Only on one side

The stage manager's nightmare!  Weeks of work finally completed. Opening night and someone's missed a bit of paintwork - which luckily only the s.m. can see. Having worked in theatre for a long time it took me years after I'd come out of it, to be able to watch a show and enjoy it for what it was, rather than studying the lighting equipment, noticing every lighting cue that was late or every sound cue that wasn't smooth. Still do it occasionally.

We were driving yesterday from Chinon to Leclerc supermarket, which is just outside the town centre. They have a 24/7 petrol station which we always use. 'Only on one side' came up twice as we drove along and reminded me of a production of Alladin's Cave we went to, by a small amateur dramatic company in their local church hall. All had gone along entertainingly until we got to the bat sequence outside the cave. The bats were 'flown' in along two diagonal pieces of rope. Each one was fixed from an upstage corner to its diagonally opposite downstage corner, and were loaded on to the ropes so that they slid down in formation. At least that was the theory. One bat however got stuck. Someone off- stage started yanking on the rope to try and move the bat along. A bouncing bat as you'd expect caused a degree of giggling. Then an arm came out, grabbed all the bats reloaded them and off we went again. Except this time, they 'flew' down the rope so fast they crashed into each other and flipped over. Unfortunately, only one side of each bat had been painted and we were now presented with a brown lashed-up hardboard bat with nails. The effect on the audience was somewhat predictable as 'the arm' appeared yet again. It should have got a programme credit.

At the moment there are autumn festivals on all over the place - film, food, autumn fayres, concerts. So there's a lot of publicity about and in particular promotional banners. If the information is only going to be on one side, then a banner railing is great. Yesterday, rigged over the key road in and out of Chinon were two banners for two separate events, carrying essential information, but only on one side. The other side was completely blank. From Chinon to Leclerc we could read everything clearly,  but not if you were coming from Leclerc to Chinon. It was quite odd, because the position and rigging of banners at these points is a regular occurrence throughout the year, and viewed as essential promotion. Why someone didn't advise the organisers properly I just don't know. But anyhow, these things happen. Can feel a return visit to the maroon door coming on.

From our garden

In the pink

We've started cutting back in the garden. Just bit by bit. It's interesting to see how the same plants are at different stages in their cycle. Some are ready, others not. Those that aren't we'll need to leave for a few more weeks. Most of the roses are nearly finished. But there are a few still with buds on. I cut some for indoors a couple of days ago. The scent is gorgeous. I'm not sure if you can get high from rose scent. But you can certainly get addicted.

Every time Mike comes into the kitchen, I seem to have my nose stuck in one of them.  

Lunch at La Treille

What I have enjoyed cutting back is the rosemary (romarin). We've two healthy looking bushes which have become enormous. Rather than just cut and throw away, I've been bundling up large handfuls of rosemary sprigs and giving them to neighbours, just as they give things to us. Except in our case what we have to offer that is both useful and interesting is rather limited. Fennel and rosemary. That's it. Today I've been leaving a rosemary bag on the fence for next door; another with  L'Auberge, our local restaurant. Really good food. We were there yesterday. Excellent lunch and it was packed. Took some into Chinon this morning for Stephanie who owns and is the now very pregnant chef at a restaurant in town - La Treille, pronounced 'La Trell'. She is always in the market buying fresh produce and herbs, so I knew she'd like some. Last year I wrote 60x60 word very short stories, as a challenge to myself. Steph was the subject of one of them. . .


Taste is her trademark.
Flavour is her gift.
Food is her passion.
Each dish, a unique combination ready to tease and tantalise the palate.
Her ingredients are always fresh and local,
from the market, just opposite in the square.
She dashes between her favoured stalls.
Then returns,
and begins preparing for the lunchtime trade.
The only female chef in town.

Never too late to learn

I didn't intend writing about this. But an open letter to Michael Gove (Education Secretary) from an English and Maths teacher, Chris Edwards (C.E.) that I came across this morning, has churned me up. In part because of the extent of my feelings regarding what Michael Gove is getting up to within the UK education system.  But also because of the inferences about attitude towards 'learning a language' that the letter raises. Hope you have a moment to read it via the link.

C.E. works in a school of 530 students, where thirty six languages are spoken and where over 41% of the students have English as their second language. Sometimes it's their third language. Most of them haven't had great starts in life. Others are on a special educational needs register. C.E. talks of his student's inexhaustible determination to do well; of their thirst for knowledge; how they attended every revision session provided and still requested more, leading to some of the teachers having to put video lessons on YouTube, to quench the never-ending demand for information.

Learning a language I'm sure is easier when you're young and at school. If then you follow through with a career that uses that language and which perhaps takes you to live and work in that country - even better. Being surrounded by it, hearing it, reading it, speaking it - absorbing it in other words, makes a huge difference to understanding and confidence. I had a friend at school with a gift for languages. She left speaking six fluently. A career in languages beckoned. Ultimately she worked for a department in the U.N. during which she had to learn Norwegian. She did this in a week. Fluent and confident, she was able to write key strategy documents in Norwegian and then translate them into French, German, Russian, English, Spanish and Italian.

I'm not like that. Spanish and French were my two languages at school. I didn't shine in either, but did well enough to get through O-levels. I've never used Spanish again. French too was heading in the same direction until twenty years ago with about three days notice, I was sent to France to work with a French theatre company for two weeks. Panicking to get past 'Bonjour' and 'Au revoir',  I crammed French and technical theatre French and arrived not knowing how I was going to manage. Somehow I did. I was offered a job when I finished uni., 3 months later and then lived a half and half life with the UK and France, for three years. Mike would visit every weekend when I was working in France. I taught myself French. As now, I heard the language and spoke it every day with the added incentive that I needed it for my career. When that job finished, I was determined not to forget what I'd learnt, so kept reading and writing in French. We'd long had the idea of having a place of our own in France. So there was a goal in sight, which kept me motivated. Four years on there's still lots to learn, I still make mistakes, but I'm fluid and can hold my own pretty much anywhere and in any situation. I probably put aside an hour each day working on French in some form or other. Mike isn't as confident/fluid as me, but with the additional encouragement of our neighbours, he is coming on in leaps and bounds and his understanding is excellent.

Chinon has a fair number of cultures living either full-time resident or half and half. Other European countries have a reputation for languages. The Dutch for example. The British on the other hand, not all, but certainly too many, make the mistake of thinking they can live in France, not speak French and it won't be noticed. The issue of learning the language of the country you live in isn't just for the British. I think it's for anyone contemplating a move to another country. We all have different reasons for moving as well. For example, I'm not a refugee. I'm not seeking political asylum. I'm not marrying a national. Mike and I were free to make our choice. Regardless of status, it's a question of what you do when you get there.

What keeps cropping up in conversation with neighbours, wine producers and shop owners, is the underlying disapproval of the British who live in France full-time, and make absolutely no attempt to learn the language. From time to time we come across Brits who are like this. We've met two couples fairly recently where in both instances it is the wife who has refused to learn French. The husband wants to, but won't on his own. So doesn't. Both couples live in villages and properties that are fairly remote, are surrounded by French neighbours and spend most of their time looking for other Brits to socialise with. A third couple we met for the first time earlier in the year have lived here for twenty years and barely speak a word. All of them miss out on so much. It's a shame considering that Chinon offers French classes, I believe for free. It's a legal requirement. But so often it's not taken up, at least not by the British.

There are French/Anglo groups in Chinon, which we go to from time to time. Too often the Brits come along, knowing the conversation is in French and start another in English. Sometimes with a different subject from the one everyone else is discussing. They are always asked to stop. But the point is, why do they think this is a reasonable way to behave? I should add not all the Brits do this. There are some British in Chinon and surrounding villages who are so fed up with this attitude, that they will not socialise with any English people, only French people. If they hear an English voice, they literally move away from it.

We've thought long and hard about our own take on this 'problem', and we've reluctantly come to a decision. Those Brits who live here full-time and make an effort, want to learn and socialise with their French neighbours - those people we're happy to meet up with. But those who flatly refuse to even try and expect everyone - including the French - to speak English - we are now keeping at arm's length. Their approach is one we don't understand, can't accept and won't defend.

All of which brings me back to Chris Edwards. In the letter he refers to the work ethic shown by students to overcome their language barriers as being ' breathtaking and awe-inspiring'. There are a few adults over here who need an injection of enthusiasm and dedication.  It really is never too late to learn. And the French are so delighted, kind and helpful when you try.

Spider on the ceiling

Why a photo of an ostrich with teeth? All will become clear. Think of it ultimately as a visual aid.
 
For the moment though, I would like to explain that I am not an arachnophobe, although photographs of leaping spiders, spitting spiders and tarantula types do make me twitch. I'm pretty much ok with anything up to about 8 centimetres in diameter. Not to pick up you understand. At this size it becomes a dustpan and brush capture. Until recently we had a house spider, which for some reason was christened Cedric. He must have arrived when quite small, and through determination and fertiveness of life behind our large bookshelf, was too fast to be caught. He therefore grew to a good size and moved home to behind the shove ha'penny board we have resting against the bookshelf. Cedric I would say, became overly confident and as a result,was caught and chucked outside. This took a couple of months.  

A spider on the ceiling however is another matter. Particularly at night. I know it's there and can't forget that it's there. Lights out. I start thinking what would happen if the spider fell off the ceiling. Where would it land? On our bed? On me? I have to catch it. How unfortunate therefore that a spider on the ceiling, clearly a major irritation for me, is in fact a French proverb. . . I'd not enjoy having to say it.  Il a une araignée au plafond, literally translates as 'he has a spider on the ceiling', but means he's a bit mad. The English equivalent is, 'he has bats in the belfry'. 

We were with our French conversation group yesterday and proverbs came into it, initially to do with the subject, but then moved to the stranger ones, which you find in most languages. It's their visual appeal I suppose which makes them so memorable and in some instances very funny. They can also be quite bizaare. For example 'I have another fish to fry' in French becomes, J'ai d'autres chats à fouetter or 'I have other cats to whip'. I came across another one which is used to describe the small, unimportant events column that you get in papers - La rubrique des chiens (des chats) écrasés, which literally translates as 'the squashed dogs or cats column'.

Anyway back to the ostrich with the teeth. This was the closest image I could find to match the sentiment of a particular French proverb, quand les poulets auront des dents or 'when hens have teeth'. In English we say 'and pigs will fly'. Meaning, in both languages, 'it will never happen'. Looking at the ostrich all I can say is, thank goodness for that.

Elves and Fairies

Fontevraud: Inside the Abbey

We've been to lots of events at different times of day at Fontevraud, but never for a concert. It's been a question of timing, and us missing something because we've been away visiting the UK. Anyway yesterday this oversight was put to rest. And we picked a good one.

Something we've noticed is that concerts here on a Sunday tend to start earlier.  About three years ago we went to the Avoine Blues festival - an annual event, with a well established reputation for attracting some classy players. 2009 - the final gig to close the festival featured Status Quo. They were just brilliant. It began around 6pm and was heaving and jumping. Just as well that I'm sitting down to write this next bit. It was only with Live Aid that I got hooked on to S.Q. and perhaps more importantly, Queen and Freddie Mercury. Eek, splutter, gulp - that was 1985!!

Fontevraud seating: very comfortable!!

Last night the 'gig' was rather more sedate and began at 5pm.  Le Songe d'une nuit d'été (A Midsummer night's Dream) by Felix Mendelssohn. A piece of music that I hadn't heard for years and never in concert, and which had be segwayed with excerpts from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Nights Dream. It was part of a series of concerts throughout the season, presenting musical adaptations of famous literary works.  It was a superb performance, featuring an all female choir - Le Choeur de Femmes de L'ONPL (L'Orchestre National de Pays de la Loire), with their musical director John Axelrod. Two fabulous sopranos, Trine Wilsberg Lund, Valentina Coladonato. Narrator was a French actor Philippe Drancy.  The sound quality was wonderful, and the rhythms of the language and the music complimented each other to perfection. So pleased we went. Even the techies looked happy. That tells you something.

Les Lavoirs de France

Old Cravant: Le Lavoir

Pretty much every village in rural France will have a lavoir, and sometimes you can find them in the most obscure places, without any obvious reason for them being where they are. A lavoir was the public place for the back-breaking task of hand-washing clothes. They were positioned on a spring; beside or on a river. All the ones we've seen have roofs and shelter. 

Cravant actually has four lavoirs, of which three are covered and with walk ways, and the fourth is open.  One is in the centre of 'new' Cravant. Another is in 'old' Cravant opposite the church. The open lavoir is between these two, while the other covered lavoir can be found about 3 kilometres away, on the other side of the village.  All are in reasonable repair. It was the arrival of the modern drainage system and improvements in public housing and technology that contributed to  the decline of the lavoir. Today they are a tourist attraction with some going back to the 10th century.

Old Cravant: Slate roof of the lavoir

Found an interesting site this morning.  Lavoirs de France. Currently it's only available in French, but it covers every department in the country with photos of the lavoirs in each. Essentially it views the lavoir as a historic monument.  And why not!  It tells me that there are 217 lavoirs in the Indre et Loire region (37), which is where we are.  All are listed, including the four in Cravant. (You'll need to scroll down to Cravant). It's actually really interesting. There are all sorts of walking and cycling routes available to help you plan a visit in France, and which take you past the local lavoir as you travel round. It also actively encourages councils and private owners to maintain their lavoirs and so safeguard a unique aspect of French heritage. And it acts as an information point to record accurately the position of each lavoir in the country, as well as updating with any new finds.
 
Now that's what I call dedication! 


  

Messing about in boats

1: Boats at Candes St Martin.

Boats have played a significant part in the history of the Loire and the Vienne, much as they have in London on the Thames. Boat making is still carried on here. There's  a traditional boat maker near to us (about 20mins away) in St. Germain sur Vienne. He never seems short of work, with always two or three boats on the go in his workshop. We drive by on our way to either Saumur or Montsoreau. The Chateau at Montsoreau has taken the life of the Loire as its theme, and traces its story through all the seasons, revealing along the way, the Loire's history as a river of transport and trade. A riveting place, with exquisite presentation of scale models of traditional boats, alongside some wonderful found objects.  Coupled with special lighting and sound effects, you can easily imagine the gentle pace of a merchant's river boat, drifting through the day into the night. 

2. Moored and waiting

Some boats have small covered areas/cabins (photo1), while others (photo 2) are open rowing boats . We often see people fishing from them.

Boat excursions are available in the season. 
The type of boat and journey varies considerably. Chinon provides a simple no frills round trip excursion. If you've seen the film Lion in Winter (1968) you'll appreciate the possibilities when you remember Katherine Hepburn being rowed to Chinon in the opening sequences. The town is given a totally different perspective from the river.  Candes St Martin has gone for something more elaborate, including breakfast sailings at sunrise, dinner at sunset and a whole array of trips in between. Hopefully next year we'll take a trip probably from Chinon.  

Just arriving

There are of course sail boats. Chinon hosts a traditional boat festival every year. We went for the first time this year. It's a river celebration, with traditional boats of all sizes and shapes moored along the river's edge. If you walk over Chinon bridge there is a wide open space the other side, which hosts the town's open air events throughout the year. Film shows, fireworks for July 14, dances, barbecues. For the boat festival, the space was used for a crafts gathering, with workshops and demonstrations, items for sale, all of which were focussed on boating and river life. We went for the first time this year. Our timing was just right, the weather ideal and as we walked over Chinon bridge, the last boat was arriving. A fully rigged traditional boat coming towards us - its one sail billowing out with the wind. It was handled superbly, changing course effortlessly towards its mooring. A majestic scene.

Building fences - c'est normale!

One of the reasons we've got to know our neighbours well is that we were all in at the beginning together and helped each other.  The houses were new builds.  Ours was the tenth house to go up. The eleventh was finished summer 2011 and the last, the twelfth was completed July this year.  The land for our road had previously been planted with vines or used for farming. We think it was sold off to resolve an inheritance issue, which is always a complex matter in France. The laws here are formidable.

Each of us in the road will have gone through the same process. Firstly of acquiring the land and then getting the house built.  Initially it was divided into plots of varying shapes and sizes. Different construction companies were responsible for the individual plots of land and for constructing the house on each plot, which must conform to local building regulations in terms of materials, angles of roof, so nothing jars with existing properties in the village. You end up with a similarity between the houses, but each design is slightly different. Inside of course, the owners can do what they like. Our most recent neighbours in fact went for a self-build. The family have contacts across the trades. However the rest of the properties were developed by four different construction companies. Ours was Maison Concept. The foundations went in December 2007 and we moved in August 2008. Nine months from start to finish.

The road was also built from scratch, meaning electricity had to be put in,  water and drainage, the road surface, pavements - although these are more like gravel surfaces, than the hard concrete in the UK.  The whole process was fascinating to watch. The workforce was multicultural, highly skilled and highly organised. People came and went as the project rolled out and the build moved on, each individual being contracted to complete their element within a certain time. It's so exciting watching your house gradually taking shape. Then suddenly it's finished and you have the keys.

A new road doesn't have any demarcation lines between the properties or at the front, to define what is your boundary from the road. That's not part of the deal.  So the neighbours formed themselves into a road association, to get the road up and running, and initially worked together to put up each others fences. Mike, Jean-Phi and Cyrile our two neighbours either side put up each others fences. If extra hands were needed elsewhere in the road, the boys set off and pitched in. One of our older neighbours Nicole needed additional help with her driveway. So Alain, Christophe, Mike and Jean-Phi went across and helped out.  All this work was of course accompanied by refreshment breaks in each others houses and gardens etc. Sometimes we'd get together in the evenings and then the girls came along as well. The road has been up and running for four years now.  We all contribute financially to our road committee, and these funds take care of a range of things from the gardening contract for maintaining our green verges, hedgerows and trees to our road party which took place in July.

Community spirit is very much alive and kicking in Cravant. If you need help with something then you go next door and ask your neighbour. There's a wonderful phrase which everyone uses. It's taken us four years to get used to it, but it sums it all up perfectly. C'est normale. We don't live in each other's pockets but we do look out for each other. And that's the way we do things here. 

Visiting the hairdresser

Finding a decent hairdresser has proved a challenge both sides of the channel. I'm a picky Londoner at least when it comes to my hair. Or rather, to be kinder on myself, fairer even, I'd got used to being looked after by an award winning cutter for over twenty years when we were living in Pinner,  and found it impossible to ignore the difference in standard since we moved away. That is until just recently. For those living near Pinner, D&J Ambrose are still there and still winning awards. 

Mike doesn't have the same issues to face when it comes to his hair. He sports a reversed mohican. Those of you who know him or are a FB friend will have seen this first hand, or from his photo. My hair is more complicated and not just because I'm a girl. Over the years, I've done everything imaginable to it, and from an early age. Remarkably it has survived, although the purple incident did cause some alarm. I think I was around fifteen and for some reason my mother was meeting me at Eastbourne station. Don't know where I'd been. Years later she told me that she saw a purple apparition coming towards her and was hoping desperately, that it wasn't me. IT had purple hair, matching full length purple trench coat and purple boots - trendy ones that at the time, had platform heels and were from some ghastly ruched man-made material. It was me of course, but all credit to her, my mother held her ground!    I have moved on. Now my hair is black. 

When we moved from London to Bradford on Avon, what was my priority? Finding a hairdresser. I won't mention names to avoid being sued! There are several in town, but I'd heard that this particular one was 'probably' best. My hair is thick but fine and needs precise cutting. So why I continued going to the same place for three years, I do not know. Cutting wasn't a strong point. Neither was blow drying. Washing the hair wasn't too bad an experience. Only mild dampness was involved. Fortunately a good friend, Sue, told me about Jim who owns The Cavern in Bath: T 01225 464780.  Not only is he an excellent cutter, it's such fun going in. A galley shape and sized salon - small therefore, but perfect in what they do. The team are great. My hair had been so hacked about, that it took four visits to get the mess sorted out. Now for the last year it's been looking really good. To the extent that the hairdresser I have started going to over here in Chinon, commented on what a good cut I had and how it made things so easy for him. I passed this message on to Jim via Sue, and by all accounts he was delighted. Jerome is also a good cutter. Really nice place and team, with a particular chair that gives you a vibrating back massage while the conditioner is left to work its magic. Yes...............................wake me up!! 
So I'm sorted in both countries. 
Phew!
  

The Stare

Cravant:The Old Church

There is a particular facial expression which I haven't as yet attempted to capture on camera. Asking someone if they'd mind you taking their photo, when they're grasping a hoe in one hand and grimacing at you with an intensity that could sink a thousand ships, isn't a good idea. We've nicknamed it The French Stare, although without doubt it's universal - both in time and place.

At the moment we drive an English registration car.  That immediately attracts attention, even from people who've seen you and the car - even you in the car - for a few years. They watch you approach, stop what they're doing, stare closely as the car pulls alongside, and as it passes by, and they continue to follow you as you leave. If we've seen them about a few times, we'll maybe wind down the window and say 'Bonjour Mme/monsieur' (depending on who it is) which more often than not, will get a grin. It's mostly individuals of  'a certain age' who adopt the unblinking stare, in the street, on the corner, outside the breadshop, in front of the church. Drop into a café, one that you're new to and heads will turn, voices drop, and then, the stare.

In France, the thing to do to 'break the ice' is simply to say (with a smile), 'Messeurs-dames' - taking in everyone as you say it. This is the polite way in our region to enter a café, bar or restaurant.  You'll probably get the same back in polite acknowledgement. There are two cafés in Chinon we use regularly. We always say it when we go in, at least when there's someone in there to say it to. Others say it when they come in. It's the convention. The same applies when you leave- just a quick 'Messeurs-dames'  to everyone. You can also say, 'bonne continuation', which in this context means 'all the best'. 

It's one of those seemingly little things that make such a difference.

Late nights and a great weekend

Poster design by Mike Shearing

We are recuperating. Coffee and croissant for breakfast this morning helped give me a kick-start. The recovery process began yesterday evening over a very relaxed dinner at home. Back into Chinon this morning for one of our Anglo/French groups, L'Écrin. Monday mornings we have a French conversation session, an informal chat, usually with a theme, which today  is all about sleeping.  No encouragement needed there.  Two French friends Elizabeth et Bernard are leading it. They are very good and always include those more obscure/complex elements of a language,  such as similes and current expressions that you'd probably not get round to learning, but which are used in conversation by native French speakers. So after today's session, I should know what the French equivalent is of 'He snores like a warthog'. Can't wait for the next dinner party with neighbours to drop that one in!

Thursday evening, we went to the cinema to see Bird directed by Clint Eastwood-1988. For anyone who hasn't seen it, it's a tribute to the life and music of Charlie 'Bird' Parker. Fascinating, sad at times and hilarious at others. We met up with an older friend of ours, Francoise, who is a jazz fan. Lovely lady. Thursday night means Cineplus night - our film group, so there is always an introduction by one of the organisers about the film to be shown. Most people get there for 8.30pm, have the intro., and then the film begins around 8.45. Bird is so engrossing, couldn't believe it was nearly 11.30pm when we left. By the time we'd walked Francoise home (she lives in Chinon) got back to the car and got back to Cravant, it was 'Round Midnight' (may as well stick to the jazz theme), with our heads buzzing, chatting away to each other until we'd wound down enough to sleep. Nearer to about half one in the morning.

Cravant view

Friday: we'd received an invitation to go to some neighbours for an apèro. They live about ten minutes away. We'd met them a couple of times before and they'd recently been round to us for drinks. Our close neighbours Jacqueline and Norbert asked us to call into them first the same evening for a pre- apèro at 7.15. They'd been invited as well as, so we could all go together. We left for the other house around 7.30pm. On the way we saw more neighbours who we know - Emily and Matthieu and their little boy Antonin who is about six months old. They were going as well, along with yet another couple. We'd met the wife Francoise for the first time at the rando in Cravant at the beginning of September, but not her husband, Alain. So with everyone there, all ten of us, we settled down to a really good evening. Had to concentrate quite hard at times as some of the chat was very local in style and subject, and very fast. But it was so lovely to be included. We learnt more about village politics, what was happening with the wine harvest, bits of gossip etc. It all just rolled along and we eventually set off home about 11.30pm. 

Place Hofheim - waiting for the Flamenco concert

The weekend 15 & 16 September 2012: Festival Voyages en Guitare (FVG) et Journées Européennes du Patrimoine (JEP) Two events running separately, as well as with some overlapping on both days and on into the evening.  FVG focusses on world music. JEP focusses on heritage. Chinon opened its doors this weekend. Places that are normally closed to the public, but are of particular interest or importance, opened up for a visit. Usually free admission. Some made a small charge with limited opening hours, as they're used still as private residences. All over Chinon, cafés, bars, street corners, squares, side streets, courtyards, private gardens, Chinon Chateau and Chinon Museum were hosting short live music sessions: Irish Rock, Swing Manouche, Gypsy, Blues, European, World. FVG had twenty four venues each with a 30 minute slot allocated to it. JEP had twenty-five venues and of those, twelve were collaborating with the music festival and so also hosting concerts. Saturday: we went into Chinon early for the start at 11.30am and listened to Lionel Loueke from West Africa (Benin) playing at the Café Le Palace. Then we moved on to  La Maison Rouge for gypsy music and so on throughout the morning, stopping off for some lunch at the Café de la Paix. 

Place Mirabeau

In the afternoon we walked over Chinon bridge  to visit a chateau and a deconsecrated church, but the map directions were inaccurate. So having gone round in circles and asked various locals, none of whom had heard of either place, we gave up and walked back to Chinon. Stopped for a coffee at a café that we go to regularly, so know the owner. He took one look at the directions and said we needed the car as it was much further away than the map suggested.
 

By now we had more music gigs to go to, so the church and the chateau fell by the way side.

Every bar should have one?

We headed up to St. Mexme for a double concert. In the courtyard outside the church there was some impromptu music alongside the special installed bar. Mechanical models were serving drinks. There were some humans available as well. I'm guessing you slotted the coins in Madame's cleavage to get her to pour. We were served drinks by Monsieur at the other end. With him... it's ok!..you put the coins through the gap between his teeth.

St. Mexme

The former church is used as an exhibition and performance area. It's not a big space and is divided in two parts. Entering through the front takes you into a small exhibition space. The body of the church however has been emptied and a wooden frame installed that is free standing, so as to leave the walls intact. At one end the frame supports a stage and at the other end is seating area. From experience we remembered to take cushions. 

St Mexme: numb bum bench seat

The concert was in two halves, and started at 8.45 pm with an American Country Blues singer Kelly Joe Phelps, playing electric lapstyle slide guitar and acoustic guitar. The programme was a mixture of his own compositions and classic blues material from amongst others, Robert Johnson. This type of music isn't really my scene, but Mr. Phelps was mesmerising. Cracking stuff. Didn't want him to stop. Straight after we had Afro Blues rock with Roland Tchkounte and his band - a mix of African and American Blues woven into his own melodies. Originally from the Camaroon, he now lives in France. He just took the lid off the place. . . and kept going. People would be up and dancing their legs off, then he'd come out with the sweetest and simplest of melodies, and you could hear a pin drop. So exciting. It wound down shortly after midnight. We got in around 12.45am. Just wanted to keep going.

Coffee break

Back into Chinon on Sunday afternoon.  We just dropped in and out of gigs as we went around. Saw  a photographic exhibition and an electric and acoustic guitar display, with the maker on hand. He lives fairly locally. On route we  listened to Fado Flamenco, Swing, Jazz Fusion, Acoustic Rock, Manouche. 

Outside La Treille

Took a break outside La Treille. Another place we go to for lunch as well as coffee, and which has the only female chef in Chinon - Stéphanie, who is expecting a baby in November.

Duo Doro T/C. Lardeau were playing - Pop, Rock, Soul - although they were also coming up with some great versions of jazz classics. Can only find one you tube clip which doesn't do them justice. And the guitarist is different. So haven't put in the link. Really good voice and lovely playing. Worked so well together. One of the best sessions. Were there till about 6pm. Had a glass of fizzy, then went home. Such a fab time.

The best way to find out!

La Forteresse - Chinon

This morning I discovered Chinon has a Facebook page! Not that it's very helpful. There's one page that mixes up historic buildings, restaurants and hotels, some of which do link back to individual websites, others don't. But there's not even a single photo from around the town or Chinon chateau loaded on to the page to make it more interesting and attractive.  Chinon as an entity in its own right, doesn't seem to exist. 'What's On' information has been left to the Tourism Office which is a normal part of a marketing mix and Chinon's T.O. does have a page on Facebook, along with all sorts of individual pages for activities, services, groups, events, festivals etc., which can be found under 'Chinon'. The lack of Facebook presence probably doesn't matter. It's a question of what we're used to individually. We have friends who can't stand Facebook, so wouldn't, under any circumstances, use it as a source of information. But it did get me thinking about where someone goes to discover what's going on around town here. As always, so much depends on who you are and why you're here. We're both used to publicity in the sense that we've designed, written, produced and delivered it for years in the UK, but also understand the other end of the chain from the point of view of the client or punter. 

From March to October, peaking August and September, Chinon is on a cultural non-stop merry-go-round. It's difficult to provide a clear indication of the level of activity here, other than showing a pdf of our diaries - no chance! So if I say Chinon isn't as busy culturally as central London, but is significantly busier culturally than a large town like Bath, which has museums and theatres, galleries, cinemas etc you might get a feel for what I mean. There's a lot going on in Chinon. And as a result there's loads of information being pumped out. The amount of money spent on print here is huge, and ranges from the most stylish of French design and print, using beautiful textured and/or weighted paper with excellent photography, to the basic photocopied black type on yellow, often found under windscreen wipers or handed out in shopping centres or (in the UK) at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, as I've done several times in the past. So where to go in Chinon to find out what's on and when?


There's no obvious corporate Chinon website. However outside the Town Hall (it's a big building) on the entrance wall, suspended from the top, are two massive banners, which give an all year round listing, by month, of key events. The Tourism Office  is an obvious place. You can drop in or maybe check the Facebook page, accessed through their website (see above link).  Both are flooded with information of events from all over the region and sometimes further afield.  Among all that will be individual flyers/leaflets from Chinon and nearby villages, but they're not always easy to pick out. There's poster flying, banners, leaflet racks in restaurants - the usual sort of thing. You'll find the monthly cinema leaflet in all sorts of outlets. The reception area in Chinon's town hall is another place.  The 'local paper' - La Nouvelle République (NR) is syndicated across the regions. It's a daily paper, carrying details of Chinon and surrounding villages and Tours (another big town) and its suburbs. Big events tend to happen at the weekends, and quite often the NR doesn't include information about them until the day they're happening. When you're local - word of mouth is key. For example, last year  Vignes Vins and Randonées came to Cravant for the first time - representing Chinon.  A local wine producer, Patrick and his wife Nadia, came round here for drinks one evening and told us about it. Hadn't seen or heard anything about it anywhere, until then.  He happened to be leading one of the walking groups. It sounded great, so we ended up going with his group. As a result we went again this year.

The maroon-red door

There is however a simple answer to this dilemma, which is the maroon-red double garage doors on the rue Rabelais just along from place Mirabeau and opposite Sylvie's wonderful delicatessen. It is clearly (see right) not state of the art. However, anything that is anything goes up here. Monsieur, whose house lies beyond the closed double doors, is very active in the cultural life of Chinon. We've seen him loads of times at events, but as yet don't know him. At the end of every week, like today, old information is removed and new local stuff is put up. Exhibitions, shows, dance, concerts, gigs, workshops, activities for children, festivals and other annual events. It will all be there.  Envelopes for smaller handbills have been made and stuck on the doors, so you can take one away with you.

The rue Rabelais is a semi-pedestrian zone through to the centre of Chinon and the main shopping square, so it's always busy. The number of times we've seen people grouped round the doors, writing down information, picking up leaflets. It really does work. It's always up-to-date and is now our first option for information.

Lost in translation

Poster from our cinema's website

Next week the 5th Chinon film festival opens at the Cinéma Rabelais. It's a terrific cinema. The combined upstairs and downstairs probably seats about 400. One film screen. Thursdays the film club Cinéplus puts on art-house films. The rest of the week it's general up-to-the-moment programming. It's a good arrangement. The first time we went to the festival it was showing German films - with French subtitles fortunately as neither of us has German.  Fabulous collection of films. We missed the next two as we were in the UK. This year however, we're here and will be seeing an all-American film festival (with French sub-titles) running for six days. There are fourteen screenings including contemporary gems by Jeff Nichols and classics such as Night of the Hunter/Robert Mitchum (1956) and To Kill A Mockingbird/Gregory Peck (1962). Someone has a good nose for programming.

These days we watch French TV regularly and go to the cinema pretty much every week. However to begin with, both presented a bit of a challenge.  We deliberately chose just French television as a way of keeping ourselves up to date with current affairs etc, culture, and of course the language. What we found helpful was watching programmes - documentaries, dramas, news, detective series - with subtitles in French for the hard of hearing. The dialogue that we just couldn't catch because it was either too fast or there was too much slang, we could now see, and make a note of it. This changed everything. Then we started watching films on television which were usually  dubbed rather than subtitled. Another language learning curve.

The moment came when we thought we could manage well enough to go to the Cinéma Rabelais for a Harry Potter film. At the time it was showing the second in the H.P. series: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets/Harry Potter et la chambre des secrets. We'd read the book in English, seen the film in English, so knew the story. The night before on TV we caught the first film - Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone/Harry Potter à l'école des sorciers. It was just as well we did. First of all we had a chance to get used to the accents and different pronunciation of names. But more importantly Hogwarts had become 'Poudlard' and Severus Snape had become 'Severus Rogue'.  Why? Don't really know. That's how it was. But it's the sort of thing that can knock you off track because you're not sure what you've heard or if you've misheard or missed a detail. So you're scrabbling to keep up. We went to the cinema the next night. No problem, and we've now seen all the Harry Potter films over here in French, which we're happy about as we've always managed to miss them in the UK.

Translation carries such a huge responsibility in trying to capture all those unique elements that distinguish an author's writing style and then placing them in another language. Years ago I was lucky enough to meet Barbara Bray briefly in Paris. I was working in France at the time and had gone to meet her regarding a theatre project. Critic, script editor, partner to Samuel Beckett, supporter of Harold Pinter,  she was also the principle translator of the work of Marguerite Duras - one of my favourite authors - into English. Her obituary in The Guardian March 2010, is an amazing read. Her identical twin sister Olive is also a translator.

From our visits to the cinema it's the dialogue of humour that seems to be the trickiest to translate. When Woody Allen films are shown here they always have French subtitles. So far we've seen Midnight in Paris, You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger, Whatever Works and Vicky Christina Barcelona. With each of these films, the French sub-titles have been translated so loosely and simplistically, missing all sorts of detail, nuance and even on occasion are inaccurate. We've often come out wondering what a non-English speaking audience could possibly have got from the film. 

Translation is an extraordinary skill and it's now very much part of our daily life.

You say tomato!

Some neighbours came round for drinks the other night and brought a basket full of tomatoes fresh from their vegetable garden (potager). Since then it's been tomatoes with, in and on everything. Not complaining. Just a statement of fact.  So many varieties, and so beautiful to look at.  Small reds, yellows, greens and maroon coloured tomatoes. Medium sized came in green striped, red, yellow and orange.

The biggest tomatoes were two types: plain red and another which had greeny black tones round the stalk. These were the softest and the juiciest. Had some with fresh basil and the most gorgeous buffalo mozarella cheese that we've ever tasted - from Chinon market.  All this reminded me of the B.T. television advertisement some while back with Maureen Lipman, who phones up a boutique and asks the hard-pressed and increasingly exasperated assistant about the colour range of a dress in particular size . . . 'Do you have it in the red?'. 'Yes Madam'. 'And the yellow?'. 'Yes Madam'. 'And what about the green?'. 'Yes Madam in the green AND in the pink'. No pink tomatoes, but our kaleidoscopic coloured tomatoes were so delicious, raw as well as cooked, and each had a very distinctive flavour.   

All our immediate neighbours have potagers and grow herbs and fruit as well as vegetables. Thinking about it, everyone we know between here and Chinon grows edibles of some kind or another. The garden as food source - to be able to pick what you need as well as when you need it - is the norm. In France for the moment we've limited our 'crop' to a small selection of herbs: sage, thyme, fennel and chives. We've no intention of turning into market gardeners - we don't have the time or the interest - but we do want to grow some lettuce and extra herbs such as parsley and basil. Perhaps even some tomatoes!

Norbert our neighbour, who I mentioned briefly in yesterday's blog, is a passionate potagiste. He spends hours every day, tending the fruit and vegetables and working the soil - unsurprising since his potager runs along the end of six gardens, including ours. He reminds me a bit of my father-in-law who grew the most sublime runner beans, some of which were popped into the deep freeze for Christmas Day. They were such a treat!

Seeing Norbert regularly in his potager has made us more aware of the seasons and the critical balance between rain and sun. The weather is a regular discussion point. When you're living in a community where produce is key, that's not surprising. At the moment the talk is of the wine harvest which should be starting about now. However this year the weather has been unkind. There was a bad frost in May which caught the wider Chinon area, particularly Cravant, quite badly. Then came loads of rain and not enough sun.  Out on the rando at the beginning of September, as we were walking amongst the vines, we could see that the grapes were tiny and not as advanced as they usually are at this time of year. So the harvest is going to be approximately a month later this year, which means around mid-October. It's not ideal. Gradually the wider concerns of our neighbours have become our concerns, as we've tuned into village life.

Cravant faces: Monsieur

Monsieur

Sudden change in temperature today from around 25 to 13. So out come the jumpers, cardigans and the 'early autumn lighter weight trousers'. That's the correct fashion term apparently.

None of this weather stuff will of course make the slightest difference to Monsieur, who works throughout the year, outside, in blue. He's from an older generation in Cravant, who continue to work the land. Although gradually the younger ones are coming in to help, or take over. Madame throughout the year, wears a cotton dress and cross-over apron. We know it's really cold when she puts on a cardigan. They are a resiliant pair, used to the seasons and all the changes they bring. Unless it's too hot or too cold, we'll see them outside every day working in their fields - one close to their house (behind monsieur in the photo) and the other on the same side as us, just a little further along at the top of our road.

Seats for two

I would be interested to hear from them one day, just how much Cravant has changed. M. et Mme have family very close by - opposite their own house and just down from it. So I'm guessing that one of them at least was born here, grew up here and continued to work as well as live here. Cravant has long been a land-based economy with associated industries, so their answer perhaps would be mainly to do with people and what's grown. The first time we really 'met' M. et Mme was on 11 November 2010. It's that precise, because we'd walked down to the centre of Cravant for the remembrance service. It's a national holiday in France. They were there and wanted a chat. These days if we're driving by, we'll always wave to each other. Or if we're out walking and they're outside, we'll stop and have a chat. Mme is petite and slim with a wonderful smile. We always look out for them when we return from the UK. They are for us as much a feature of the landscape as the vines and the fields.

Church steeple

I took the photo of Monsieur last year. 
I'd been out walking round the village on a photo amble taking shots of wheat and grasses. Monsieur was as usual outside working the soil. I of course asked his permission to take the photo, which he was happy to do. I gave one copy to his daughter Jacqueline and a second to pass on to Monsieur, as she drops in regularly to see them both. By all accounts he is delighted with it, and keeps it on the mantlepiece.

Jacqueline and her husband Norbert are neighbours and along with our next-door neighbours, Jean-Phi and Isobel, are two of the kindest people you could meet. They also have a huge potager (vegetable patch) and we often find a sack of gorgeous vegetables waiting on our garden fence: tomatoes, leeks, lettuce, beetroot. Very generous. We see each other quite often.