I had a shower early and walked into town then realised I had left my money and cards back at camp and had to walk all the way back again. So walk all the way back I did. Still it gave me the chance to change my squeaky boots for my sandals for today is a scorcher! Walking back into town I passed a bar with some people sat outside for the third time only this time they didn’t hear me coming! Ahah! That surprised ya! I walked passed all stealth like. “Bonjour ...” they said, I didn’t catch the second word but I’m sure it was “again”. They were all smiling.
Shortly after passing the bar I walked past the same loony woman from yesterday. She was deeply engrossed in conversation with herself. She was smiling too and didn’t notice me. Good for you I thought. Sometimes it’s better just to talk to yourself.
Today was a business day. I had to get some things sorted including my letter to my accountant and a form posted to the French internet company. I stopped at bar for a coffee and to ask the waitress if she knew where the post office was.
While sitting there I reflected on the fact that the whole of France seems to pulse to a rhythm which I am unaware of. Everyone seems to eat at the same time. Drink coffee at the same time, go to the disco at the same time. I think this clock is embedded in French genes and without an artificial clock the rest of us will not know when coffee time has ended. It seemed to end just after I sat down as the whole cafe then emptied. I know what you’re thinking, well I just had a shower ok?!!
I found the post office right where the waitress marked it on the map. On ‘Avenue Alfred Merle’ and just after ‘Passage de Julie’... :-)... I explained to the lady in the post office that I had one letter to send to England and one within France. I needed two appropriate envelopes but I had already purchased one stamp in the Auvergne. I placed my stamp on the counter. She laughed at my stamp and said it was no good but not to worry because the envelope was pre-paid.... provided I pay for it! I wanted to know what was wrong with my stamp but she didn’t speak English and things were getting complicated. Maybe it was a special Auvergne stamp, only for use within the village! I paid 69c for that. She suggested I use it for a postcard. Whatever address I wrote on it, it would probably just go back to Chaudes Aiges where the mountain people would laugh at me. I took my envelopes and retreated to a bar to complete my paperwork over a petit bierre.
Oh that reminds me. The Duracell batteries I also purchased in the same village just 3 days ago just died. I reckon they’ve been taking them out of the packaging and using them!
In this bar I noticed a sexy looking girl over the other side by the pool table with a group of guys, all vying for her attention. Every now and again she would look over. I smiled. She didn’t smile back but looked me up and down in a kind of sultry way. The look said to me, “yes, I’m mildly interested... and if you make an effort like these morons I might let you buy me a drink!”. I wasn’t having that! The next time she looked over I returned a look that said, “yes, you might be sexy, with nice boobs and stuff but there’s more important things... like compassion, kindness and sincerity and you need to make an effort as well, besides I can’t speak French, so there!... and buy your own drink!!’. It was a complicated look to pull off but I think I managed it. She was big on looks but I suspected short on sincerity and such like and I got out of that game a long time ago.
The French are very proud of their language and do not like to speak English even though many can. I can understand this. I feel it is quite arrogant for English speakers to expect not to have to bother learning the basics. Remember France like England has traditionally been a very great and powerful nation with all the pride that comes with it. If you make an effort however it’s quite rewarding seeing the delight on their faces especially when they see how hard you try. People will often then be quite happy to talk in English once they appreciate your effort. I’m sure we would be the same if the rest of the world spoke French instead of English. In this bar I asked ‘If I come in tomorrow night can I watch the England game on the telly at 7.30?’. ‘Of course’ they said. The bar staff were all wearing blue football strips.
A Canadian biker was sat behind me and asked where I was from. ‘Angleterre’ I replied. He was watching the football – supporting Argentina against South Korea (they won 3-1). He has been living in Argentina for the last 3 years so it was a big game for him. He invited me back to the bar tonight. Him and his buddy are leaving for Germany tomorrow. They’ve been holed up here waiting for the bad weather to pass. It was nice of him to offer and it would be good to have proper conversation in English. So that’s my plans for tonight sorted.
The green in the water indicates a high Iron content from the rocks it filtered through.
When I got back I cooked another herby spag boll. I think I’m addicted. I’m wondering what those Morrocans might have put in Seans special spice mix! The sun is out, stereo on high. Then I caught sight of the elderly Dutch couple opposite frowning at me. I got carried away in another punk rock herb chopping frenzy didn’t I? I put my hands up as if to say sorry. There was a piece of spaghetti hanging out of my mouth, the guy on the stereo was screaming ‘mother f***er!!!’ I turned it down. Then wiped the tomoto sauce from my chin. And my T-shirt. And my jeans. I didn’t want my elderly neighbours to think I was an English yob. I haven't really spoken to them other than the odd 'hello' but I have decided they are good because despite being old, they have a tent and have been here a few days. What I mean is they haven't just turned up in their house-sized motorhome, looked out the window, and driven off again in the morning... like some people do. They are more at one with nature.
So cooking done and consumed, blog done, I’m gonna get changed and go back to the bar.
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