It’s been a while since I shared a few nuggets of French life with you so hopefully you won’t mind if I jot these two down while they’re still fresh in my mind.
There are unsurprisingly two types of France. The busy metropolitan, high fashion, high crime, snooty, unfriendly, stylish France - and the backward, empty, countryside - where I live amongst the paysan.
The people here are suspicious of change and unimpressed by fancy cars or outward signs of wealth. They have a strong sense of community, now largely absent in the dog eat dog Disunited Kingdom, (Discuss…) and their solidarity allows them to face down the government if they try something people don’t like. (It’s refreshing to live in a country where the government fears the people rather than it being the other way around).
In 2017 the metropolitan elite in Paris decreed that the standard 90kmh speed limit would be reduced across France to 80kmh, for safety reasons. This is good idea in a major city where journey times are short and traffic / pedestrian volumes are high, but out here where it’s 2hrs to the nearest major city and where you might sometimes get caught in a three car traffic jam it was a major irritation that needlessly added more time to every journey. Representation was made to the relevant ministers…and duly ignored.
Big mistake.
Within 2 months every working speed camera in an area the size of Wales (by way of a UK comparison) had suspiciously caught fire and most folk went back to driving at 90kmh.
Unable to immediatly pay for new cameras all such transgressions went officially unrecorded and within a year the 80kmh edict was reversed for our region.
Just lately we have experienced the start of another wave of discontent, this one centred on the hugely powerful French farming community - who typically work 70hr weeks and whose standard of living has been gradually undermined over the last ten years. The farmers feel their world is being turned upside down (nice ECW reference I slipped in there eh?) but the expression they use is that they are “walking on their hats.” To give voice to this expression they began (about 2 months ago) to turn all official road side location names upside down, like this:
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| Not our village but you get the picture. The farmers here are walking on their hats - and this is a sign to the government of their distress. |
The police and the authorities know who is doing this of course but strangely no charges have been brought and the signs have still not been put back up the right way.
Okay that’s the political expression of community covered but let me give you a couple of more personal examples of its practical benefits.
Back in November I had cause to nip down the bank to draw out 240 euro to pay a bill then I decided to pop to the pharmacie for my noggin meds.
In between leaving the car and crossing the road I managed to drop my wallet out of my man bag (no judgement on the man bag please it’s almost obligataire out here) and only discovered its loss when I got into the Pharmacie.
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| The very spot in Saint Dizier Leyrenne where I had cause to mutter “Mon dieu. Où est mon portefeuille?” |
Retracing my very limited route to the car failed to find the damned thing so I then went into a death spiral of doubt and recrimination. The wallet contained things whose importance far outweighed the 240 euro in notes, namely my driving license, my card giving me permission to live in France, my card entitling me to access medical care, my bank cards etc etc.
Back home I began the nightmare process of organising replacements but fortunately had not got very far with it before our mayor sent a man round to let me know the wallet had been found and it was being kept at an address some 30km away if I wanted to collect it.
When I got to the indicated place that evening I found a typical broken down farm shack, a woman in a thin cotton dress and a snot nosed kid wearing only one shoe. They didn’t have a pot to piss in by the look of things but when they handed over my wallet its contents, including the cash, were all still there. I forced a reward on them for their honesty knowing full well that back in Wales the money would have been up some bastards nose and the wallet with cards tossed in the nearest bin…quick sharp.
It was almost enough to restore my faith in humanity.
Almost.
Then there was last week.
In a nearby wood, documented in a previous post, was a proper nomadic style yurt in which lived Jeremie and Marie. They had an off grid lifestyle and it’d be harder to find two nicer folk. Though they had permission to occupy the site and had been there for two years there’d been a bit of a disagreement with the land owner over money and they’d been told to bugger off asap.
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| Jeremie and Marie’s yurt in happier times. |
With bugger all money, no references and no transport (other than a bike) they were royally screwed - unable to even take the yurt with them.
In a city they would have become homeless. Fortunately for them our commune [Saint Dizier Masbaraud) owns a number of former railway properties that for complicated reasons they are obliged to keep and maintain (should the rails and the trains ever return) and which are semi permanently empty. The mayor fixed them up with one of them within a day, no references or guarantors required and the whole shemozzle at a peppercorn rent. There was still the problem of moving their surprisingly large number of possessions of course but this was quickly fixed when the word went round and 16 strangers with four vans, three trailers, a camion and an ex pompière vehicle turned up to help out.
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| Here’s the gaff in question. |
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| And here’s are a couple of members of the impromptu moving committee. At 12.00 two tables appeared along with wine, beer, pizza, locally made bread, pate, etc. Everyone stopped working and sat around for a leisurely chat and a munch. No money changed hands at any point. Refreshing in more ways than one. |
As the famous advert once said…and to which I’ve been forced to add a correction.
“There are some things in life that money can’t buy. For everything else there’s Amex Community Spirit.”
Toodleooh mes amis