Friday, 24 March 2017 to Thursday, 30 March 2017
Rain was forecast for Friday and it was spot-on… we just can’t seem to shake the rain from our lives. For most of the day there was no break in the gently falling wetness so we stayed indoors, trying to get into a working rather than a relaxing mood. Now that we felt 100% settled in Séte it came easier, but it was still a battle of wills, a battle between my will and my mind’s will.As a product of this battle of my wills, my thoughts turned to Rudi, a friend of 45 years, so I texted him and 30 minutes later we had a lengthy, almost two hour discussion, just like in the old days. Invariably the conversation turned to music, one of the passions we share. Rudi’s musical taste is far and wide and many times tend to lean towards the heavier genre. Below I included a few of his latest suggestions… Enjoy!

Supper tonight consisted of the leftover meatballs we had the other night, butternut, ratatouille as well as mashed potato. With a stomach filled with much goodness my sweet tooth emerged. It demanded to be fed with those irresistible Haribo jelly sweets that we bought a few days ago at the Netto Supermarket. After my frenzied sweet feeding, the bottom of that 600gm plastic container was just starting to be visible through layers of sweets. That was my cue to stop.

We started watching the series called Sherlock… and it wasn’t a case of “No shit, Sherlock”, but rather “So shit, Sherlock”, we were not overly impressed. Maybe those jelly sweets turned out brains into the same substance, but… I think we’ll give this series a miss. It’s not all bad, it’s just not that great.

Saturday we once again woke up to relentless rain, sometimes retreating slightly, sometimes coming to the fore in waves of vengeance, helped along by a mean throaty thunder from time to time. The wind was blowing down our narrow road leaving a trail of cold gusts in its wake. It was a day to stay in bed. I received my first cup of coffee while watching the Bulls/Blues game… in bed of course.

Yesterday we had run out of bread and the weather thus far had not allowed us to stock up. So, breakfast was served with biscotti toast-like bread which I am not particularly fond of. But, I must admit that it went down rather well this morning with the brie and blue cheese that we slapped on those puppies. There were also scrambled eggs with onions and tomato as well as salami; this all was sufficient to fill that gap that had formed during the night.

I moved to the lounge where I continued to watch rugby for most of the day, it was just like being back at home in SA. It was 16:30 when I opened my first Hoegaarden, albeit one of those mini ones at 250ml a bottle. Not sure why they even bother with such baby beers but it seems to be catching on fast here with many other brands coming in this diminutive size. I can’t say I like this size, there’s just not enough in there to touch sides. And not surprisingly, it was not long before I opened my second. Ah, that was better.

Suppertime was upon us and because of the rain we did not get to eat out last night, as we had planned, so postponed it to tonight. As I opened our French doors to the little balcony I felt no rain, but did feel a very cool breeze blowing up the street, funnelling through the apartment buildings. I had second thoughts about going out but Adri had none such whatsoever.

We took a walk down to the and of the waterfront two hundred metres or so away, and interrogated the menus as we moved up along the restaurants along the canal. Adri has been in hot pursuit of moules marinière or moulles et frite or, mussels and chips. We came upon two restaurants that seem to mostly specialize in this dish and chose the one whose chips looked the best, it was called La Calanque. Now you may question our judgment, but how could we judge anything by looking at a bucket of mussel shells that all look alike?

Adri ordered the Moules marinière with Roquefort Cheese sauce and I the Moules marinière with cream, garlic and parsley. One kilogram of mussels per pot is promised and that is what we got, with plenty of frite on the side. We tucked into our respective pots, here and there dipping into each other’s. This meal was a treat not to be forgotten soon, in one word “Amazing!” Of course these dishes were very rich and after depleting those pots we had to get home, my eyes were ready to roll over and play dead.

And of course I can still remember where and when I encountered my very first moulles et frite dish. It was in the mid 1990s, I was in Antwerp on business when Ashley, living in Amsterdam, joined me for supper at the Elfde Gebod (Eleventh Commandment) Restaurant, a rather unique joint well known for this delicious dish. Subsequent to this I often had moulles et frite whenever I went back to Brussels in the ensuing years.

It would then come as no surprise that I was rather pleased when I discovered a wonderful Belgian restaurant called Den Anker in Cape Town that serves this dish, probably the only one in SA to do so. The first time I had this dish in SA was on a business trip with Andre, who I might add, is not a big drinker. He sticks to the 2% alcohol variety and after two of those he starts talking crazy. Well, this night he kept up with me, Belgian beer after Belgian beer at an average of 8% alcohol per bottle. We both talked crazy that night. This incidentally was the same night I tried to check into the wrong Holiday Inn Hotel. You think it may have had something to do with the rows of Belgian beers that crossed our table? Nah… you think?

On Sunday I did not receive my daily bread… I had to fetch it myself. Adri was not moved, or rather, she was not going to move, so I walked the Sunday city streets in search of a boulangerie (bakery).

Everybody here seems to do their washing on a Sunday. As I walked through the narrow streets and alleyways the intense fresh scent of washing powder filled the air. I did not have to walk far before my nose picked up the smell I was searching for; a boulangerie, one that we have visited before. With a freshly baked baguette in hand I strolled back following another path home to scout for other bakeries in the area for future reference. One has to try them all.

Turning back onto our street there was this wonderful French music emanating from the apartment on the corner. The music man sat on a chair outside on the sidewalk with an espresso in hand, listening intently. I was thinking of asking him about the music but his eyes were closed at the time.

It was mid afternoon when we took a stroll into town. Being caged up as we had been due to the rain, we realized that we needed some exercise while the weather was holding out. It was later on in the afternoon that we took another stroll, this time up the hill overlooking Séte. Now this was a much more strenuous endeavour but we finally wound our way back home. On the way we stopped by the same boulangerie of this morning and could not resist getting a sweet thing for desert tonight.

No sooner had we left the bakery when we came upon a cowboy guy – he looked the part with hat and all – and his dog. Adri remarked that the scene reminded her of that old Afrikaans song My ryperd my brakkie en ek (My horse, my dog and I), a 1960s Afrikaans Africana song. I noted that he had no horse though, and my translation of the song went something like “My ryperd, my brakkie en ek (My horse, my dog and I), désolé, mon cheval het gevrek (Sorry, my horse died)” And that’s when I ran out of French… and Afrikaans…

By the way, this song was sung by Afrikaans country singer Charles Jacobie who was also known as Die Singende Beesboer (The singing cattle farmer). If I am not mistaken, I seem to remember that he was once arrested for smuggling diamonds across the border, from the old South West Africa (now Namibia) where he toured, to South Africa. The police, I suspect acting on a tipoff, found the diamonds stuck with Sellotape to the inside of the body of his guitar. I guess he had to have some other form of income as his singing voice was not going to carry his pension.

Be as it may, my father – bless his soul – loved to listen to Charles Jacobie. At the time the family did not have a turntable, it was circa 1965, and my dad was not about to buy one so my brother Phil – bless his soul – decided to take things into his own hands. He started to cut down some trees on the family farm where we lived, chopped it up and sold the result thereof as firewood to the farmers in the region.

A bakkie load which took about 1000 pieces was sold for R2 or something silly like that. He eventually reached his target of R34 that was required for the portable turntable and on our next big shopping excursion to Oudshoorn, the deed was done. The first album he bought was Softly by The Sandpipers, which made quite an impression on me. We listened to it over and over again, it was the only album we had, it was wonderful, it still is even today. Phil eventually gave it to me and would you believe, I still have it (Marc, you better look after this one boet!) it was on our next excursion to Oudshoorrn that Phil bought the album of Charles Jacobi, Die Singende Beesboer. Oh, the memories!

Monday we found that there was a large Carrefour a 30 minute bus ride north of Séte and decided to check it out. But, first we had to have a quick breakfast. Now Adri prefers the natural Greek type yogurt, I don’t mind it but prefer the normal stuff, I’m a normal kinda guy. Adri got her way the other day with a bundle of this natural stuff that got stuck into the fridge where it kept a low profile, until this morning that is. I don’t really mind the stuff that much but this morning I decided to try something different. I remembered we had some strawberry jam in the fridge, I mixed a bit of that into the white yogurt and voila, strawberry yogurt, my favourite!

After oats and strawberry yogurt we made our way to the bus stop, about 20 minutes’ walk away, or a brisk 15-minute walk. We chose the brisk variety, we had to, if we missed the bus we would have to twiddle thumbs for about an hour before the next bus would arrive. We made it in good time and twiddled only for a few minutes.

The bus line is number 13; I was wondering whether we would ever get to Carrefour with such an unfortunate number. I need not have worried. We did not know exactly how much it would cost so offered a €20 bill to the driver. He returned €17.40, so each ticket was €1.30. And by the way, the ticket is valid for one hour, so should you board another bus within that hour you can use the same ticket.

The bus driver was rather pleasant and so was the ride and within 30 minutes we were deposited at the Centre Commercial bus stop, right outside Carrefour, about 9km north of Sete. The centre’s setup is pretty similar to some of the hypermarkets in SA. The main attraction is of course the rather large Carrefour supermarket with a line of small shops on the opposite side of its checkout counters. We browsed through these little shops, some with clothes, some with sportswear, two mobile phone shops, a few restaurants as well as a coffee shop, and more.

And then we entered Carrefour and the selection of goods was quite impressive. We love our Monoprix back in Séte, but it is just not comparable. We walked the aisles, up and down and then again, gawking at all that stared back at us. The wine and cheese sections are especially impressive.

The main and only reason for us visiting Carrefour was of course to get Nestle Coffee Mate coffee creamer which we were quite sure would be well represented there. How wrong could we be? The French don’t seem to be too big on coffee creamers, as Mikey would have said…. “Here, she’s not very beeeeeg!” We did however find a French coffee creamer, stuck somewhere way out of sight, we nearly missed it. Just for good measure, two of those reached the checkout counter.

Now that we found what we were looking for, sort of, you would have thought we would head home, but you would be so wrong. Adri had already annexed one of those shopping basket type trolleys, dragging it behind her like her life depended upon it. By the time we had finished that trolley was filled with pain au chocolate, custard slices, flan, Barillo pastas of various persuasions, Roquefort cheese, brie cheese, filter coffee… the list went on, and on.

But, sanity prevailed when we eventually remembered that we were shopping by bus and we had quite a walk back home, and some uphill thrown in for good measure. And of course Carrefour would probably not be too amused should we take their trolley basket for a 9km trot, although that would have helped. We stopped piling stuff into that basket while the weight was still deemed to be carry-able back from the bus stop to our apartment. I feared we had left it too late.

The bus ride home was agreeable; the walk home was arduous, but we made it. We unpacked and could not wait to have some of our new coffee, or maybe it was the flan… I don’t remember. Be as it may, the Lavazza ground coffee we bought was okay, but quite frankly I expected more… I long for my dark Douwe Eggbert Dark Roast we used to get at Makro in Thailand, I really do.

The flan was out of this world. We had seen slices of flan in one of the boulangeries the other day and since then had been pining for such. So when we saw flan today we decided to go the whole hog and placed a whole flan at the bottom of our trolley where it was kept safe from prying eyes, it was the last one left on the shelf. And man, was it worthwhile to have waited a few days for this, absolutely delicious. There was a tinge of melktert (milk tart) in there, nogal (mind you), wow!

Supper tonight was grilled chicken… Oh, did I forget to mention that purchase? Adri made some grilled potatoes to go with that as well as a mean fresh garden salad, dripping with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Delicious.

For dessert we had the custard slices as well as a chocolate type pastry – sorry, forgot about that as well – wonderful stuff. Adri mentioned in passing that, if we’re not careful with our diet, we’ll be rolling out of France, and it won’t be a pretty sight. Did she mention diet?

The sun this time of the year goes down only at around 20:00 so one easily loses track of time. We’re used to having supper when it’s dark, so we now tend to eat in the fading light, which is still later than what we’re used to. And so it came to be that we had a rather late supper and immediately after that it was time for bed, reading and relaxing, it was a long day.

Tuesday morning Adri was still fast asleep when the Lavazza fumes hit her head-on and she promptly sat up straight to receive this blessing. Petit déjeuner (breakfast) was a cold one consisting of baguette dripping with olive oil, salami and a trio of cheeses; brie, Roquefort and Emmental.

After breakfast it was time to prepare our documentation that needed to be posted to the Montpellier OFII (French Office of Immigration and Integration) tomorrow. We had agreed to meet Karine at the Montpellier train station at 11:00 in the morning; she had gracefully offered to assist us with this process.

There was one document that needed to be completed which was the one we received back from the French Embassy in Bangkok at the time we received our Long Stay Visas. This done we had to tend to the other requirements, a copy of our passports as well as a copy of the date stamp we received in our passports when we entered France. Getting photocopies made, or having a document printed out when you’re in travel mode like us always poses a challenge… where do you go? The internet of course.

A few searches later left me more blank than the screen I was facing. I finally found a page that made mention of a little shop not more than 400 metres from where we stay. Jackpot! An even greater jackpot was the fact that the lady there spoke very good English. Numerous copies and about €2.60 later we walked out of there after having a lovely chat.

The lady there is probably our age, was born in Paris, moved to Séte when she was six and have stayed here ever since. Her father was a colonel in the army and was stationed in Séte. In fact, he was the very last commander of this unit before they closed it down many years ago. What a lovely lady she was. She had travelled to many of the French speaking West African countries and her dream is still so visit Afrique du Sud (South Africa), and I sure do hope she makes it there.

We then took a stroll around town to soak up some of the lovely afternoon sun and on the way home we stopped off at Monoprix. We could not buy ice cream yesterday at Carrefour as it would have either melted on been consumed on the long journey home. We also needed some veggies to go with the leftover roast chicken from last night… butter, milk and a few more things were also carried home…Let me rephrase, I carried home.

Tonight Adri made something she had never made before… caramelised onions. The onions apparently have to be cooked in a pan at very low temperature for about an hour or so, so quite an effort goes into producing these beauties. Man, that stuff went so well with the chicken, mixed veggies and those potatoes still dressed in their tuxedos.

Wednesday morning at 06:00 an alarm went off, it was mine… It was still dark and getting less dark by the minute. It was even less dark by the time we walked to the bus stop for our trip to Montpellier.

At 07:00 the town was still fast asleep, there was literally no one around barring a dog or a scrambling cat here and there. I remembered back in SA I used to get up before 06:00, get ready and dressed and drive from Johannesburg to Pretoria, arriving there at around 07:00, and the day would start in all earnest, sometimes ending only late at night. The French sure know how to live a quality life, mostly starting work only at around 09:00. Wow, I would have been much younger had I worked my entire life in France.

The trip on bus line 102 to Montpeliier was uneventful although I could not keep my eyes open and fell into a deep snooze, waking up only from time to time to check whether something interesting was happening out there. And there was. At some point we passed along a vineyard where a drunken car and its owner had kindly ploughed into it the night before. Two policemen were in attendance, probably to check whether the ploughing was to an acceptable EU standard.

Bus line 102 only goes as far as the Sabines bus/tram station from where we took tram line 2 into the heart of Montpellier to Gare de Montpellier Saint-Roch. As we got off the tram our way was blocked by police, the tram police, they were checking for freeloaders. I fumbled though my pockets and finally found what I was looking for. We were let off without incident; just as well I remembered to validate that ticket when we got onto the tram.

We were now forced to wake up, there was traffic to contend with, so we dragged our bodies across the street to McDonand’s where they serve a mean double espresso for €1. That was what finally woke me up.

 

 

 

We have not yet acquired a French sim no had no local telephone number, something we needed to complete on our OFII forms. Having identified an Orange mobile shop that opens early, we walked in there and ordered a sim. The friendly lady had no English on her just yet, maybe it was still too early, but she gracefully suggested that Karim help us, and his English was excellent. After answering my many questions we decided on the pay-as-you-go version that went for around €10. In order to keep this puppy activated you have to top it up with a 5, 10, or 20 euro voucher at least every few months. Cool.

We passed by a pharmacy and Adri remembered that she needed new reading glasses and they happened to have a pair she fancied. She would normally go for a standard 1.75 but everywhere we have checked thus far they just don’t seem to have the .25 interval versions available. She settled for the 2.0 version.

I have been thinking about getting a new phone, not for the phone’s sake, but for the camera, the camera on the Iphone 5S is pretty useless. We entered the FNAC store and fond memories of the one I used to visit in Brussels – where I bought many a DVD and CD – rushed in.  I checked out their selection of phones and truth be told, the models and prices across the various establishments are pretty similar, or as they would say in Thailand, same same.

The one phone I am seriously considering is the Samsumg Galaxy S7 Edge, but I just cannot find the dual sim version in Europe, FNAC was no exception. Other phones with good cameras I may consider are the Sony Xperia or the Huawei P9, but it seems like only the single sim version are available here in Europe. How different is that from Asia where most phones are dual sim? And I have to have a dual sim, don’t wanna walk around with two phones.

It was just after 11:00 when we met Karine at the station and a few hundred metres later we entered the main post office. In rapid fire French she spoke to the postal guy, a form and an envelope exchanged hands and she started completing the documentation for us. Ten minutes later we walked out of there, the deed done and sealed. We said our heartfelt thanks and goodbyes to Karine, had she not helped us we would probably have been there until long after closing time.

In order to make our stay in France valid for a period longer than three months the process, as I understand it, is as follows. The registered mail that we sent off today, containing the relevant OFII requirements, should reach them within a day. On successful delivery we will receive an acknowledged from the post office within a few days. The OFII will process our documents and send us, hopefully before the three months are up, an invitation to go to their offices for a medical check-up. Once done we will hand over some Euros after which the visa in our passports will receive a stamp as proof that we are now resident in France, for the next nine months. That’s at least how I understand things, we’ll see how thing pan out over time.

We had the rest of the day to hang around Montpellier and we were so looking forward to it. The last time we were here was the day we arrived in France and we were absolutely exhausted after out overnight stay at “Hotel” Charles de Gaulle.

Adri dearly wanted to visit the Musée Fabre but decided to leave this for another day, apparently one has to spend many hours there to truly appreciate all the artworks that are on offer. We detoured past it and up into the historical centre. We crisscrossed the lovely little streets and beautiful buildings. We finally reached the Square de La Tour des Pins and then walked past the Cathédrale Saint-Pierre de Montpellier which is right next door. Unfortunately we could not enter the cathedral, it was closed for lunchtime.

We then ambled across the street and took a stroll through the beautiful Jardin des plantes where I rested my feet and Adri her eyes; we used the gardens to good effect.

 

 

 

As we exited the gardens a dangerously low flyover of a million Messerschmitts took place, maybe they were Fokkers. That’s what it sounded like in any case, turns out it was a Harley Davidson at its worse, passing by. I’m not sure what it is with French bike riders but I’m certain they all modify their bikes to make as much noise as possible, trying their damnedest to piss everybody off. And you can see it as they ride by, they will look you straight in the eye, defiantly, to check your reaction. If nothing is forthcoming they will grind that throttle, increasing the decibels to hell and back, until you mouth an obscenity. And I think that makes them happy. But seriously, the EU have so many rules and regulations, some anal some banal, but is there no regulation against noise pollution? Or is it just me?

After our Messerschmitt raid we walked up to the Place royale du Peyrou from where you get a lovely view across Montpellier. And how peaceful it was up there…

 

 

 

I was getting thirsty, Adri was getting sleepy, so we parked off at the Le dada cafe for a beer and an espresso. We were contemplating staying in Montpellier for supper but we were by now too tired, we needed to get home. It was around 18:00 that we took the reverse route back home; tram to Sabines, bus back to Séte. What a thoroughly enjoyable day that was!

 

The SA currency has been regaining some lost strength over time, and now all those gains were lost in one foul sweep. Of course I lost it as well. When the Rand does this yo-yo thing I do what I always do in such circumstances; I go to an SA news site to check watse kak Zuma nou weer aangevang het (What crap Zuma has gotten up to again). And of course I was right; this yo-yo thing started after Zuma on Monday unceremoniously recalled Finance Minister Pravin Gordhan from an overseas investor trip without providing any reasons. And to make matters worse, it is now speculated that he is planning on firing Pravin as Finance Minister. What an arsehole!

This morning while doing my Duolingo French lesson I also said bonjour to my Microsoft Translator app. It somehow correctly recognised what I said. I then flung a “bonjour, comment ça va?” its way and it returned “Good Lord, how are you?” This with a straight face I might add, no hint of a snicker, nothing… I was rather stunned at this outburst of near blasphemy! I noted that the app interpreted my words as “Bon Dieu, comment ça va?”, so the translation bit was correct, but I really have to work on my pronunciation! I tried a few more times and eventually I got a ”Hello, how are you” out of the app.

It was 17:00 when I received a cup of boeretroos (farmer’s comfort, i.e. coffee) to calm my nerves, after having constantly monitored the Rand’s demise all day. At least it had by now moved back to under 13 to the dollar. I started working, I really needed to, blogging was once again a few weeks behind, yet again… and no, I will never learn.

It was just after 19:30 when we ambled down to the Iglise Saint Pierre (church) for an evening of music. Adri saw this concert advertised a while back and she just had to go.

 

 

 

 

On the way there, at a narrow stretch of pavement, we were forced to walk single file, when Adri hollered from behind “Watch out, turd!” Okay, that called for quick thinking. My right foot, in midair, was already in descent and apparently heading for a mushy turd. Mid step, against all natural laws of gravity and momentum, I managed to move my foot 15cm or so to the right, ostensibly missing the turd by a few whiskers. My foot came down unexpectedly soft and spongy, right on top of that very turd I was warned about. Had there been no warning, I would have missed that puppy by two turd lengths. We agreed, no more turd alerts.

And while we’re on the subject, there are a surprisingly large number of turds around town. Are people not supposed to pick up their dog’s doggy doo after it made a poo? One could argue that the turds are left by the tramps, or rather their dogs. Each tramp seems to have their very own dog, and quite surprisingly, they’re usually in good shape, the dog I mean. But, I’m afraid to say, I have seen many well groomed dogs with their well groomed owners walk away from a steaming pile of brown, without even a slight backwards glance.

After vigorously cleaning off the sole of my shoe on a patch of grass we took our seats in the church. They have these footstools fixed to the floor that are far too high. I found it difficult to breathe with my kneecaps blocking my nostrils. I moved my feet, I started breathing.

And then the music started, and it was sublime. The program was called “Strings in the Family” which brought together the guitarist father, Jad Azkoul and his violinist son, Julian Azkoul. Wow, these two were on song, father and son complemented each other perfectly, as did their instruments. Mesmerised, I at some stage contemplated closing my eyes to savour those notes floating on the air towards me more intensely, but such thoughts were quickly banished, people might think I’m a jerk for falling asleep.

We got home after a delightful evening of music and settled down with the last vapours of Marina’s muti (a term for traditional medicine in South Africa), that bottle of Pohorski Borovnicevec, an amazing blueberry liqueur. And the best part of that muti? At the bottom of the bottle were a multitude of drunken berries, they were divine. I stopped one short of a headache.

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