Janvier
Bonjour à tous!
Max
Février
More news from the South.
I'd like to talk a bit about the traffic here in Toulouse. This is, as we are used to from southern European cities, a big mess. It's not as bad as in Paris or Rome, but still, the whole day long the narrow streets of the centre are jammed, full of cars with drivers who would have liked to proceed a little faster, but know very well that they can't anyway, and so quietly keep shifting forward. On top of that, cars are often 'double parked'; with the alarm lights flashing: apparently that's 'accepted' then. In every street there are always several; and all the cars then have to manoeuvre difficultly around these.
Max
Mars
Just as suddenly as I have seen in other countries, but still much earlier in the year, spring has burst loose here in Toulouse. The sun shines plentifully and the temperature is agreeable. Also nature thinks so. The trees and flowers shoot out and are fully in bloom; some trees are already past that stage and are fully in leaves. Also in the little garden behind my house everything has shot up decently. It was already a wilderness; it's supposed to be a grass field, but there is so much weeds that you can't see any grass anymore. But now it's starting to look more and more like a tropical rainforest. The neighbours don't find this very neat, and have already informed me about this. But it's not my task to do something about this; I'm only renting the upper floor, and after all the landlord has clearly agreed that he would take care of the garden. But you know, what a Frenchman says he'll do and what he really will do; the relation between those two things I haven't entirely figured out yet. But he will have to fight this out with the neighbours; I'm not bothered by this. I find a wilderness behind the house absolutely fine, as long as I can still sit in it.
Max
Note: the above is not up to date anymore. Starting from January 2008, smoking is no longer allowed in French bars.
Avril
In April the weather here is very variable, so I've noticed. Every now and then, when it's raining, it's just as cold here as in Scandinavia (with those international news bulletins you can follow all that). But also sometimes, such as now, the sun shines again abundantly and it's summery warm. Also often, you leave in the morning for work in a coat in the cold, but in the afternoon it's warm enough for shorts.
When you walk in nice weather through the park along the river, on the river quay on the opposite side there are often groups of people djemming on djembés together, and this can clearly be heard in this park (although that river is quite wide!). In order to immerse myself into a new cultural enrichment I decided to go follow a course in this, and even have bought a djembé myself. I often completely beat my hands completely back and blue, but it stays an interesting new musical challenge.
Max
Mai
Gradually that typical mediterranean summer atmosphere starts to rule here, thanks to the weather which is getting so warm that you don't feel much like doing anything else than just hang round. This month, every now and then some proper thunderstorms also passed by -if you are indoors it's a wonderful sight; every now and then the sky is completely lit up for a few seconds- followed by tropical downpours. And the past week it was hot: above 30 degrees.
There's lots of things happening in the city, and I may have to add that it isn't always as peaceful as I told you last time. Last week on Friday evening I walked onto Place du Capitole, and was surprised to see that a security police force was keeping the square empty, and was in conflict with several other individuals. It turned out that in the afternoon, in the whole of France there had been a demonstration for the sake of the preservation of 'rave' parties. According to the 'ravers', these will be too much restricted by new law proposals. Here in Toulouse the peaceful demonstration party turned to riots with the police. Somebody started challenging somebody else, and then it quickly got out of hand. The police cleared the square, and kept it empty for the rest of the evening, while conflicts with several demonstrators continued in the side streets. Yes, also here these things happen.
Max
Juin
In southern France, summer has started: every now and then the temperature runs up so high that it isn't fun anymore. Fortunately this is interchanged with thunderstorms during which it cools down a bit again.
Now something more fun again. In June all kinds of seasons run to their end and here at work everybody is very busy to finish something, and with meetings and final presentations. The same goes for the cultural life in the city: all kinds of organisations have final presentations, so there is much to see in terms of amateur theater and music. A lively situation.
Max
Juillet
In July in southern France it is, as many of you probably know: hot. And because there's also hardly even any wind here inland, it's sometimes so stuffy that it just isn't fun anymore to be outdoors.
On Quatorze Juillet, the national holiday, of course, there was something special going on. A large stage had been built on Place du Capitole, and on the night before there was a concert to be heard there. (I missed this because I myself was playing in the Irish pub.) On the day itself however, the weather wasn't too good: in the afternoon came a serious thunderstorm, which thus provided in the traditional firework display in a natural way. But the downpour that went along with it, kept the festivities during the day from going on. In the evening it cleared up again, and from the park on the river, fireworks were ignited. I thought that this lasted a bit short; after fifteen minutes it was over, while in earlier years in other cities I have seen it continue all evening long. Subsequently the music on Place du Capitole went on again. French chansons, but also pop music and Latin-american: it must be said that it was a proper international variety, and that precisely on this national holiday! In terms of music the French are clearly somewhat less narrow-minded than in other respects.
Something different now. One thing which I run into more and more, is French arrogance. Not only are many French people of the opinion that in their country everyting is best, but they also like to make this known to foreigners, by means of silly jokes in which they make fun of everything non-French. I find making fun of someone else the lowest form of humour. My decency has up to now kept me from replying to these things, but maybe soon I won't be able to hold myseld anymore; after all, this kind of people doesn't deserve any better. And it isn't hard at all to find something to say in return; just look around you here and you'll find plenty of subjects. Attaining just as rude an attitude as your environment is probably the best way to survive here. When I will be exiled from the country because of 'hostility to the state', you will hear about it...
Max
Août
In August it is, between the thunderstorms, very hot, and, even though we are far away from the coast, still also pretty humid. You know, that stuffy weather in which you almost can't do anything at all. Everybody here also complains about the heat - it seems that the French themselves aren't used to it. But probably complaining about the heat belongs to the French standard 'small talk' protocol. "Bonjour - bonjour - ça va? - oui très bien, très bien - il fait chaud, non? - oui terrible" etcetera. This way, you have already chatted away a minute without saying anything.
Also in my apartment things happen. The other day we heard a loud bang, this time not from the side of the street. It sounded like in the bedroom a window had slammed close and broken. But nothing appeared to have happened there. Later the cause showed itself: it appeared that in the bathroom the ceiling had come down. The floor was covered with lumps of plaster. The wood that was above it, was still in place, but was completely rotten. Now, the attic above the apartment is directly under the roof, which in turn protects the whole house against the rain by only a layer of rooftiles. When one of them is out of place, the roof leaks like an old basket. And with the storms which regularly precede the rain here, something easily can move out of place. The floor of the attic did indeed show a soaken wet spot. On the roof, I put the tiles back in place, and replaced the broken ones. The landlord came, saw the bathroom, found rotten wood absolutely no problem, and in half an hour chucked a new layer of plaster against it. I think we can just wait until everything comes back down again. But those are the French methods: as long as it's in place, don't complain; and after that we'll see again. Joie de vivre.
Max
Septembre
In September it's, also here, autumn. The temperature suddenly sinks to around 20 degrees and the leaves start to fall. But the well-known meteorological border along the 'Great Divide', the Alps and central France, is still there: I see on the news that in more northern countries it's already becoming quite cold and rainy, but here it's still often sunny, and nice weather to sit on a terrace.
Yeees... and something else has happened as well.
Max
Octobre
It seems just like October is the protest month in France. This month, every Saturday there was a protest demonstration somewhere in the city or in the area. But indeed, here there's also a lot to protest about. To begin with, following on the explosion in the fertiliser factory last month, there was a massive march through the city to express that dangerous chemical factories should be better secured and shouldn't be in the neighbourhood of residential areas anymore (there are still a few here in the city!). The week after there was a demonstration in the Pyrenees, against the truck traffic through the tunnels there. Another week later it was again happening in the city: a protest march against the American bombings in Afghanistan. And finally, again one week later: a large manifestation on Place du Capitole, and a massive march through the city, against the continuation of the nuclear energy industry.
After this philosophising, back to everyday life. The weather in October is what they call 'été indien' here: it stays beautiful, sunny but not too hot. Lovely terrace weather. But the fact that it must be autumn anyway you can see from the trees: colour variations from green via yellow to dark brown, and the ground is also already covered with leaves. It strikes especially, that the plane trees have had plenty of time to grow: the leaves that fall from them are big, often larger than A4-size. That the normal life, after the summer, now really has started you can also see from the fact that the bars are full again with live music and other artistic expressions. It's fun, and very tiring if you want to follow a little bit all that's going on.
Max
Novembre
In the beginning of November suddenly the weather turned around. While we still could sit on the terraces in October, now it's suddenly below 10 degrees, rainy and windy. Then you also notice well that the days are getting much shorter: I'm cycling now home from work in the dark. You might be living in Southern Europe, but you still won't escape those typical autumn-effects.
And now for something different. We're here very near the Pyrenees; if you stand on a hill in nice weather, you can see the mountains in the distance. It's then logical that people often go out in the weekends to go and enjoy the natural beauty there; indeed also myself I've done that already several times. This month, my girlfriend and I rented a car and drove to Gavarnie. It's funny to notice that with a few hours driving you suddenly end up in the mountains; a completely different world. 'Le cirque de Gavarnie' is an area where over thousands of years, a glacier has cut a half-circular cleft out of the mountains, forming a natural giant amphitheatre. Inside it, you can walk up to the steep mountainside, where high waterfalls are coming down. The water splashing up from the waterfalls, due to the icy temperatures stays lying as snow. Impressive.
Max
Décembre
Toulouse is Christmas mood. Not in the least this is achieved by the weather, which suddenly has turned unusually cold. Even though the trees haven't even lost all their leaves yet; at night it's below zero, and during the day around zero. Every now and then some light snow falls. The canal is frozen, and if this weather still stays on for long enough, the ice will later on possibly be thick enough to go and skate. That could provide traditional dutch scenes here in southern France!
Now something more fun again. At the moment, I'm playing fiddle in a band who, with Irish and Brittany folk music, paint the Irish pubs in the city red. With this band, the other day we also had a gig in Montpellier, at a large 'prom'-like student gala. The expo-hall of Montpellier was divided in five rooms, where different bands were performing: salsa, rock, reggae, techno, and we took care of the celtic atmosphere. The student audience were all nicely dressed in black suits and cocktail dresses, but that didn't stop them, especially after several glasses, from properly partying off of their heads on our music. The band leader managed them well, by telling them how they should dance, clap and sing along to the songs, and everybody responded en masse to this. It's also fun that the band improvises a lot: the songs are never the same, and sometimes it's not clear to ourselves which song we are actually playing now, but as long as it sounds good, that doesn't matter much.
Max
Here is the news bulletin from the south.
Since October 1st 2000 I am in Toulouse, France. With these news letters I will try to inform you guys regularly on how things go around here.
In January it's not winter as we know it here. It's 5 to 15 degrees Celsius in the afternoon, depending on whether the sun is shining. All those northern-Africans who live here find it cold, but I have the feeling that spring is already starting. It's practically never below zero here; to see some snow in winter, you have to go into the Pyrenees.
Immediately in the beginning of my stay here I already caused some confusion here. This is because at work, everybody shakes hands in the morning. So, my boss, and all collegues, came to shake my hand every morning. Also, if a collegue who works at a different floor, and with whom I don't have anything to do, happened to pass my office, he would come in, shake my hand, say "bonjour" and be off again.
Apparently a handshake means in France nothing at all. I am used to handshakes to symbolise something: an introduction, a well-wishing, or the closing of a bond of one kind or the other. But this dutiful extensive protocol of politeness which doesn't mean anything, already soon started to irritate me, and therefore I asked wehther that was actually really necessary. Eveybody admitted that it wasn't necessary, but just was a habit, and from then on leaves it out with me. It is actually funny to see that then they don't know how to greet me: usually they raise their hand in a slightly uncomfortable way.
And I can still be glad that I'm not a woman; they get every time those two pointless kisses on the cheek. Every day, from everybody. What a horrendous thought!
Now I don't know whether this is my own unwillingness to adapt, and also not whether they will start finding me impolite now here... Fortunately of foreigners 'strange habits' are always more easily accepted.
But then, am I then really so strange? They were suprised to hear from me that in the Netherlands, people don't shake hands every day, but I don't know another country than France where they do. They were also surprised at how well I speak English. They have learnt English at school just as long as I have, but even most scientists don't get any further than a few very broken words. Also that is, as far as I have seen, much better in Spain and Italy.
I'd thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but it's apparently really not part of French culture to be open to neighbouring countries.
Till next time,
Winter has broke loose everywhere in Europe, so I hear on the news: everywhere overdoses of snow. But not here. Still, also here it's become a bit colder, after a few weeks ago we could still sit on the terraces in the sun. But there's no snow, and the tree in the courtyard next to my office keeps on blossoming.
They don't practice a lot of Carnival here. It seems that in the past years, there wasn't even anything at all; this year there is, but it's more of a street art festival. It doesn't look like the Carnival of Maastricht, Venice or Rio. There was a jolly parade, full of music, acrobatics and visual art, amd a few references to political issues (the mad cows, of course!). And on Place Arnaud Bernard a lot of street artists -jugglers, musicians- showed their skills to the public. A cheerful lot, but not many were fancily dressed, and in the rest of the city there was nothing to be seen.
It's then also no wonder that I with my little bicycle I usually get through the centre a lot faster. I dash past the rows of waiting cars, and cycle around the double parked ones while the cars have to wait until the other lane frees up. And I am not the only one: there are reasonably many others, especially youths and 'alternatives', who see the advantage of the bicycle. Still, we stay far in the minority. Even though everybody expeciences the trouble caused by the cars, and the air pollution can clearly be smelled, the big masses still keep stubbornly driving their cars. This maybe has to do with a typical french attitude not to want to change too much. Driving a car belongs to the self-respecting citizen, or something...
But it may also have to do with the fact that although cycling is fast here, it certainly isn't comfortable. There are no cycle tracks on the streets of the centre, and on the larger throughways there are, at the most, painted cycling lanes. The cyclists always have to mingle with the car traffic, and continuously have to watch out in all directions and keep the hands on the brakes. When you cycle past rows of waiting cars, there is often so little space that you have to slalom between the wing mirrors of the waiting cars on your left and the parked cars on your right. Sometimes it's also better to pass the cars on the left side, along the centre line, facing the oncoming traffic. Also, there often is no legal reasonable way to get there where you want, and you have to cycle across a busy throughway to get into a certain street.
But it needs to be said that the car drivers are tolerant. When I pop up in front of their noses again, they stop and friendlily let me pass, instead of (as I am used to in the Netherlands) expressing their disapproval with honking horns. Also the behaviour when the traffic light turns green is a sign of relaxedness: not dash off as fast as possible, and honk if the one in front waits a fraction of a second too long, no: they wait a few moments, then think "well now, let's be going", and quietly drive off.
Furthermore, there is still one thing which makes the cyclist's existence here a lot more comfortable. There is a canal from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea, passing through the city here. This canal was dug a few centuries ago and was long used as a transport route, but is now only used for pleasure sailing. (There are also a lot of residential narrowboats in it; sometimes it looks just like the Netherlands. Some boats even have a dutch name!?) Along this canal, a beautiful wide foot/cycle path has been built, especially for recreational purposes. So with nice weather it's full of walkers, cyclists, runners and roller skaters. But because it runs through the city, this path is also a good cycling connection between a few suburbs and the centre. I frequently make use of this, and it's a relief, this quietness, after having ploughed through the traffic on the other streets. But still this is only one route, and it doesn't run all the way to the centre, so sooner or later you'll always have to venture again anyway into that boiling pot of mixing and wriggling cars and cyclists.
Le Canal du MidiIn order to try to bring some improvement into the cycling situation and the well-being of the city, and considering the coming local elections, this month a demonstration was organised. I made sure I was present here. On Saturday afternoon about a thousand cyclists, roller skaters and pedestrians gathered on Place du Capitole, who subsequently started to make their way in a large parade on the lanes of the busy centre streets, with banners, and singing and shouting that there should be more room for cyclists and pedestrians. At the monument of war casualties a stop was made to ceremonially commemorate 'the unknown traffic casualty'. The police also cooperated (on bicycles!), to keep everything as much as possible on the right tracks. The passers-by on the pavement reacted amusedly on this event, but I don't know whether they saw this only as amusement, or also thought about the issue. The car drivers quietly waited until they could pass again; they are used to the disruptions. Also of them I don't know what/if they thought about this issue.
Well, we'll see how, and whether, this will develop...
Not only from the plants, also from the people you notice that it's nice weather: people come out en masse, the path along the canal is full of walkers, cyclists, joggers, roller skaters, and in whatever other way you can propagate yourself recreationally. The city centre on Saturday afternoons is full of shopping public; they're walking everywhere criss cross on the streets between the cars. The terraces are full.
Shopping street Rue des ChangesThere is still another positive side on this nice weather: the doors of the bars stay open more often, even in the evenings. This is certainly pleasant for the quality of the air inside, in connection with the following, which I have to get off my chest:
The French are terrible smokers, especially in night life. When you get into any bar, you don't know wat's happening to you: the air is grey, and immediately starts irritating your nose, after that your eyes, and then your throat. If you look around you - insofar as you still can - you'll notice that absolutely everybody is smoking. If you then manage an hour or longer in there, your throat will still be sore the next day, and all your clothes will smell of smoke. It's here also for the first time in my life that when in the evening I'm considering whether or not to go out, sometimes I decide not to, for the reason that I don't fancy all that smoke.
But there may already have improved something here with respect to the past. Because I have to add that at many public places smoking is not allowed; that may have been different recently. Also at our working place people go to the corridor (near the outer door) to smoke.
And as I said before: now in the spring, the doors of the bars stay open more often, and that makes the air a lot more endurable. This is a good thing, because there's usually a nice atmosphere in the bars. In the city you don't find a lot of large discoteque-like dancing places, but an afwul lot of small bars. That's where most of the night life happens. There is also a lot of live music being played. Every day, but especially in the weekends, in many little bars live bands are performing. The music is of all kinds. Jazz and especially gipsy jazz ('manouche') are popular. There are also many creative performers of French chansons of the well-known chansonniers (Aznavour, Piaf, Brassens, Brel (even though he wasn't French)). The considerably Algerian population in the city makes sure that there is also a lot of arabic music to be heard, and this is remarkably popular with the French. There lives also a new French variety of ska music here. For the rest, there is also 'normally' rock and blues to be heard, and in the Irish pub of course Irish music. All together a colourful layout. And there are also a lot of open stages and jam sessions, where although one is usually the main style, also often musicians from other disciplines are present. That gives interesting combinations.
Well, then we'll have to endure that smoke for a while...
Irish session in the Irish pub 'Dubliners'Also my hay fever has started, and the medicine I have against it doesn't seem to help. They have different pollen here.
Terrace on Place St. GeorgesNeedless to report how full the terraces are. But what does slightly surprise me is that the bicycle racks are also fuller. Apparently there are some Frenchmen after all who don't enjoy, in warm weather, to sit in a car (without airconditioning) standing stationary in the city centre with running motor. There are not noticeable fewer cars, but there are more bicycles. But in the city there are hardly any bicycle racks; there are almost only the little fences at the edges of the pavements (probably meant to keep those free from cars). These fences are perfect bicycle racks, but there are way too few of them; they are already now all permamently full.
Playing djembé in Prairie des FiltresI already wrote the previous time that there is much live music, but it's also nice to add that there is a lot of spontaneous music making going on. In band berformances it's often appreciated if a musician in the audience who (either or not coincidentally) has his instrument with him, comes to join them. And there are a lot of open stages and jam sessions organised in various bars. And for instance yesterday evening, during the break of a band who were paying in a bar, I myself performed several songs together with a guitarist (me on the fiddle). This kind of things is appreciated a lot. (I also would have liked to play along with the band, but they played balkan-folk and now that's just the thing I can't play.) The guitarist and I have very little common repertoire, so what we did wasn't much special, but we had fun.
There are also often little groups of people sitting on the streets playing music together, or they are just 'hanging'. Especially at night, when there are fewer cars, I manoevre with my bicycle among all this camping folk. These people are very friendly, there is no agression, they peacefully pass on the smokeware. Sometimes it's just like Woodstock.
For someting completely different: what's difficult here, is vegetarian food. I preferably eat vegetarian when I have the choice, but that choice you usually don't get in the restaurants here. It's always meat or fish, with relatively little vegetables to accompany. A regional speciality here is 'cassoulet', a stew of duck meat, soaked with an enormous quantity of fat. I have tried it sometimes, but it's extremely heavy on the stomach. Not recommended, I'd say.
But, as with a lot of things, there are still also some countermovements noticeable in this diverse city. So there are also restaurants where vegetarian dishes are available, and even a some completely vegetarian restaurants. There are also restaurants and supermarkets with organic food. After long and careful searching you can find everything after all. Even though that searching isn't easy, because everything is indicated in the well-known French way...
Breakfast in our back yardAgain one aspect in which the French probably find me very indecent is the following: everybody here closes the shutters of their windows every evening, but in our house we usually don't bother with that. The lady next door already has let us know that we actually should do so. But right now, with this heat, we keep the shutters closed even during the day; that works fine to stop the blazing effect of the sun a little bit. The lady next door already noticed this. She's probably thinking: would they then slowly be learning it after all? No no; don't bother hoping for that.
The French in turn amaze me as well. They rarely take over habits from other countries, but now they turn out to permit something sometimes very selectively after all, to be precise the very worst dutch invention of the latest years. Big Brother! Under de name 'Loft Story', a couple of good looking puppets are locked up in an attic for a couple of months. Their happenings and interesting conversations can be followed 24/7 on a TV channel to which you can subscribe very expensively. Seems to be madly popular, also here. Unbelievable what you can make people fall for, with a heavy marketing campaign.
Football, by the way, is here in Toulouse less popular than in the Netherlands (probably because the local team doesn't do so well), but rugby is. Even though this sport interests me just as little, it's a nice change. A few weeks ago there was a rugby veteran festival here in the city. On Saturday afternoon, rugby teams from all parts of the world (especially England, Ireland, Canada and Australia), with middle-aged members, were gathered on Place du Capitole, and afterwards they went in a jolly parade through the city. All kinds of colourful dresses: Spaniards dressed as bullfighters, Canadians as moose, and Irish with pints in their hands and already half drunk. It looked more like carnival than rugby.
But the next day there was already nothing of this to be noticed anymore and the sun shone brightly over the terraces, which by now are filling up with tourists (albeit not nearly as many as in the real tourist places). It's nice to hang around on these terraces or in the parks along the river. It appears also, that if you sit down somewhere, friends and acquaintances keep passing by all the time. So you don't have to do much yourself for this.
Some words about the troubles at our home. Our house has two apartments: we live at the upper floor, and downstairs at the back lives a 20-year old female Ghanese student. At the front is a hairdresser's shop. Now the girl downstairs has sometimes heavy arguments with her boyfriend, which often is fought out on the corridor, so that we can properly enjoy the entertainment. The other night there was in the middle of the night such a noise that sleeping became impossible, and I went downstairs to look what was going on, and whether this could stop. She turned out to be telling her boyfriend that he had to get out, and he was getting round to it, but apparently there still had to be some very noisy discussions (meaning: shouting). I don't know if my attempts of calming had much effect. At one moment she took a knife from the kitchen and started threatening him with it. Now he did leave a bit more quickly, but he kept on calling out that she was mad, and that he would never come back, etcetera. After that, the show was over for this time.
Of course he did come back later again anyway, so that these comedies are often being continued. We sometimes consider to put chairs in the corridor and follow this live soap opera. It's more realistic than tv, and what can you do, if you can't sleep anyway...
Sometime later it was again going on, this time on a Saturday afternoon, while we were sitting in the garden. We heard shouting, and sounds of smashing things. When I went to look, she was involved in a fight with a female friend, in the kitchen, amidst pieces of glass and right beside a pan which was cooking on the stove.
I tried to calm them again. A little later also her boyfriend appeared again - this time he wasn't involved - and together with him I separated the two. It wasn't easy; the ladies again grabbed several knives from the kitchen drawer, with which some injuries were caused before we could fiddle them out of their hands. Eventually the police appeared, which had been called by the hairdresser, and got the matter under control. End of again another episode.
But even though the girl loses her temper too quickly, I personally don't have any problems with her. This is in contrast to the hairdresser and the next-door neighbours. The hairdresser, concerned about her clientele, told me once that she and the neighbours were planning to set up a declaration, that the girl makes too much noise, in order to persuade the landlord to force her to leave. Whether we wanted to sign this as well. I don't find this a decent way of doing things, and I said that I wouldn't sign.
But apart from that, it seemed that nobody yet had told this action to the subject herself. That I find even less of a good way of doing things. Because of this, I told our downstairs neighbour myself which conspiracy was planned against her. She thanked me friendlily for this, and immediately dashed over to the hairdresser's shop and the house next door, where, shouting, raving and kicking doors, she made her displeasure known. Now that hadn't been my intention either.
The hairdresser was very shocked, and blamed me for this. She found it not very nice that I immediately passed on something that had been told to me in confidence. She said: "In France we don't do such a thing!" Now I was suddenly the bad guy; I had undermined their little plan.
Does she want to tell me that in France, hypocrisy and sneakiness are greater virtues than honesty?
A climax of this is the "Fête de la Musique" on June 21st, where in the whole of France music is being made on all street corners and in all bars. Now you could conclude from my earlier messages that that is always happening in Toulouse anyway, but on this night it was even a lot more then usually. I also considered to take part in it myself, but in hindsight it's good that I didn't, because there was really already enough to do, and then it's nicer to walk around, and watch and listen to all sorts of stuff.
So, the two of us have walked more or less up and down the whole centre, and seen quite a lot of variation: on Rue du Taur a guitar duo and a gospel choir, on Rue Pargaminières a scratching DJ, on Place St. Pierre a 'carnival' brass band and a pop band, on Port de la Daurade an entertainment orchestra with polkas and mazurkas, on Place Esquirol a guitar/singing duo, on Rue Peyrolières several house parties and a rapper, on the large stage on Place du Capitole a comedy band and after that a salsa band with dancers, on Place Wilson a Turkish band with dancers and a Brazilian guitar band, on Rue Victor Hugo several pop bands, on Place St. Sernin a gypsy jazz trio, on Rue des Trois Piliers a french ska/reggae band, on Place Arnaud Bernard a jazz trio which unfortunately couldn't be heard over the racket of the techno parties next door, and on Boulevard de Strasbourg an experimental jazz band.
Gospel choir at Fête de la MusiqueAlso the number of people who on this night were walking around in the city bordered the incredible and and physically impossible. For illustration: at one point I wanted to go and move my bicycle which was parked on a corner of Place du Capitole. But the whole area around it was completely packed with people. After a while, I had managed to 'swim' to my bike, and undo the locks, but I couldn't move it in any direction. I was completely stuck in a crowd of people who all wanted to go somewhere but were all stuck; there was no motion in it. I must have stood stuck like this for ten minutes before I saw somewhere a way out and, with my bike above my head, climbed out of the crowd.
But it must be said that although this crowd was chaotic and clumsy (there were even some who tried to wriggle themselves through with a car!), there was little drunkenness and agression to be found; something that you may expect in the Netherlands much sooner.
This country never ceases to amaze me.
Jardin du Capitole, on Square Charles de GaulleIt's now relatively quiet in the city. The students are all gone, and there aren't very many tourists. Due to this, the crowd you meet in the nightlife is about a third to half smaller than in the spring. People had sometimes warned me that it would be dead quiet in the summer, but that's exaggerated. But the strange thing is, that the offer of live music really has reduced to almost zero. All those bars, where in the winter and the spring almost every day there was something to hear, don't have anything now. Why, isn't clear to me. Was the music only organised for, or by, the students? Anyway, it appears that I can now provide in a need: with my guitar I'm now everywhere even more welcome than usual. I have been playing on the street several times, and got plenty of enthusiastic audience. Also, people ask me to come into the bars to play.
During the summer, the cultural life mainly takes place on all kinds of festivals in the countryside. Because I'm working, I don't have too much time for that, but in the weekends I get out there. But about this I'll tell more the next time.
In many French cities people encounter this summer (again) problems with the smog. Also here: even though there are fewer people, the cars still drive around in large numbers through the narrow streets of the inner city. They stand waiting in the queues with running motor until they find a parking place somewhere in the city center. Due to the heat, the pollution keeps hanging in the city air. Because of this, the air is clearly filthy, and it's impossible for everybody not to notice this. But before really something improves, a couple more French revolutions will probably have to take place...
But also the rain started again, and showed its effect: two times the power on the stage went off. But then it also needs to be said that both times they managed to turn the power on again, and continued the concert. A handfull of people kept listening in good spirit and more and more wetness, until around midnight, much earlier than planned, the organisation closed off the event because it hardly wasn't worth the trouble anymore. Well, that was the national holiday; much goodwill and little special, except, that is, the worst weather of the whole summer.
August is clearly the holiday month in France. As quiet as now I have never yet seen it here. Not only is there even less live music in the bars than was already the case in July, now even also many restaurants and bars are closed. There aren't very many tourists, but those that are there, are amazed, and get an unrealistic impression of this city, where outside of the holiday season there is actually so much to do.
You have to look for entertainment outside of the city, and indeed that's where it's happening. There are all kinds of festivals in the countryside, varying from wine-tastings via theatre festivals to techno parties. For instance, the other day I was on a world music festival in St. Croix Volvestre, an insignificant village, nicely situated between in the hills, but normally you would drive through without noticing it. Now it was full of music, from French via African to Latin-American; full of hippy-like colourfully dressed folk, full of camping tents - on the surrounding fields were temporary campings available, full of food stalls and market stalls, and full of jam sessions of percussion, guitars and fiddles. A relaxed and spontaneous atmosphere.
Jamming in St. Croix VolvestreAnother interesting activity in the summer is cycling. During the weekends, at least when the temperature was willing to sink occasionally below thirty degrees, I've made beautiful cycling trips in the surroundings of the city. When you get out from the buzz of the city, you are immediately in the charming French countryside. VanGogh-like scenes with fields and acres full of sunflowers or maïze; pittoresque little villages hidden between the hills, with old buildings and narrow streets; winding roads lined with plane trees. Very worthwhile. The hills are sometimes pretty tough, especially in this weather, but the view is a worthy reward. Funny is also that in practically every village you pass, a village fest is going on. It's the time of year.
On a cycling trip: a sandwich in a villageThe abovementioned plane trees along the roads are giving rise to a national discussion. It's being considered to chop them, because they are dangerous: drunken drivers regularly bump into them. The French problem solving techniques are unparallelled.
This driving behaviour you indeed encounter every now and then, also in the city. As I have written before, most car drivers drive relaxedly, but there are those troublemakers among them who have to 'prove' themselves with their four wheels. Alcohol plays very likely a role in this. Especially at night, when the roads are relatively empty, every now and then one of those comes roaring by driving 3x the maximum speed. Fragile on my little bicycle, I have to watch out very carefully for this. The other day I came home at night, and in the middle of the road, right in front of my house, was a large gathering of people, police and ambulance. In the center, a car was lying on its side, completely burnt out, its motor was lying a little further on, and the lifeless driver still a little further. Windows of the surrounding buildings were broken. I heard that this car, which certainly must have gone way too fast, had hit somewhere an object beside the road, had launched itself up, via the canopy of a tree had come back down onto the road, and had exploded. Nice adventures these are.
The students and the other large crowds are back in the city. The peace and quiet of the summer is gone. In the city centre the cars are again bumper to bumper, parked along the streets, and wriggling themselves in queues through the narrow streets. On the bicycle it's a lot of hassle to oversee all that traffic chaos well and manoeuvre through it. The difference between parked and queued cars is sometimes hard to see. Both are in principle standing anywhere on the road: left, right, in the middle, on the cycle track. The only difference is that a car with somebody sitting in it, has a larger chance to suddenly drive off. Or to suddenly open its door.
Even though the crowds have returned, the musical programme of the bars hasn't started yet. In most bars that doesn't begin until October. Why, isn't clear to me, but that's probably again a French 'that's-how-it's-supposed-to-go'. Anyway, the music festivals of the summer are still going on, but they are slowly moving closer to the city. For instance, on the 14th-15th of September there was a 'Street Festival' in Ramonville, a suburb south of Toulouse. It was very pleasant that I could cycle there on the canal cycle path, without meeting any car traffic; that immediately gives already a relaxed feeling. The festival itself was quite big, with all kinds of theatre, dance, music, and acrobatics. Many visitors also had brought their own musical instruments or juggling things and were giving their personal shows. The festival seems to be popular: I met there just about everybody I know from Toulouse.
A theatre group at the street festival in RamonvilleAt night, with all alcohol that was served (and probably also brought along) people there became crazier all the time. If you looked around, you saw all kinds of types doing the strangest looking indian dances, or trying to build a human pyramid, which of course fell over quickly. Also some were lying unconsciously on the ground, in the middle of the crowds. At the moment when I was planning to go home, I met a group of musicians who were sitting on the guardrail of a road bridge, and playing a bit unorganisedly. Especially the drummer and the violinist seemed not to be able to handle their instruments so well. It quickly turned out that they were playing each other's intruments; apparently they had had enough of their own instruments for the day. I asked if I could borrow the violin, and somebody else did the same with the drums. We started to play along, and apparently this gave a new impulse, because more musicians joined us, with guitars and bagpipes, and more public gathered around us. This way the party went on; we've been jamming still for hours this way, in the middle of the night, on a bridge above the N113.
Friday, 21st September, 10:20. I'm at work, when suddenly a ridiculously loud bang sounds, the ground and the whole building shake, and outside some dust is blown up. A few windows break in the wing next to us. Everybody wonders what this now is: an explosion in a chemical lab somewhere on the terrain? We go outside, and see that everywhere everybody is wondering the same thing; it seems to come from further away. A little later we see in the sky several bright red, yellow and orange clouds appear.
10:20. At home in our apartment, my girlfriend is sitting on the sofa, when suddenly the house begins to shake, from outside sounds a deafening bang, all windows are shattered, and many large pieces of glass fly through the whole room. She's just in time to protect her face, and is lucky that she's only lightly hit in her leg. At the same time, part of the ceiling comes crashing down. Watching out whether nothing more is about to collapse (after all, it's not a very sturdy house) she starts looking around. Also in the bedroom windows have broken. Everything is covered in glass. She thinks of an explosion in the street, just in front of the doorstep. Arriving outside, there is nothing to be seen of an explosion, but everywhere in the street windows have smashed. All people come out; nobody knows what has happened. High in the sky she sees vague red clouds. There is a smell of ammoniac.
The association with the attacks in America, last week, comes up immediately. Some people call out: "c'est un avion!"
At my work the first internet messages appear, among others from the newspaper 'le Monde', that in Toulouse an explosion took place in the fertiliser factory AZF. This is situated on the banks of the Garonne, south of the city centre (and closer to our apartment than to my working place). Confusing stories arrive about possibly poisonous gases that have escaped. One interprets it as 'deadly' gases, another as 'harmful'. And what to do: one has heard that we have to espace northward, another says southward, and others again say we have to stay inside. Besides, so it's said, all roads are jammed; you can't get through anyway. Confusion everywhere. Only with great difficulty I manage to call home: all phone lines are overoccupied.
Eventually, the authorities advise to stay indoors. That doesn't help my girlfriend very much, with all windows blasted out. I decide to go home to see what's happened there, and to help her. At home, I see the enormous mess.
Our living room after the explosionIt's reported that the poisonous fumes are drifting northwestward, away from us. I go into town, to try to look somewhere for some equipment to clean up. But all shops are closed. An apocalyptic picture: everywhere in the city windows have smashed, all streets are covered in glass, there are hardly any cars, and all the people who normally are hanging around outside so happily are now nervously running from one place to the other, some try to protect themselves with a handkerchief in front of their face.
The cleaning up of the worst mess at home takes all day. I'll spare you for the rest the hassle with the landlord, the insurer and the window installer - anyway, the case won't be closed for a while. But we still got away relatively well: closer to the factory, whole houses have been blown away, there were 30 dead and hundreds of wounded.
For days, the newspapers are full of this incident, but only after a couple of days it becomes somewhat clear what happened. On the terrain of the fertiliser factory AZF some ammonium nitrate, which had been qualified unsuitable for further processing, had been stored in a large container. This container was standing open and oozing, and badly aired, in a hall where all kinds of other activities were taking place. Ammonium nitrate isn't dangerous in itself, but can become very explosive in combination with fuel, when it reaches a certain temperature. Most explanations now say that the fuel may have come from pollution, especially by the diesel fumes from the trucks which were driving on and off there. A high temperature may have been caused by fermentation, or by a small fire.
Anyway, comparing with how other things go here, I can't suppress the impression that this is a typical case of French 'laisser faire', meaning: lack of action. Probably they had thought: shouldn't we do something to that tank of waste? - oh, that'll sort itself out. And so it did.
There are still more chemical factories in that neighbourhood, among others one which produces rocket fuel. Some estimate, that if that factory had exploded 'along', Toulouse now wouldn't have been here anymore. This is why now many voices are going up that this kind of dangerous factories shouldn't be located near city centres, and should be better secured. Last Saturday there was a large demonstration in the city for this cause. Also the mayor has already said that he wants dangerous factories to disappear from the city. But no matter how much attention there is for this now, I think I can predict that there will be a lot said and written about this, and that subsequently with all that paper not much more will be done than 'put in the archive'. I'm afraid that a lot more factories will have to explode before something will really change.
My bathroom scenario of last month sounds like nothing at all compared to this. I don't know what is to happen in the coming months; and whether this development will continue. At least, its' not boring here...
The factory AZF a few weeks after the explosionFrance is at this moment one of the few countries in the world where nuclear energy makes out the largest portion of the energy production, and also one of the few countries where the government is planning to continue still for long in this way. But a growing part of the population is not happy with that. To begin with, already because of the nuclear waste, which is piling up. But especially now, after the events of last month - terrorist attacks in America; an exploding factory here in Toulouse - more and more people don't feel at ease with nuclear power stations in their country. If one of these explodes, as a consequence of a small error or inaccuracy, or because somebody sends an airplane at it (both have now shown not to be unthinkable), the consequences cannot be imagined.
And it must be said: even though the French are in general, without too much thinking, inclined to continue their business in their standard way, they are however willing, in manifestations and strikes, to demonstrate their opinion about what should change according to them. The turnout at the demonstrations was quite large. At most of the demonstrations I was also present.
At the demonstration against nuclear power, there were lots of information stalls of organisations, and there was live music. In addition, the public had been requested beforehand to dress up some food tins as 'barrels of nuclear waste', using a flyer which had been distributed, and bring these along to Place du Capitole. Because of this, halfway the afternoon, the middle of the square was full of a chaotic heap of tins. I decided to do something constructive with that, and started to pile them up on top of each other. Some children found this a good idea, and started to take part in it. More and more people joined us, especially children, but also some adults. It was beautiful to see how, while I myself was busy in the middle, around me a whole building arose. A beautiful castle, with towers up to 2 metres high. Just when we were out of tins, and the building was at its highest and most beautiful, also its weakness showed. The weather was slightly windy, and the 'single stone' (single tin) walls weren't resistent against that. Some walls started to topple over. They built them up again, but walls kept tumbling down, and when finally everything fell down, the children got the idea that it's also a lot of fun to throw and kick the tins at each other. It became a large mess, and I decided to leave them to it. Later on the afternoon, when the children had left, I started once more anew, and this time built a pyramid; this was better resistant against the wind. Some people came to join me again, and at the end of the manifestation, in the middle of Place du Capitole there was a 2 metres high pyramid of miniature nuclear waste, which kept standing the whole evening.
Not only were these bulding activities fun, you can also see it as a nice symbol for the rise, climax, fall and heritage of a civilisation.
At the end of October you see everywhere around you that an Irish/American tradition becomes popular also here: Halloween. Everything is 'decorated' with spiders, cobwebs, pumpkins with faces, and witch stuff. On the 31st Oktober you see children walking around dressed as scarecrows or witches, on their way to a Halloween party. I don't know whether the 'trick or treat' is also in use here. I also wonder if this new tradition isn't here maybe only driven by commerce. But oh well, it's fun.
Till the next one,
Autumn in France, that means of course: the new wine harvest. And this is every year symbolically introduced by the presentation of the new Beaujolais, on the third Thursday of November. This mainly consists of the fact that in many restaurants and bars in big letters is marked "Le Beaujolais nouveau est arrivé", and people get out in large numbers to try this one out. But this wine has to deal with some competition here: the Gaillac, from this region, has at the same moment also a primeur-wine, and that one is more popular here. In many places you can even get only the Gaillac instead of the Beaujolais. Well, I have tried them both, and I find indeed the Gaillac better, having a fuller taste. Now I'm not a connaisseur, and you can't argue about taste (or then again, you can, for very long), but it is a relief that for once I agree with the people here around me. The primeur-wines are consumed with roasted chestnuts, which combination fits well in the atmosphere of these dark days.
In the meantime, the discussion of the day is still the explosion of two months ago. People often ask "did you also have a lot of damage", and "has it been repaired yet at your place". Indeed, many houses haven't yet. In our place, the ceiling and the balcony doors still have to be replaced, but we really aren't an exception; in the poorer areas you still see large apartment blocks with many broken windows. And by now it's getting cold outside. I read in the paper a letter, saying that it shouldn't be possible in a Western European country, that it takes this long before repairs are carried out, and that people have to sit in the cold for months. Agreed...
But people are also trying to do something about it. A few weeks ago, there was on Place du Capitole a large sale of vines in flower pots, which had been painted pink with pot and all. (I suppose that the vines were dead, and were only meant as works of art.) They cost 200 Fr (about 33€), and the profits came to the benefit of those affected by the explosion ('sinistrés'). "Vigne rose, ville rose." The collection of pink vines had been arranged on the square in the shape of a large heart, which you could see well in the aerial photo in the newspaper. A pink heart going out to the pink city.
On this spot the mountain ridge forms the border with Spain. The next day we drove around the mountains and through a tunnel, to have a look at the same point also from the other side. On the Spanish side, the Pyrenees look still a bit wilder. In the area around Monte Perdido, near the little town of Bielsa, we're situated opposite Gavarnie, and there's a similar area: a circular cleft full of cascading waterfalls. The mountainside is less steep here, but rougher, and with more variation and more natural beauty. Wonderful.
Le cirque de GavarnieEverywhere in this area, in this time of year the trees are in the most wonderful colours. While we were driving, we were enjoying this view, and therefore didn't drive too fast - that is to say: we stuck to the speed limit. It soon appeared that the average Frenchman who drives through here doesn't appreciate such behaviour: they constantly stuck to our rear bumper, and when the opportunity came they dashed past, with a disapproving expression toward us. In general the southern Frenchman is a relaxed person, expect when you don't do what he thinks you ought to do. But oh well, stressful driving behaviour you encounter in all countries, as everybody knows. I have already long ago learnt not to let that bother me.
And so it all continues.
Write to you again
The streets are full of abundant Christmas lighting decorations, admittedly sometimes bordering the American-kitschy, but I think this is still nice to make the Christmas atmosphere complete, lacking a decent layer of snow (the sporadic snow that falls hardly stays). And on Place du Capitole there is a Christmas market, where you can get all kinds of regional products from various corners of France, as Cristmas presents: Pyrenean liqueur, Bask goat cheese, Alsacian cake, Brittany honey wine. Thus the French, when opportunity arises, are after all willing to admit that their country is built up out of various cultures, which are worth preserving.
Even though the cold may give a real wintery atmosphere, for me and my girlfriend it's not really pleasant, because it's becoming impossible to heat our little home well anymore. French building skills apparently aren't matched up to this. On the one hand our heating system isn't sufficient, on the other hand the insulation isn't either. The two of us have already spent whole weekends and evenings closing all kinds of gaps sticking and spouting, but still the stove is burning full force the whole evening without it becoming really agreeable inside. Of course, one reason is that part of the damage of the explosion still hasn't been repaired: we're still having a large hole in the ceiling and the balcony doors are hanging loose. The landlord, when we tell him that we're cold, just says "desolé", but it doesn't look like something will soon be repaired now.
A nice example of how the French treat their customers is also the following anecdote. Last August I replaced the rear tyre of my bicycle. It wasn't easy to find one, because my 27 inches is quite an unusual wheel size. Nevertheless, I found one, but that same tyre is in December already worn off down to the thread. Out of necessity, I go out again hunting for such a tyre. In a mega-size sports utility store (I'm thinking: "here they surely have everything"), I ask for a tyre of 27 inches.
The salesman says: "That doesn't exist, sir."
"No no, except on my bike, that is."
"Really - then please bring your bike in here. Maybe you read it wrong, or it does say '27' but that means then something else than the wheel size".
I take the bike inside, and he has to admit that it is 27 inches, and that he has never seen it before. I tell him: "this tyre I've bought four months ago here in Toulouse," (to indicate that is exists even in France), "and it's already now completely worn out; on one spot it even already came loose from the metal wire!" (to indicate that the French product is no decent quality).
"Did you put it onto the wheel yourself?"
"Yes."
"Then you've probably done something wrong; if it's coming loose from the wire..."
This case is not a one-off; it's just one example of a general attitude which French merchants and office workers seem to have: 'the customer is always wrong'. I personally find something like that a respectless treatment of the other person, and it certainly isn't in agreement with the clumsy way in which they themselves organise and construct things. I can also easily insult them about this myself, but I am too well-behaved for that - although that is decreasing already.
Finally, this attitude makes that the typical French overly formal greeting, with hand, two kisses, and "bonjour - ça va - très bien", is a completely meaningless façade, behind which lies no real respect for the other. So: is there still anybody who wants to claim that the French are polite...?
To finish off the bicycle-store story: the salesman proposes to see whether other tyre sizes, which he does have in stock, might fit on my wheel. I agree, because it would be nice if that would turn out to be the case. But he first starts doing lots of other things (also seems normal in France: just let the customer wait unlimitedly), and after ten minutes of waiting I leave the store without saying anything. I don't have much faith anyway in his skill of putting on a bicycle tyre.
At one moment somebody came up to me with a request, but from the unclearly spoken rag of lyrics, I couldn't understnd which song he meant. The bass player of the band did recognise it, and sang it a bit more clearly; he turned out to be talking about 'Cotton Eyed Joe'. The bass player and the rest of the band didn't know the song, but now I had recognised it, and I did know it. So I just started playing, the rest of the band just joined me, and the audience just started partying en masse again.
Later that evening I walked, while playing the fiddle, into the audience, and gave away a solo while I was dancing with a lady. There's no business like showbusiness.
It's nice that you can get the French to party so easily with fun live music, and that it doesn't even need to be French music. It's also nice that I can close off the story positively this way.
Playing at the gala in MontpellierWith this comes an end to the year. At the same time, with this comes an end to the series of monthly reports from Toulouse, in which I have tried to give a picture of life here, the season changes and my personal experiences. I hope I have provided somebody some reading pleasure. I am now spending the holidays with my parents in the Netherlands, and from here I wish everybody
Bonne nouvelle année!
Hyvää uutta vuotta!
Gott nytt år!
¡Prospero año nuevo!
Gutes neues Jahr!
Happy new year!
Gelukkig nieuwjaar!