Monday came as a surprise. After a weekend of nothing but rain, sleet, snow and biting cold winds, it was sunny – from the start of the day – and warm too.
As the boulangerie is closed on Mondays, this is the day of the week I’ve chosen to go to the Lavarie – the laundrette. Even though the word “laundrette” sounds French, the French use the word “lavarie”. I have not been to a lavarie since 1986.
The lavarie appears to be run by a husband and wife team who helped me get the change (€6,50) and work the machine activation through a control panel.
I forgot to say that on the way to the lavarie, I spotted a big pussy looking through a window, and on the way back the pussy had been replaced by these two strange chaps. Check out the sideways look from the one on the right.
I spent the remainder of the day outside in the sun – with my jumper off – reading down by the river Aude.
Lastly, just as an aside, and a warning on language, ladies. When ordering your feminine hygiene products at the supermarket, please be careful not to get pan scrubbers instead.
Sunday was exceptionally cold. In fact it sorted of snowed all day. Apart from a dash to the boulangerie first thing in the morning to get my daily bread before it shut until Tuesday, I stayed home (and watched a lot of Netflix).
Saturday is market day and there was a good turnout of sellers – I bought cheese, and also got some free cheese as well. There is also a dutch cheese stand (run by a dutch gentleman) with Gouda with Cumin ! There was also a butcher’s van, and I asked for bacon and the butcher told me he was going to have to disappoint me – which he did !
I have no photos of the market (sorry) as it really was raining like crazy – I will try and take some next weekend.
During the day, I decided to bring forward my cleaning regime and cleaned the flat and also did a spot of ironing. The ironing board is very low. I also took photos of the flat and will use these to update “Flat” section of my Blog – because it is SNOWING today !
In the evening I went with Louise and James to the Cochon Volant (again) to watch the England vs Ireland game (rugby) and drank more local beer. I have now spent two days allowance just on beer alone ! The pub wasn’t all that busy (perhaps due to the torrential rain outside), maybe about another 5-6 people in total.
However, I did get to meet Mavis, a little spaniel who belongs to Stephen, the pub owner, and like him, has come all the way from Sydney.
Later in the evening, Guy called for a WhatsApp chat, so I might add in a photo from him to cheer up this blog entry.
I’ve probably not mentioned it, but the weather during my first week has not been great. It’s been windy, raining heavily or drizzling, more or less all the time.
I decided that the time had come to venture further than the Spar.
As I headed off, the clouds that had been circulating the mountains slowly started to lift, letting the sun and BLUE skies to come through.
The road I headed up was quite simple, to avoid getting lost. I went to Ginoles.
Ginoles is the Hove to Quillan’s Brighton. It’s set just up the hill a bit. There is Ginoles-Les-Bains, which once upon a time was a spa and hot spring destination. It isn’t any more. After Ginoles-Les-Bains there is Ginoles Village, which isn’t really a village but a collection of houses.
After the long walk up, and having to take my jumper off because of the extreme heat, I headed back into town. Along the way I met two dogs and an old lady and I also passed a house called Gladys.
In the evening, I headed out to the Cochon Volant pub (The Flying Pig) as I had been told it would be busy for the rugby. I arrived about 6.30, but I was the only person in the pub until 9pm when two people from Harrogate (a grandfather and grand daughter) and a gentleman from the Isle of Wight.
I spent most of the evening speaking to Stephen, who craft brews his own beer and runs the pub (only open Fridays and Saturdays in the off season). He has lived in the town now for four years, having been a lawyer in Sydney, has four children at the local school and actually owns and wears his own beret.
You’ll be glad to hear that I am not going to go into detail for every day that I’m here !
Tuesday was very much a sleep, doze and unpack day. Both my suitcases are now unpacked and stored in the cellar (beneath my flat). Despite being 10kg over my luggage allowance, I still forgot shampoo. I also had a walk around the town and found where the key shops were – the Spar, the boulangerie and the English Library – I met a very nice lady called Mary there – she has my number and I’m waiting for her to call. I can’t get my Alexa to work 😦 but every other device is all hooked up, including my Fire TV stick which means I’ve got Amazon Prime and Netflix.
The SPAR – about 3 minutes from my flat !
Wednesday was a VERY busy day. The morning was market day. There are two market days in Quillan – on Wednesday and again on Saturday. Sadly, at this time of year, not many people come to the Wednesday one – it only consisted of a goats’ cheese van, a meat van (which I’ve been warned from) and an egg van – except because it was raining, the egg man kept his eggs inside and I didn’t see them – apparently you buy them by date from laying !
After that disappointment, Louise drove us to the local Carrefour, which is about 10 mins drive on the outskirts of town. Louise booked her husband, James, in for a haircut and then she guided me through the aisles. I bought some gin, red wine and beer. The trip also caused me to break my weekly budget so will have to ration the gin.
For those interested, an aisle end display for the craft beers from Le Cochon Volant.
And then in the afternoon I went to the English Library. This is basically a shop in the square, run by an Australian called Patrick and its run as a lending library for mainly English books (this is where I met the very nice Mary). Anyway, the local brits take turns volunteering in this “shop”, and on Wednesday afternoons Patrick hosts a conversation class – both French and English speaking are welcome, but each much speak in the other’s language.
At my session there was Bridget, Vero(nique) who are French and Martin and Shirley who are british – from the Black Country, and were quite offended when I said they spoke French with a Birmingham accent ! Basically you introduce yourself and then take turns asking each other questions. After the session we went to the Café du Fleuve for a coffee and had a jolly discussion on French words for undertaker – it’s in croque-mort, much like a croque-monsieur.
There is no class next week as Patrick is having a cataract operation, however we have agreed to meet at the café to carry on the good work.
Monday 28th Jan: This was a day of stressful travel. I left my flat, possibly for the last time ever, at about 04.20 – A taxi was already waiting downstairs and I assumed that this was the taxi I had already booked – I even asked the chap if he was booked for me (and he said yes). But when another taxi turned up – for me – then I realised I had narrowly avoided being kidnapped by some foreign power. In the end, I had a very nice taxi journey. The driver, a lady, had a 21 year son still at home who specialised in “streaming” – which means he played a lot of computer games.
My next challenge was my large suitcase ! Heather had assured me the previous day that the 23kg allowance was a lot. However, my 33kg suitcase was not accepted by the stern check-in lady. So at 5am I bought an £80 new suitcase and I repacked. Fortunately, the stern lady was also quite funny and didn’t charge me excess baggage.
And so I bounced from Edinburgh to Brussels and then to Toulouse (Brussels Air is an okay airline) and I met up with my suitcases once again.
A very nice sink at Toulouse Airport
This is when I realised that the French are not big fans of putting up useful signs. There were no signs to help you decide whether a tram or a bus would get me to Toulouse train station (it’s the bus), there is no sign directing you from the bus park at Toulouse station to the main building and there is absolutely NO SIGN telling you where platform 5 is !!
So I bought I bought a train ticket for Toulouse to Carcassonne. The seemingly nice French lady behind the counter said the journey would be TWO hours and there was only 5€ difference between first and second class. So I bought a first class ticket – mostly because I had those two massive suitcases (and thank you to the person who invented wheels for them). And then, with a dangerous smile she said I had SIX MINUTES to catch the train and then she asked for my address, email, phone number. And then I ran – dragging those massive suitcases.
I panicked round a little auditorium with NO SIGNS for about a minute and finally had to ask soldiers, with the biggest guns, where to go. I then ran downstairs, along a long tunnel and then dragged myself and those cases up steep and endless steps to meet the train pulling in to the station. No guards to ask if this was my train. And the step up to the train was so high I had to ask a very old man to help me on.
And then when the ticket man came along and found me slumped in the corridor, he said my seat in first class was at the other (far) end of the train and that the journey was only 45 minutes. I then vowed never to return to Toulouse – ever.
I’m almost finished, but I should just say that once at Carcassonne and before embarking on a long bus journey, I used the facilities at the station (50€). It was a full automated service, and I still don’t understand why the electric toilet seat decided to lower as I was using it ! Oh, and also when the train pulled into Carcassonne about a dozen people got off just to smoke.
Just outside Carcassonne Train Station waiting for the bus
The final part of the journey – the bus from Carcassonne to Quillan was the easiest and most pleasant part of the whole day. I was met in Quillan by Louise who I am renting from and she ably took control of one of my suitcases.
“There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
As I headed off, the clouds that had been circulating the mountains slowly started to lift, letting the sun and BLUE skies to come through.
The Good Aude Days 