Pictures: In the Citte, the Cathedral (Basilique Saint-Nazaire), Old Cazilhac, Cemetary at the Citte, detail on a monument.
Still ‘chillin’’, literally! It has been rainy and cold here in Carcassonne, with only a few sunny hours since I got here. I have mostly enjoyed it; it reminds me of Oregon.
Saturday I decided to walk into Carcassonne from Palaja, where I am staying. Ross started out with me, but the rain got to him about half-way (he had decided against the brightly colored umbrella that was available), so I went on alone. Over all it is about 3 or 4 miles, and a lot of it was on a narrow highway with no shoulder to walk on, just deep ditches on both sides of the road, full of wildflowers. The last third, after the pretty old town-turned-holiday-house-subdivision Cazilhac, was on the ‘old road’, a little used back road that goes directly to the old walled ‘citte’.
Walking between fields of wheat, sunflowers, and vineyards with the frequent old stone buildings or ruins on a winding road made it easy to imagine how it was hundreds of years ago, when this very road was in use, though probably not paved. Seeing the towers of the citte rise ahead of me, donkey carts, flocks of sheep and goats, and the occasional knight with entourage would have been no surprise.
The rain continued, and when I had wound my way up into the back walls by the cathedral, I found a deserted place, the cobbled streets wet and quiet. It was afternoon break time- in Spain it is called siesta, but I don’t know the name for it here. I found most restaurants were closed but found one sidewalk cafe still open and went in to warm up and have a cheese omelet and small glass of red (rouge) wine.
Both times I have been here before, I have gone into the cathedral- after all the glittering gold of Spain’s cathedrals, this one feels simple but elegant. The best part however is the men’s a’capella choir form Moscow that performs in the central space with a combination of fantastic acoustics and amazing voices. They are selling CD’s, and sing for about 5 minutes every hour or so.
The crowds start to reappear in the streets, but mixed in are lots of people dressed in medieval costumes- just to embellish my time warp experience. It turns out there was a jousting match, but I never found the jousting field. I visited the cemetary just outside the citte walls, and like other cemetarys bith here and in Spain, it has a big wall around it. The graves are monuments, very few just head stones like we are used to. THey are often very ornate, and decorated further with figures and I found a bus back to Palaja late afternoon. I was still wet from the walk, and getting cold.
At the house, things had been getting tense between the hostess and the other helper, but I didn’t know why. He said she blamed him for a broken gate, and he denied it. She said he needed to grow up. While we were expected to have meals with the hosts in the upstairs kitchen before, we were now, as of Sunday, told to make our own meals in the downstairs apartment. This is how I would have preferred it anyway. I think that Jean is in a tough situation, trying to do too much, with too many things going wrong. William’s health is a major issue, and managing holiday rentals is stressful enough. Add financial problems and myriad other details like finding that neighbors have been dumping trash in back of her property and that her best pet goat is sick…Ah, the quirks of help-xing. We are the third and fourth helpers Jean has had, and the previous two were pretty awful by her description.
We have finished a large patio, painted a bathroom, tiled a storage shed, helped clean, weed, odd chores…about 7 hours most days. While she has acknowledged that the standard for helpers is 4-5 hours 5 days a week, she gets pretty upset if anyone mentions hours. I suspect that she is so excited to have help, she feels a need to get the most out of it.
I shipped another box today, so finally down to one bag. It saves a lot on Ryanair, and I have learned how to get by with less, and less. One bag! At the post office, as usual, the lady spoke no English, but the last customer happened to be an English teacher, and she was called in to help Good thing, too, because the problems included my needing to go to the grocery store to find a box of the right dimensions, and to the tobacco shop to buy tape to seal it all up. Then back to the post office to fill out forms that were far from self-explanatory. I miss being able to use Spanish! Sometimes people around here do understand Spanish, more likely than English- I think I said that before, but it is a big deal. So hard to be in a country where you have no use of the language whatsoever! Well, I do know a few words now, but far from comfortable.
Ross has left for Perpignon and beyond, to help build tree houses in the Pyrenees mountains. I have a ticket to Glasgow in two days- Ryanair again. Jean knows the owner of a B&B near Prestwick, and the room is 25 euro per night, so I am treating myself to a few days there. Then another flight, to Dublin, and across to the west coast of Ireland by train. I will visit an old friend there, then return to Dublin and go south to help-x again, on a goat farm near New Ross on the south east coast, or a hostel on the west coast near Galway. Choices, choices.
Postscript- Peter the goat took a turn for the worse today, and I went with Jean to the vet. She left me with him in the car while she waited in the waiting room, and meanwhile the vet came out and tried to talk with me about Peter- while I tried to explain that the owner was in the office waiting. In the end, I went in when they took the goat inside, and found Jean who had no idea they were looking at him. The vet was amazing, a lady who did blood tests on the spot, and had already found a large tumor in his stomach/liver. He had to be put down. Very sad, I have only known him a few weeks and I was crying too.
Things are a bit calmer this evening, but the remaining goat, Bella, keeps us reminded of the missing. I think I have my own stuff sorted and ready to travel on, trying to read a bit of Robert Burns as preparation and remembering why I never got very far before- but there is a book here with translations.
Saturday I decided to walk into Carcassonne from Palaja, where I am staying. Ross started out with me, but the rain got to him about half-way (he had decided against the brightly colored umbrella that was available), so I went on alone. Over all it is about 3 or 4 miles, and a lot of it was on a narrow highway with no shoulder to walk on, just deep ditches on both sides of the road, full of wildflowers. The last third, after the pretty old town-turned-holiday-house-subdivision Cazilhac, was on the ‘old road’, a little used back road that goes directly to the old walled ‘citte’.
Walking between fields of wheat, sunflowers, and vineyards with the frequent old stone buildings or ruins on a winding road made it easy to imagine how it was hundreds of years ago, when this very road was in use, though probably not paved. Seeing the towers of the citte rise ahead of me, donkey carts, flocks of sheep and goats, and the occasional knight with entourage would have been no surprise.
The rain continued, and when I had wound my way up into the back walls by the cathedral, I found a deserted place, the cobbled streets wet and quiet. It was afternoon break time- in Spain it is called siesta, but I don’t know the name for it here. I found most restaurants were closed but found one sidewalk cafe still open and went in to warm up and have a cheese omelet and small glass of red (rouge) wine.
Both times I have been here before, I have gone into the cathedral- after all the glittering gold of Spain’s cathedrals, this one feels simple but elegant. The best part however is the men’s a’capella choir form Moscow that performs in the central space with a combination of fantastic acoustics and amazing voices. They are selling CD’s, and sing for about 5 minutes every hour or so.
The crowds start to reappear in the streets, but mixed in are lots of people dressed in medieval costumes- just to embellish my time warp experience. It turns out there was a jousting match, but I never found the jousting field. I visited the cemetary just outside the citte walls, and like other cemetarys bith here and in Spain, it has a big wall around it. The graves are monuments, very few just head stones like we are used to. THey are often very ornate, and decorated further with figures and I found a bus back to Palaja late afternoon. I was still wet from the walk, and getting cold.
At the house, things had been getting tense between the hostess and the other helper, but I didn’t know why. He said she blamed him for a broken gate, and he denied it. She said he needed to grow up. While we were expected to have meals with the hosts in the upstairs kitchen before, we were now, as of Sunday, told to make our own meals in the downstairs apartment. This is how I would have preferred it anyway. I think that Jean is in a tough situation, trying to do too much, with too many things going wrong. William’s health is a major issue, and managing holiday rentals is stressful enough. Add financial problems and myriad other details like finding that neighbors have been dumping trash in back of her property and that her best pet goat is sick…Ah, the quirks of help-xing. We are the third and fourth helpers Jean has had, and the previous two were pretty awful by her description.
We have finished a large patio, painted a bathroom, tiled a storage shed, helped clean, weed, odd chores…about 7 hours most days. While she has acknowledged that the standard for helpers is 4-5 hours 5 days a week, she gets pretty upset if anyone mentions hours. I suspect that she is so excited to have help, she feels a need to get the most out of it.
I shipped another box today, so finally down to one bag. It saves a lot on Ryanair, and I have learned how to get by with less, and less. One bag! At the post office, as usual, the lady spoke no English, but the last customer happened to be an English teacher, and she was called in to help Good thing, too, because the problems included my needing to go to the grocery store to find a box of the right dimensions, and to the tobacco shop to buy tape to seal it all up. Then back to the post office to fill out forms that were far from self-explanatory. I miss being able to use Spanish! Sometimes people around here do understand Spanish, more likely than English- I think I said that before, but it is a big deal. So hard to be in a country where you have no use of the language whatsoever! Well, I do know a few words now, but far from comfortable.
Ross has left for Perpignon and beyond, to help build tree houses in the Pyrenees mountains. I have a ticket to Glasgow in two days- Ryanair again. Jean knows the owner of a B&B near Prestwick, and the room is 25 euro per night, so I am treating myself to a few days there. Then another flight, to Dublin, and across to the west coast of Ireland by train. I will visit an old friend there, then return to Dublin and go south to help-x again, on a goat farm near New Ross on the south east coast, or a hostel on the west coast near Galway. Choices, choices.
Postscript- Peter the goat took a turn for the worse today, and I went with Jean to the vet. She left me with him in the car while she waited in the waiting room, and meanwhile the vet came out and tried to talk with me about Peter- while I tried to explain that the owner was in the office waiting. In the end, I went in when they took the goat inside, and found Jean who had no idea they were looking at him. The vet was amazing, a lady who did blood tests on the spot, and had already found a large tumor in his stomach/liver. He had to be put down. Very sad, I have only known him a few weeks and I was crying too.
Things are a bit calmer this evening, but the remaining goat, Bella, keeps us reminded of the missing. I think I have my own stuff sorted and ready to travel on, trying to read a bit of Robert Burns as preparation and remembering why I never got very far before- but there is a book here with translations.
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