Saturday, October 02, 2004
To sum up
I thought, seeing as I'm leaving tomorrow, that I would devote today's blog-time to all the characters and little details from the last five weeks that I have thoughtlessly overlooked in previous posts.
Les Personages du Verger:
The Portugese Molrus: A creature not well known in other parts of the world, the molrus is usually found in small burrows in the banks of dry rivers in the south of Portugal. These burrows are called gracas by the locals, and dust from a graca is a traditional remedy for inflamed ear lobes. It doesn't work. The molrus is stout and short with large front paws that can hold three medium sized apples each. It's coat resembles a dull blue or green plaid shirt under a mustard sweater-vest. Sometimes, the molrus can be seen with a strange plume on its head that resembles nothing so much as the hat of a garden gnome. Lone molruses can be found in other parts of Europe, where they speak French with a Portugese accent. They are distant cousins of the British mole, but have the large drooping grey moustaches and blunt nose of a walrus.
The strange girl: still don't know this girls name, and 'the strange girl' is what Dad called her after she responded to our bonjours by looking at us strangely and keeping silent. She is chubby and rides a very old bicycle that makes her wobble over the rough gravel roads that wind through the orchard. She also wears a lavendar jumpsuit and can pick like a nor'wester.
Michael: whose name may actually be Mickel, or Michel... seems like a nice guy. Talks to himself most of the time whilst picking. I suspect he may even tell himself jokes, because occasionally he laughs to himself, too.
Le Patron: who, I believe, is not actually the manager, but just another supervisor like the molrus. We just never found out his name. Well, actually, we thought we'd found out his name (Josef) from Jean, but when my Dad tried it out, this is what happened:
LP: Bonjour jeune homme!
Me: Bonjour monsieur; ça va?
LP: Ca va. Et Bonjour Steve!
Dad: Bonjour (*brief hesitation*) Josef.
LP: (*In French*) I thought your name was Steve?
Hmmm, kind of weird. I don't really know how that conversation went so awry.
Bertrand: This is the manager of the pickers. He is tall, young and looks stern most of the time. In ordinary conversation, though, he is very friendly and talks far far too fast for me to understand more than a couple of words in twenty. He was very enthused when I told him I was going to Greece, but I don't know what he said about it because he was talking too fast. He helped us out when we first moved into the house on the orchard, bringing us matches and detergent and switching on the water and power. Oh, Bertrand is also the name of the bottle of detergent. The box of matches is called Jacques.
Jean Champeix: A small and insignificant prize to the person who can accurately pronounce this man's surname just from reading it. It was Jean who hooked us up with this job and the accomodation and my work permit, AND who is giving me a ride to the train station tomorrow. I'm going to try and get his address so I can send him a petit cadeau for being such a star. Jean always seems dogged when you talk to him on the phone, but is relaxed in person and does have a sense of humour. He also has the unusual habit of continuing a conversation on for a while, then suddenly saying, "Bye", turning on his heel and leaving.
Laure: has been awesome. She speaks a bit of English, so we've struck up a friendship with her. Last week we went to Sarlat with her and her little daughter Mona, and on Thursday afternoon she gave us a ride to the Chateau and the wine tasting. Very fun. Otherwise we couldn't have done much sightseeing in the area. I have also practiced my French with her, and she corrects my mistakes, which is helpful.
Otherwise, I have talked briefly to a few other people. Thursday was great, because I had random conversations (all in French) with a Morrocan guy who is 26 and has two small daughters ("I work for them, not for me; it's hard"); a tractor driver ("I would be afraid to travel by myself; outside Bergerac I'm lost!); another Morrocan guy who I think was a student; the strange girl, who it turns out is really nice and loves autumn leaves; a Chinese student who speaks a bit of English and said "Goodbye, Stephen" to Dad; and ... oh, actually, that's it. It was a pretty slack day and people were standing around talking as much as picking.
It's pretty interesting though, when you think about it. On any given day picking I was surrounded by conversations in French, Chinese, whatever Cambodians and Laosians speak, Arabian (?) and occasionally in English. Crazy.
Other things:
There is a movie version of Asterix and Obelix: Mission Cleopatra; it's in French and looks terrible.
We saw 'Lucky Luke' on TV the other night, and in French it sounds as though everyone is calling the upstanding cowboy Lurky Luke, which I like.
Other TV novelties include watching Jurassic Park and The Seige in French, and seeing ads for The Horse Whisperer, which in French translates as "the man who murmurs in the ears of horses". Hee hee, that still makes me laugh!
Also, I've been watching Star Academy, which is a combination between Big Brother and American Idol. Basically, several young people live and learn singing, dancing and acting in a Chateau, with cameras in the walls. Every week they have an assessment in front of their tutors, and the three lowest scorers are nominated for eviction. Every Friday there is a big gala concert (it's massive: lights, fire, famous artists, dancers; the whole shibang), at the end of which the public votes are tallied and the candidate with the most votes gets to stay in the chateau. Then the rest of the housemates vote who they want to save out of the two candidates left. And one person leaves. Did that make sense? I like this programme. It's cool that they're all actually being trained and that they have to work really hard to get better at what they're doing. Also, they have a real vocal tutor, who is a dramatic soprano, I think. I think Hoda should win. Or maybe Gregory. I hope I can find out later.
Ok, that's probably enough for now, eh?
Oh, I tried to go and sit in a park yesterday and write a poem ... but I'd forgotten my pen. The park is small and pretty, except for a statue of Cyrano de Bergerac, who is small and ugly. A girl was sketching him and a blonde lady was photographing birds-of-paradise (the plant). I lay down on a park bench and pretended to be worth sketching. I could hear pigeons cooing out of sight, somewhere.
Farewell Bergerac!
Next time you hear from me I'll be in Greece! Or Heaven, I suppose, if things don't go quite as I expect. I can't wait to see you all again.
If some random person from some random part of the world happens to read this blog, please leave a comment so I can feel like an International Phenomenon.
Les Personages du Verger:
The Portugese Molrus: A creature not well known in other parts of the world, the molrus is usually found in small burrows in the banks of dry rivers in the south of Portugal. These burrows are called gracas by the locals, and dust from a graca is a traditional remedy for inflamed ear lobes. It doesn't work. The molrus is stout and short with large front paws that can hold three medium sized apples each. It's coat resembles a dull blue or green plaid shirt under a mustard sweater-vest. Sometimes, the molrus can be seen with a strange plume on its head that resembles nothing so much as the hat of a garden gnome. Lone molruses can be found in other parts of Europe, where they speak French with a Portugese accent. They are distant cousins of the British mole, but have the large drooping grey moustaches and blunt nose of a walrus.
The strange girl: still don't know this girls name, and 'the strange girl' is what Dad called her after she responded to our bonjours by looking at us strangely and keeping silent. She is chubby and rides a very old bicycle that makes her wobble over the rough gravel roads that wind through the orchard. She also wears a lavendar jumpsuit and can pick like a nor'wester.
Michael: whose name may actually be Mickel, or Michel... seems like a nice guy. Talks to himself most of the time whilst picking. I suspect he may even tell himself jokes, because occasionally he laughs to himself, too.
Le Patron: who, I believe, is not actually the manager, but just another supervisor like the molrus. We just never found out his name. Well, actually, we thought we'd found out his name (Josef) from Jean, but when my Dad tried it out, this is what happened:
LP: Bonjour jeune homme!
Me: Bonjour monsieur; ça va?
LP: Ca va. Et Bonjour Steve!
Dad: Bonjour (*brief hesitation*) Josef.
LP: (*In French*) I thought your name was Steve?
Hmmm, kind of weird. I don't really know how that conversation went so awry.
Bertrand: This is the manager of the pickers. He is tall, young and looks stern most of the time. In ordinary conversation, though, he is very friendly and talks far far too fast for me to understand more than a couple of words in twenty. He was very enthused when I told him I was going to Greece, but I don't know what he said about it because he was talking too fast. He helped us out when we first moved into the house on the orchard, bringing us matches and detergent and switching on the water and power. Oh, Bertrand is also the name of the bottle of detergent. The box of matches is called Jacques.
Jean Champeix: A small and insignificant prize to the person who can accurately pronounce this man's surname just from reading it. It was Jean who hooked us up with this job and the accomodation and my work permit, AND who is giving me a ride to the train station tomorrow. I'm going to try and get his address so I can send him a petit cadeau for being such a star. Jean always seems dogged when you talk to him on the phone, but is relaxed in person and does have a sense of humour. He also has the unusual habit of continuing a conversation on for a while, then suddenly saying, "Bye", turning on his heel and leaving.
Laure: has been awesome. She speaks a bit of English, so we've struck up a friendship with her. Last week we went to Sarlat with her and her little daughter Mona, and on Thursday afternoon she gave us a ride to the Chateau and the wine tasting. Very fun. Otherwise we couldn't have done much sightseeing in the area. I have also practiced my French with her, and she corrects my mistakes, which is helpful.
Otherwise, I have talked briefly to a few other people. Thursday was great, because I had random conversations (all in French) with a Morrocan guy who is 26 and has two small daughters ("I work for them, not for me; it's hard"); a tractor driver ("I would be afraid to travel by myself; outside Bergerac I'm lost!); another Morrocan guy who I think was a student; the strange girl, who it turns out is really nice and loves autumn leaves; a Chinese student who speaks a bit of English and said "Goodbye, Stephen" to Dad; and ... oh, actually, that's it. It was a pretty slack day and people were standing around talking as much as picking.
It's pretty interesting though, when you think about it. On any given day picking I was surrounded by conversations in French, Chinese, whatever Cambodians and Laosians speak, Arabian (?) and occasionally in English. Crazy.
Other things:
There is a movie version of Asterix and Obelix: Mission Cleopatra; it's in French and looks terrible.
We saw 'Lucky Luke' on TV the other night, and in French it sounds as though everyone is calling the upstanding cowboy Lurky Luke, which I like.
Other TV novelties include watching Jurassic Park and The Seige in French, and seeing ads for The Horse Whisperer, which in French translates as "the man who murmurs in the ears of horses". Hee hee, that still makes me laugh!
Also, I've been watching Star Academy, which is a combination between Big Brother and American Idol. Basically, several young people live and learn singing, dancing and acting in a Chateau, with cameras in the walls. Every week they have an assessment in front of their tutors, and the three lowest scorers are nominated for eviction. Every Friday there is a big gala concert (it's massive: lights, fire, famous artists, dancers; the whole shibang), at the end of which the public votes are tallied and the candidate with the most votes gets to stay in the chateau. Then the rest of the housemates vote who they want to save out of the two candidates left. And one person leaves. Did that make sense? I like this programme. It's cool that they're all actually being trained and that they have to work really hard to get better at what they're doing. Also, they have a real vocal tutor, who is a dramatic soprano, I think. I think Hoda should win. Or maybe Gregory. I hope I can find out later.
Ok, that's probably enough for now, eh?
Oh, I tried to go and sit in a park yesterday and write a poem ... but I'd forgotten my pen. The park is small and pretty, except for a statue of Cyrano de Bergerac, who is small and ugly. A girl was sketching him and a blonde lady was photographing birds-of-paradise (the plant). I lay down on a park bench and pretended to be worth sketching. I could hear pigeons cooing out of sight, somewhere.
Farewell Bergerac!
Next time you hear from me I'll be in Greece! Or Heaven, I suppose, if things don't go quite as I expect. I can't wait to see you all again.
If some random person from some random part of the world happens to read this blog, please leave a comment so I can feel like an International Phenomenon.
# posted by Doug @ 11:57 
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Do I count as an international person?
Anyway... yay for TV in French! Last time I was in France, I watched the Rugrats... it was pronounced 'les Roogruts.' Hehehe! of course, Smurfs in French rules. And Tintin.
Good luck on your travels
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Anyway... yay for TV in French! Last time I was in France, I watched the Rugrats... it was pronounced 'les Roogruts.' Hehehe! of course, Smurfs in French rules. And Tintin.
Good luck on your travels
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