I am trying to get in as much cycling as possible in what is left of my time here. Theo, Marion's brother is scheduled to come at 7:15 a.m. this morning to take Beau per our agreement. However, when he arrives, he comes with a direct request, sheathed in a smile.
"Are you sure you didn't say 10 Euros an hour?" is his opening gambit.
"No, Theo, I offered you 10 Euros to watch Beau while I went cycling for about three hours."
"Well, I need money for school--"
"Theo, I offered you an amount within my budget. 10 Euros an hour is not within my budget. In fact, I pay a woman 10 Euros to watch Beau each day when I am away. So today will be the last time you take Beau if what I am offering is a problem for you."
"No, it's fine" Theo says, having exhausted his strategies for getting more money out of me.
I'm surprised that Theo would have asked for more money without having someone put the idea in his head. I also take his effort as a window on the mind of the French worker. In my view, asking for more money after one day on the job is a recipe for dismissal --at least in the American working world. If you don't like the job, you resign and find a better one.
Discussing what happened with a friend who knows both worlds, she points out that she knows adults who don't get 10 Euros an hour. She also tells me to make sure to get several estimates from workers for any major renovations --French artisans will try to overcharge unsaavy foreigners.
***
The Cycling Club de Caunes-Minervois meets, as usual at 7:30 a.m. and I am there to join them. Today there is a full contingent out: Alain, the electrician employed by the hospital in Carcassonne, Richard, the oenologist, Dave, a retiree from Northamptonshire, U.K., Claude, the president of the club, Jean Lacroix, George, the Occitan-speaking retiree from Trausse, Jeannot Albinet and me.
The majority want to cycle in the direction of Minerve, a major climb. Jeannot, at 81, doesn't feel capable of such a trek and says he will only go as far as Felines, then turn onto another route. I will follow Jeannot, as on my folding bicycle, I'm unlikely to be able to keep up with the group.
Jeannot and I turn off at Calaniac, then cycle towards La Livinière, Siran, Laurian, Fauzan, Cesseras and back to Caunes. While I thought that Jeannot would take a shorter route back, he has instead decided to bicycle as many kilometers as the other club members will --just on largely flat roads. In the end I cycle 47 kilometers --almost 30 miles. By the end, my right hamstring muscle is dangerously sore, as are my knees --and even my hands. Jeannot is unphased by it all and just keeps pedaling.
"He's a tractor", says Claude, by way of describing Jeannot's deliberate and unstoppable energy.
"He's a tractor", says Claude, by way of describing Jeannot's deliberate and unstoppable energy.
Dr. Francisco --one of the local doctors-- and his wife, Therese, are giving a barbecue for the CCCM members and their wives today. They live at 3 rue du Maquis du Trevanel, in a house on a hillside on the other side of the village in the direction of La Montagne Noir. Dr. Francisco used to ride with the group, but doesn't for some reason now. Nevertheless, he likes to see the club members and the lunch is a way of keeping in touch.
Dr. Francisco is of Spanish descent, tall, long-faced and thin, like an El Greco. He seems very serious and only talks to people he already knows. Therèse, on the other hand, is vivacious and still shapely at about seventy. She is running the barbecue, which is a bit of a slapstick: Therese has bought several very large loaves of country bread, which she hacks into pieces and throws into the breadbasket --or the hands of whoever wants more, when the basket is empty.
She slaps the minute steaks, merguez and pork sausages, along with the baked potatoes, onto the plastic plates like a waitress in a Munich beer hall during Oktoberfest. The wine is poured from plastic bags (wine in a plastic bag is all the rage here) into plastic cups. Everyone digs in and enjoys themselves.
Carole, come here from Edinburgh with her husband Jamie, is seated next to me. Carole is a master gilder, who repaired the Royal Bank of Scotland headquarters' cupola, and who does private commissions along with her own work. She has just had a painting accepted for the Salon d'Hiver in Paris and comments on how different her life is here from Australia, her previous home, and Paris.
"It's been interesting, living somewhere where no one is the least bit impressed by art. Actually, it's been liberating, because it frees me to work without any of the distractions proximity to the art world in Sydney or Paris create. It has been the right thing for me, allowing me to explore other possibilities I could never have sought out in the international art world's temples of influence. The lack of pretense of people is a relief."
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