Live...It's Saturday Night....In Leran

Last week, from Wednesday evening until Friday morning, there was a national strike going on in France. As part of a national movement against the government's retirement reform, all air traffic controllers, SCNF (French national railroad) workers, and Paris public transportation agents took a few days off. Strikes are not unusual events in France, and people learn to adjust. So did Barry-Oke, when he learned that his Thursday flight was grounded, and he couldn't escape Leran until the following Monday. He was forced to cancel his weekend singing gig in England, and extend his 'Tour de Leran' for another night.



Since our social calender had prevented us from catching his earlier performance, we were delighted to hear the unfortunate airway news. Marek, the village crier, was quick to issue an email invitation. When summoned, Leran answers, and a crowd appeared.

Barry's regular sidekick and provider of musical accompaniment in Leran, Alan Simmons, was off in Spain. Emma, a recent addition to Leran, luckily travels with her guitar and graciously offered to stand in. Additionally, she added back-up vocals.

Lynn, Barry's lovely wife, made the trip to Leran this time. We had not met her before, and thoroughly enjoyed our conversations. Lynn suggested that one of the bar's staff, Lise, come up and sing a few songs. Lise is French, and working at the bar is improving her English at a lightning pace. Lise and Barry belted out a few songs back and forth in French and English. Then Barry turned Lise loose.

I spent several hours attempting to upload video clips we took that night of Barry, Barry and Emma, and Lise. Only one would load. I wish you could have heard it all. I guess either Blogger or Sony are on strike. (Click on the video to play)

Rennes-le-Chateau

This strange, devilish statue is just inside the door of the little church in Rennes-le-Chateau, where it has been standing since 1896, when a poor parish priest undertook a major renovation of the church and grounds in the tiny isolated village near Limoux. This little church has quite a notorious past, however, most of it is entirely speculation.

A few days ago we visited Rennes-le-Chateau, a place made even more famous by the movie "The Da Vinci Code". The church and grounds are beautiful, to be sure, but the real story is of the priest, Father Berenger Sauniere. Beginning with his tenure here in 1885,the priest transformed the run down, ready to collapse church into a thing of beauty. The mystery, and the most enjoyable thing about the visit, is learning the theories about where Father Sauniere obtained funds to finance this restoration. We bought the comic book version of the story (which is probably pure speculation but just as reliable as anything else) and it postulates that Sauniere found a stash of gold that was hidden in the church just before the French Revolution. The gold was thought to be that of wealthy parishioners who died in the violence or fled France. There are other more magnificent theories that say the gold was Templar treasure, Visigoth loot or a stash of gold hidden by Cathars before being persecuted out of existence. Even mention of the Holy Grail pops up here and there.

Here's a page from the comic book. You can see the good father's housekeeper, Marie Denarnaud, who, it is said was quite attractive, who never married and who was buried right next to Sauniere, thirty years after his death in 1917. So, we've got speculation about finding gold and the unspoken suggestion of illicit sex between a supposed celibate priest and his unmarried housekeeper. Wow, this is good stuff!

Besides refurbishing the church, Father Sauniere also bought property in Marie's name (hmmm...she must have been a good housekeeper) and built towers and greenhouses and a sumptuous cottage where he entertained important guests. He sounds to me more like a crooked mayor, or a gangster, than a priest. But the villagers loved him, perhaps because they all worked for him on his renovation projects. The good father was defrocked in 1915 because the Catholic hierarchy suspected him of dipping his fingers into church funds. While he was no longer a priest, Marie still owned the nearby villa, gardens, tower and greenhouse, so Sauniere didn't have to move too far away. In fact, only a few feet.

The greenhouse is very cool indeed and has a great 360 degree view of the vineyards and mountains nearby. I was surprised to find that no one has accused Father Sauniere of growing marijuana in his greenhouse.

Here's the final resting place of the good father, and Marie is supposed to be buried nearby, but I didn't find the spot because I wasn't looking for it. Well, it's all quite a good yarn, but there may be no truth what-so-ever to any of the speculation. Father Sauniere may have raised the cash legitimately from anonymous donors and Marie may have been quite plain looking and died a virgin with some nice real estate. But one thing's for sure: in this part of France, with all the other fantastic things to see, the chateau is hardly worth a visit without all of the lurid speculation.

From the Department of Strange Coincidents Department

Remember this young lady that I photographed on August 24th near Leran?

And this young lady, remember her? I shot her a few days before on August 20th, a few miles away, in Lavalenet. They are the same person.

I just realized that it was the same person while looking at my photos. It certainly didn't dawn on me at the time. She must lead an interesting, very un-conventional life, travelling around in a horse drawn wagon, fashioning baskets from willow shoots. But she doesn't seem very happy, or maybe she doesn't like me sticking my camera in her face.

I can't confirm that it's the same ring but it's on the same finger. Now, if I can just get another photo of her someday, maybe I can get her to smile.

French Laundry

The laundry system at our house in France has always been a sore point with me. Since we don’t have a yard or garden to string a clothesline, we either must hang the clothes indoors or use the dryer. The dryer also is a less than ideal choice, since it vents inside and ends up creating a sauna-like atmosphere when you don’t really want it (i.e., on some hot, muggy summer days). I know I shouldn’t be griping, because anything beats sitting in a laundro-mat, reading 6-year old copies of Reader’s Digest. Bear with me, as my whining does have some good merit.

After fussing with those portable laundry racks for a couple years, we found a 5-line retractable clothesline unit in one of the bricolage stores last summer. Doug installed it between two beams in the salon on the deuxieme etage (USA 3rd floor). We generate most of the dirty laundry on the deuxieme etage, where our bedroom and bathroom are, and then it has to be hauled down to be laundered and then back up to be hung out. I finally just got tired of carrying the laundry basket up and down the 29 steps, knowing that one day I’d miss a step and take a unexpected shortcut down.

So I started lobbying for a solution, some sort of pulley system to lower and raise the laundry basket. The stairwell is open and I thought there might be a possibility, but it takes some odd twists and turns and didn’t look too positive. When our friends John and Eileen were visiting, I mentioned my dilemma, and Eileen suggested rigging the pulley outside the back window in the little courtyard. Eileen, being a long-time follower of Alicia Bay-Laurel, as well as an occupational therapist since college, is always crafting up clever solutions.

All at once, a brilliant plan went into action. John and Doug did a quick assessment of materials needed: pulley, rope, big eye hook, S hook and long stick (the French equivalent of an 8’ 2 x 2. I bet you are trying to figure out why the long stick. The eye hook was to be screwed into the roof sheathing outside our bedroom window. Without hanging in mid-air out the window, there was no way to reach the edge of the sheathing, so first they taped the cordless drill to the end of the long stick to drill a starter hole. After cutting a saw kerf in the end of the long stick and inserting the eye hook, they then used it as an extra long “reacher” to screw in the hook. The long stick wasn’t done yet. The pulley was taped to the end of the stick and “hooked” onto the eye hook. Within an hour the first load of laundry was hoisted up.

Four minds came together on a summer’s afternoon. A simple plan, well executed.

Tour des Pyrenees Mountain Challenge

We had heard about the Heritage clan's trans-Pyrenees Mountain bicycle challenge, from St. Jean de Luz on the Atlantic coast to Collioure on the Mediterranean. A mere 750 kms distance (450 miles) and 11,000 meters elevation gain. Julian and Gwenda Gray transported their son Tom back from England so he could participate with Craig and Jo. Since Strath and Cam couldn't drop out of school for the week, Julian and Gwenda also transported the lads on Friday afternoon so they could share the weekend torture.

We figured the least we could do was take a leisurely drive into Spain, spend the night in Bossost, and watch the athletes summit the Col du Portillon. As luck would have it, we ran into Julian and Gwenda just in time for lunch. We learned that the past couple days cycling for the Heritage group were pure hell---rain, cold and monster hills. It had been 3 degrees C (37 degrees F) on the Col du Tourmalet. My personal experience included commuting by bicycle for several years and taking several long cycling trips, so I can attest to what an instant morale buster bad weather can be.

When we arrived at the top of the Col du Portillon (1293 m), it was great to see that Jo was all smiles. The sun was shining, the sky was a cloudless blue, and it was shirt-sleeve temperature. Tom Gray had already made it to the top and Jo was waiting for her crew to arrive. The bad weather had taken its toll on everyone, and spirits needed rejuvenating.

Within a few minutes, Strath rounded the bend. And if you click on the photo below, I'd say that look has that "piece a cake" attitude, as if he did this every day.

Cam pedaled the final bit with a huge smile on his face, which made me think he must be out of his mind. But then, youth can sustain anything.

Jo was beside herself with pride in Strath and Cam, and who wouldn't be. It's not everyday your family hops on bikes and pedals over the Col du Tourmalet, the Col d'Aspin, the Col de Peyresourde and the Col du Portillon. Some families wear themselves out working the buttons of the TV remote control.

Last, but not least, Craig powered up the hill. I think he just wanted to make sure the boys got up before him. He might have been sweating a bit, but I don't think anybody noticed.

I'm pretty sure I heard these guys say that this was going to be an annual event. Didn't I hear that? Or was it once in the spring and once in the fall?

Julian and Gwenda head over to Collioure to help with the shuttle back. It's just damn lucky that these bicycle challenges occur in some spectacular places. Well done, all.

Pre-Historic Paintings in the Niaux Caves

John and Eileen wanted to visit the Niaux caves so I escorted them over to Tarascon (Nancy had gone last year with our niece, Kate, and declined another trip). I went to the cave in 2007, and less than a year before we had been to the Caves at Lascaux II. Those paintings are reproductions as are the caves themselves. In order to protect the paintings from CO2, and the subsequent deterioration, they were forced to build a total replica of the site, which is very finely done. The Niaux caves, however, are the real deal. You get to see paintings made by mankind around 13,850 years ago, give or take a few years. The cave paintings may have been far more numerous in the past, but now they only exist where the cave walls have remained dry for the past 13,000 years.

Let me put that number in perspective. Thirteen to fourteen thousand years ago is too much time for humans to imagine. As you walk the kilometer underground to the cave paintings, you pass graffiti from early cave visitors from 1603 and later, and to us, that seemed quite impressive. That time frame seems impossibly ancient to us North Americans, who think in terms of just a few generations. Our tour guide, Miriam, explained that those visitors from the recent past felt little appreciation for the paintings because they had not yet been carbon dated, and they thought mankind began with Adam and Eve just a number of generations previous, therefore felt no guilt when they left names and dates in the cave. Two thousand years ago we have the Roman Empire and Jesus Christ alive and healthy. The Egyptian pyramids were being constructed about five thousand years ago, give or take a few hundred years. Even that is a mind-boggling amount of time for me to imagine.

We were only able to stay a short time in front of the paintings because our mere presence hastens the deterioration process. But, we were able to study them and wonder why they were created, why only some animals were chosen to paint, mostly bison, horses and ibex, and why early mankind ventured to far underground to paint when they had other rock canvasses nearby? Scientists are able to answer some questions, such as what was used for paint and when they were painted, but no one can say with certainty why they were made. So, when I look at paintings made by mankind thirteen thousand years ago, I can rest assured I will never see anything, no evidence of man's passage, that is older. The only place I will see evidence of man that is more ancient is human bones, or stone tools, in a museum, and that doesn't fire my imagination like a paining on a cave wall.

(Please note that these are not my photos, as you are not allowed to take pictures in the caves. These are photos from other websites. My thanks to them.)