Strike One for la Poste

We received a notice in the mailbox the other day that la Poste had attempted to deliver a "colisimmo", which we interpreted to be a large package. Finally, our first shipment of mail from Moab. What fun to open up a bunch of bills---but at least ones that we can understand (sort of).

The note said to claim the colisimmo apres 10 heures the next day, Wednesday (mercredi). We were there johnny-on-the-spot, but la Poste was all buttoned up---door locked and shutters closed. So on we went to the Quillan market to see the English booktrader and drive the Plateau du Sault. Upon returning to Leran at 13:00 hours, well after its 12:30 normal closure time, the above sign was on la Poste door.

The notice basically says that "Due to a strike movement, the Leran Post Office will be closed all morning Wednesday June 6, 2007". La Poste in Leran is normally only open mornings, so it really meant that it would be closed all day. There was now no chance to claim our colisimmo until Thursday. Apparently overnight a strike movement was formed at the Leran la Poste branch, and only the Leran branch. Go figure!

No one I talked to could explain the reason for the strike. Perhaps it was in protest to the obvious lack of holidays in June, or just preparing for all the annual closures coming up in August. As if nothing ever happened, back to business as usual on Thursday, colisimmo now in hand.

A Majorette Fete

The Leran Fete Locale is over. When we vocalized disbelief that some friends would dare head head for the Mediterranean coast on a Fete weekend, they replied "It is an event to be missed." But how could they leave without being part of the candlelight parade or cheering on the majorettes? Pretty easily, I now surmise.

The American-sized 18 wheeler trucks rolled into town, squeezing into unimaginable spaces between the pollarded plane trees and began setting up their go-karts, bumper cars and carousels---an engineering masterpiece. The amount of heavy equipment for two nights was amazing. These folks will tear down and be back on the road like this for the rest of the summer.

The weather barely cooperated the entire weekend. The opening candlelight parade on Friday was rained out. The vendor booths trying to pedal "SANDWICHS" (their spelling) and stuffed animals were empty. Go-karts and bumper cars sat idle. Only a few of the spike-haired Leran youth dutifully listened to the boom-boom sounds of J.M.Music.

Doug and I were ticket holders #11 and #12 for the "Repas Anime" for Moroccan food on Saturday, and the only thing holding us back was figuring out where it was being held. The flyer didn't say, but there's not that many places to hide a community dinner in Leran. As we stood outside the door wondering whether to be the first ones inside or not, we read the presidential election results posted on the door. Segolene Royal (the leftist female) won hands down in this district against Nicolas Sarkozy (ultimately the right-wing winner).

For Moroccan food, the chicken and rice was absent of spices; but it was definitely a lively crowd, a mixture of about 60 English and French speakers. Rose wine flowed most freely and an accordion duo may have been performing some local favorites. The folks who organized and served were the true heroes of the event, and the couple in the photo (Jean-Paul in the yellow shirt with sac noir) were ever vigilant throughout the evening.

We returned from the hospital on Sunday morning just in time to join the march through the streets following Les Majorettes de la Bastide Sur L'Hers. Doug kept commenting on how "un-French" the idea of majorettes seemed. Isn't that American, he kept asking? But the band, Los Mountagnols de Tarascon, did play the French national anthem. And there were an abundance of men in berets. We heard that one year it rained so hard the majorettes had to perform in the community hall, and when they tossed their batons they kept hitting the ceiling.

Kids will be kids, and Sunday morning the gendarmes had been called out. On Saturday night some of the festive lights in the Place du Monument aux Morts were torn down and plants pulled out of window boxes. I found myself thinking about the usual Police roster in Moab. It usually involves monster trucks, guns, meth. This seems pretty tame in comparison.

I am also reminded that when I awake during the night in Leran, it is never sirens that I hear. It is the church bells chiming the hour and half-hour. How civilized.

Hole in the Floor, Hole in the Pouce

We hadn't planned on ripping out part of the floor on the deuxieme etage (that's third floor to us Yanks). Nor had we planned on going to the hospital. Now we know more about local rubbish rules and processing through the French emergency room. It's all about learning.

It wasn't as if the sponginess in the floor miraculously appeared one day, but every time we had looked at the house during the pre-purchase stage our entire entourage would either be on one floor or another. There was certainly a "bounce", but it was only a subfloor that was far from level; and what do you expect in a several century old building? Without benefit of seeing the exposed beams from the floor beneath literally raise and lower several inches as someone walked across the floor. I half expected to see Doug come crashing through at any moment. But, that's not how we went to the hospital.

These old original oak beams may well date back to the 1700's, some with significant scoliosis de bois (my term) or wormwood damage. Additionally, over a 320 cm run there was a 12 cm difference in elevation (about 10 ft. 5 in. with a 4.75 in elevation change). In many places the flooring never touched the beams, even with spacers added. I could tell Doug was antsy for a demolition project so with a sort of plan in mind we began.

While we salvaged the particle board subflooring for the most part, but not the drywall. They often use drywall here between the floor joist and the subfloor as an easy way of getting a good headstart on a finished ceiling. We broke up the drywall and lowered it down in bags out the window to the street and loaded it up in Smokey. We tied a rope around each beam and weight-tested them for springiness, a quality we have decided is not acceptable. Those that don't pass the test will be replaced. Hopefully the new floor will not have the slope of a beginner ski area.

Sometime during the removal process Doug was unknowingly attacked by a splinter of wood. Within a day his thumb started festering and he was digging into it pretty well but produced nothing. By Sunday morning the avenged digit was swollen and purple and he suggested a trip to the hospital to practice our French. Ironically, we knew where the hospital was from a conversation with Aussie neighbor John a day earlier after his sudden trip there due to a fall. On the drive to Lavelanet, Doug looked up echarde (splinter) and pouce (thumb) to tell the doctor his problem.

Between the two assistants, Dr. Kahil and us, the event was most amusing. After soaking Doug's pouce in betadine the doctor requested Doug to "make your arm up". Huh? Oh, yeah, raise your arm. We could pick out a few words (echarde de bois, pouce, vendredi, anglais, Leran) as the staff was chortling about the big emergency case that Sunday in the hallway. Bottles of betadine and sterilized eau later, Dr. Kahil announced (to a very dejected and embarrassed Doug) that nothing was found. Since there was little chance of discussing what else could have happened, we were left to our own conclusions. Perhaps a puncture wound with debris left by a old timber, then sealed off and infection set in.

Dr. Kahil showed me how to change the dressing daily with, of course, more betadine. I was amazed at the chunk of meat take out of Doug's pouce. When we asked about paying the bill, they said no. We have been told we may receive a bill in 18 months or so.

The Trivial Pursuit of Parking

Judy's recent question in the Comments about where we park in Leran got me thinking. She and Ron have lived in a few European towns with convoluted narrow streets without 3-car garages, and well understand the issue. Or, the query was a P.C. way of asking whether Smokey is really a welcome addition to the neighborhood. Welcome I don't know, but a 'curiosity piece' for sure.

To properly visualize, the two-block length of Rue du Four runs moreorless east-west and parallels the River Touyre, with houses numbering 1 through 35. The street is about 16' wide, including gutters, and the sidewalk less than 2'. The south side of the street has no cross street, whereas the north side is divided by Rue Cordeilhe.





Parking on Rue du Four is not haphazard. There is a parking pattern. It was like this last April when we first visited Leran, identical in January, and the same since we arrived May 13th. I don't know who originated the system, but everyone follows it. Houses west of Rue Cordeilhe park on the south side of the street, and houses east of Rue Cordeilhe park on the north side. By these rules, Smokey sleeps close to home. Obviously two cars can't pass each other on the street, but switching lanes to the opposite side at the intersection does allow for some maneuvering when encountering oncoming vehicles. When M. Boulbes the plombier came, he merely parked his not-so-petite camionette in the middle of the street and blocked all traffic for an hour. No one complained.


One advantage of parking in front of your house is that people generally do leave the house owner that coveted space. Those living across the street get what's left. One disadvantage is people sometimes park too close for comfort. Or, too close to close your shutters. One evening last week at shutter-closing time, a blue Peugot van blocked the ceremony. Not wanting the shutter police alerted I went off in search of the van owner. I was rehearsing a cobbled together sentence about "Je ne ferme pas les volet" hoping to get my point across, but when the young woman opened the door Louise turned out to be a Brit relocated from New Zealand. What I thought would be an awkward moment disappeared as Louise already guessed the problem.


Yet another way to meet the neighbors in Leran!

Camon Rose Fete

As requested, here are some more pictures of the Camon Rose Fete. Camon is a tiny little town but has the remnants of an old fortified wall around it. There is a nice sized church which is practically invisible from the outside. I didn't know I was walking into the church until I was in it.

The town had roses blooming everywhere, different varieties on each home. There were an artist or two displaying their work, a artisanale beermaker, a crepe maker, honey sales, a guy selling garden tools, plants for sale and then there was the Sydicat des Truffficulteurs de L'Ariege displaying all kinds of info on truffles.

I took a picture of the managed forest from the fortified wall near the church entrace. The picture of the little girl is my neice Madeleine and was not actually in Camon at the time. The family that has the two Bernese Mountain dogs turned out to be some American ex-patriots who haven't been back to Virginia since the eighties. I told them it has changed but not for the better. Nancy took the top four picture and I took the remaining ones. Click to enlarge.

Some Things I Saw at the Mirepoix Market and Brocante Fair

Nancy and I took a little trip into Mirepoix on Monday morning which is market day. But also on this day, a brocante fair, an antique postcard show and sale, and a plant sale. A four for the price of one extravaganza. And the entrance was free. So was the parking. You can't beat it at twice the price.

I took a picture of the gentleman in the beret, and I'm taking other photos as I see guys in berets, because I believe that ten or fifteen years from now, we won't be seeing very many. The generation slightly after from this fellow just don't wear the age-old symbol of France and Spain anymore. Like the fedora, it has all but disappeared, and it will be a sad day when none of the old timers are sporting them.

One of the first things I saw at the brocante fair was the pair of wooden shoes with leather tops. I'm not sure where these came from or anything about them, but if you have any knowledge, let us hear about it. The papier-mache evil stepmother, or some other woman from your nightmares stood about four feet tall and her face reminded me of someone from my past.

"Les Miches de Peggy".....I have a sister named Peggy so I thought she'd enjoy a picture of whatever these delicacies happen to be. The eggs and bunnies were being sold by the same family. I assume the eggs are chicken eggs and not Easter bunny eggs. Fresh Ariege strawberries and the ail voilet. Nancy bought some of the garlic but we haven't tried it yet. The cured and smoked meats will get some more attention from me as the summer comes on and my French improves enough to have a meaningful conversation with the vendor. I think I want to know what I'm buying. The vendor offering up a roasted chicken worked in a mobile booth with another guy who demanded to be photographed, but the guy with the chicken had the better looking mug. I got pictures of both, but only the photogenic one gets on the blog. And the last photo, just a sample of some of the plants for sale that day. Click on em' to enlarge em'.