to get any cash out of any ATMs since I got to France- so finally I wrote to my bank- by instant message. They were great. Said that if the machine doesn't ask what account you want it out of, the savings account is the default account. I have several accounts, but the savings account only has a token amount. And its true, they don't ask what account. I have yet to try again, with funds in the savings account, but hopeful now. Amazing what we can do with a computer- so much better than trying to sort it out by phone.
That's another britishism- getting sorted out. "She'll sort you out" or "Did you get sorted?" Oui, Merci. Very good.
It’s been lovely, ‘asn’t it? Just settin around havin’ a cool one, on the porch? Aye, an it can’ get much better, can it?
Aye.
Another culture warp, it is, ‘Johnny’. In the drop dead gorgeous south of France, mind you, and my hosts are Scottish and the other helpxer is Irish, aye.
I have been negligent, for sure, about writing. I did need some time to not think about much, though. I have been helping with miscellaneous small stuff- like weeding, finishing a wood deck, and building a patio around a cherry tree with pavers. Also went with my hostess Jean to look at a house- she is probably going to sell this one as it is getting to be too much for her to take care of. Her husband William has had a stroke and is not strong enough to help much, but he still does a lot of small jobs. Jean is trying helpx for the same reason, but seems somewhat resigned to finding a smaller place. This one has a finished apartment in the basement (where I am staying at the moment) and a very quaint small cabin up the hill with its own swimming pool. She rents these out to people on holiday, most from the British Isles, and earns a living that, but it is still a lot of work.
Last Saturday Ross (Irish laddie) and I went to the old ‘citte’, the famous walled castle just outside Carcassonne. It’s a bit touristy, but so well preserved it is easy to get a flavor
of what it might have been like to live in such a place. The history period that is most referenced is around 1200 ad, when a growing number of people referred to as ‘cathars’ who generally were Christians who decided not to go along with much of the dogma of the Catholic church. This created an excuse for the Catholic church to crusade right there in what is now southern France, wiping out villages and doing the inquisition thing to try to eradicate the ‘heretics’. Carcasonne, or the Citte, was a major hold out when other cities were surrendering to the massive army, called the Host”. An interesting book, a historical novel about it is called Labyrinth by Kate Mosse.
We went to a car boot sale (like a flea market) on Sunday, and I might have picked up some nice antiques if I was wanting to ship stuff. We drove through several tiny villages on the way, and I got to see some of the countryside. It is all so pretty, peaceful, and green.
We stopped at one of Jean’s friend’s house, where it turned out the friend had left for Crete, and these other people were doing some watering, and immediately invited us to their house for wine and cherry-picking. Jean said of course- she is fond of being spontaneous. So we had a few glasses of wine with people from England, and picked cherries. We also had a bag of mulberries we gathered earlier, so Jean made jam when we finally returned ‘home’.
All three of the people I now live with are hysterical. They tease me about my American accent as much as I tease them about their respectively weird ways of putting things. “You wouldn’t get me the milk now, would ya” means please pass the milk. (Irish) Tree often means three. Tird means third. Etc. Most ‘tings’ are ‘massive’, 'brilliant', or someone is ‘mad about’ someting.
Jean likes to hide from me (or Ross) when we go somewhere, then laugh hysterically when I realize she is out of sight. She calls Ross Johnny, or Scott, or Toby. So far I don’t have a lot of nicknames. She also likes to sneak up on people. A guy was in the store the other day, looking around the corner of an aisle. I could see that he was a security guard and was watching some teens who were looking at makeup. Being very obvious, and with his butt sticking out in the cross aisle. Jean couldn’t resist trying to startle him He didn’t think she was very funny.
William is just as amusing. Maybe due to the stroke he had, he only speaks in one syllable sentences, and it is often difficult to understand him, but it is usually well worth the effort to figure it out. A very dry sense of humor- and he has taken to accusing me of all sorts of things. Says I like my wine (I do, but haven’t actually had much for a while). Jean found some old cigarette butts near the garden, asked who had been smoking. William quickly says “Phibi”. That’s how he says my name. I had bare feet this afternoon, after hours of hauling big slabs of pavers and wheelbarrows of cement it felt good to have no shoes on. He said I had ‘onion feet,’ kept pointing and laughing. Think he meant bunion, but I don’t have those either. Whatever. I think he likes me. Strange man.
France does a few things differently, I am learning. One story is about a British guy who moved here and bought a house. His first tax bill came and he thought it was outrageously high, especially since his road wasn't paved. The mayor had told him it would get done one day soon, but that was a year ago. He went in to complain, and most likely was a bit pushy about it. He got a new ammended tax bill a few days later...for a lot more than the first one. Nothing he can do about that, apparently.
I haven't been able to get any cash out of any ATMs since I got to France- so finally I wrote to my bank- by instant message. They were great. Said that if the machine doesn't ask what account you want it out of, the savings account is the default account. I have several accounts, but the savings account only has a token amount. And its true, they don't ask what account. I have yet to try again, with funds in the savings account, but hopeful now. Amazing what we can do with a computer- so much better than trying to sort it out by phone.
That's another britishism- getting sorted out. "She'll sort you out" or "Did you get sorted?" Oui, Merci. Very good.
I finally was able to read enough of you blog to understand what it is you are doing. What an adventure you are on! I've never heard of helpx before and found it after your several references!
ReplyDeleteWow!