Wasted days and wasted nights...(not!)

Friday, February 20, 2009

It takes about a week to get into the rhythms of a place, to find the seam of existence that is effortless, a pattern of waking, eating, living and retiring that is comfortable and sustaining. Frequent travelers all develop their tricks to minimize jet lag but it sometimes catches you at the strangest times. I say this because I woke up at 3:30 am and could not get back to sleep, even though I’ve been here a week already. Thankfully I had my trusty literary companions to while away the hours and I did manage to catch a couple more hours at dawn. But it made for a late start to the day.

I began to feel the pressure this morning of my imminent return to the US. Its not the idea that I’ll be returning home that causes the pressure rather it is the idea that I’ll be leaving this place. It is simply so peaceful here, and yes there is a lot of stuff to do, and yes I have to make shutters, and paint them, and plant some flowers, and do some electrical work and I’d really like to get the main gate built while I’m here as well…so the idea of leaving without finishing all that I’d like to do is stressful. So a late start in the morning is just like amping up the pressure.

But today, I have to go to the Montpellier airport to figure out how to ship this wine. Other than knowing I have to find the freight office for Air France I have no idea really what I have to do nor if my pidgin French will be sufficiently useful to get the deed done. But as with most things I head into it with all the optimism of a freshly minted college graduate and let serendipity guide my way. In this case serendipity landed me at the Air France freight office at 1:00 pm and there was not a soul to be found anywhere. I wandered around empty corridors, peered into offices with stacks of paper piled high on what were obviously working desks, and generally wondered if in fact I was in the right place. Several times I went out to check the sign to be sure I hadn’t missed something but no, I hadn’t . “Fret, Air France Cargo”
the sign seemed quite unequivocal.

Needless to say after wondering what was up I spied a woman in the parking lot and asked her if I was in the right place. Indeed I was but they were all off at lunch until 2:00 pm….a very civilized two hour lunch I thought. I do think they have some things quite right.

So off I went to Castorama (think Lowe’s with a Beaver motif) to while away an hour. They have so many neat things that we don’t have I spent almost 2 hours there, buying very little but enjoying myself immensely.

Back to the airport, “Fret, Air France Cargo”, I found the place humming with activity and a little Frenchman who spoke English as passably as I spoke French. Together in a few minutes we figured out what it would take to do the shipment and how much it would cost. “’Ow much duzz eet weight?” he enquired. I realized that I had no idea how much it “weighted”. I have never weighed my wine despite having hefted ten or twelve (thousand) bottles. “Je pense le shipment est une cent ou une cent cinquant kilo totale. ” (“I think the shipment is 100 or 150 kilos total.”)

“Eets four euro twenty five per kilo…no matter.” Ok, by my math that seemed reasonable but not ever having weighed a bottle proved me wrong.

After telling him I’d be back on Tuesday with the wine I went home. I hadn’t seen Christian and Corinne for a few days so I stopped by and left a note for them to join me for a glass of wine if they could. And then I took stock of my volet (shutter) making and decided to get cracking on them. Time was a wasting!

I’d just settled into a good pace after a dinner of leftovers, cranking out the next to last set of shutters when Christian scared the crap out of me by knocking on the door behind me. I am working in a 700 year old stone vaulted farmhouse, it was long past dark and my head was in a volet making groove. I jumped out of my skin and back in I think in the wink of an eye. He opened the door and after a bit of laughing he said I should come over for a drink. It turned out that Corinne’s father had passed away suddenly on Wednesday and so they had been away and of course were a little down. My cheerful presence would be appreciated.

Needless to say I did my duty. I stumbled home late and walked right on by Captain Vancouver, preferring the obliqueness of sleep to the adventures of King George’s emissary.