Tall
Man In An Attic
Francois came
to pick me up at the station as promised. He seemed happy enough to
see me, but when I put my hand out to shake his, he totally ignored
it, then leant over and gave me a big hug. From that moment on I realised
that I was back amongst family again.
Yaou, Francois'
young wife, was also happy to see me. And after the traditional French
welcome, 3 kisses on the cheeks, I was introduced to the newest member
of the household, little Madeleine Mahatma Bre. At 3 months old, she
was only 2 months younger than her sister, Maina, was when I visited
there exactly 12 months ago.
That was during
Aurillac's famous 5 day Street Performers Festival which grows the
town's population from just 50,000 people to up to 150,000. Francois
takes advantage of this period to fill his house with guests. At least
a dozen manage to sleep indoors in one of his numerous beds while
the others set up their tents in the back yard. This year Francois
had 22 guests in his home, so I'm glad I postponed my visit this year
until the week after the festival had finished.
So I had 3 floors of beds
to choose from. Maybe it was the 'child' in me, but I decided on sleeping
in the attic. I'd never slept in an attic before (isn't that every
child's dream?), so up to the attic I went. But then I had to choose
from 4 beds. The larger room had 3 beds in it, all of which were just
matresses on the floor, but the smaller room had a double bed on slats.
So I chose to sleep in the smaller room.
But I soon realised I'd
made the wrong decision, because it's dangerous up there! In fact,
it made such an impression on me that I coined a new quote .
"As dangerous as a
tall man in an attic." (James Taris)
As you may have just guessed,
I banged my head on the roof beams on more than one occasion. In fact,
it was 4 times to be precise. And after the 2nd night, I even changed
beds, because on the 2nd morning I got an acute backache and could
hardly move at all for most of that day. I didn't go very far, just
to the double bed in the larger attic room, but the change seemed
to be for the best, though I was more careful whenever I came near
those dreaded lower roof beams.
But Aurillac has much more
to do than just with my sleeping arrangements.
Aurillac is a
very tranquil city high in the southern mountains of France, with
a beautiful central shopping area with narrow streets and beautifully
presented boutique shops. The buildings are centuries old, but well
preserved. I couldn't resist buying a chocolate coissant (1.3 euros
or AUD$2) but after deciding to have a cup of hot chocolate in a French
Café, I quickly walked out again after noticing one of the
customers smoking. In my home state of Victoria (Australia) last year,
it became illegal for customers to smoke in cafes and restaurants
where food is being served, and I've become so used to eating and
drinking in a smoke-free environment that now I find it hard to tolerate
smokers while dining.
Beautiful
hues in the Cantal Mountain backdrop.
A couple of Francois'
friends, Terry and Ida, came to visit, and they also took us for a
drive into the countryside. Aurillac is famous for its hills and volcanic
mountains. This was the first week of spring and the hills were a
beautiful blend of rich green and brown colours. We stopped along
the way to collect what was left of this season's wild blackberries,
and we also visited the local Grotte, or small cave, which used to
have a thatched house built around it back in the 18th century.
But while I'm travelling,
I'm more interested in the people I stay with and what happens all
around them. Like the grey and white cat that (every morning) jumps
1 metre (3 ft.) up onto the kitchen door, hooking its paws around
the iron moulding, begging for us to let it in and give it some food.
And the small wooden barrier Francois uses to keep the chicken out
of the basement accommodation, because it isn't 'house-trained'. And
the swinging basinet that Francois made for Madeleine, using 4 bicycle
straps suspended from a hook in a roof beam, which he suspends directly
above his bed, and which proves successful every time she needs to
be rocked to sleep. And the "Liberta" (Freedom) graffiti
sign which Francois wrote on a wooden gate after last year's graffiti
sign was removed. And the black texta complaint he wrote on the park
notice sign, when he found it almost impossible to push Madeline's
pram along the stone paths. He wrote, "Danger, this park is not
safe for prams." And Francois' addiction to signing petitions.
If someone is petitioning against something, you can bet that Francois
will want to be part of it too.
But on Saturday morning
I was on the internet, or more precisely, on www.afl.com.au. Collingwood
(my team) was playing Brisbane in its first finals game, AND WE KICKED
THEIR BUTTS !
Ah, some memories
will just never fade.
This
article is taken from the ebook,
400-Day LETS Odyssey
About
the book
|
James
Taris web sites
JamesTaris.com
LETS-Linkup.com
Rich-Bastards.com
Honey-BeeBooks.com
TheGloryOfAthens.com
TravelWithoutMoney.com
ChineseArt-ChineseArt.com
ShanghaiPhotoGuide.com
ShockProofMaterial.com
2pups.com
