We decide to head in that direction and so store the stroller under a tree, and hoist Andoni into a backpack and onto Guillermo's back. We head up and up and up for about an hour, until Guillermo gives out. Just around the corner I can see the ascent to the ruins, so Guillermo is very gracious and allows me to go on by myself while he takes care of Andoni. I jog most of the way, until the ascent gets very steep. At one point, I was directly below the three arches of the ruins, and about ten minutes later, I'm directly above them. As far as I can tell, there is no access to them unless one where to drop down a rope onto the ledge in front of them. Somewhat disappointed, I head back for the place where I left Guillermo. I try to locate them to wave at, but there is so much area that I can't see them. I later find out that they could see me the whole way because of my white shirt. I descend, finding that it is much harder to descend on loose gravel and pebbles than it is to ascend. Once I get to flat ground, I'm off jogging again until I reach them. In all I was gone 40 minutes!
|
I tried to keep track of what we did every day, but by the fourth day, I gave up. I decided to enjoy this trip without worrying about days, dates or hours. So now as I write, I merely let my thoughts float and remember bits and pieces of the things we did. Days and weeks have no meaning for us
here, and the only reason I can (sort of) keep track of the day of the week is because Renato doesn't go to summer camp on the weekends, and the market in Gignac is on Saturdays. It's the largest, and best, market around, and it's almost impossible to buy anything on Sunday, so I manage to keep track of the days of the week. Guillermo, on the other hand, has lost all count of days and weeks. He leaves it all up to me.
|
One day we decide to visit Lodeve, about 20 minutes northwest of here on the highway. As usual, we search out the playground, and spend several hours there, picnicking and playing with the kids. It is a memorable afternoon, because for the first time I use one of those public bathrooms that I remember with dread from my first trip to Paris 14 years ago. Guillermo explains the system again to me, since they have similar bathrooms in Peru, and off I go. It's a bit disconcerting, but I survive the experience!
Guillermo announces that he does not like the park in Lodeve, and when asked why, he remarks on the lack of grass. I laugh and ask him to think back on all of the playgrounds we have been to, and count how many of them had grass in them. He thinks, and then laughs also, because he realizes that none of the playgrounds have had grass!
We did notice many North Africans in Lodeve, and one even starts to speak in Arabic to Guillermo. The poor guy never realizes the problem with Guillermo, because he was sure that Guillermo was one of them. And the worst part was that Guillermo could not speak to him even in French! This happens to Guillermo frequently in New York City, and other parts, but it's the first time it happens in France. Guillermo has been confused in Fiji for Fijian, in Peru for Brazilian, in the US for Egyptian or Kuwaiti, and even Ethiopian. When I first met him, I was sure he was from the Dominican Republic!
|
Laundry has been a problem for us, since the house does not have a washing machine. We wash things by hand, but with two small, sometimes messy children, the clothes accumulate faster than we can deal with them. So, one day we decide to do sheets and towels, and the remaining dirty clothes an easier way. We head for Claremont L'Herault, which is the largest town near here, in search of a laundry mat. I find one, but it has recently gone out of business. I stop in a small epicurie (a grocery store), and ask the woman behind the counter for help. Somehow she manages to understand me, and turns to speak in Spanish to a man standing at the front of the store. It was quite a relief to speak in Spanish for a few minutes, and get directions to another laundry mat. During our conversation, I find that this man, Juan Cortez, has a first cousin in Montpeyroux, and that most of the people in our village are either children or grandchildren of Spaniards, or married to Spaniards. He claims that most do speak Spanish, although it might be hard to get them to do so. Guillermo says that he will test that out later. Juan's cousin is also named Juan, and so we say goodbye, promising to drop by and visit his cousin in Montpeyroux. [Note: After I return to the US, Guillermo got along very well because he discovered that, in fact, almost everyone in Montpeyroux understood Spanish. He would speak Spanish, and they would answer in French. So he survived quite well.]
We arrive there, and find to our dismay that it costs a fortune to wash clothes by machine in France. We spend 25F per small machine, which holds 7 kilos of clothing. The larger machines, which hold double the amount, are 50F. The cost of one large load of laundry turns out to be $8.30! Then the dryers only go for 10 minutes, at the cost of $1.25 per cycle. While I left Guillermo beginning the wash, the kids and I went on a mad dash to find enough change to wash and dry our six loads of wash. Eventually, several hours later, our wash is done and we are broke. We decide from now on to wash by hand a bit every day, and only take sheets to wash. What an experience!
|
I decide to send postcards to those people who don't have access to e-mail, and so purchase several postcards. The kids and I talk a walk down to the village post office to learn what is involved in sending postcards. I imagine that it is simple...buy a stamp and off the post card goes. The woman at the post office very patiently explains that, in fact, it is cheaper to buy, in bulk, the international envelopes and put the postcards in them. So we purchase 20 and go home to address them. So far, I've sent close to 40 postcards, mostly to Latin America and to elder relatives and friends around the US.
|
Yesterday we take the children and follow our landlady to a nearby chateau. A friend of hers is the caretaker of the place, and has set up a kiddy pool for his grandchildren to play in. Our kids love the place, especially the three dogs and one very friendly kitten. They splash in the water, chase and hug the animals, swing on the swing, and generally keep themselves entertained while the adults sit around a table and drink wine and speak four languages. The caretaker is Italian, but has lived here 24 years. His wife is French. Julie and I are English speakers. My husband speaks Spanish. Somehow, perhaps with the help of a glass of wine, there is lively conversation all around, and the afternoon flows by amicably. He invites us back to dinner, but unfortunately I will be gone by that time, so Guillermo will come alone with the children.
Throughout the entire, a five-year-old boy kept riding up and down the dirt road in front of the house, muttering to himself and watching carefully our kids playing. I greet him but he does not respond. I repeat my greeting twice, and finally he responds, but rides off again. Later in the day, he rides by the tiny pool again, very slowly, and I ask him if he wants to play with Renato. He mutters something very quickly, but I only heard something about 'I have ....mutter mutter ... very very big.' I later find out that he's from the chateau and that there is a large, spring-fed pool on the property. I guess he was trying to tell me that he had a big pool and didn't need that little pool. I felt at the end of it, though, that he was lonely and did want to play but didn't know how to do it.
As we were leaving later, he was walking down the road toward us, carrying a large, brand-new inflated raft, larger than the little plastic pool. He went and put it against the wall near the pool and quickly left around the back of the building. We didn't see him again.
|
Renato's camp planned an overnight camping trip for the kids. Renato agrees that it might be fun to do, and so we pay the 20 francs extra, and run home and get a blanket, a flashlight, pajamas, etc. That night they go to a campground where large tents with beds are set up. They are fed dinner at the site, and then breakfast the next morning. All in all, Renato had a wonderful time, although he admits frustration with a couple of the kids, who tease him about not speaking French. He and I spend a bit of time rehearsing some basic phrases, and also what might be going on in the minds of his classmates. In the end, he feels better about the situation. He's really enjoying it, and loves the two camp counselors, who are very loving and attentive to him.
|
| Our family is consuming vast quantities of bread. We buy bread twice a day, a baguette in the morning, and a loaf of a thicker bread in the afternoon. Our car floor is covered in bread crumbs. The car rental place is going to charge us extra, I bet, just to vacuum up all that bread. But how can we resist the bread? Many times, it's hot out of the oven, and we devour it within minutes of the purchase. Andoni and Renato are the largest consumers, pulling the soft center out first, and then eating the crunchy crust last. The bread is so good that no butter or jams are needed. Again, I think, how are we going to get bread like that in the US, and so inexpensive. |
|
