Dans la forêt

Les chasseurs de champignons

I am not used to saying "bonjour" to perfect strangers while walking in the forest but it seems to be the custom here, as it was in Belgium. I remember the first time I went jogging in the woods of the Sart-Tilman (Liege), another jogger passed me and said "bonjour". I was, admittedly, a little weirded out. "Pfft! Why would a stranger say "hi" to me?", I thought. I need to relax and shed my urban skin. I don't know if I am right in making this association but I think it's because I come from the city that I feel weird about saying "hello" to people I don't know.
Here's a corny paradox, but it's true: It is in the city where you feel more alone. In the country, people are more sparse yet friendlier.

The people we met in the forest were ready to talk and one old man told us, as we were passing him, that he lost his wife in the woods and she had the car keys so he couldn't go home until he found her. We laughed and walked away.
A lot of people were hunting mushrooms, as was his wife when he lost her. It sounds weird to call them "chasseurs". It's not like the mushrooms uproot themselves and run away at their approach. And yet, that's what these people are called.

Sunday

I love our lazy Sundays. It's rugby season so sometimes, we stay home on Sundays to watch the game. I love listening to the southern-French accent of the rugby commentators. There seems to be a hint of québécois in it.
Martin and I both love this season. It's not hot and it's not too cold, and when we get back home after a nature walk, we prepare something hot to drink and sink into our camping chairs to watch the game.

Saturday walk

We walked through the botanical gardens and saw the cathedral of Limoges. The river you see is called the Vienne. We are near the northern part of the river so our department is called la Haute-Vienne.
I haven't seen any squirrels but when we went to the forest on Sunday, Martin assured me that he saw traces of squirrels.
So far, all I have seen are lizards. But now, they are hibernating as we will be soon enough.

La GREVE !!!

The radio wakes us up in the morning and the television lights up the living room in the evening. Both scream "manifestation" and "greve". It's becoming more and more serious. Last night on the news, reporters shoved mics up peoples' faces on the street so they could scream out very aggressive messages to the so-called "bozos" (their words, not mine) who are leading their country: "Vous voyez ce qu'on peut faire?! Vous ne devez pas nous ignorer!"
I was indifferent to the noise last week but now I am becoming worried about not being able to get to work on time because the buses will not be running or will be stalled, all in the effort to fight the new reform. Now I don't mean to sound unfeeling. I understand that this reform is somewhat unfair. I don't find the French attitude toward reforms to be all that bad; it can be seen as virtuous sometimes. If you're not happy, you make an effort to make things better.

Already, fuel suppliers have stopped supplying gaz stations so motorists have become involved. Trains are no longer running, or very seldom, and high-school students whose "guerilla" and warrior-like instincts can be depended on to spice up demonstrations (i.e. they light cars on fire or tip them over like hockey "fans" in Montreal), have stopped going to school and are now in the streets complaining that the government has blocked their way into the work force. In other words, as less people will be leaving the work force in the next couple of years, there will necessarily be less work for the 20-year-olds. However, politicians argue, this reform should be a good thing for their generation. Indeed, there are more and more old farts in France, so making them leave later will lighten the burden of having to pay for all their retirement pensions. "You will be saving 2 years-worth on retirement pensions!", politicians say. D'ailleurs, many many politicians, union-leaders, and lycéens are invited onto television talk-shows to share their opinions. However, all I see are people yelling at each-other trying to make their voices heard. But the other party naturally doesn't listen.
Like it or not, it's most likely going to pass in the next fifteen days or so and then the not-so stereotyped French mania toward any reform will also subside in the coming weeks.

A la cuisine!

Maybe it's because I am bored and have nothing to do for the moment ( and because I forgot my yoga mat), but I have been cooking a lot lately. I start working tomorrow but I will not be working full time until the Christmas mania is in full swing ... so in about 2 weeks. I am lucky to have gotten a job at an internationally-known toy store. It will be busy.
In the meantime, I have fallen head-over-heals for this cook book that Martin's mother owns. I finally bought it off the internet for a few pennies. It's called "La cuisine bio : cinquante recettes gourmandes au naturel". That plus the book Martin owns that contains many different recipes for madeleines, led me to go a little crazy in the kitchen. On Friday, I made 27 madeleines and yesterday, at Monsieur's request, I spent 3 hours making carrot halva.

A little taste of Limoges

Here are some pictures taken early morning. It was a fresh, autumn day and I decided to walk around the city a bit after walking Martin to uni.
Il y a des feuilles jaunies qui parsement les rues et on peut voir sur les feuilles vertes des reflets de la rosée matinale.
I especially like the abandonned buildings. They pop up here and there and seem to be left alone altogether.

Vacation's over

Our little vacation in the Alps was a lot of fun. The landscape took my breath away practically every day. The air was healthy and fresh, and there are a lot of fun activities to do there.
Quitterie didn't seem to share my opinion. I think she's more blazé than I am at this point, having lived in the Alps all her life. Understandable. But still, in the Alps, you can go skiing and snowboarding, hiking, rock climbing, do a via ferrata, swimming in the lake, hydrospeed in the rapids, building your own house (what the family did from 2003-2005), etc.
The mountains completely dwarf all of the buildings around and on some summer days, there is indeed a bit of snow on their tips, exactly how I depicted them in my childhood drawings.

As we drove into Limoges, our new home, my heart tightened at the prospect of what was to come, namely finding a job and making new friends.

The Apartment - settled in

Our apartment, complete with living room/kitchen/office, a bathroom (only one) and a master bedroom. I chose the bedspread. I had to convince Martin it was not too girly.
The coffee table (highway sign), was made by Martin's mother's colleagues. The camping chairs are borrowed from the parents and the office is all "IKEA".
I like our little nest. It's ample for us.

The apartment

This is our apartment, a few seconds after moving everything in.

Quitterie and Martin

Potiron

I actually don't know what this is called but for now, in my mind, it is a potential potiron.

La Mure

Beffroi de La Mure

La Mure

Mushrooms

On the mountain, we saw some people gathering mushrooms. They said that they had plans to cook them. I don't think I would be brave enough to do that. I'd be afraid of accidently picking a bad one.

Clouds

Here is the thick ceiling of clouds as mentioned earlier. They hung there until we left later that week. Eeesh!

Martin and I

Martin's back!

10 seconds to shoot

I took a picture of myself under the devil with my timer. Below me is a maze of rocks I had to get through while my camera is perched up what I am guessing is the devil's leg?

Martshroom

Pierre Percée - surroundings under a thick ceiling of clouds

La Pierre Percée

The weather changed drastically over the course of the week in the Alps. One day, we were wearing next to nothing while hiking, the next, we wore sweaters under our jackets and scarves around our necks.
Despite the weather, we had to get out of the house. Martin took me to the Pierre Percée. There is, of course, a legend behind the rock. Apparently, it is supposed to represent the devil on all fours with his head on the ground and one forearm holding him up. He was supposedly kicked off the mountain and where he landed, he turned to stone. I regret not remembering the beginning of the story or why he was kicked off but Martin and I had a heated debate on which part was supposed to be the head and which part, the rear.

Village

Village at the base of the mountain

I expressed my concern for possible landslides but Martin told me that it had been a couple of hundred years since the last important landslide and that the danger was not very present today. Otherwise, there would be no villages in these areas ... obviously!

Alps