Paris - It ain't all bad

After all the bad press Paris has been getting lately what with strikes, riots and general grittiness I thought it might be a good idea to redress the balance at least a little bit with a true story of how nice Parisians can be.
Now, I am not an admirer of cities in general. I must say, however, that after San Francisco Paris is pretty high on my list. I've been going there for over 40 years and still like it. Like all big cities Paris is a better place to be a tourist in that as a place to live in. Unless, that is, you're reasonably well heeled. Of course then anywhere is a better place than if not, but I digress. At any rate this story is true and happened just last week on Thanksgiving day as a matter of fact.
A friend of ours had to leave our Thanksgiving lunch to go down to Montauban to pick up her parents who were supposed to arrive from England that day BY TRAIN! Of course the strikes were on so she really didn't expect them to arrive, but since she hadn't heard she had to go down just in case. The parents who are 88 & 82 were coming from England via Paris. They were warned & advised not to try the trip, but too wait as they had to change trains in Paris which also involved getting across town from on station to another. Difficult with the strikes. They came anyway not bothering to let anybody know about their progress or lack thereof.

In Paris They were helped by a succession of kind people (bear in mind that they speak very few words of French) First somebody helped them off the train & snagged a porter for them. He then barged them to the front of a very long taxi line & grabbed the next cab for them. The taxi driver hailed another porter for them at the other station. He took them right to their train and made sure they had good seats. Nothing but kindness & efficiency. What strikes? What rudeness? They arrived exactly on time fresh as daisy's.

Its doubtful that this happens all the time, but it does happen. For my money Paris ain't all that bad. And you can still eat well for not a lot of money if you know what you're doing.

Diet - Day whatever In the doldrums

Well. I'm just hanging around 191 to 193 pounds and have been for the last week. This 190 pound barrier is proving hard to break.
Guess I've just got to try harder. It would help if I were stricter with myself. I have had a few glasses of wine and even a piece of carrot cake on Thanksgiving. Straight & narrow is what I need.

I bought some dry sausages (three for 10 Euros) at market today. I got capes, torus & Avyronaise varieties each about 200 G, not bad. He's always at the Thursday market. When I bought my Butternut squash the girl on the stall asked how I was going to cook it. (Cut in half length ways. cut deep grooves into each half in both directions, a good dab of butter in the cavities, then plenty of fresh grated nutmeg all over & bake in a hot oven until done) We got through all of this except the nutmeg. I couldn't remember the French word for it. Its muscade. Think we got there using other word & gestures.

Otherwise cold & quiet. Did have friends over for a light supper and poker the other night. I won. Too bad we don't play for money.

Jacques Viguie - a fond farewell & dignified passing

We lost a friend today.
I remember when we first bought our house here we would fly in then all jet lagged wake up early the next morning. We'd see the smoke rising from the boulangerie chimney and know that all was well. Jacques was making bread. When we moved here permanently Jacques was one of the first to greet us as new neighbors; he and Madame Viguie were the first of the villagers to invite us to their home. (funny how after 6 years she is still Madame & I have no idea of what her Christian name is, but Jacques was always Jacques.) We were invited for "un petit gout" (a little taste). We weren't sure what that might be but found out that it was succession of small dished accompanied by appropriate drink. Jacques was particularly proud of his very own eau de vie. First we had the 'new' stuff, then the very old stuff. Wonderful, but watch out!
Slowly we learned more about Jacques; ex pig farmer, ex truck driver, retired bread maker. And what bread! Real country sourdough with crust that is out of this world. (I say is because after a two year plus apprenticeship with her father his daughter, Monique, took over the business & moved it to Villefranche, Jacques retired. She now has three shops & her father used to go every morning to bring back the bread for the village. What happens now?) He did his military duty in Algeria & didn't like it. In fact he liked right where he was in the village. He was born here & died here; a content soul.
Yet he was well informed about the world, curious and inquisitive. Jacques always had time for a chat & a laugh. He walked by our place several times a week with his dog, Olga. We'd try to chat & the dogs would play. I say try because there was a real language problem what with my pathetic French which he had trouble understanding & my inability to penetrate Jacques' local accent. His native language was Occitan & he started learning French when he was 6 years old & started school. Somehow though we communicated, somehow I came to regard him as a friend. He was always there, he was always positive and one knew you could count on him. I remember a typical Jacques deed; some friends came to visit & were having trouble finding our house so they asked at the boulangerie (a good tip by the way; if you want to find somebody in France just ask there.) Jacques promptly got in their car and brought them to our place. He was that kind of man.
I'll miss him. We all will.

That was obvious at his funeral today. It was a wonderful, dignified and moving occasion.Very fitting.
As is the French custom we all waited outside the church. The coffin arrived with an honor guard of war veterans from nine surrounding communes their flags draped in black, the coffin draped in the French flag. They entered the church followed by the family (Linda & I almost lost it then seeing poor Madame Viguie, her head bowed, grieving in public. She is such a private person. Jacques was her best friend as well as her husband) We then all filed in. The church was full, it was standing room only. The singing was beautiful and local; perhaps not the best choir, but they meant every word. The communion service was very moving. We did lose it when Jacques younger daughter got up to speak: "Papa...." Very very moving. Her last conversation with her father.The coffin and the honor guard left followed by all of us. A simple, heart felt service.
The French do these things so well. I was proud of them, proud of our village, proud to be part of it.
Farewell Jacques!