The Congélateur

The apartment we are renting in Toulouse did not have freezer section in the fridge. Our landlord, Vincent, said he would spring for a new freezer (a congélateur in French), so of course we said yes. We live on the fourth floor, which in France is four floors above the ground floor and the elevator can barely hold two people standing very, very close, spooning if you will. It sometimes takes us a few dance moves in the elevator to get it to go up if we are carrying groceries. Slide to the left, slide to the right, do the hokie pokie and voilà, it starts!

But I digress. Vincent ordered it and gave explicit instructions that the congélateur (I love this word), was to be delivered up to our apartment, and not to use the elevator as it was too small.

The delivery guys showed up as I was walking back from the market. Kirsty was having a chat with the guy who had set the congélateur on the ground outside of the entrance to the apartments. This was a far as he was going to move it as it was not his job to carry it up the stairs, or even into the apartment complex. Delivery to the outside door was his motto. 

She told him to sling his hook and take the congélateur back if he wasn’t going deliver it upstairs to our front door. So off they went and we told Vincent what had happened and he was a bit put off by these guys as he had paid extra to get the thing hauled up to our apartment. He called the store and chewed some butt and a new delivery date was set.

A few days later the new delivery guys showed up and brought it inside the lobby and stuck it in the elevator (by itself), pushed the button for the fourth floor and closed the door. The elevator stayed put and would not go up. One of the guys tried to open the door but it was locked closed.  Nothing we could do would open the door. Nor could we call the elevator up to our floor. It was stuck, unusable on the ground floor.

Your man called a phone number on the elevator and talked with somebody who said he would send someone around to sort out the problem. The delivery guys said they had deliveries to make so, au revoir and good luck. 

We went back to our apartment and waited for the elevator guy to call. He wasn’t too long and before you knew it, we were standing there before the open elevator door looking at a congélateur that was too big for the elevator. I pulled it out and the elevator guy gave a few hand signals to maybe take it out of the box and see if it would then fit. After a bit of pushing and shoving, I got it in the elevator and he made sure the door would close. Up it went, and Kirsty and I carted it the rest of the way into our apartment. Easy peasy. By the way, our congélateur model name is California. True story.

Peace my friends!

A Little of This, A Little of That

It is too bleedin' hot here to go outside so I will take this time to relate the good, the bad, and the ugly of my time so far in France. This is my fourth or fifth time in France, (can't remember how many times, I will blame that on mind fog from my meds and covid!). This time we are here explicitly to stay put for a bit instead of merely wandering about in search of a great baguette and croissant on our way to somewhere else.

We picked Toulouse, over the Loire valley (and a few others), for a couple of reasons having to do with the weather and the availability of a place to stay. Finding an apartment in France from the US is not an easy task and we were very lucky to happen upon our landlord, Vincent. He understood that we were coming to stay in France and apply for a carte de séjour, and was very accommodating in all aspects of the rental! He is definitely in the Good category.

We thought the weather in Toulouse, which we knew to have its hot days, would be manageable and not too much different from the Loire valley, and surely not as hot as the south of France. Hahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahah! Weeks of over 100 this year! To be fair, it has been roasting over much of France and Europe as well, including the Loire. But not as hot as Toulouse. So, one could say this was in the Bad category, approaching the Ugly category.

We are very lucky to have found great boulangerie in Toulouse, Boulangerie Credo. They are in the Good category. Their baguettes, croissants, and cakes are among the best I have had the pleasure of eating. 

There is a trend in France to replace the beloved neighborhood artisan boulangerie with a shop that doesn't bake its own bread on the premises. This is definitely in the Ugly category! The baguettes are sad looking in these shops and no doubt taste just as bad. They certainly have on the rare occasions that I have had to buy a baguette from these fake boulangeries. First world problems for sure, but hey, some things do matter!

Good things: wonderful public transportation (buses, trains, metro, trams, city bikes), a government that truly cares for its people in a way I have not experienced, (you know, socialist-like, good for the whole, not just the elite) tree-lined boulevards, red brick buildings, neighborhood gardens, aromas from the boulangerie, neighborhood fruit and veg markets (real ones where the common folk shop, not the spoiled yuppie driven, I feel good about myself for spending so much for cage-free eggs and honey from small farms in Outer Mongolia wank fest that is an American market). Okay, a bit touchy here, but come on! If you've ever been to a Saturday market in America, you probably know what I'm talking about.

Bad things: body odor and lots of it. What is it with some folks and their disdain for a bar of soap? I'm not talking only street people here, but regular folks like those I meet at the market, in the stores, on the bus or the train. Jesus people, take a shower! You stink and eau d'whatever the heck you spray on doesn't work. Bureaucracy, whether one is trying to get a carte de séjour or open a back account. Forms, forms, forms. France runs on paper.

Ugly things: French folks love to smoke. Still. In this day and age of medical enlightenment and all that. Second-hand smoke is pervasive on the streets, outside the cafes and bars (where they still haven't banned smoking like most civilised countries). One cannot walk the streets without trailing behind, or sitting near some inconsiderate person who is smoking. Why can't they slowly kill themselves away from those of us who don't need smoke in our lungs? They don't care, get over it, yada, yada, yada.  

Peeing in the street, on the side of buildings or trees. Seriously. Take a walk down the streets of Toulouse and you will see (and smell when really bad) the evidence of a lot of peeing on the sidewalks, walls, doorways, anywhere really that someone feels is suitable to pee. Add the dogs that piss everywhere and you get the idea that the street is one big toilet. Luckily only the dogs crap on the sidewalk, at least where I live. I give thanks to the street department of Toulouse for hosing the streets and sidewalks down once a week or so. 

We have a small pisoir (public urinal) at the end of our street. Apparently one pees into it onto straw bales. Takes the odor away and would work as designed if people didn't pee all around it. I know certain french men are not at all reticent about peeing in public. My lovely bride tells me that it's in the culture: pipi sauvage (or pissing in the wild).

There are other things, that are weird or different, like pharmacy rules, but that is for another time.

Peace my friends!

Viva La France!

Here's the thing...

We have stepped away from the crazy that is the USA and settled in the ville rose: Toulouse, France. 

This is the Capitole, or city hall in Toulouse. First built in 1190, it went through a few changes until this façade, 135 meters long, was built in 1750. These red-pink bricks, used to build much of the city, were made from clay high in iron oxide.

We have been dealing with the Prefecture to get my carte de séjour (residence permit), so that I can stay in France for more than 90 days. Fingers crossed, we hope to hear back from them by the end of August.

More to follow as we get settled in.

Peace my friends

 

This Ain't the Mainland

It's been over 2 years since I've been here, but I'm trying to get my photo-mojo back. Unfortunately my trusty Nikon D80 has given up the ghost after only about 15 years. Soooooo, I will need to get a new camera soon. Been holding off for now, but getting the itch. Anywho, here are a couple of pictures of where we are at now. As you can probably guess, we have moved on from New Mexico and are back in Hawaii. 

We didn't go back to the farm and instead are trying the North Kohala coast where it is lusher, and therefore rainier.

Here is the orchard we are living at. That is us at the top of the picture, living in one of the cottages. The orchard is about 100 acres.

Here is a view of Maui from our lanai.

We go to the Kauna'oa beach 2-3 times a week, early morning before the crowds (or sometimes before anybody). As you do.

And then there is the fresh ahi from the market. I know, but someone has to live here.

Sorry for the picture quality, but whatareugonnado?

Hope to see you again soon.

Peace my friends.

Kasha-Katuwe

We went holo holo to Kasha-Katuwe (or "white cliffs" to those of us not conversant in the Keresan language of the Cochiti pueblo). We drove through the Cochiti reservation lands to get to the Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument. Fun fact: we passed the Cochiti Dam, the 11th largest earthen dam in the world on the way to the park.

The tent rocks were formed from volcanic eruptions of pumice, ash and tufts, about 6-7 million years ago. The deposits were over 1000 ft tall and have since been eroded by wind water to form arroyos, hoodoos and tent rocks.

Here is Kirsty heading into Slot Canyon as we head up from the park entrance.

I wouldn't want to get caught in here during a flash flood!

Narrow at times!

This tree's roots were buried at one time but the rock in which the roots were growing has been eroded by the water that rages through this canyon when the rains come.

A couple of hoodoos with boulder caps on them.

A tent rock with a tree growing out of it. Notice the crack the root has made into the stone.

Very large hoodoos!

Notice the large cap on the center formation. The stone is being eroded from underneath the cap.

Views from the top of the trail.

View towards the Sangre de Cristo Mountains (about 40 miles in the distance) and Santa Fe.

Looking south back towards Albuquerque and the Sandia Mountains.

Kasha-Katuwe is a fascinating place to visit! Beware though that you have to scamper up and down the canyon walls at times to get to the top of the trail.

Peace my friends!

A Different Kind Of Place

We wandered down the road from Alaska and decided we liked the look of New Mexico.We rented a house in the hills of Placitas, about 12 miles from Albuquerque.

Lots of birds, wild horses, coyotes, lizards, snakes, hummingbirds, and packrats (we killed 5 the first week, and haven't seen anymore since).

Best of all there are not a lot of folks where we live. Albuquerque is very crowded, so we try not to head down the mountain if we can help it.

Driveway up to the house.

One of two long steps up. I would hate to carry a refrigerator up these steps!

Front door, facing east in the Navajo traditional way.

New Mexico lanai.

Facing NE off of lanai.

Facing E off of lanai.

Da Truck.

Facing NW and Cabezon Peak, about 60 miles away.

Cabezon means “big head” in Spanish. This stems from a Navajo myth which holds that it is the head of the giant Ye’i-tsoh after being slain by the twins Nayenezgani and To’badzistsini.

Speaking of snakes, when I opened the shed the other day, a garter snake welcomed me!

 

Wildflowers are in bloom here now. This is a popweed.

Paintbrush.

Wild horses off of the lanai.

Howdy pardner!

So looking forward to the ballon festival this October!

That is all for now. More to follow as we explore the state.

Peace my friends!

Philosopher's Stone

Out on the highways and the by-ways all alone

I'm still searching for, searching for my home

Up in the morning, up in the morning out on the road

And my head is aching and my hands are cold

And I'm looking for the silver lining, silver lining in the clouds

And I'm searching for and

I'm searching for the philosophers stone 

And it's a hard road, Its a hard road daddy-o

I'm on the road again and I'm searching for

The philosophers stone

Can you hear that engine

Woe can you hear that engine drone

Well I'm on the road again and I'm searching for

Searching for the philosophers stone

Apparently I no longer know where to call home. Alaska, as far as Homer is concerned, isn't it. We prefer the lush richness of Sitka and the rainforest there, but as yet, can't live on such a small island for very long. So, no more pronouncements on where I belong. Maybe I don't belong anywhere. As the song says (thanks to Van Morrison's "Philosopher's Stone"), I'm on the road again and searching...

Peace my friends!