Bordeaux Airport was closed. The road between Bayonne and Pau was shut. People on trains were kept in their carriages for 14 hours waiting for the 175 km per hour winds of Klaus to die down. Saturday morning, January 22, 2.30 am was the unleashing of the greatest storm to hit France since 1999. President Sarkosy came to the area, so we knew it was bad. A photo op of a senior politician standing next to fallen trees, crushed cars, sad looking people is always a good one. Would he wear wellies
a la John Gummer of the floods in England? We wouldn't know because there was no TV as there was no electricity. One thing was for sure, he would be wearing his panoramic grin.
So with no electricity, what do you do without fresh bread? Madame Vignou hung over her gate at noon on Saturday, her hair and skirt blowing in every direction, looking in vain hope for the bread van. Her back up plan was to go to Mass really early on Sunday and dash out first at the end and into Ecomarche which is one of the few supermarkets open on a Sunday morning and bag a baguette - if there was one to bag.
So long discussions were held on the branch strewn streets of Oraas - what to do about the bread situation? A cousin in Puyoo was found who had a gas boulangerie, so an order was put together. Six baguettes for the farmer with children, two for Madame and Monsieur Vignou and I put my hand up for one, just to join in really. A day without bread is a bit of a blessing for me. But the baguette is the measure of solid life. Even sick in her bed, Monique will get up and walk to her favoured boulangerie to get her bread - twice daily if necessary. To her the boulangerie is paramount. Only- if in dire need - does bread from a supermarket do.
No wonder the utterance of 'Let them eat cake' became such an historic statement. You have to be in France to truly understand the importance of bread and the fresh baguette. You have to be in a rural village with no TV, no radio, no internet, no mobile possibilities and most importantly no boulanger, to learn that those inconveniences are nothing in comparison to the no fresh baguette situation.
Vive le pain.
Four days without electricity, luckily I have a woodburning stove in one room and a shed full of cut logs. Paradise. No power meant no hot water so I had to shower in cold water whilst imagining a beach in Bali. The hurricane Klaus which struck south west France at 4 am Saturday morning has kept us on our toes. First clue of the disaster for me was a chicken flying horizontally past my window followed by a sheet of corrugated iron. Roger the adjacent chicken man was relocating his stock in my direction with the aid of 145 kilometers per hour winds: And then went an apple tree, everything was moving east:
Over the following days the village of Oraas rallied and shared candles; generator energy; mobile phones. I had to travel 15 kms to find a signal so that I could tell the family I was OK, but the message was sent and received - a miracle.
Strangely enough after five days of hurricane destruction, Larressat's men turned up to relocate the troublesome boiler. I thought everyone would be mending roofs and barns, a mystery as to why my boiler took precedence over a national disaster: Mysterious ways indeed:
The builders arrived at the same time as Monique who had driven from Biarritz to find me as no word of my whereaabouts had escaped the village: I wasn't in retreat I assured her, just devoid of all means of communication. And on the doorstep at the same time as all this sudden activity were two people who identified themselves as English and they looked worried. They introduced themselves as people looking for English speakers to join a bible club; they were Johovah witnesses they said.
Would you Adam and Eve it. I know I need to see light, but EDF will do.
January 6th is Ephiphany - it's when Jesus had his first surprise party. Three wise men followed the star of Bethlehem and came to a shed rave armed with presents, surprisingly not bought in the January sales. This day is celebrated in France by eating the 'galette des rois' - cake of kings - a pastry and almond filled treat. You can get chocolate and other fillings, but almond filling is the preferred one in this region.
The cake is placed on the table and the most 'innocent' person attending (if identifiable) dishes each person up with an equal slice. Hidden in one slice is a surprise. Traditionally it was a bean of some kind, gold bars being hard to acquire in this day and age. The modern surprise can be a tiny ceramic Asterix or other Disney character but more often than not, it's a tiny king.
The lucky finder, provided dental treatment is not immediately required, chooses a king from the assembled group, if she's a gal - and if it's the other way round, the finder chooses a queen.
Monique invited five friends and we each had a slice and I won the little surprise and had to choose a king. There didn't seem to be any particular purpose for this choice because sadly I didn't suddenly inherit a chateau and instant pardon for all my french debts. Strangely enough, my surprise with a minute ceramic tile with tiny red peppers imprinted on it - must be a Basque thing.
Still I was chuffed and I was asked to consider an epiphany moment.
The only one I had in 2008 can be summed up in one word - Craghoppers. If you've never had a pair and it gets below zero - go to Blacks and get a pair. Gold, Frankinses and Myhrr have nothing on Craghoppers.
Would you believe it. I made it. Ryanair (don't you just hate their MO?) deposited me in Biarritz for the last time on December 30 2008.
The UK downturn, as they laughingly call it - more like a complete economic toilet flush - got me write-off money. Just enough to cover the outstanding builder's bill. That was until I turned the pounds into euros and got 14,000 fewer myros for the euros.
So I have decided to take on a french builder for 18 months of overdue work, an open fireplace that resonates like the mouth of Hades whenever the central heating is on and other bits and bobs. How silly am I - how quaintly optimistic. So I sent a reduced full and final payment cheque plus a wonderous five page explanation in perfectly translated french (by a colleague) and now I sit waiting for the smelly results to waft their way down to Oraas once they have hit the fan.
I wonder what will happen about the pesky boiler?
Bonne nouvelle annee a tous.
