The grapes are in, the Bleus are out!

Instead of gallivanting off to another exotic locale this Sunday for our weekly field trip, we decided to explore our home village, Eguilles. We had begun to suspect that there was more to the place than we'd thus far discovered, and, indeed, when we went a block or two off the main drag a whole new world opened up. We stayed in the older part of the village, around the top of the hill, where the streets are narrow and crooked and the houses are multi-storied and butt right up against each other. The newer neighborhoods which surround the central core are on flatter land and mostly covered with the French equivalent of subdivisions, or tracts, filled with the middle-class Frenchman's idea of the good life: single-family houses surrounded by walls, many on dead-end streets. Unlike the classic American style of a big open front yard, which seems to say welcomingly,"Hey, c'mon in. Don't pay any attention to those bars on the windows," the French home remains aloof, distant, and mysterious, pointedly suggesting that it would be best if you just kept on walkin'. I suppose the style has evolved from the fortresses which made life possible during two millennia of invasion and war, both civil and foreign, like many European buildings
which present a forbidding aspect to the passer-
by but have beautiful gardens behind the walls.

These are some shots we took on our walk.
Lois and Mike are sitting on the patio of the

local Tabac, a key local institution which

dispenses newspapers, magazines, alcohol,

tobacco, coffee, etc., and is the real nerve center of Eguilles.

The grapes have been harvested and the growers are painstakingly pruning the vines by hand and burning the debris, which generates dense irritating smoke. This carcinogenic cloud blankets the whole area. It's bad enough that we're close to the Etang de Berre, a sort of giant
lake or inland sea, which is ringed by factories and is one of the most polluted areas (both air and water) in Europe. You'd think the wind would disperse the smog but it just seems to drive it into every corner of the province. A common sight in the mornings as we drive Mike to school is the leathery grape farmer standing out in the fields by his fire, stirring the embers while wreathed in its smoke and puffing away on a cigarette.

This is a picture of Sam Rindy, a French artist of Cambodian descent who planted a big kiss on a painting by some guy named Twombly while it was being exhibited in Martigues or Avignon or somewhere in the vicinity. You may have heard about this where you are. The painting (not the one in the photo), valued at 2 million euros or dollars or cowrie shells, I forget which, is pure white, Sam was wearing thick red lipstick, and IT WON'T COME OFF!! This is a BIG SCANDAL here, and her adventures in court have been reported and followed avidly since they began a couple of months ago. She claims that she was overcome by artistic passion, that the smooch was her tribute to the artist, and it seems to have evoked the sympathy of the court, because she's only being fined a paltry 4500 euros, or maybe wampum belts (which, at the exchange rate currently in operation courtesy of the financial wizardry of the Bush administration, is about $30,000,000. ) Ars longa, vita brevis, I think the phrase is.

I was reading "Beloved" by Toni Morrison this week when I suddenly realized why I like sports. Because it's one of the rare human activities that, although taken "seriously" by the participants and fans, doesn't involve people trying to kill, enslave, lie to, sell snake oil to or steal from other people. It's always a relief to reach the sports section of the paper, of whatever country, after wading through War, Politics, Bizness, Beautiful Celebrities, etc. So that's my epiphany and I'm stickin' to it.

Speaking of sports (a subtle segue, no?), the picture below says it all. What a headline!

What a photo! What a disaster! The French rugby team, Les Bleus, went down to defeat at the hands, and feet, of the perfidious Albionese - the Brits. I supported Les Bleus, of course, in my position as an honorary temporary Frenchie, and was shocked to discover that my son, whom I've sheltered in my bosom, so to speak, all these years was actually rooting for the English! (My English friend Jon says that the phrase "rooting for" isn't used in the same sense in England as in the colonies, i.e., as a synonym for supporting, encouraging or championing. He says it has an altogether different and obscene connotation. And knowing him as I do, I'm sure he knows whereof he speaks.) Actually, the English Lions are my second favorite. Against all odds they've had an inspiring cup run and will meet their nemeses, the Springboks of South Africa, in the final. I was hoping they'd meet, and the Lions would get their revenge, in the third-place match and that France and Argentina, who lost to S. Africa in the Sunday semifinal, would meet in the final. So I got the matchups I wanted, at least.

France's number one sports fan, Nicolas Sarkozy, who was seen leaping into the air with joy after the victory of Les Bleus over New Zealand (at least I think he was leaping. It's hard to tell with a guy who's 5'4"), has certainly experienced his share of ups and downs lately, also. He met with Vladimir Putin, czar of Russia, at their joint induction into the Hall of Fame of Big Statesmen in Small Bodies, joining Attilla the Hun and Napoleon, where they tried to divide up the world but were stymied by their differing views on human rights, Iran and solid neckties vs. striped. (Although they were in complete agreement on the dark gray suit issue.)

Hard on the heels of that disappointment, the various official organs of the French government have begun to acknowledge what everyone else has known for weeks, that the President and First Lady Cecilia Sarkozy (referred to by some of the press as the "Invisible Woman" for her conspicuous absence from official functions since her husband's election)

will be getting a divorce in the near future. Constitutional scholars have been poring over the records to see if there is a precedent for the divorce of a head of state while in office. On top of everything else, the mid-term local election campaign is in full swing and the UMP, Sarkozy's party, may not do as well as anticipated, due in part to his own diminishing popularity among the voters. Not to mention the one-day transport strike (our first French strike! I'm so excited!) scheduled for Thursday.

To combat this plague of bad news and evil omens, the President today unveiled a new strategy which he believes will reassure his conservative supporters by underlining his commitment to traditional values: human sacrifice.

"It worked for our ancestors, the Gauls," he said after the first implementation of the new policy (see below), "it worked for Salome, it worked for Robespierre, and I see no reason why it shouldn't work for us today."

PRESIDENT SAYS DIVORCE IS FINAL

"THIS oughta cure her headaches ",

enthuses concerned husband

Au revoir!

Tom