CHATEAUNEUF DE MAZENC, DAY 3 (6 JULY 2010)

A stroke of luck. After only a few days, I began to wonder why we weren't staying here for the whole 2 weeks we have off. We're realizing this really is pretty much perfect, and the thought of moving around for a week, unpacking and repacking every day or 2 seems less appealing. And good luck – we are able to extend the rental for a second week. Done. Local market day in La Begude de Mazenc, the village that “owns” Chateauneuf. Apparently it is not yet full tourist season. Able to wander through with ease, we found some wonderful cheeses, olives, and fish fresher than I have seen since I was last near an ocean. The fishmonger had cabillaud available. Translated prosaically as “cod,” it has been my favourite French fish for a long time, and seems quite unlike what we call cod back home. I got the barbecue moved up from another tenant’s terrace, and on the second day’s efforts, mastered the “Canadian” charcoal lighter – a piece of stovepipe with draft holes – so I grilled the fish. It is also the season for a kind of pod-bean called “cocos blanches,” that turned out to be delicious cooked up with diced tomato, leeks, garlic, capers and fresh basil. I think my shoulders are beginning to relax…

CHATEAUNEUF DE MAZENC, DAY 2 (5 JULY 2010)

After a morning visit to the village and a good chunk of reading, it was clearly time to move. Needing a few more staples, and avoiding those Monday markets, we decided that after lunch we could drive to one of the nearby villages – Dieulefit – where the Super-U is. Dieulefit is a charming place, and Super-U is the Loblaws of Province. Two years ago we stopped in twice. The first time, in mid week, we arrived around 1:30 and everything was closed. The second time, arriving at noon, near the end of trading on market day, most stalls were clearing up and driving off. After we had lunch, everything was closed. Recalling that, we planned to go at about 3, when everything should have reopened. Hopefully, we wandered toward the zone pietonale, where there are many possibly-charming shops. All closed. We thought a glass of wine and a snack would be a good way to pass the time, but alas, a charming little restaurant we’d found last visit (Art-Home) had stopped serving. Staff sat around the terrace finishing their lunch. Same for the next place up the street. But we noticed signs in windows saying that post-siesta hours Monday and other weekdays began anywhere from 3:30 to 4:30. Heading past the medieval clock/sundial on the church tower (the sundial reading 2 hours earlier than the clock) we wandered up through the old town to waste some time. Around 4:30 we headed back into the commercial district and found everything closed, despite the signs in every window indicating the businesses were certainly open by that time. After a glass of wine from a “pub” whipped by winds that carried off the bill, we decided to face the fact there is a warning goes out in Dieulefit that lets them know we are coming, so the doors and windows can be properly locked and shuttered.

CHATEAUNEUF DE MAZENC, DAY 1 (4 JULY 2010)

Stores and bakeries being open Sunday morning but not beyond noon is incentive to rise earlyish and walk the 1 km down to La Begude de Mazenc in time to stock up on food to get through Sunday and Monday. Local advice is that Monday markets are to be avoided, and the local stores are closed. A beautiful sunny day, and it is downhill to the village. A group of 20 or so “hogs” and the Hell’s Accountants who ride them in France as in Canada are moored by the local bar/coffee shop. Starting at the butchers, we were 4th in line behind 2 matriarchs of the village. Not tracking too carefully, I missed how they got involved a heated exchange with the clerk (something about a telephone order gone bad), but eventually the man who clearly is a butcher came out to serve us. We started by ordering a chicken: un poulet rouge. He holds it up, black feet at the ends of the drumsticks, and it’s still feathered head dangling from the neck. Do we want it prepared? Huh? Oui, bien sur! That was the right answer. Not only had the bird’s appendages not been severed, it hadn’t yet been gutted. I was relieved to see the cleaning taken care of, and interested to see it done in full view of the shop. Some wonderful “jambon cru” – raw ham, Italian style, sliced to go with the seasonal melons, and on to the vegetable and fruit store. This is a little local establishment, and we’ve been told the proprietor grows as much of the produce herself as practical. We were bent on ratatouille since the ingredients are in season, and found the zucchini so fresh it couldn’t have been cut more than a couple of hours earlier. Local cheese is available in many varieties, so we picked up a picodon or 2 and some others never before seen to see how those go on toast. Apricots, peaches and baby artichokes are in season. July is a wonderful time to be here. Even the tomatoes are vine ripened, and from France, though I’ve no idea how that’s accomplished. And wine – a good time to begin a survey of Côtes du Rhone rosé. Amusingly, as she prepared our bill, the proprietor asked if we had come on foot from Châteauneuf-de-Mazenc (i.e., 1 km up the hill). On hearing “yes” she looked at us in disbelief for carrying so much stuff such a distance, and counseled stopping frequently to rest on the return.

Preparing to travel to India

Let me tell you a little tale about getting a visa to go to Hyderabad, India for a United Nations agency's conference (the ITU's World Telecommunication Development Conference).

Of course the Indian visa application form is about the worst I've ever endured. But I soldiered on, telling them how I acquired Canadian citizenship, and trying to list every country I've been to in the last 10 years. *THEN* I took the completed form to the newly-outsourced visa issuing office for India, where I followed ITU instructions and asked for a conference visa.

The following conversation took place.

Them: "Conference visas are almost impossible to get. You won't have time now." (this was last Monday) "The Indian government has to write a letter to us [the outsourcees] verifying that they approve of the conference, and that takes time, and besides the Indian High Commission is closed all this week."

Me: what can I do?

Them: Well, get a business visa.

Me: OK.

Them: But you need a letter from a business headquartered in India inviting you to come.

Me: Ah! But I am going to a conference, and I don't know any businesses in India, so I can't get a letter.

Them: Too bad.

Me: Well what can I do?

Them: I will be back in a minute. (walks out of the office, and returns 5 min later)

Them: why don't you ask for a tourist visa?

Me: Because the UN Agency told me to apply for a conference visa so I could go to a conference.

Them: but that will take too long. We had another man in here last week wanting a conference visa, but he didn't get it in time, so he had to cancel his trip. If he had asked for a tourist visa, we could have given it to him the next day.

Me: but I don't want to do anything illegal.

Them: They don't care.

Me: OK. Can I have a tourist visa please?

Them: But it says here you want a conference visa, right on the form!

Me: Ah! May I have that form back please.

Them: Why?

Me: I want to adjust it.

Them: OK (hands over the form)

Me: (taking a pen and heavily crossing out "conference visa" writing in "tourist visa") I would like to apply for a tourist visa.

Them: OK. It will be ready tomorrow.

Seriously.

The Mysteries of Africa

I've hardly been home this month -- visited Nairobi for 10 days, then Geneva for another 6. I did get a free day in Kenya, and went with friends to the closest National Park for a half day, followed by a visit to Karen Blixen's estate. The park was interesting. We saw the very rare black rhinoceros, a bunch of different sorts of antelopes, giraffes, zebras, warthogs, etc. I have many pictures that are best narrated by saying: "...and that black dot over there is an oryx..." And who knows? Maybe it is. It's the first time I've seen a reason for one of those monster telephoto lenses, but still am not tempted to carry one. The Blixen place was sort of interesting. As we drove toward it, suddenly all things were named Karen: Karen Elementary School, Karen Pharmacy, Karen Lumber Yard, Karen Fresh Fruit. And then we arrived at a lovely, modest bungalow centred in the midst of a large lawn. Tents were being erected for a wedding reception to be held that night. Signing on for a tour, we were warned that no photos were allowed inside the house, though the exterior was fair game. Why? Because the "out of africa" movie folks own the intellectual property rights to the appearance of the rooms of the house. Making that seem even stranger, no parts of the film were shot inside the house -- the rooms are too small to accommodate massive professional filming equipment. They had constructed a set (in Surrey) that looked about right, but leaving off at least one wall of each room so they could zoom in and out. Only the exterior had been in the film, and yet that was the part they hadn't bought the rights to. Another IP mystery to add to the collection.

Driving into Denver

Driving into Denver is an interesting experience for one having a foggy image of the place. First, I had no idea that Denver is not in the mountains. Signs seen in passing promise slopes all the way -- "Vail Right 200 feet". Yet from the airport it's 15 miles to town and there's not a hill in sight. When finally entering the city, you see them looming in the distance all blue and moody,. But really: this is Calgary. But smaller, older and apparently a lot richer in the old days.

Signs on the way in piqued my interest. First, as the shuttle navigates through successive districts, apparent differences in the ethnic/linguistic makeup are dramatic. In some areas the billboards are exclusively Spanish. Three blocks on, I see the same signs, with the same messages, but in English.

And then a treat: "Special today! Amish Built Garage Doors!" With extra width to accomodate the team's gear, I suppose.

one of the more unlikely lines...

I was recently watching the dvd packaged with Lyle Lovett's It's not big, it's large cd. In his comments on the song "don't cry a tear," Lyle says: "the first time I played this was at Hunter Thompson's memorial. Just after they shot him out of a cannon."