Our arrival at the right place in Lezignan-Corbieres was more a matter of good luck rather than good judgement! It was going to be a more difficult task than usual, and one which we could not entrust to the Tom-tom because there are two underpasses in the town which we had to avoid at all costs. The one is only 2.3 metres high and as we are 3 .1 metres the consequences of trying to go that way don’t need explaining. We had been given detailed instructions on how to get to the house, on the assumption that we would be coming from Carcassonne, but we had been zig-zagging all over the place and instead of arriving from the West, we came in from the North. So we thought we would just head for the centre of town, find a parking place and phone for help. Ah, but we had reckoned without the roads department, who just that very day had decided to resurface the main road into town, diverting all traffic to goodness knows where. Plan B swung into action. Liz, the owner of the house we were due to borrow for a while, had told us that when we came in from the direction of Carcassonne, we would pass a large supermarket and if we had any doubts about getting to her house unaided, we should just pull in there and give her a call. So we looked for a road going to Carcassonne and started off along it looking for the supermarket. When we had gone far enough to convince ourselves that we were now so far out of town that no self-respecting supermarket could possibly be around, we turned back and found ourselves heading for ‘Centre Ville’. Suddenly we saw a sign that read ‘Free Parking 130 places’ and which pointed in the direction we were going. At this point, I should perhaps say that Lezignan has some of the narrowest streets we had yet attempted and a tense silence filled the cab as we trundled through the traffic following the signs. Finally we turned into a tiny street which opened out into the promised free parking. We both heaved a sigh of relief and I pulled out the cell phone to ring Liz to ask her to come and rescue us. “Do you know where you are?” she asked, to which I could only reply that we were in the free parking for 130 cars and to get there we had come down a tiny street past the Athletic Club. There was a silence while she thought about this and then she asked what the parking area looked like. So I described the blocks of flats on one side and the very old-looking wall around two sides, at which she gave a bit of a giggle and told us to sit tight and she would come and get us. The next minute two women walked into the parking area from a different angle, who turned out to be Liz and her friend, Val, to tell us that we had made it to the correct parking place after all and that her house was just around the corner. As I said, more good luck than good judgement.
For the rest of that day and the following one, the rain alternated between pouring and drizzling but seemed disinclined to stop completely. We occupied some of the time sitting in a launderette watching our washing going round, first in the washer and then in the drier. We had declined Liz’s offer of her machine as she has no drier, and we were seriously running out of clothes.
On Wednesday, though, the sun made a half-hearted effort which was enough for the stall-holders to set up their weekly market. We couldn’t let that go past without inspection, so off we all went, agreeing to meet back at the house for an early lunch before Liz and Val left to catch their plane back to Britain. What a weird and wonderful assortment of goods on offer. Everything from hardware to clothing, from fresh fruit and vegetables to meat and fish; from spices and olives to breads and cheeses. One could spend a fortune but luckily it isn’t necessary to buy, to find out what the products taste like. The traders seem only too happy to let you taste even if there is no chance of a sale.
After Liz and Val had left, and Andy, another friend who lives locally, had gone off back to his home, the house seemed very empty but we were quite pleased to have some time in a comfortable environment, completely on our own. It also felt quite grand to have free run of this three-storey town house, with it’s four bedrooms. We retired to bed that night feeling quite the Lord and Lady of the Manor! Our peace was not to last, though. It was still pitch-dark when we were both awakened by a man’s hoarse voice shouting and a crackling sound. Neels jumped up and opened the shutters to see what was happening, noticing as he did so that it was 3.30 in the morning. I mumbled something about telling them to shut up, thinking it was the garbage collectors, then Neels said, “Quick, come and see – there’s a car on fire out here”. I needed no second invitation but was up in flash, grabbing my camera as I went. The man was still shouting although we couldn’t make out what he was saying, then a woman’s voice called that she had rung the Pompiers. By now, flames were gushing out of the little van’s windows, and a stream of flaming diesel was slowly making it’s way along the street gutter. Being a vey narrow street, the van was, of necessity, parked right up against the wall of the house, outside one window so by the time the Fire Brigade arrived, the wall was badly scorched and the window frame completely burnt away. Whether the fire had actually spread to the inside of the house, we don’t know, but the firemen certainly sprayed water in through the broken window. What a truly horrible thing to happen to anyone, to have their car burn out right in front of the house, but what a truly scary thing to see, at such close quarters.
The rest of the week has been spent getting to know our new surroundings. Simple things like finding the way to the supermarket and back without getting totally lost in both directions, take on new menace when there is a very real chance of finding oneself at the head of a string of traffic, faced with an underpass one can’t possibly pass under. It certainly adds a small thrill to an otherwise mundane task. We have also discovered that one can add a little zing to life just by standing outside an automatically opening door, for a few minutes, until a passerby pointed out that the sign above the door was Sortie (Exit) and that the Entrée was around the corner. Or by walking confidently up to a door and pulling on the handle rather than pushing it inwards, only to realize a split second later that siesta time has started and the door is in any case locked!
While we wait for Karen, Bruce, Steve and Carol to arrive on Monday evening and Tuesday morning respectively, we are earning our keep by doing a few small repairs around the house. Well, Neels is. I, of course, am far too busy keeping in touch with all of you.
On Sunday we were supposed to go to something called a Vide Grenier which roughly translates as Empty Loft, or as we would say, a car boot sale. We have decided that there is a special design of door knocker which we just can’t live without, and that this would be the place to find one, but when we awoke on Sunday morning it was once again teeming with rain. We did go out to the little town where the sale should have been held, but there was simply nothing going on, so we came ‘home’, went to the shop for an English Sunday paper and spent all day reading the paper. Boring!! Let’s hope it clears before the family arrives.