So, this week was a rerun of last week, basically same scenarios. But there were some highlights. A two day presentation course which included some provocative thoughts about the way people work did not fall on deaf ears. That was encouraging.
But a more poignant story. On Wednesday evening I observed a really you couple kissing passionately a little way from our house. It had all the showings of "that first big love". They couldn't tear themselves away from each other and were so engrossed in their private little world that they were oblivious to anybody walking past. I felt my age here.
On Thursday it was Mid Summers Day. Traditionally, all of France celebrates this with a Fete du Music and town centers are sealed off and bands, music tents etc are setup and there is an air of festivity. So too, our little town. And, outside our house, a band had set its tent and by 8pm they were merrily playing away. And there was Madeleine. We don't know her real name, but she is a well groomed and energetic over 70 year old woman. And she showed everyone watching, what she's made of. She was center stage and dancing away, by herself. At 10pm, she was still at it.
Again, I felt my age and it made me think about one's attitude to life in general.
Saturday, 23 June 2007
Friday, 15 June 2007
Living the myth.
I did a lot of work this week. So, financially speaking, it was a good week. But there is an interesting lesson I learnt.
I had to get up at 5am on four mornings, which, if you are afraid of not hearing the alarm clock, it means the quality of sleep is not that brilliant. I drove about 1000km not to mention the 400km round trip to Zurich on Tuesday, by train.
What did I see?
I met many people who are locked into a soul grinding system. They work in what could be considered better office environments. They had all the tools they need. And there they were, tapping away at their computers producing, no wrong word, creating, no, still not right, ...well they were being mentally and physically occupied in doing something which someone else considered to be important.
In another environment, I met people who had more or less resigned themselves to their fates of being on an office treadmill. They would say that their work was interesting, was important but there was no sparkle in their eyes.
On Thursday I facilitated a workshop. One Dept. Head tapped into his Blackberry about every 5 minutes (The meeting lasted 5 hours). His company's share price was increasing. So what! The other person at the meeting hadn't drunk anything since our preliminary meeting which started at 8am and lasted for 2 hours. We had lunch together and he ate even faster than I did, which is a feat. He was tense. He was afraid to give is presentation because of telling some truths to his boss, because of hierarchical effects. His boss was upset because he couldn't access his emails from the room we were meeting in.
On Friday, I had a two hour meeting with a client who hadn't eaten and slept properly for 4 days. The reason was that he had conducted a successful meeting, decisions had been made. However, someone, who didn't attend the meeting criticized him personally for incompetence. All of this in a project which is going badly wrong and the project leader is now applying fear in order to save is skin.
And I spoke to many people who had lost the ability to see, to step back and look at what they are doing and either say, hey, this is good or no, we need to change it.
I spoke with people who had lost the ability to think because they are too roped in performing some brainless task.
By Friday, this aggression and frustration had begun to affect me, and to save myself, I thought how lucky I was to have a relaxed, slow paced working environment and time to do things properly.
I had to get up at 5am on four mornings, which, if you are afraid of not hearing the alarm clock, it means the quality of sleep is not that brilliant. I drove about 1000km not to mention the 400km round trip to Zurich on Tuesday, by train.
What did I see?
I met many people who are locked into a soul grinding system. They work in what could be considered better office environments. They had all the tools they need. And there they were, tapping away at their computers producing, no wrong word, creating, no, still not right, ...well they were being mentally and physically occupied in doing something which someone else considered to be important.
In another environment, I met people who had more or less resigned themselves to their fates of being on an office treadmill. They would say that their work was interesting, was important but there was no sparkle in their eyes.
On Thursday I facilitated a workshop. One Dept. Head tapped into his Blackberry about every 5 minutes (The meeting lasted 5 hours). His company's share price was increasing. So what! The other person at the meeting hadn't drunk anything since our preliminary meeting which started at 8am and lasted for 2 hours. We had lunch together and he ate even faster than I did, which is a feat. He was tense. He was afraid to give is presentation because of telling some truths to his boss, because of hierarchical effects. His boss was upset because he couldn't access his emails from the room we were meeting in.
On Friday, I had a two hour meeting with a client who hadn't eaten and slept properly for 4 days. The reason was that he had conducted a successful meeting, decisions had been made. However, someone, who didn't attend the meeting criticized him personally for incompetence. All of this in a project which is going badly wrong and the project leader is now applying fear in order to save is skin.
And I spoke to many people who had lost the ability to see, to step back and look at what they are doing and either say, hey, this is good or no, we need to change it.
I spoke with people who had lost the ability to think because they are too roped in performing some brainless task.
By Friday, this aggression and frustration had begun to affect me, and to save myself, I thought how lucky I was to have a relaxed, slow paced working environment and time to do things properly.
Sunday, 10 June 2007
Racing rats
I had a depressing conversation a few weeks ago. A woman in one of my client groups, who is a draftsperson, working for a transportation company, has had a colleague from India put in her team. His brief is to spend 6 months learning what they do so that he and his team can do the same thing in India. But at a fraction of the cost to her employer. This is a classic case of outsourcing coming close to my own working environment. She and her colleagues' reaction is to sabotage the whole operation because she knows that in about 12 months time, she won't have a job. She admits that he knows the necessary software better than she does and that he is incredibly smart. But by sabotaging the operation, which means only giving him useless information she can delay the process or even kill it. By producing bad quality in India, it could mean her keeping her job, perhaps 6 months longer. But in the end, her department would be closed down and whatever work would remain would be transferred to another site in Germany or to Vienna. She has a second job working as a paramedic for the Red Cross which is also what her husband does. The second job was the contingency plan because the future of her company's site is up for discussion.
So much for the basic facts. Now it gets a little different.
When she told me her situation, I asked her, why not relocate to, perhaps Vienna. It would be a dream location. Her husband could certainly work for the Red Cross there. She answered with the standard comments I always here. They've built a house, they have their friends, the kids are in school, can she get another job, can her husband get another job. Bottom line, it wasn't feasible. Instead, she would prefer to take the destructive line as long as possible and then get out with a higher salary so that she could claim higher unemployment benefits.
I have heard this story so many times, I tend to think nothing of it anymore. I just count my lucky stars that I don't have that scenario to put up with.
Last week, I spoke with someone else. Same company, different location, different job. His definition of success was defined as "if you have the competence to do your daily work and you just get on with it, you will be successful, no matter what your position is". That statement is in itself logical but when you hear the complaints about too much workload and too few resources, it sounds slightly different to me. I tend to read a more "shut up and buckle down, and if you're lucky, you can achieve a mini career, if you want it."
Along comes one of these self help gurus by the name of Tim Ferriss who's claim to fame is working a 4 hour week, with the goal to maximise productivity and time invested in order to enjoy life more. You could live a financially comfortable lifestyle without the huge sums people think are necessary. He's even written a book about it. The purchase of the book isn't necessary because there are enough hints in the various websites and places he has trampled on to get a pretty clear picture. At the core of his message is look ahead at what you want to do, less is more and utilize some of the resources that are available. Not exactly revolutionary. In a podcast that he left somewhere, he was lecturing to some students at Princeton and one of the things he said was "what is the worst thing that can happen when you lose your job? You take a little extended vacation and then find another one". When I heard that statement, I thought about the draftsperson, who's world seemed to be about to collapse around her because an entire system had programmed her and she didn't know where the "reset" button is.
It is the positive attitude, the intelligent risk taking which struck me in comparison to what I had been hearing from my clients here and there. One poignant case was to figure out what one's hourly rate is and job, even in one's own personal environment, which doesn't justify the hourly cost should be outsourced to, well India. That would free up time to do something else, perhaps more productive and fulfilling. So, it seems strange to me that people will get domestic help to clean their houses etc because they aren't prepared to do that and yet at the same time, outsource some intelligent stuff in order to do something even more intelligent.
But there are systems at work which are designed to prevent this. And if the packaging is right, then people have a comfortable lifestyle and are blinded by the changes around them and wake up to a rude shock sometime later.
Take time to think and act and be prepared. Learn to see and observe and keep an open mind.
So much for the basic facts. Now it gets a little different.
When she told me her situation, I asked her, why not relocate to, perhaps Vienna. It would be a dream location. Her husband could certainly work for the Red Cross there. She answered with the standard comments I always here. They've built a house, they have their friends, the kids are in school, can she get another job, can her husband get another job. Bottom line, it wasn't feasible. Instead, she would prefer to take the destructive line as long as possible and then get out with a higher salary so that she could claim higher unemployment benefits.
I have heard this story so many times, I tend to think nothing of it anymore. I just count my lucky stars that I don't have that scenario to put up with.
Last week, I spoke with someone else. Same company, different location, different job. His definition of success was defined as "if you have the competence to do your daily work and you just get on with it, you will be successful, no matter what your position is". That statement is in itself logical but when you hear the complaints about too much workload and too few resources, it sounds slightly different to me. I tend to read a more "shut up and buckle down, and if you're lucky, you can achieve a mini career, if you want it."
Along comes one of these self help gurus by the name of Tim Ferriss who's claim to fame is working a 4 hour week, with the goal to maximise productivity and time invested in order to enjoy life more. You could live a financially comfortable lifestyle without the huge sums people think are necessary. He's even written a book about it. The purchase of the book isn't necessary because there are enough hints in the various websites and places he has trampled on to get a pretty clear picture. At the core of his message is look ahead at what you want to do, less is more and utilize some of the resources that are available. Not exactly revolutionary. In a podcast that he left somewhere, he was lecturing to some students at Princeton and one of the things he said was "what is the worst thing that can happen when you lose your job? You take a little extended vacation and then find another one". When I heard that statement, I thought about the draftsperson, who's world seemed to be about to collapse around her because an entire system had programmed her and she didn't know where the "reset" button is.
It is the positive attitude, the intelligent risk taking which struck me in comparison to what I had been hearing from my clients here and there. One poignant case was to figure out what one's hourly rate is and job, even in one's own personal environment, which doesn't justify the hourly cost should be outsourced to, well India. That would free up time to do something else, perhaps more productive and fulfilling. So, it seems strange to me that people will get domestic help to clean their houses etc because they aren't prepared to do that and yet at the same time, outsource some intelligent stuff in order to do something even more intelligent.
But there are systems at work which are designed to prevent this. And if the packaging is right, then people have a comfortable lifestyle and are blinded by the changes around them and wake up to a rude shock sometime later.
Take time to think and act and be prepared. Learn to see and observe and keep an open mind.
Saturday, 9 June 2007
Free Rambo DVD
When we moved here, we honestly didn't know. I had been to this town once or twice before, then the two of us had been here, in summer or in winter. There were no signs whatsoever. Everything looked pleasant, peaceful. A quiet rural part of France, you couldn't get much further east. Paris, and the other big cities are hours away. So are their problems.
Quelle surprise when we saw a small note stuck on the front screen of the car. What environment were we living in? Could we trust anyone? Would we ever be safe again?
The one note came from 3 different local bodies. First the local council, then the Police Municipal and Gendarmerie. So, it carried the full burdening weight of authority. It sent an unmistakable signal: read this, you have been warned. Having been put in our places we read on. Just to make sure that everyone understood, the document in our hands was written in two languages.
It appeared that we were living in the centre of a huge crime area. It may not be in the sights of the global terrorist organizations who are out to get us because we have the wrong religion. Not to mention the international media who do a far more effective job of placing the fear of terrorism into us unsuspecting citizens than the so called terrorists themselves. I can imagine Bin Sama ringing the offices of some rainbow press paper offering them an exclusive. Given the fact that phone calls are pretty much for free everywhere, the old boy won't even have to make a dent in the savings he's got stashed in his caves. But, again I digress.
Back to our little backwater. Shaking with fright, beads of perspiration forming on our brows, we proceeded to inform ourselves how we could protect ourselves from the threat of enemies lurking in the area, ready to pounce on us and make our lives a misery.
First of all, it seems, the car parks are a high risk zone. We shouldn't leave anything valuable in the car for all to see and to pinch. Given that nearly everybody has about two mobile phones, the desire to pinch them is low. Cameras etc. well, if I left the camera in the car, I wouldn't be able to be the perfect tourist and looking at the town through the lens while my over large stomach drags me to one of the 38 restaurants in town. Papers and money in the car. Well, that wouldn't work because as a tourist, I would want to buy all the tourist crap I can get, pay for the over priced meal and of course, fall into the illusion that the supermarkets are different than on the other side of the border. Oh and then I should switch on the car alarm. If I had one - but I am sure there is some enterprising person in town who would love to sell me one, just to keep my fears at bay.
So, as a Wilderbeast, having ensured that my most important possession, my car, is lovingly taken care of, I venture into the dark and dangerous alleys and streets that make this town such a tourist destination. I must clasp my handbag tightly under the arms. Should there be a massive demonstration by thousands of people protesting against globalization, aids, world peace or even a good natured throng of fellow Wilderbeasts looking at the local folklore festivals, I am to clutch my hand bag directly in front of me. Most likely my chest. This would surely indicate to everyone that I am carrying something valuable in my handbag and that I would fight to the death to protect it.
I might find that I had run out of cash in my spending spree here and would need to go to a cash point and acquire funds to support the underdeveloped local economy. But alas, I must be careful. I should act like a policeman chasing an armed thief and, whilst clutching my handbag to my chest or under my arm, constantly and sharply swivel around at 360 degrees to make sure that there is no surprise attack by an impoverished local wanting my €50. And, because every local shopkeeper is part of an international money laundering operation, we must keep all our receipts.
Unbelievable.
We rarely left the house. It had become too dangerous. Being highly security conscious and willing to accept my own responsibility, I decided it would be prudent to take on some extra training. Under the cover of darkness, at 3am, I slipped out to with the aim to borrow a Rambo DVD from the local DVD dispensing machine so that I could swot up on what my hero has to offer. After all, he is now a Governor of the most important State in that country promoting democracy and freedom in its own special fashion. Couldn't go wrong.
And then it happened.
As I slid along the walls, keeping to my own shadow, I saw that all the cafes hadn't bothered to chain their tables and chairs together on the footpaths. Why, I wondered, if we lived in such a hot spot of organized crime and money laundering, did nobody care whether expensive inventory was properly secured at night?
I returned home confused. We go out again now. The Wilderbeast may be unpleasant, may think they own the world, but they seem harmless enough. And let them spend their money on overpriced things here. They have enough of it.
Quelle surprise when we saw a small note stuck on the front screen of the car. What environment were we living in? Could we trust anyone? Would we ever be safe again?
The one note came from 3 different local bodies. First the local council, then the Police Municipal and Gendarmerie. So, it carried the full burdening weight of authority. It sent an unmistakable signal: read this, you have been warned. Having been put in our places we read on. Just to make sure that everyone understood, the document in our hands was written in two languages.
It appeared that we were living in the centre of a huge crime area. It may not be in the sights of the global terrorist organizations who are out to get us because we have the wrong religion. Not to mention the international media who do a far more effective job of placing the fear of terrorism into us unsuspecting citizens than the so called terrorists themselves. I can imagine Bin Sama ringing the offices of some rainbow press paper offering them an exclusive. Given the fact that phone calls are pretty much for free everywhere, the old boy won't even have to make a dent in the savings he's got stashed in his caves. But, again I digress.
Back to our little backwater. Shaking with fright, beads of perspiration forming on our brows, we proceeded to inform ourselves how we could protect ourselves from the threat of enemies lurking in the area, ready to pounce on us and make our lives a misery.
First of all, it seems, the car parks are a high risk zone. We shouldn't leave anything valuable in the car for all to see and to pinch. Given that nearly everybody has about two mobile phones, the desire to pinch them is low. Cameras etc. well, if I left the camera in the car, I wouldn't be able to be the perfect tourist and looking at the town through the lens while my over large stomach drags me to one of the 38 restaurants in town. Papers and money in the car. Well, that wouldn't work because as a tourist, I would want to buy all the tourist crap I can get, pay for the over priced meal and of course, fall into the illusion that the supermarkets are different than on the other side of the border. Oh and then I should switch on the car alarm. If I had one - but I am sure there is some enterprising person in town who would love to sell me one, just to keep my fears at bay.
So, as a Wilderbeast, having ensured that my most important possession, my car, is lovingly taken care of, I venture into the dark and dangerous alleys and streets that make this town such a tourist destination. I must clasp my handbag tightly under the arms. Should there be a massive demonstration by thousands of people protesting against globalization, aids, world peace or even a good natured throng of fellow Wilderbeasts looking at the local folklore festivals, I am to clutch my hand bag directly in front of me. Most likely my chest. This would surely indicate to everyone that I am carrying something valuable in my handbag and that I would fight to the death to protect it.
I might find that I had run out of cash in my spending spree here and would need to go to a cash point and acquire funds to support the underdeveloped local economy. But alas, I must be careful. I should act like a policeman chasing an armed thief and, whilst clutching my handbag to my chest or under my arm, constantly and sharply swivel around at 360 degrees to make sure that there is no surprise attack by an impoverished local wanting my €50. And, because every local shopkeeper is part of an international money laundering operation, we must keep all our receipts.
Unbelievable.
We rarely left the house. It had become too dangerous. Being highly security conscious and willing to accept my own responsibility, I decided it would be prudent to take on some extra training. Under the cover of darkness, at 3am, I slipped out to with the aim to borrow a Rambo DVD from the local DVD dispensing machine so that I could swot up on what my hero has to offer. After all, he is now a Governor of the most important State in that country promoting democracy and freedom in its own special fashion. Couldn't go wrong.
And then it happened.
As I slid along the walls, keeping to my own shadow, I saw that all the cafes hadn't bothered to chain their tables and chairs together on the footpaths. Why, I wondered, if we lived in such a hot spot of organized crime and money laundering, did nobody care whether expensive inventory was properly secured at night?
I returned home confused. We go out again now. The Wilderbeast may be unpleasant, may think they own the world, but they seem harmless enough. And let them spend their money on overpriced things here. They have enough of it.
Friday, 8 June 2007
Notes from the provinces
The corn is coming on nicely now. After the warm April, the much desired rain came in during May and nature seems to have found its equilibrium again. We hadn't been to our garden for some time and the corn has shot up a good foot, from a small sapling beginning to poke its head out of the ground to a young child looking to see what else is out there. But in some fields, the growth is not so advanced. Down by the French monument, where the views are nicer, the growth is not so tremendous.
Rainy weather is not the sort of thing that suits a small town. There isn't so much to do in town to escape the rain. But the town is too big to justify what true country folk would do - get out anyway. One is stuck in the middle.
Reading about Proust helps that. It is so calming, the gentle orderliness of his life as he slips into his past memories and with enormous accuracy describes all the sensations which make up the fabric of our lives. From a 21st century perspective, reading such details must be tedious for so many..yet it is less than a 100 years ago that he wrote those passages.
I write this because I too was a victim of the lack of observation. The small world that surrounds us changed and we hadn't noticed it. It was during an evening stroll down the main street, just to see what, if anything had changed. Of course, the activities currently taking place in "oh my sunshine" have been barred from public curiosity. A peek through the open front door reveals little visible progress. Some houses down, at the Place de Republic, another shop is undergoing a change - and no sign of what it will be, whenever it opens up. These are small events which take on greater significance. They of course arouse curiosity, the town gossip. It seems like Christmas or birthdays, eager anticipation. Something new. But lots of new things happen, should we notice it. So our surprise when we noticed that even further down, the local stationers and bookshop had stuck paper on its windows announcing a "liquidation total". Not that we did much shopping there, but it was handy to know it was there. Somewhat amazed, not only because we now had a third shop development to monitor, but also to answer the question of what happened to the original shop. Upon closer inspection, a notice revealed that the proprietors were moving to our neck of the town. Stunned, we tried to figure it out. Was the "oh my sunshine" undergoing a massive upgrade - it didn't seem feasible but who knows. This important development kept us busy for the rest of our walk. The answer presented itself to us when we came back. The old proprietor had moved into a stationery shop which we walk past every time we go to the bank or elsewhere. We hadn't noticed. I wonder what Proust would have said.
Another development at the supermarket. But before telling this little story, a small digression. I guess with the strong economic growth taking place on the other side of the border, a variation Parkinson's law comes into effect. The stronger the economy, proportionally the more loud and horrible it's inhabitants become, the more they have to prance around like absolute twits. While your average French person quietly and leisurely strolls down the aisles to do his shopping, the Wilderbeast adopt a slightly different style. First they form a battalion and invade the premises and then swarm out all over the place. Instead of an orderly procession, they shout across the entire supermarket what there is and should anybody need it. The answer is shouted back. Then they depart and peace returns.
Today's culture test centered around 34 bottles of orange juice. Same principle. One on top, 33 in the trolley. I was deeply shocked. Not only were the bottles allowed to remain in the trolley, but the cashier had counted and confirmed the number to the couple while dealing with the payment of the customer in front.
The orange juice people came from about 100km away. In a BMW. Shopping in discount supermarket. How strange, I say. What would Proust say to that.
Rainy weather is not the sort of thing that suits a small town. There isn't so much to do in town to escape the rain. But the town is too big to justify what true country folk would do - get out anyway. One is stuck in the middle.
Reading about Proust helps that. It is so calming, the gentle orderliness of his life as he slips into his past memories and with enormous accuracy describes all the sensations which make up the fabric of our lives. From a 21st century perspective, reading such details must be tedious for so many..yet it is less than a 100 years ago that he wrote those passages.
I write this because I too was a victim of the lack of observation. The small world that surrounds us changed and we hadn't noticed it. It was during an evening stroll down the main street, just to see what, if anything had changed. Of course, the activities currently taking place in "oh my sunshine" have been barred from public curiosity. A peek through the open front door reveals little visible progress. Some houses down, at the Place de Republic, another shop is undergoing a change - and no sign of what it will be, whenever it opens up. These are small events which take on greater significance. They of course arouse curiosity, the town gossip. It seems like Christmas or birthdays, eager anticipation. Something new. But lots of new things happen, should we notice it. So our surprise when we noticed that even further down, the local stationers and bookshop had stuck paper on its windows announcing a "liquidation total". Not that we did much shopping there, but it was handy to know it was there. Somewhat amazed, not only because we now had a third shop development to monitor, but also to answer the question of what happened to the original shop. Upon closer inspection, a notice revealed that the proprietors were moving to our neck of the town. Stunned, we tried to figure it out. Was the "oh my sunshine" undergoing a massive upgrade - it didn't seem feasible but who knows. This important development kept us busy for the rest of our walk. The answer presented itself to us when we came back. The old proprietor had moved into a stationery shop which we walk past every time we go to the bank or elsewhere. We hadn't noticed. I wonder what Proust would have said.
Another development at the supermarket. But before telling this little story, a small digression. I guess with the strong economic growth taking place on the other side of the border, a variation Parkinson's law comes into effect. The stronger the economy, proportionally the more loud and horrible it's inhabitants become, the more they have to prance around like absolute twits. While your average French person quietly and leisurely strolls down the aisles to do his shopping, the Wilderbeast adopt a slightly different style. First they form a battalion and invade the premises and then swarm out all over the place. Instead of an orderly procession, they shout across the entire supermarket what there is and should anybody need it. The answer is shouted back. Then they depart and peace returns.
Today's culture test centered around 34 bottles of orange juice. Same principle. One on top, 33 in the trolley. I was deeply shocked. Not only were the bottles allowed to remain in the trolley, but the cashier had counted and confirmed the number to the couple while dealing with the payment of the customer in front.
The orange juice people came from about 100km away. In a BMW. Shopping in discount supermarket. How strange, I say. What would Proust say to that.
Sunday, 27 May 2007
A festival of colour
The weather turned out beautifully. Nice sunny day and a mild temperature. People came in droves to fulfill what the organizers had billed it. A festival of colour.
After the parade, time to clean up
The parade was a typical small town affair. All the folklore groups from the surrounding towns and villages went out on display. Some with more enthusiasm than others. There were a few horses which took park. At the end of the parade came the high tech and very effective cleaning team.
Scenes of the morning
The weather had begun to clear up. People started to come out in droves and the smell of food drifted through the air.
Violent weather creates havoc
By early evening, the weather had changed from the humid 30° down to a cool 18° but not without a hailstorm, thunderstorm and anything else that felt like coming down from the heavens. The effect of this was that the bal populaire, being held in the elegant surroundings of the chapiteau, scene of the previous night's Ballermann scene, was canceled.
Smiler, who's drinking establishment is situated directly between the elegant chapiteau and our abode probably had the € signs in his eyes because he could, very conveniently, come to the rescue with his spontaneously planned substitute program - another DJ of some description pumping the bass. The masses flocked, and although the festivities finished at 2am, some stragglers were seen crawling out of the woodwork at about 5am.
The morning began quietly albeit the sound of a street cleaning machine and a couple of youths still in party mode.
Gradually, things began to kick into life. M Rebert, the Maitre Choclatier, sporting a bright orange shirt under his white jacket and also wearing white trousers, was seen entering his back door carrying a wicker basket, probably delivering one of his delicacies to some lucky person. The local hobo scurried around.
Then the Romanians arrived. In the form of a delivery van advertising the foodstuffs from Strasbourg. They populated the little huts on the square outside our salon. Slowly, the locals emerged to get their baguettes.
And the clouds began to form.
The program had stipulated that we were to witness some "Animations Folkloriques". And they arrived, at about 10:30, ready to start at 11:00. And then it rained, it poured, it drenched.
They did the best they could, the dances didn't take place because it would have been to dangerous on the stage. But a little mini parade kept the tradition.
Folklore is of course a matter of taste. Outside it's own geographic and ethnic region it may look a little odd, out of place. It's different on the home ground. And what is good to see is that, even in the 21st. century, how many young children, teenagers and of course the adults, uphold these traditions and do not push them away for the junk the media driven society has to otherwise put up with.
Smiler, who's drinking establishment is situated directly between the elegant chapiteau and our abode probably had the € signs in his eyes because he could, very conveniently, come to the rescue with his spontaneously planned substitute program - another DJ of some description pumping the bass. The masses flocked, and although the festivities finished at 2am, some stragglers were seen crawling out of the woodwork at about 5am.
The morning began quietly albeit the sound of a street cleaning machine and a couple of youths still in party mode.
Gradually, things began to kick into life. M Rebert, the Maitre Choclatier, sporting a bright orange shirt under his white jacket and also wearing white trousers, was seen entering his back door carrying a wicker basket, probably delivering one of his delicacies to some lucky person. The local hobo scurried around.
Then the Romanians arrived. In the form of a delivery van advertising the foodstuffs from Strasbourg. They populated the little huts on the square outside our salon. Slowly, the locals emerged to get their baguettes.
And the clouds began to form.
The program had stipulated that we were to witness some "Animations Folkloriques". And they arrived, at about 10:30, ready to start at 11:00. And then it rained, it poured, it drenched.
They did the best they could, the dances didn't take place because it would have been to dangerous on the stage. But a little mini parade kept the tradition.
Folklore is of course a matter of taste. Outside it's own geographic and ethnic region it may look a little odd, out of place. It's different on the home ground. And what is good to see is that, even in the 21st. century, how many young children, teenagers and of course the adults, uphold these traditions and do not push them away for the junk the media driven society has to otherwise put up with.
Saturday, 26 May 2007
The Sound of Music
The little train stopped outside for a little impromptu concert. On the other side is "oh my sunshine" which has now had paper placed on the windows to hide from inquisitive eyes. Quelle domage!!!!
The huts are for the Romanian village due to move in tomorrow.
The huts are for the Romanian village due to move in tomorrow.
No peace treaty. Let the parties begin
To understand the locals here, or anywhere in France is to understand that everything is done out of principle, whether it is logical or not. Such was the little dispute that erupted at the supermarket yesterday. A somewhat overweight, huffing and puffing Wilderbeast together with his green alternative looking broomstick of a wife had crossed the border into Paradise to do a spot of shopping in what is essentially still a Wilderbeast supermarket. They had a shopping cart of items to confirm their illusions that these things were only available in Paradise or were substantially cheaper this side of the border. Mein Frau was a little indecisive about the cat food and the pressure of the upcoming dispute eventually, maybe reluctantly, turning to address her attention to the scene of the battle. Which was about to erupt directly behind me in the queue. At the core of this little international skirmish were 12 bottles of rose, which at €1.79 a bottle is just a tiny little more expensive than petrol here. The Wilderbeast tradition outside of Paradise is that one places one example of the item of the total batch on the conveyor belt and indicates to the cashier that there are so many of the same item in one's trolley and all the cashier needs to do is scan the item once and then bash the cash register into submission by telling it that there are more of the same items. This procedure is very logical in a system geared around minimising the input and maximising the output. So, the only link in this chain which has to bear the burden of any labour is the cash register, and as a machine, is not expected to have any feelings. So, our overweight friend and his wife applied this method, placed one bottle and so on. Ah non! This is not the way in France. You must place all the items on the conveyor belt. It is a matter of principle.
It was met with total incomprehension and a sharp increase in body temperature as the blood pressure began to rise in order to activate the brain which came out a with the one of the two standard emergency excuses: I have a bad back and cannot lift these 12 bottles. How they got into the trolley is of course a small detail to be overlooked in this situation.
Madame, the resolute cashier was having non of this. In French, she proceeded to explain that, non, ici, one places all items on the conveyor belt so that they are properly scanned.
Aber ja, you ken zee zat zer r tvelf bottles in ze trrrrolliii.
Mais non.
(This discussion was going on whilst I was paying for our groceries, French women can multi task)
But I hev a kaput back.
Non, .... it was fascinating that both were speaking in their respective languages and still managed to understand each other perfectly.
The Wilderbeast now began to move into political as well as emotional mode, calling this whole event pure harassment on the side of Madame, as she is French.
Bon, then they are not part of the purchases, I will not process them.
In the event, Herr Wilderbeast had to capitulate to the local principle and accept that, even if they were so close to their own homeland, that things are different here. And with much grunting he painfully heaved his purchases onto the conveyor belt.
So, in the last 60 odd years, nothing has really changed. In 1945, Germany capitulated and signed a cease fire. No peace treaty has ever been drawn up and technically I suppose, Germany is still at a state of war with everyone else.
Not lost on the French cashier, who had a national holiday on May 8th to remember the occasion.
And put it into practice to anybody who does not adhere to the French principles.
Yesterday evening, the festivities began. The fairground kicked into life at 4pm and the town was full of youths, hormones raging in warm spring evening, heading for the joys of screaming one's head of when one's body is faced with 3G's of pressure and boys, sporting their first signs of hair growth, cooly and very sportingly attired, to relive their ancient Roman hero's legends, passed down the generations from Julius Cesar: veni vidi vici. The air was partly filled with yet another conflict: La guerre des parfums.
One curious tradition also takes place on this particular Friday evening. Under the chapiteau sur la Place Tribunal, was the Soiree Ballermann. It is in effect, one lone, lanky species of the male population, deeply engrossed in the turning of vinyl records, the pushing of buttons and the fine tuning of all types of electronics so that the boom boom boom of the bass sounds perfect in his ears, even though the more mature of his audience may beg to differ. On the sides of the tent are a Wilderbeast beer stand (why they can't promote the local stuff I have no idea) and the staple diet of any living creature starting at embryo stage: tarte flambee. So, in comparison to the original Ballermann concept, quite civilized.
How?
The Ballermann is a Wilderbeast invention and is actually a German occupied piece of beach on Majorca. There is only one rule which applies to this territory: with a group of friends, drink a 10l bucket of Sangria as quickly as possible, sucking on a straw, and then be a loud primitive slob.
Why the French want to adopt this, only the organiser will know.
It was met with total incomprehension and a sharp increase in body temperature as the blood pressure began to rise in order to activate the brain which came out a with the one of the two standard emergency excuses: I have a bad back and cannot lift these 12 bottles. How they got into the trolley is of course a small detail to be overlooked in this situation.
Madame, the resolute cashier was having non of this. In French, she proceeded to explain that, non, ici, one places all items on the conveyor belt so that they are properly scanned.
Aber ja, you ken zee zat zer r tvelf bottles in ze trrrrolliii.
Mais non.
(This discussion was going on whilst I was paying for our groceries, French women can multi task)
But I hev a kaput back.
Non, .... it was fascinating that both were speaking in their respective languages and still managed to understand each other perfectly.
The Wilderbeast now began to move into political as well as emotional mode, calling this whole event pure harassment on the side of Madame, as she is French.
Bon, then they are not part of the purchases, I will not process them.
In the event, Herr Wilderbeast had to capitulate to the local principle and accept that, even if they were so close to their own homeland, that things are different here. And with much grunting he painfully heaved his purchases onto the conveyor belt.
So, in the last 60 odd years, nothing has really changed. In 1945, Germany capitulated and signed a cease fire. No peace treaty has ever been drawn up and technically I suppose, Germany is still at a state of war with everyone else.
Not lost on the French cashier, who had a national holiday on May 8th to remember the occasion.
And put it into practice to anybody who does not adhere to the French principles.
Yesterday evening, the festivities began. The fairground kicked into life at 4pm and the town was full of youths, hormones raging in warm spring evening, heading for the joys of screaming one's head of when one's body is faced with 3G's of pressure and boys, sporting their first signs of hair growth, cooly and very sportingly attired, to relive their ancient Roman hero's legends, passed down the generations from Julius Cesar: veni vidi vici. The air was partly filled with yet another conflict: La guerre des parfums.
One curious tradition also takes place on this particular Friday evening. Under the chapiteau sur la Place Tribunal, was the Soiree Ballermann. It is in effect, one lone, lanky species of the male population, deeply engrossed in the turning of vinyl records, the pushing of buttons and the fine tuning of all types of electronics so that the boom boom boom of the bass sounds perfect in his ears, even though the more mature of his audience may beg to differ. On the sides of the tent are a Wilderbeast beer stand (why they can't promote the local stuff I have no idea) and the staple diet of any living creature starting at embryo stage: tarte flambee. So, in comparison to the original Ballermann concept, quite civilized.
How?
The Ballermann is a Wilderbeast invention and is actually a German occupied piece of beach on Majorca. There is only one rule which applies to this territory: with a group of friends, drink a 10l bucket of Sangria as quickly as possible, sucking on a straw, and then be a loud primitive slob.
Why the French want to adopt this, only the organiser will know.
Sunday, 20 May 2007
Bliss and weather forecast
Bliss is lying under a tree and all you can hear are the leaves as they sway gently to and fro in the light breeze. The birds are faint, there is no other sound. Experienced that today.
Meanwhile, work is progressing nicely in what was "oh my sunshine". The shop has been completely guttered. The ceiling seems to sag dangerously be it for the one supporting pillar in the middle of the room. The ancient walls will soon be covered. The old pizza oven has been removed from the premises still nurturing my hope that the local population will not be blessed with yet another eatery of some exotic description.
The preparations are underway for the Pentecost bash which will descend upon us next weekend. Basically the whole town will be closed off to traffic as local dance organizations, clubs, artisan markets, the local folklore groups and of course the countless numbers of eateries with the omnipresent "tarte flambee" on sale. I think the babies are fed on it from the minute they are born.
And across the road, Smiler has been warning us, in the form of a small portable blackboard that from Friday to Monday, he will have all sorts of activities. Whether the now infamous DJ Chris will partake remains to be seen....heard.
In the square beneath the salon, signs have appeared that the prudent French drivers of vehicles and their Wilderbeast counter parts sporting the latest technological wonder on wheels will be politely asked to refrain from parking their cars as the space will be necessary to set up the little wooden huts which will no doubt house some accordion playing costumed local with a big grin on his face.
Who needs more
Paradise is when you read the passionate letters between Amantine-Lucile-Aurore Dupin (Baroness Dudevant) also known as George Sand (1804 - 1876) and Gustave Flaubert. It is read in the surroundings of the study, the window is open, the French street sounds drifting in - drinking a glass of wine.
Then heading up to the pomegranate hill for a light nibbles and wine and then returning home to do a spot of cooking, listening to a selection of Middle Eastern, Indian and African music.
Doesn't take much to get people happy.
Thursday, 17 May 2007
Going on holidays
It is Ascension Day - a holiday and raining cats and dogs. Escape by listening to Marcel Proust "A rechercher du temps perdu", close your eyes and let your mind roam into the world of his childhood which he sets in Combray. Who needs to travel physically when the imagination can transport you anywhere.
Thursday, 10 May 2007
Tuesday, 8 May 2007
One year on
Its been just over a year that we moved here. It has been slower, more intensive and exciting than most of the previous years combined - highlights are the exception. Yet, I still am surprised what there is to see in such a small place one year on. You walk down a street, look up and bang, there is a picture, a sight you have not seen before and you ask why?
And some experiences which are still unfamiliar. We had to remind ourselves that May 08 is a holiday in France. To celebrate the end of the Second World War. So, this morning, the streets were deserted. There is more activity on a Sunday than today. But I had to cross the border for some appointments - boom, the peace is shattered by hectic Wilderbeast busily increasing the GNP.
I wonder if this will change in France too. Sarkozy won the Presidential election last Sunday, beating Segolene Royal by 6%. (53% to 47%). As a conservative, he wants to bring back traditional values of work, loyalty and bring France back to the "Grand Nation" it once was. Of course, Royal wanted to do that, but with a softer more feminine approach to it. Her message was largely accepted in the south west of the country, but no where else. The political map is a sea of blue.
It is strange to live in a country again but not be part of the political process, yet be interested. Still, I give him the benefit of the doubt. He is the first post war President. Although he is seen further right wing than Chirac (who hasn't really left much of a legacy) he may be a more modern President. This came to mind after reading an article in the March issue of "the monthly" published in Melbourne, about the Australian Prime Minister, John Howard. He too is a conservative but one who works best with an "enemy" to focus on. Bring on the war of terrorism and with it, the authority to do anything they want, whether it is morally acceptable or not. Misuse of power. And I see that as a particular characteristic of all "conservative" govts.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch - activities across the road. There was an empty building with a disused shop front sporting a sign proclaiming, in Italian, "oh my sunshine". We had been told by our letting agent, that there had been quite a dispute with the restaurant owners and the building owner and it had not gone in the former's favour. It was an eyesore. A few months ago, there was frantic activity and the upstairs was gutted and renovated and after a few weeks, let out. A guitar was seen hanging from the wall. One evening I strolled past and heard the sound of guitar music (live??) and I had visions of a musician creating some fantastic pieces which would float across the square separating our two houses and enthrall me whilst I would sit there and enjoy a leisurely cigar.
Not so.
Last weekend, the on Saturday, "oh my sunshine" sank and disappeared. The facade in the front was done up, holes and cracks filled with plaster, the stray posters removed from the windows which were subsequently cleaned.
Since my music dream has evaporated and it has transpired that a Turkish family has moved in..we wish for a Turkish shop, rich with spices and exotic foods to enhance our cuisine here. There used to be one at the other end of town - but it closed and in its place is a Senegalese place selling wood carvings and other exotica. How it survives is a mystery.
We wait in anticipation to see what happens next.
And some experiences which are still unfamiliar. We had to remind ourselves that May 08 is a holiday in France. To celebrate the end of the Second World War. So, this morning, the streets were deserted. There is more activity on a Sunday than today. But I had to cross the border for some appointments - boom, the peace is shattered by hectic Wilderbeast busily increasing the GNP.
I wonder if this will change in France too. Sarkozy won the Presidential election last Sunday, beating Segolene Royal by 6%. (53% to 47%). As a conservative, he wants to bring back traditional values of work, loyalty and bring France back to the "Grand Nation" it once was. Of course, Royal wanted to do that, but with a softer more feminine approach to it. Her message was largely accepted in the south west of the country, but no where else. The political map is a sea of blue.
It is strange to live in a country again but not be part of the political process, yet be interested. Still, I give him the benefit of the doubt. He is the first post war President. Although he is seen further right wing than Chirac (who hasn't really left much of a legacy) he may be a more modern President. This came to mind after reading an article in the March issue of "the monthly" published in Melbourne, about the Australian Prime Minister, John Howard. He too is a conservative but one who works best with an "enemy" to focus on. Bring on the war of terrorism and with it, the authority to do anything they want, whether it is morally acceptable or not. Misuse of power. And I see that as a particular characteristic of all "conservative" govts.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch - activities across the road. There was an empty building with a disused shop front sporting a sign proclaiming, in Italian, "oh my sunshine". We had been told by our letting agent, that there had been quite a dispute with the restaurant owners and the building owner and it had not gone in the former's favour. It was an eyesore. A few months ago, there was frantic activity and the upstairs was gutted and renovated and after a few weeks, let out. A guitar was seen hanging from the wall. One evening I strolled past and heard the sound of guitar music (live??) and I had visions of a musician creating some fantastic pieces which would float across the square separating our two houses and enthrall me whilst I would sit there and enjoy a leisurely cigar.
Not so.
Last weekend, the on Saturday, "oh my sunshine" sank and disappeared. The facade in the front was done up, holes and cracks filled with plaster, the stray posters removed from the windows which were subsequently cleaned.
Since my music dream has evaporated and it has transpired that a Turkish family has moved in..we wish for a Turkish shop, rich with spices and exotic foods to enhance our cuisine here. There used to be one at the other end of town - but it closed and in its place is a Senegalese place selling wood carvings and other exotica. How it survives is a mystery.
We wait in anticipation to see what happens next.
Tuesday, 1 May 2007
Economics lesson and free entertainment
This is how the system works. It is April 30 and in this part of the world, traditionally a time to "dance into the May". It's a nice custom handed over through the generations and only slightly modified to match the needs and requirements of the 21st century.
So, there is a bar in town, probably the largest, with a rather large beer garden at the back. As it is a business, the primary purpose of its existence is to ensure the owners a comfortable and profitable life in drink.
Of course, even if they are Turkish, they have adapted to local customs and taken up the tradition of the May dance. That it ensures a nice little profit is a mere positive added value. It simply wants to serve the needs of its customers.
This is where the requirements of the 21st century come in. The main tool to ensure that tradition is maintained is the need for music. This is where the story gets a little muddy and we all know, tastes differ. But we also have been taught to be tolerant, especially as the younger generation will have the utmost pleasure of supporting us when we toddle along in our zimmer frames mumbling platitudes about the good old days, desperately trying to keep our dentures in our mouths.
The term "music" is therefore really only a generalization. Some will claim that what passes as music today is really an assortment of quavers quivering to get out of the loud speakers because it's even louder inside them then outside where they can be a version of suicide bombers, annoying anybody in their dying seconds.
The other component is "loud". The medium is also important. In this case it was DJ Chris hosting the "Monday Fever Night" across the road. Starting at 9pm. Free entry. There was some small print as well.
Experience had taught us that, traditionally, the show would be over by 1am. Perhaps a little disturbing, but nothing too dramatic. Being of the open minded, tolerant set, we could live with it.
When the mind numbing boom boom boom of an overexcited bass loudspeaker, cheerfully spurned on by an hyperactive "Chris" coaching the future mass of humanity to somehow decipher a clear musical note in suicide bombers and then move to it, began to drill itself into the interior of my brain, I seriously began to question the benefits of this traditional economic system. By now it was 01.45 am, so Smiler, (our name for the owner of the bar), must have, in the interests of social responsibility for the young, the needs of DJ Chris, for the sake of tradition, not to mention his own entrepreneurial aspirations, successfully acquired an extension from some local authority. No doubt he was severely pressured by his own offspring with some persuasive argument.
Mercifully, it was over by 02:15am, Chris croaking a jubilant "merci et salut" into the microphone until reserve of suicide bomber notes had been used up. The consolation is, I suppose, that Smiler will have had about as much sleep as we did and he is already out there running the show to traditionally welcome the herds of wilderbeast and motor bikers about to descend today.
Ah... tradition. Its good we have it.
I flee to Zurich this afternoon.
So, there is a bar in town, probably the largest, with a rather large beer garden at the back. As it is a business, the primary purpose of its existence is to ensure the owners a comfortable and profitable life in drink.
Of course, even if they are Turkish, they have adapted to local customs and taken up the tradition of the May dance. That it ensures a nice little profit is a mere positive added value. It simply wants to serve the needs of its customers.
This is where the requirements of the 21st century come in. The main tool to ensure that tradition is maintained is the need for music. This is where the story gets a little muddy and we all know, tastes differ. But we also have been taught to be tolerant, especially as the younger generation will have the utmost pleasure of supporting us when we toddle along in our zimmer frames mumbling platitudes about the good old days, desperately trying to keep our dentures in our mouths.
The term "music" is therefore really only a generalization. Some will claim that what passes as music today is really an assortment of quavers quivering to get out of the loud speakers because it's even louder inside them then outside where they can be a version of suicide bombers, annoying anybody in their dying seconds.
The other component is "loud". The medium is also important. In this case it was DJ Chris hosting the "Monday Fever Night" across the road. Starting at 9pm. Free entry. There was some small print as well.
Experience had taught us that, traditionally, the show would be over by 1am. Perhaps a little disturbing, but nothing too dramatic. Being of the open minded, tolerant set, we could live with it.
When the mind numbing boom boom boom of an overexcited bass loudspeaker, cheerfully spurned on by an hyperactive "Chris" coaching the future mass of humanity to somehow decipher a clear musical note in suicide bombers and then move to it, began to drill itself into the interior of my brain, I seriously began to question the benefits of this traditional economic system. By now it was 01.45 am, so Smiler, (our name for the owner of the bar), must have, in the interests of social responsibility for the young, the needs of DJ Chris, for the sake of tradition, not to mention his own entrepreneurial aspirations, successfully acquired an extension from some local authority. No doubt he was severely pressured by his own offspring with some persuasive argument.
Mercifully, it was over by 02:15am, Chris croaking a jubilant "merci et salut" into the microphone until reserve of suicide bomber notes had been used up. The consolation is, I suppose, that Smiler will have had about as much sleep as we did and he is already out there running the show to traditionally welcome the herds of wilderbeast and motor bikers about to descend today.
Ah... tradition. Its good we have it.
I flee to Zurich this afternoon.
Monday, 30 April 2007
Monday
It was either Saturday or Sunday, Carl Friedrich von Weizsaeker died. In Germany, he was many things including a well respected intellectual. He was also a "Friedensforscher", which translated means " a researcher for peace". How strange that something so fundamental needs to be researched.
Went to Sifi this morning for a 90 minute meeting. HS and I discussed the current situation of his role, one of being the salami between two slices of bread. The basic problem is that he is involved in a project which is now a non starter because the whole company has changed or is in the process of changing. The board will not be able to relieve him of the project responsibility, partly because they are not that concerned but also because of the fear of insider trading. The project team goes around the circuit doing everything as if nothing is happening, knowing full well that it really is almost a waste of time. It really is a farce but one that has to be sat out, money still being spent. Yet there are principles involved - leadership questions, moral questions, strategic and tactical questions.
And of course, the overriding question of a waste of resources - costs are cut and yet, by simply prolonging a dead project, funds are being wasted. He flies to the US with two others on Wednesday for 3 days. To look, observe.....
So we go into researching peace but cannot question the moral responsibility of running a major corporation.
Am mentally preparing myself for the trip to Zurich tomorrow in advance for a meeting on Wednesday. Again, an extremely senior manager, a President actually, basically a nice guy, who works 36 hours a day with about 3800 people in 15 locations across the globe in his responsibility.
What he wants to know is how he can improve (I should prepare a SWOT analysis based on his past experiences), the differences in behavior to be expected between old role and new much more senior role (do I have any ideas?) And what can we do to improve leadership and communication in middle management - again do I have any ideas?
The answer my friend, is simple: let go, trust, don't play power politics....
Those questions were added to my 15 or so submitted in advance for our 5 hour meeting. Will he listen to my thoughts - which are non power based, non political, focussing on value added.
Global warming - so we have had the warmest April on record, in all respects. Its dry here now - quite visibly - though anybody living in Australia would be in hysterics about this. But I heard on the radio today that farmers are considering starting to grow wine in central eastern Germany, around Berlin. Chateau Migrane from Brandenburg.
Peace researcher!
Dinner: Left over paella.
Sunday, 29 April 2007
People are strange creatures
We spent another day in the Garden today and after an hour or so, about 25 owners of MG's and Triumphs drove in and parked on what little space there was around the assortment of monuments. Every one - probably around 50 people then, got out and talked to each other, inspected the engines under other cars, generally admired the technology.
One or two wandered over to the monuments and had a quick look. One or two might have even acknowledged the scenery. But after about 20 minutes, they all left again.
Made me wonder why they came there in the first place.
Dinner - Chicken marinated in yoghurt and cinnamon and fried. Together with a rice pilaf.
One or two wandered over to the monuments and had a quick look. One or two might have even acknowledged the scenery. But after about 20 minutes, they all left again.
Made me wonder why they came there in the first place.
Dinner - Chicken marinated in yoghurt and cinnamon and fried. Together with a rice pilaf.
Joghurt and the consumer mystery
To get Greek style joghurt, we buy natural joghurt and strain it. What this means, is we take the excess water out of it. So out of 750grs we are left with about 400grs. Which means we are being sold "water" as natural joghurt. On the face of it - we drain about 30 cents off the price and tip it down the drain. Waste for us and a huge profit for the manufacturer.
Not really cricket is it - or am I seeing things wrongly. What's the alternative?
Not really cricket is it - or am I seeing things wrongly. What's the alternative?
Saturday, 28 April 2007
Day 1 April 28, 2007
Started the day with the usual trot through W, past Gaston's Pond and into the valley just outside. I must have left about 9.30 - and it was incredibly warm. This is the end of April and we're in record territory - no rain, lots of sunshine (apparently more than in the months June, July and August of 2003).
Whilst walking, caught up on my podcasts. Today, "This American Life" (www.thisamericanlife.org). It was a program about going beyond one's own boundaries. First an American 9th grader who had a history of drug selling and then came clean and got himself a guidance counselor. She recognized his "potential" and the kid literally took off - only to crash 3 years later. But he was in a trance and couldn't resist seeing past the effect everyone else was having on him. He was not in control.
The core part of the day was spent in our "garden". It is a war memorial site about 2km south of town up on a hill. There are splendid views everywhere. Actually, there are 2 monument sites with a total of about 6 monuments. The French one, an obelisk with a cockerel perched on top commemorates several wars. About a km away is a set of 5 German monuments commemorating the German soldiers who fell on August 04, 1870, at the start of the Prussian - French war of 1870/71.
Dinner tonight - home made pasta (a little too much olive oil) with a creamy sauce and crab meat.
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