Showing posts with label Toussaint. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Toussaint. Show all posts

Wednesday 27 October 2010

91. All you ever wanted to know about chrysanths but were afraid to ask..

27th October 2010. Walking into town this morning to pick up the bread from our current baker of choice, I noticed that our local florist had a larger than usual display of flowers and potted plants outside. The star of the show was clearly the colourful presentation of beautifully trimmed chrysanthemums in pots - and that reminded me that this weekend is a good one to avoid on France's road network. this weekend is Toussaint (All Saints - 1st November) - a public holiday. On this day, it's customary to visit the family tombs and graves, wherever they may be. Chrysanthemums are the traditional offering at the graveside. Toussaint conveniently falls on Monday this year and, like so many salmon returning to their natal stream to spawn, many will be making, or at least trying to make, a long week-end out of it - notwithstanding shortages of petrol..
Normalement at this time of the year, the autoroutes and routes nationales across the country are heavy with traffic as Mamy et Papy return to their ancestral village d'enfance to pay their respects at the family tomb. Unfortunately, this mass migration brings with it a heavy toll of road accidents as septuagénaires and octogénaires, unaccustomed to driving long distances, take to the highways in droves. Be warned.. 

It should now be obvious why it's not advisable to offer French friends chrysanthemums..
Cazenave
I've just returned from a late afternoon walk with the pooch around town. It's thronged with tourists - mostly French - as it's half term and Toussaint all in one. Lots of white-faced black-clad Parisians (black being the new black) were much in evidence, bumbling about and swamping the chocolatiers as they indulge in the heady delights of a chocolat à l’ancienne or a  tasse de chocolat à boire moussé à la main (below) at Cazenave.
Hot chocolate as you've never had it..
Just as the carpet of yellow leaves underfoot signifies the approaching cold days of winter, the arrival in town of the hot chestnut man with his "little locomotive" with its blue mist of smoke rising from the smokestack is another sure sign that winter's here. There's nothing quite like a paper cone of marrons chauds to warm the hands on a cold evening. 
Finally, my answer to those who would argue that Man has no soul, that we are just an accident of nature, that we are just a "billion to one shot" anomaly that crawled out of the primeval sludge..
Further proof - if further proof be needed - here:

This final piece of evidence - Exhibit C your honour - by Rachmaninoff is something my father would play. I think Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No 2 (with Geza Anda) was the first classical record he bought in the fifties. Despite it being played to death on Classic FM, it still retains the ability to hypnotise by its sheer lyrical quality. However, Yuja Wang's interpretation of the concerto takes the honours in my view: 

Watch on YouTube.

QED.