Fête de la Musique

Last night was the Fête de la Musique. This festival is really cool.

Held every year on June 21st this celebration was first held in1982, and was started by the then Minister for Culture, Jack Lang. (Being Australian, I find it hard to think of anyone other than our own Jack Lang when I hear that name). The idea is for musicians to take to the streets, performing in open spaces and filling the night with music.

It is a charming idea, and hasn't lost any momentum over the years. In our little village of only a few thousand people there were no less than five concerts to choose from - all free.

In typical French style there was not much going on until after 8pm. Indeed, some concerts didn't start until well after 9. Adults and children alike mingled in village squares. At one concert the resident crazy lady danced up a storm right in front of the stage. Perhaps it was just the Rose talking, but unlike with her usual (solo) performances, last night she was joined by many other dancing Frenchies.  I was a little in awe of their communal lack of self consciousness. The Man, a resolutely committed non-dancer, snuck away in case anyone tried to pull him into the melee.

At the Couleur Cafe a local woman I have never met but seen many times was belting out Jazz. Spine tingling stuff. Further on, the lane way in front of a bar was filled with an acoustic group, some taking sips of beer between strumming their guitars, some dancing and shaking tambourines. As night fell and we wound down narrow cobbled streets, music echoing off the walls of the houses. We found the traditional French band - resplendent with piano accordion - outside a bar deep in our village. It might be cliched, but when they played La vie en rose, and I was standing there, in a French village square, surrounded by shuttered French stone houses, I shed a few tears of joy.

Yesterday was coincidentally the longest day of the year and also the official start to summer, so it was a triple celebration. In fact, if all this was not enough, our village also held it's Saint Jean bonfire to top it off. Traditionally people leap over a fire on Saint Jean-Baptiste day (24 June) but Souillac's fire was enormous, far too big to jump over. For many days a large bonfire has been under construction in the main car park. I must have been living here in France for too long - I hardly raised an eyebrow when the thing was engulfed in towering flames within just a few steps of the crowd.

Curly, Mr Indignation and their mates had been riding between the concerts on push bikes most of the evening. As the fire took hold several loud bangs rang out across the village. "That was us!" said Curly, skidding up to us with pride, "we threw some crackers in! There's three more to go!" With a grin he was off again, followed by a large gaggle of French children, all letting out a cheer as another cracker went off.

And that's childhood in France. Would you want to live anywhere else?



Kitchen porn

Well, better than porn actually.

Recently, a lot of exciting stuff has been going on in my kitchen. Feeling deeply apologetic for abandoning me for three months to a house in this state :

..The Man has wasted no time since getting home just 12 days ago, and finally installed my dishwasher. Previously, it had been sitting in the entry, all wrapped up in it's delivery plastic. For 11 months. The cat had been using the foam packaging as a scratching post.

Unfortunately, although connected into the (also brand new!) sink drainage, things get a bit hairy on the plumbing front downstairs. With the pipe yet to be connected to the outside drains system, the dreaded blue bucket has made another appearance. Last year's September and October visitors will no doubt recall the horrors of having to syphon their own (or worse still, someone elses'...) shower water from this same bucket into the back yard. Indeed, many may still be in therapy.

But frankly bucketing a bit of grey water out onto the lawn is a very small price to pay for not having to scream at my munchkins to wash! wash! wash! after every meal. Oh come one, with five kids, you didn't think I would be doing it myself did you?



Corrrrr!!!Check out the knob on that one....!



Tour de France is coming to Souillac! 20th July! And: tips for seeing the Tour if you will be in France

On the 20th July this year, and for the first time ever, the Tour is spinning it's way through our village. The route literally passes by the end of our street. We will be able to sit out on our front balcony, rose in hand, and watch it go by.  How lucky are we? I stand by an earlier call that Souillac has been included in the race this year thanks to The Man and his brother's spectacular celebratory semi-naked bike ride when Cadel won in 2011: http://ourhouseinquercy.blogspot.fr/2011/07/aussies-in-souillac-celebrate-cadels.html 

I was recently contacted by Kris from the USA seeking tips on where she should position herself in Souillac to get the best Tour view. Because I am very lazy, instead of writing a whole new blog I though I would just share my advice to her with you:

Tour: the real highlight is the caravane BEFORE the tour. You need to be in location hours before the race (say three) or they have the road closed. From our experience last year, I would say that out of town is better as you really get pushed around during the caravane if you are in a crowded place. Take food, water and shelter if your can, and a seat. You are there for ages so pee before you go or be prepared to go in the trees! You are right, they just wizz by. Last year we went for a position just after a steep corner where they swung around into our view. We got a great shot of Cadel (Aussie - and last year's winner) as he went past waving. We blogged about this http://ourhouseinquercy.blogspot.fr/2011/07/cadel-evans-magic-at-tour-de-france.html

If you are coming in from the West I would either head up the hill toward Cressensac or back south toward Payrac. But really, wait and see on the day. Another tip: try and park on a back road facing the direction you want to drive off in - the main course remains blocked for an hour or two after the race goes through and then traffic is bumper to bumper. If you can identify a back route that takes you away from the course in the direction of your digs, you can get out of there once the race passes through.


The 20th of July is a Friday, hence market day here in Souillac. If you are planning on watching the Tour from here, come early. You can view the timetable for the 20th July here http://www.letour.fr/2012/TDF/COURSE/us/1800/etape_par_etape.html#comm
and check out the rest of the Tour courses and general information on the same website.

Last year's victory ride - a source of national pride.

Bienvenue chez papa

Yesterday, after being away for three months working in Australia, we finally, finally, FINALLY welcomed The Man home.

Like all good parents, The Man was anxious to make up for his long absence via the universal children's language of crap-food-present-giving. His luggage was packed to capacity with Australian delicacies such as Cheezels:

Tim Tams - both original and the new life enhancing caramel version:

And of course, commercial quantities of cheese Twisties: 

There were also Minties, but naturally there was a frenzied Minties scramble before I could get the shot.

Observant readers will notice the lack of Vegemite. Foolishly, The Man prefers Marmite and refuses to spend precious luggage weight on the superior Australian product. Damn him.

10 things you should know about plastering that no one every tells you

I have recently engaged in a spot of renovation (more about this later) which has seen me re-plastering sections of various walls and ceilings here in our house. Plastering, as in mixing up tubs of the stuff, skimming it over walls and ceilings and then sanding it back. To be clear, in France all houses are built with brick or stone and then sort of rendered over with plaster. If it cracks or is marked, it has to be filled in with wet plaster. Even our ceiling is suspended brick blocks that have been plastered over.

But it's not plaster as we know it, Jim.

It is soft useless powdery stuff which gives and marks at the slightest bump, hence the need for dreaded lining paper. But lining paper is for another blog. It's enough to say that plastering in France is so, so, SO much more than picking up a tub of Shelley's No More Cracks Plaster Filler from Bunnings on the way home.

So here it is, my top ten tips about plastering in France that you should know but no one ever tells you:

1. You have to select the plaster that gives you a bit of time to work with it before it dries. In France, much of the stuff is literally plaster of Paris. Unlike Galway Pipe Port which has nothing to do with Galway (trust me, I cringingly discovered this in a bottle shop in Galway during Irish travels) plaster of Paris really was invented in Paris. It turns rock hard within seconds of hitting the wall. Of course, it is not hard enough to sand until several hours later, but it is hard enough to debilitate any chance of rectifying your botched attempt at smoothing out the section you are working on. Naturally, the non-quick drying product you need only comes in 40 kg bags which you will have to schlep up from the car all by yourself as your partner is in Australia working. Bastard.

2. It doesn't matter how well you seal off rooms with tape and drop sheets, you will end up with dust everywhere in your house. I know, this is something you have already been told, but the point cannot be overstated. I used to think when people banged on about the dust from plaster, that these were the sort of people who vacuumed every day and noticed when there was a marginally increase in the daily dust quota. Not so. Even I noticed new mountains of the stuff on everything. Door frames. Stairs. In children's cupboards. Beds. My pillow felt gritty. It's horrible.

3. Once you get to the sanding back part, at the end of each day you will have so much plaster dust in your hair, eyelashes and eyebrows you will look like Tilda Swinton.

4. And you will have a nose full of plaster boogers.

5. No need for Pilate's, you will have fabulous legs from climbing up and down ladders and your arms will be rock hard from holding a mouse sander to the ceiling for eight hours a day.

6. Even if you share the slovenly housekeeping standards that I do, you will have to spend two hours at the end of each day mopping just so that your family can eat without contracting lead poisoning.

7. Your menu plan (ha!) will be reduced to an endless cycle of gnocci, sausages or packet cordon bleu. With the odd night out at the local cafe thrown in for good measure. Because at least if you go out someone else will bring the food and you won't have to wash up. And the wine is cheap.  And sometimes you get to talk with other adults whilst you are there. And the sometimes you get to drink more wine under the guise of 'socialising'. And sometime you'll get in so late that you'll have to give yourself the next day off.

8. You will weep with tiredness by bedtime every night.

9. You will drink more wine. Just acknowledge it, be kind to yourself, and move on.

10. It sucks.



Dust mask - it just screams French style, doesn't it?



Menhir - where are Asterix and Obelix?

Fans of the Asterix and Obelix comics will know that Obelix is a menhir sculptor. A menhir is the big rock with which Obelix is often pictured, using his superhuman strength to carry it around on his back.

Menhirs are most commonly found in Ireland, Britain and North Western France, and are prehistoric. Recent carbon dating suggest these huge stones were erected as much as seven thousand years ago. Plonked next to a field on the back road between Souillac and Saint-Sozy stands this beautiful menhir. The road is just a small local route, so tiny it does not show up on my sat nav.

Where's Obelix?

There is much academic dispute as to the purpose of menhirs - religious, territorial, structural - but a local Frenchman told me with some authority it was how the Gauls marked their territory. Like a big 'trespassers will be prosecuted' sign, or perhaps more symbolically, like a dog taking a pee on a tree.

Missy drives a tractor down the main street

Ah, France. Yesterday, with scant regard for laws or road rules, our mate Julian (purveyor of the world's best sausages and other pork products) let Missy drive his tractor around the little village of Mayrac. Curly went along for the ride.

Main street, Mayrac.

Possibly outrunning authorities - the town hall is 50m down the road.

Curly explains how to steer. Please note, for Occupational, Health and Safety purposes, the lack of shoes.