Troglodyte Life

Troglodyte textures

Ever fancied living in a cave? The route between Cravant and Saumur is littered with Troglodyte caves. How about 'the cavist's highway to the des-res of their dreams'. Ooh - yuk! Moving on. . .
 
A Swedish couple we know have been coming to Cravant once or twice a year for forty years, and live in a cave. It's spartan and equipped with the absolute essentials. They drive each time to Cravant and the journey takes about five days from Sweden. The last time we saw them, their son was getting married and they'd bought all the wine from the village for the celebrations. Their cave is well hidden and isn't easily found.  In summer it's quite beautiful. Wild flowers everywhere, a stunning view over the plain of vines and poplar trees, and of course in the heat, the inside temperature is a steady cool. Must be blissful at that time of the year. They've rigged up an outdoor shower, with a slightly precarious gang-plank to cross to get to it, but it looks heavenly. They obviously must enjoy the life. It's a long way and a long time to be doing it, if not.


Chinon has had a troglodyte community in the past - high up and over-looking the town. The story is a sad one involving 'the excluded' in terms of social acceptability. At ground level the caves can still be clearly seen. We've walked along there to visit the deconsecrated church, Sainte Radegonde which is pretty much a ruin, but historically interesting with plenty of artefacts and from time to time hosts small exhibitions. It's an excellent walk. En route we passed the now empty and delapidated caves.  Didn't know much of the story until some photos were temporarily installed - six photos of six families, outside the cave where each had lived.

Windmill at Turquant

Heading west out of Chinon towards Saumur you'll come eventually to a village called Turquant - a Unesco heritage site, and a seemingly thriving troglodyte village that we visit quite often. Turquant is a lovely place with fab views and walks. There's an excellent restaurant l'Hélianthe, installed inside a cave and which we've been to a few times. Turquant is also home to a large group of artisans, all of whom have their workshops/shop in a cave. As you can imagine the village attracts visitors and in the summer can be very busy. I've linked up to the Turquant website. It's in French, but well laid out and easy to navigate. Gives a clear idea of the place and under Métiers d'art, lists all the artisans who are based there, which includes the wonderful Carole Noby.

Carole Noby designs

How do you define a successful visit? Is it when you've gone somewhere, fallen in love with everything you've seen and managed to leave without buying something? Or as in my case - when I've fallen in love with everything I've seen and a wonderful husband has indulged me, so that I've left with at least a couple of things. Carole Noby is a Maroquinière - working with fine leather. Having trained at Hermes, it couldn't be anything else but fine. Her designs are the simplest, so heavily dependent on the quality of the material with which she works. The leather is gorgeous and the colours are stunning. Each bag is cut and stitched to perfection. We took some South African friends David and Jane, when they visited us last year. Depending on your point of view, it was successful for David because Carole Noby was shut and a total failure for Jane whose birthday was coming up! Managed a more successful visit with friends Dave and Sue, who now has a black leather version of the green bag in the photo. So elegant.

The Maroon Door Man Cometh

It's interesting who you end up in company with during a festival. You don't really expect to see the same face twice. Admittedly this is a small film festival at the Cinéma Rabelais in Chinon, so I suppose there's more of a chance that something like that is going to happen. But we have now seen Maroon Door Man six times. He has clearly been reading the publicity he's been posting on his double doors and like us, has been supporting the festival every day. We are on 'Bonsoir' terms now!

Fifteen films made up the festival this year, which was an all American affair. Older classics alongside the contemporary. We got to five in all. Sunday was a bit of a marathon - if you were up for it. 11am, 3pm, 5pm and 8.30pm showings - four different films. If you bought a pass for the whole day, brunch was included at the Café Francais, which we normally go to for jazz and other music gigs.  We didn't. Two films were enough. Hate to think that we've lost the Edinburgh Fringe Spirit, where around twelve shows a day was our average. But every film we saw gave us so much to think and talk about - we just didn't want to cram ourselves senseless. 

So what were our choices. We at last got round to seeing To Kill A Mockingbird . Fifty years old this year, we'd seen never it on the big screen. Commanding! It's one of my all time favourite films. The Night of the Hunter (1955) Robert Mitchum/Charles Laughton. Only seen this once and a long time ago. But it remains for me a curious piece, with nonetheless, some outstanding sequences and ideas. Summertime (2012) directed by Matthew Gordon. His first full-length film. Set in Mississipi, it's the story of 14 year old Robbie, who lives with his younger half-brother and his frail mute grandmother. Their mother sends postcards from time to time and the older brother drops in and out of their lives leaving Robbie to care for everyone. His life is on the edge and at a crossroads. Excellent work, with a flavour of 'Mark Twain' about it. A young director with real talent. William Patrick Ruffin as Robbie, was quite remarkable. The link is to a French site, but is translatable and there are Youtube clips available. 

The surprise of the festival was the work of Jeff Nichols. He seems to me to have the spirit and touch of Mike Leigh and Ken Loach, in terms of subject, issues and text, the quality of the film work and the ability to get amazing and truthful performances from the actors.Take Shelter (2012) and Mud (2012). Set in the Midwest and Mississipi respectively, both films were pitch perfect. Wonderful work, particularly Mud, which would be for me THE film of the festival. Can't do them justice in a blog. We'd be here all night. So the links are to interviews. Think/hope you'll find them interesting if you've a moment to take a look.   

The final film  was a romantic comedy, The Five Year Engagement / Cinq Ans de Reflexion, directed by Nicholas Stoller. If it hasn't been influenced by Mike Newell's 'Four Weddings' I'd be really surprised. Packed with excellent British actors, but also a fine American actor- Jason Segel - in the lead role, I haven't laughed and physically rolled around like that since 'Four Weddings'. I don't know if the translation worked well throughout the film for the French, but there were times when they were just rocking. Poignant, hilarious, sad, touching and peppered with the most outrageous black humour, it was a great choice and
an absolute gem with which to wind up a fabulous festival.

PS The grey links will take you to the right place, but you might have to click on the address bar to get to the right film. The Nicholas Stoller link is to the four star review in The Guardian from June 2012.

PPS I've no idea why some film titles are translated into French and others aren't.

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.