Bonjour and Happy St. Guy's Day (June 12),
I've been telling you about the very un-Provencal weather we've been having and, indeed, the record for monthly rainfall in May was broken - 170-some mm, which is, what, 7 inches or so. That doesn't seem like much when it's written out like that, especially to an Oregonian, but it's undeniably been stormy. I took the picture below during a relatively peaceful interlude the other day. Looks like the eye of a hurricane or the cover of a Carl Sagan 'Birth of the Universe' book (Is it Cosmology? Or Cosmetology? Only profound interdisciplinary thinkers like Stephen Hawking and Estee Lauder know for sure.)
The last weekend in May Eguilles celebrated its age-old tradition of transhumance (sheep-herding to us landlubbers). There were a lot of subsidiary events, as there always are at these festivals, but we just went to the big show 'downtown' on Sunday. For some reason which wasn't completely clear to me, a major Corsican influence was evident, with Corsican singers and dancers clad in Corsican costume. This is the village square, the heart of Eguilles, bordered by three of the most important civic buildings: the Mairie (City Hall), the Church, and the Tourist Information Office. The Bar/Tabac, another key institution, is right around the corner, just a short promenade away.
When I looked at this shot later I discovered that our landlord, M. Olive, farmer, rentier and gentleman, was in the picture. That's him in the blue shirt next to the white banner, peering intently at the guitarist's feet. That pillar-like object behind him rises from the middle of the town fountain, which has spigots for both eau potable and eau non potable, and into which the sheepdog pictured below leaped for a refreshing dip after his exertions. When he jumped out and started shaking himself dry, the spectators scattered like wheat before the chaff. No, like chaff before the wind. No, that's not it either. The simile is eluding me. Like the sere leaves of autumn skittering across the barren pavement before the chill November gales. Oh, well. Never mind.
The photos are somewhat out of sequence. The first item on the agenda was a demonstration of a sheepdog herding his flock. It was quite impressive, but, having seen the movie "Babe" I'll never again be able to watch this kind of thing with the seriousness it deserves.
The main event, of course, was the procession through town and then back again of a herd of sheep estimated at 1700 head or thereabouts. (This is not something that I'd admit to just anyone, but I'm half Texan, and occasionally I slip into cowboy lingo.)
I'm still trying to learn how to use the Macro close-up function of our camera, and some of my experiments are scattered through this post. Just doing my part to fill up bandwidth with pointless trivia, unlike the important stuff on Facebook, and bring the whole internet crashing down around us! Mwah-hah-hah! OMG!
Then, this Saturday as the sun was sinking in the west...
...we went to the Salle George Duby in downtown Eguilles to attend the long-awaited concert of the Eguilles community choir, of which Lois is a prominent member. It was a smash! The program included world folk songs, something by Mendelssohn and 2/3 of Carmina Burana, with piano accompaniment. The hall was filled to overflowing with enthusiastic fans and we were well-rewarded with a great performance. A fitting culmination of months of hard work. Bravo!
There would be more pictures (certainly such an important artistic event deserves to be commemorated thoroughly) but an unfortunate philosophical and artistic difference of opinion has reared its unattractive head between the two generations of family photographers. Michael, perhaps not surprisingly in one so young, believes that movies constitute a more complete and convincing statement whereas I, staunch traditionalist, believe in the power of still photography. So if he gets his hands on the camera he uses up all the bytes or pixels or whatever in about 2 minutes and the ominous "Memory Card Full" message starts blinking on the display screen and, Voila!, that's it for the evening. So that's what happened. Although we do have a pretty good video, with sound, of a catchy Italian folk song they did for an encore, so all was not lost.
Okay, if you locate the fourth woman from the right in the front row and look carefully you can see the top of Lois' head sticking up behind hers.
During this sunset, while I was taking the picture, there were bolts of lightning shooting from the grayish-whitish blurry cloud on the right. Crazy! Although I think I remember reading somewhere that lightning actually shoots from the ground upward. But I could, of course, be wrong. Like I was some weeks ago about the location of Mad King Ludwig's fantastic extravaganza of a palace. It's actually in Bavaria, not Bohemia, Batavia or Bulimia, or any other place that begins with a 'B' and ends with an 'a', which is what confused me. Like Dan'l Boone, who was never lost but admitted to having been temporarily confused a time or two.
The sunsets are amazing. Or at least they amaze me, but I may be easily amazed. I'm gonna have hundreds, if not thousands, of pictures like this one by the time we leave. I mean, every night is spectacular.
There's a big old abandoned farm or something out in the boonies on one of my jogging routes which is undergoing renovation. For the longest time I heard these piercing cries that I couldn't identify emanating from its grounds and which sounded like a litter of giant house cats either in heat or being tortured (love hurts, they say). Turns out to be peacocks. There's a flock of 6 or 8 and they wander around the area freely.
Years ago, when I was young, there was a public service anti-smoking advertisement which showed a leathery-skinned woman with bloodshot eyes, battered veteran of life's vicissitudes (sp?), crookedly smiling although toothless, with a cigarette dangling from her chapped lips, the caption of which was "Isn't Smoking Glamorous?" (or words to that effect.) It's inspiring to see that a new generation recognizes the importance of discouraging this evil addiction among its members and that prominent celebrities have taken upon themselves the responsibility of sending a clear and convincing message to this effect to their peers and admirers. Foremost among these socially responsible artists is Amy Winehouse, who took time out from her busy schedule of recording sessions, world tours and court appearances to pose for the new version of the old ad. If I hadn't quit smoking years ago, I would certainly seriously consider it after seeing the picture below. (I have a nightmare vision of Amy accidentally immolating herself in a cloud of hair spray while lighting up.)
And our Carla's next album is due for release soon, or maybe has already been released. Along with the book she just wrote (or at any rate, helped to write; or at any rate, gave permission for someone else to write in her name) about her whirlwind courtship and marriage with Nicolas. A reviewer has said that she claims in the book to have married Le Prez not only because of his sexual magnetism but also for his brains, of which she believes him to have "5 or 6", but the reviewer observes, and fairly, I believe, that her remarks may "lose something in translation". Looking at the photo below, the first thing that strikes one is that they don't make first ladies the way they used to. The first First Lady I can remember was Mamie Eisenhower. Also, a poll was taken recently and the majority (57%) of the French approve of Carla continuing to pursue her musical career. So it looks like she's beginning to win them over. Maybe it's the boots; like Nancy Sinatra, she's gonna walk all over you. And, of course, this IS the birthplace of the Marquis de Sade, so maybe she's put her finger, or her steel-tipped toe, on a chord of sado-masochism that runs through the French character. One might have guessed at its existence from the crippling pointy-toed, stiletto-heeled shoes that everyone staggers around in. And you should see what the WOMEN are wearing!
And then, after all is said and done, after the festivities, hoopla and reality shows, the political shenanigans, human inhumanity to humans and natural catastrophes, I sometimes just want to get a copy of this sign from the French Department of Roads, Bridges, Sidewalks (trottoirs) and Gutters and put it out in front of the house. I think it perfectly expresses, with characteristic French drollerie, at least one understandable response to Mugabe, et. al. And speaking of conscienceless bombasticators, how lovely to see, and hear, Billy Ray Cyrus back in the spotlight where he was meant to be. The cultural landscape has been so barren without him.
On the other hand, did I mention Euro 2008? Oh, yes, I think I did. World class soccer, European national teams, 2 games every evening on network TV available to all, even ignorant foreigners like me. I guess life is worth living, after all. Just for moments like seeing Holland crush Italy (the defending world champions) by the lopsided score of 3-0, as they did the other night.
Our time here is ticking away and soon we'll be back in terra cognita, where time is money, men get pregnant, and they play REAL football.
Au revoir until next time,
Tom
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