28. It never rains but it..

5th November 2009. I’ve been confined to barracks for a couple of days – last Tuesday the rhumatologue administered the final injection (last of three) of 'gunge' into my knees to act as a cushion in the joints. After my knees have stabilised, I’ll then have to see a physio for some “re-education” as they call it (sounds a bit Maoist). Rowing looks to be ‘off’ for the foreseeable future – it will probably be around Christmas before I can start again.

The Indian summer we’ve been enjoying up last weekend has suddenly segued into a week of most un-English rain. Fortunately, window shutters here in the South West are solid wood – they’re not the effete louvred jobbies beloved of impressionist painters – and, as always, there’s a very good reason why.

The Vieux Port, Biarritz taking a pounding.

Here, rain doesn’t manifest itself as a gentle drizzle that lasts most of the day, or as dancing showers that spatter the windows for a few minutes and puts a short-lived shine on the pavements. No, rain “à la Pays Basque” sweeps in directly from Ye Famouf Olde Baye of Bifcay (Purveyor of Torrential Downpourf to SW France fince Time Immemorial). Rain that, if it were any heavier, would be solid water. Rain that seems malevolent and blows in visible sheets that hit the ground and bounce back up again. Rain that drums in rising crescendos against the roof, walls and shutters, swept in by wailing winds that buffet and swirl around the house, rattling the tightly fastened shutters as if searching for the weak point.

Approaching storm at Anglet

Last night was a particularly bad night I’m told. While I was deep in my usual 3am coma-like oblivion, apparently the world as we know it was ending just the other side of our shutters and Madame feared for the house. This phenomenon probably explains why hanging baskets are rarely if ever seen here.. they'd be blown away in one of these storms.

Here's a clip of the breakers smashing in to the rocks at Biarritz..

I've come to realise that France is greatly more politicised than England. French politics exert a huge influence on daily life here. The complete politicisation of French society surprised me when I first noticed it and it continues to surprise me. Politics are everywhere and just about everything on the radar seems to have a political dimension.

In England, the Royal Family is available to act as a distraction for the media but here in France, with no Royal family, the media in all its forms has the government of the day's actions under permanent microscopic daily scrutiny. Every argument has 2 opposing elements – Left & Right – and the airwaves are awash with programmes with political journalists arguing and chewing over every action by the government. Journalists of the Left and Right try to tease an anti- or a pro-government spin respectively from daily events. The apparatus of the State is visibly politicised to a degree unknown in England – although maybe in England it is there but it’s less intrusive. The power of the State cascades down through a formal system of Prefets, sous-Prefets and mayors - all the way down to idle wasters.. like me.

And so we sign off on this rain-sodden dank grey day with this uplifting reminder of the 1950s:

And if I'm not mistaken, I reckon the chicken giving its all for Pathe News is a poulet de Bresse - ze Rolls-Royce of chickens, at least here in France.

27. All Saints Day

1st November 2009. Yesterday, I went to watch Aviron Bayonne, the local rugby union club, play Toulon (Jonny Wilkinson's new club). Unfortunately he wasn't playing as he's back in England training with the England squad in preparation for the autumn internationals. Toulon is coached by Tana Umaga, the former All-Black, so they are no slouches. I came by the ticket courtesy of one of the girls at the rowing club - she said that her husband Éric was going and could get me a ticket. We arranged to meet at the main gate at 2pm.. When they arrived, it turned out that it was a 'freebie' and, not only that, it was a VIP ticket as well with access to pre- and post-match hospitality. Yee-haar..!

We went in and headed towards the hospitality tent, spotting Amelie Mauresmo (the French tennis player) on the way. The level of support for the club was clear for all to see - just about everyone was wearing something pale blue - the colour of Aviron Bayonne. It seemed as much a social occasion as a rugby match with many elegant ladies evident. Entering the VIP hospitality tent, I was staggered by the quality of the offerings.. there were ~30 tables - each sponsored by local companies – laden with seafood and other delicacies. We quickly found the right table and, as it was very warm, we just had time for a cold beer before going into the main stand to find our seats. Bayonne are struggling at the foot of the Top 14 having just sacked their coach but despite that they were very lively. They could and should have put points on the board before Toulon did. However, as it was, Toulon were more clinical and it ended 8-14.

This is a video of the Bayonne crowd singing their "Hymne" - Vino Griego or "La Peña Baïona" - on another occasion. When Bayonne play at home and the crowd sing it, we can hear them at the house. Guaranteed to bring you out in goose pimples..!

  

After the game, we returned to the VIP tent and this time, every table had, as its centrepiece, platters of seafood and oysters.. and cheeses various. ("Only in France.." I thought) There were opened bottles of Bordeaux on every table as well which I just had to interview and there was a champagne bar which didn't appear to be doing much business after the loss.

After we'd drowned our sorrows a bit, we came back to our place and sat out on the terrace in the garden with some tea and cake that Madame had. All in all, a very pleasant afternoon.

Today is All Saints Day in France and it's the day in the year when families, friends and relatives set off to visit the graves of their loved ones in cemeteries all over France. Not entirely coincidentally, the weekend also rates very highly as a "Black Weekend" as far as road deaths are concerned as motorists take to the motorways in droves and embark on long journeys - to the town or village of their infancy - to visit the family grave.

Many of these drivers seldom travel outside their Department and so the prospect of a long road trip is more than usually fraught with danger. For the rest of us, it's a good weekend to stay indoors. For the last few days, the local regional TV news has been showing the Gendarmerie operating speed traps along the length and breadth of Aquitaine - all of which served to remind Madame to wag a cautionary finger at me - as my driving licence is hanging on - as they would say in the Eurovision Song Contest - by neuf points..

It is traditional to leave flowers at the graveside and the flower most often left is the chrysanthemum. (Warning: if invited to a French home, never be tempted to offer chrysanthemums.) Flower shops at this time of the year seem to sell nothing but pots of chrysanthemums (right).. I walked into Bayonne this fine Sunday morning - in shirt-sleeves (winter seems like another country) - to buy a couple of campaillettes (an extremely more-ish pointy-ended crusty baguette currently in favour with the Mem'sahib) from a baker with a traditional wood-fired oven in Petit Bayonne - just across the Nive. As I walked down the avenue, I couldn't help noticing the size of the chestnut leaves that have started drifting down - some were a good foot across. Our local florist had an amazing display of beautifully sculpted chrysanthemums in pots this morning.. as did all the other florists in town.

I stopped at a cash machine and when I'd finished, an old gentleman who'd been waiting behind me asked if I could help him. At first I thought I was being offered an opportunity to contribute to his lunch but then I realised he was asking me for help in operating the cash machine. I managed to get through all of this without asking him to repeat himself or without him asking me to repeat myself. All in French. Afterwards, I continued my walk feeling pleasantly pleased with myself. Another minor victory. I've had these unexpected conversations before where I've had to run up the white flag and confess to being an "Angliche" - being unable to dredge up the right words in time.

Into Bayonne proper at around 10am, the shuttered streets were fairly empty apart from a handful of chic Parisian tourists clutching their Guides Michelin. It was low water and looking down into the Nive, there were shoals of fat grey mullet hunting in packs for titbits. Over the bridge and into the bakers and the heady smell of hot fresh bread.. (Mmm!)

Job done - two hot loaves in hand - I somehow managed to resist the temptation to nibble the pointed end of a Campaillette on the return journey. Walking down the shopping street near home, I passed by 'our' estate agent.. Its window was full of property details and I noticed a smallish slim box with a slot in it affixed to the wall. It invited any party interested in a property to leave a Carte de Visite in the box. This struck me not only as an excellent idea but also a delightfully old-fashioned one at the same time - the assumption that a prospective house buyer would possess a carte de visite. How many people in England would have a visiting card - not a business card. Not too many I’d guess.

It's midday, the windows are wide open, the sun is shining and church bells are ringing all across Bayonne.

I don't know about you but I'm off downstairs to set the table.

Addendum. It turned out that Madame had other ideas. A pot of paint and a paint brush were waiting for me downstairs and she pointed me in the direction of the front door which needed another coat of paint before winter. She simply doesn't realise the importance of keeping this blog up to date!

We went for a walk with the dawg along the sea-front at Biarritz in the late afternoon as the forecast for next week is for showers (or bits and pieces of rain as the BBC weather girls say!). Although the car thermometer said 25C, it felt a few degrees warmer.. and there was quite a crowd out, with people swimming and surfing. It was still 24 at 6.30 when we arrived home - all this on 1st November!

We once saw the "Riverdance" show at the Sheffield Arena in England and it was a stunning performance. It was a fill-in act during the interval during the 1994 Eurovision Song Contest in Dublin and they took the place by storm. (Health Warning: Don't try this at home!) Fast forward to 4:45 if you're short of time:

When we saw the show in Sheffield, we were lucky enough to be seated near to the very talented Irish band. I'd've paid just to hear them.. they looked like they were enjoying themselves and would have played for nothing. The one who stood out for us though was Davy Spillane on the Uilleann pipes:

26. River bank tales

25th October 2009. We enjoyed a lip-smacking dinner on Friday evening. J-Y, the husband of D (Madame’s painting teacher), had prepared a superb five course meal for all the class at the workshop/studio in the heart of Bayonne. He’d trained as a chef but found that he didn’t enjoy being shouted at by choleric chefs and so he abandoned cuisine as a career. However, thankfully, he’s continued cooking as an amateur. He and his wife are an extremely creative couple – we went to a soirée there about a month ago held to raise public awareness of foreign ‘jobless’ & students in Bayonne. There was a wide range of nationalities reflected in those present and they each presented themselves in their own language, with the aid of an interpreter if necessary. It was very well done and it succeeded in turning each one from the “jobless scrounger” stereotype into an individual.

As October draws to a close, the temps are bouncing around. Large leathery brown leaves from the chestnut trees are starting to drift down from on high in the avenue. The other morning it was down to 3C but this afternoon according to the thermometer in the car it was 25.. so we decided to go for a walk with the pooch along the Nive.

The Nive

We discovered this walk a few months ago and it’s become one of our favourites as the path is tarmac which helps keep the dog fairly clean. We’d originally planned on turning around at a small footbridge about 12km from Bayonne but having got there we realised that the village of our gite was just nearby. We carried on, only stopping at a farm shop to pick up a gateau Basque to offer M et Mme D. It was great to see them again and we sat outside in the sunshine before deciding to move inside as it was just too hot out there in the sun.. We had a couple of glasses of wine with the cake before heading back along the Nive to where we’d left the car.

One of the guys down at the rowing club has managed to find me a ticket for the Bayonne-Toulon game at the weekend.. Unfortunately Jonny Wilkinson won't be playing as he's joining up with the England squad for a month.

I started reading Robert Louis Stevenson's Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes today. Think I'd like to follow in his footsteps and bring the story up to date. He wrote it in 1878 when he was 28. The following year he travelled across the US to California before returning to Scotland. He went back to the US and then on to Australia before finally settling in Samoa. He was only 44 when he died.

I'd better start writing..!

Friday 30th October 2009: Just returned from soaking up the sun on the beach at Anglet.. where it was a warm 26 this afternoon. Our last visit for 2009? Who knows.. but I'm keeping a knotted hanky in the car just in case..