Rustine, Beau's new girlfriend; Les Chants des Oyseaux; Cycling: The Cure For What Ails You

Sunday, August 10, 2014

     Just when I was at the limit of my patience on Friday, a ray of sunlight emerged in the form of Claire de Decker and her little Jack Russell bitch, Rustine.

     Claire is Belgian, from Brussells.  She is about 6' tall. With her husband, she has owned a large house in Caunes for the last six years.  They also own a Harley-Davidson, on which they like to take long rides, although I wouldn't call Claire a "motorcycle Mama" --she's too bourgeois for that.   What I like about her is that she is unfailingly up-beat, and that Rustine is, unlike most Jack Russells, unaggressive, but playful.  She was coming down rue des Remparts when I saw them.

     For a few days we had been exchanging phone calls to try to arrange a "playdate" for the two dogs, without success.  However, today Claire was amenable to my suggestion that we go to the soccer stadium, where the two dogs had the time of their lives.  They behave as if they were in love, gamboling and wrestling together gently.  Which is lovely to see.

     I invited Claire over to the house after, where there was more canine merriment.  Better, Claire and I got to talk about the difficulties of dealing with the French bureaucracy, and the generally negative attitude of personnel in stores and offices.

     Claire completely shared my view on both counts.   Which is curious in a way, because bi-cultural Belgium, divided between the French-speaking Walloons, and the Dutch-speaking Flamands, has been unable to form a government of any meaningful duration for the last few years.  Perhaps the explanation is that Belgium's political problems do not filter down to the level of the utility companies and the tax authorities.  At any rate, I'm glad for the moral support after a day of battling.

                                                                       ***

      Saturday I wash clothes and hang them on the clothesline, then go for a bicycle ride to Felines, taking my IPad with me, so I can take photos to send to friends.  I return in time to feed Beau and get ready for a free concert to be given at the abbey at 4:30 p.m.  This is the first musical event I've attended all season.

     It is a concert presented by a group of retirees who have paid for a summer choral workshop and are displaying the fruits of what they have learned in the form of a Renaissance choral work, Tenebrae by Vitoria.  The singers are clustered in the gallery of the abbey courtyard, and the audience seated in the courtyard.  The concert, which is a cappella, lasts about one hour.  And it is marvelous, although the voices are those of people in their fifties and older.

     Each year, Franck Pellé-Rolland, the founder of Le Chant des Oyseaux (the umbrella-organization  under which the choral workshops are organized), travels France, giving workshops, which are open to anyone interested and willing to pay the 25 Euro membership fee, plus up to 310 Euros for the workshops, which last a week.  What a wonderful opportunity for anyone with a serious interest in early music.

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     Today, Sunday, I'm up at 6:00 a.m. to feed Beau and walk him a distance before setting off to cycle with the Club du Cyclisme de Caunes-Minervois.  Only Jean Lacroix and Jeannot Albinet are cycling today, but I know them well, like them and am happy for their company.  Jean and Jeannot decide we will go as far as La Redorte and back, a three hour ride.

     Out early in the morning on the backroads, it is heaven to be on a bicycle.  The day is overcast and cool, with breezes blowing against us at the outset, then at our back on the return.  I get a chance --since it's just the three of us-- to talk with Jean Lacroix about his days in the gendarmerie.

      "In the beginning, here in the Aude, where I began my career, I went everywhere by bicycle --because the gendarmerie had only one car!  I liked my work, there was satisfaction in bringing in violators of the law, but there was also a social aspect to the work.  You spent time talking to people, because that was how you learned things.  And people would tell you everything: they would tell you about their problems with their husband, about the problems of their children.  And sometimes you could offer some helpful advice.

     "Then I was posted to Martinique.  There, the island being part of France, the law was applied as it would be here.  I was always out and about, just as I had been for the whole of my career: I never held a desk job. And then I spent three years in Cameroon, training cadets.  However, because Cameroon was independent, the gendarmerie française had no legal authority there.  The country was an independent state, so it was up to the Cameroon police to enforce the law.  Their way of doing so, though, was unique to them.  And there were so many social problems --poverty and disease, principally-- that could not be addressed by law enforcement."

      With Jeannot Albinet my conversation takes a different turn.

       "My wife wants you to see these rugs she wants to get rid of, and that our children don't want.  Perhaps you have friends who might want rugs?  You should come see them.  Come for an apèro at 7:30 p.m. and she'll show them to you."

       This is the second time Jeannot has invited me to have a look at the rugs, so they must be much on his wife's mind.  Madame Albinet (whom I met last September at my house-warming) is, like Jeannot, elderly (Jeannot is 81).  Even on short acquaintance, it was obvious she is a sweet-tempered wife of the old school, who takes her uxorious responsibilities very seriously.

       I don't think I have friends that would be interested in the Albinet's rugs, but it would be impolite not to accept the invitation.  Jeannot worked all over the French-speaking world representing an industrial producer of salt, so perhaps some of the rugs were purchased on his travels, and might be interesting to see.  Plus it's not every day you get an invitation to someone's house in France --the French usually limit invitations to the house to family and close friends.  So I accept the invitation, knowing I may end up taking some rugs off their hands.

     The pleasure of the club members' company has lifted my spirits.  "On s'occupe de vous! Jeannot tells me smilingly at the beginning of the outing, when I comment that I think that I am physically weaker than last year.  We'll take care of you!

     What could be better?

      When I purchased the house last year, it was with the hope that I would cycle frequently.  The summer's duties have prevented me from doing so until now; but, back in the saddle with my club friends, cycling truly is the cure for what has been ailing me.