So here we are again! To those of you who had just settled
down with your morning cuppa, ready for your customary Monday morning read, my
sincere apologies.
To backtrack a little -
Fanette spent last weekend with us again, and the two girls made more fig
jam. They seem to have got it just right again and I can see that it is not going
to stay on the pantry shelves for long. Courtney has promised us another batch
this next weekend if she doesn’t have too much studying.
On Tuesday I had another eye appointment, an assessment
after six intraocular injections. I had been hoping to come away with a
prescription for new glasses but was, perhaps, a little disappointed to discover
that I needed at least two more injections. However, apart from the early
wake-up time, they do not inconvenience us at all and are not at all painful or
have any unwelcome after-effects, so I’m not complaining. I would rather have
my sight back as near to what it was, than not, so on Friday we were up with
the sparrows (or before), o be at the appointed place by 7.30 am. The beauty of
this is, of course, that we have hours of day stretched out ahead of us by the
time we get back home again at about 9.30. and get through all the chores that
have been set aside during the preceding week. Every cloud really does have a
silver lining.
There is no peace for the wicked, they say and I feel we
must be inherently wicked as we certainly don’t get much peace. On Wednesday we
were up and about in good time to assemble all the necessary documents for
Courtney to take down to Toulouse where she would be issued with a ‘long-stay
visa’. On Wednesday’s, all the schools close at midday and as she had an open
period before that she was free by 11 am. We collected her from school and went
straight on to Toulouse, arriving at about 1.30. We found parking, near the
office that she had to report to, which was part of a small shopping mall,
where we also found a sandwich bar. We had plenty of time as her appointment
was only for 3 o’clock. When we had to
go through the same procedure, we had an interview to assess our general
health, then an x-ray, then a so-called medical examination (which was a farce –
the doctor just held our x-rays up to the window and pronounced us fit!), and
then finally an interview with the person who actually issued the long stay
permit, and I suppose we passed, or whatever because she stuck the appropriate
piece of paper into our passports and we were done. Quite smooth and fast, we
thought. Basing everything on that, we settled down for a wait of about an
hour, but long before that Courtney sent a message to say she was finished It
turns out that she just sailed through without any hold-ups. No preliminary interview,
no x-ray, no medical check – straight through to the person who issues the
visas! Perhaps it had something to with the fact that she was applying for a
long-stay student visa or something like that. Whatever it was, she is now
legally in France as a n adult student and we don’t have to deal with any more
bureaucracy for another year.
She spent the night at home with us and went off back to
school next morning at the unearthly hour of 6.45, by bus. I do feel a bit
callous sending her out into the cold and dark, but am comforted by the thought
that the bus is heated and the driver turns the light off once they have picked
up all the scholars so that they can all grab a few more minutes shut-eye. That
may have been an eraly start to the day but not as early as Pieter who left at
5 am to drive to Barcelona where he would catch a ferry to Mallorca. His
apartment there, which he has been renovating over the last few years, needs
now to be finished and put on the market. He is hoping to return to France at
the end of November which will coincide with Tilly’s return from Canada where
she and Jack will have just spent some time touring and visiting old friends.
On Saturday I had been volunteered to help, with other
ladies from the commune, in preparing food for Saturday nights ‘ Estofinade’.
There is no English word for this, but it is an annual feast whose main dish is
a bit like a fish pie. It is a regional speciality of the Aveyron but everyone
seems to be of the opinion that the one at Ols is the best, so there is a
standard to be maintained! Apparently, in past times, barges would travel up
the Lot River to Decazeville, which is further inland than we are, to collect
coal that was mined there and transport it back down to Bordeaux from where it was exported to various places.
On the inland trip, the barges would fill up with dried salted cod and sell it
along the way. As Ols is less than 10 kilometres from Cajarc, a port on the
River Lot, it stands to reason that previous inhabitants would have had access
to the fish and invented a special recipe for it.
So, once a year, the ladies of Ols go all out to make sure
that they maintain the current image. When my neighbour, Anne, and I arrived at
the hall at 2.30 pm we found the morning shift all sitting at a long table
having just enjoyed a lunch of homemade soup, with bread and cheese to follow.
Bottles of beer and wine stood around and they had just reached the coffee
stage. Reluctantly they left the table an d as the some of the ladies joined
us, the men peeled off to another part of the hall where they set up tables and
laid them, organised a bar area in an attached
temporary structure and sorted out the gas requirements for the evening.
Meanwhile we were all shown into the kitchen where another long table had been
set up and covered with a paper ‘cloth’. Each lady was given a pair of latex
gloves and a plate and next moment, as soon as we were all seated, huge pots
were brought in , each filled with boiled cod. Our job was to separate the fish
from the bones and skin and break the fish into small pieces. Six people worked
from one pot, taking vast spoonfuls of the fish and putting it on the plates
that we had been given. Working with our hands, we sifted through the ‘serving’
throwing the bones and skin into one container and the morsels of fish into another. During the
afternoon, I established that the morning shift had been peeling and chopping
potatoes and wondered just how many potatoes that would have been. It took us
until 5.30 to complete the fish at which stage it was carted off for the next
part of the recipe. Meanwhile the men, having completed some of their work,
were now carrying in crates of lettuces for salad. Before I left to come home
and have a much needed shower and a change of clothes, I asked what time we
should return for the meal and was told 9.30. Nine-thirty!! I would have to eat
before that! That is after my bed-time!
When I got back to the house, it was just in time to find
Courtney going out. Her friend had asked her to go along to help with the
preparations too. Theirs was a different kind of help. Every year at this time,
apart from the meal, Ols collects money for a retirement home somewhere (I
haven’t found out where yet). In order to do this, the teenagers are all loaded
on to a tractor trailer and taken to houses in the district where they offer to
exchange a donation to the home for a rosebush in a pot. It’s a charming idea and apparently they generally get a good
response. They came back at some time after 7 pm, having decided that they
would also go and help at the meal, as waitresses. A quick sprint across the
fields so that Courtney’s friend could change and off they went again. We
rocked up at a little after nine and found our places at one of the tables. I
noticed that the tables were no longer spread out all across the floor but had
been pushed back to clear a space for dancing which was already underway. As we
arrived, there were several people dancing what looked like a very complicated
maypole dance, without the pole. I was told that it is a traditional dance, but
I’m still sure it has its origins in maypole dancing. A group of eight people
in pairs form a circle and then proceed to follow a set routine which included
weaving in and out of the circle, singly or in their pairs, and dancing around
each other until each person had changed partners with everyone else and was
back with their original partner. It was both fascinating and entertaining to
watch. And, as if that wasn’t enough, they are past masters at line dancing
too. I love the way that all those that know the steps rush on to the floor the
moment the music starts and then dance as if their lives depended on it. I
imagine they are all counting furiously as they dance, or whatever it is that
line dancers do. The live band was rather good and played ‘ordinary’ music too,
which gave everyone else a chance to get on to the floor and do a few circuits.
Although the total population of our commune is something like 150 souls
including the old, the young, the decrepit and the just born, there were 300
people there to enjoy the Estofinade. The actual meal was five courses – a strange
soup that one ate with a fork(!); a green salad with croutons; the famed estofinade
– mashed potatoes mixed with shredded cooked cod and plenty of parsley; then
cheese and finally apple tart. Yum!
Good company, good food and good music all contributed to a
very good evening
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