It's been a blast getting back, and not simply because of the heat. The heatwave across Europe and the UK is certainly a record-breaker. The forecast for Ceret for the upcoming week is for temperatures of 34-38 degrees. Everyone is staying indoors during the afternoon, emerging around 6:30pm for a drink and catch-up with friends, before thinking about a meal around 8pm. The four restaurants in the square below us are crowded with late-night diners. We are very thankful for our aircon and the two fans in our apartment. Making the bed in the morning is very easy - just straighten the bottom sheet!
We've been putting in a huge effort each afternoon to clean the apartment, including sponging the walls, vacuuming the furniture and basically giving it 'the works'. It is so nice knowing it is now nearly totally clean and we don't have to walk dust everywhere. We just have the mezzanine to clean this afternoon and we are done. I will also tackle the stairwell next week - the layers of dust and grime are staring at me. We don't mind doing all three levels, and I know Jean-Christophe in the restaurant on the bottom floor will appreciate it.
The big news is that we are now mobile. It was a massive boon when we went to Le Boulou to pick up our car from its garage. It didn't begin well though, when we jumped on the 530 bus on the Arles sur Tech route at the correct time of 8:55am. The only trouble was, it was the wrong bus. Beginner's mistake which we should have avoided! This one was heading up the valley, not down it. Our 530 bus was clearly late arriving. Bad luck that they are scheduled to arrive at a similar time at the same bus stop, pointing in the same direction but leaving in opposite directions. Once we realised the mistake, we got off at the next stop and had to hang around in the heat for an hour until the next bus came down the valley. Feeling rather hot and bothered, we arrived back at our original bus stop in Ceret 1.5 hrs after we'd left it. Anyway, we finally managed the 18-minute trip to the neighbouring town of Le Boulou, where we promptly said down and had a nourishing coffee. Donning broad sunhats, we walked the short distance to the large private garage where our car has been stored for the last 30 months.
With a little trepidation we opened the door. There was our little Hyundai, masked under layers of dust and a few mattresses and other bits and pieces. John connected up the battery, closed his eyes and turned the key. Hey presto. Without any hesitation the engine roared into life. Oh joy! Great grins all around. We'd been trying not to think about what Plan B might have been if the car didn't go. Anyway, we gingerly crawled out of the garage, the front tyres being exceedingly low in pressure. We'd spied a local service garage just a few blocks away so drove there very slowly, avoiding all bumps on the road. Turning into the garage, we asked the mechanic if he'd kindly put a little air in our tyres. His rather astonished face when he glanced at the tyres showed that he thought that might be a good idea. He promptly pumped them all up to their proper pressure and waved us merrily on our way. Excellent.
 |
| Our little hero - 32 months and it didn't miss a beat |
Another round of cleaning in the afternoon, though more of unpacking all the clothes and other things we had stowed away in the spare room, plus unpacking what we'd brought with us.
This morning we took the car to one of the local garages where we'd already booked it in for its Control Technique (the equivalent of our WoF). It sailed through, though it was pointed out that it will need a wheel alignment sometime, which we already knew. Great, that's another big tick off our priority list of things to do when we returned, and not needed next year. We celebrated by sitting down to a coffee at one of the cafes in town and checking out how many local identities and characters we could recognise from past years. There are a few obvious changes, e.g. greyer hair (us included), the odd wig or two that doesn't fit as well as it used to, some who have put on weight, others who have lost it, and also our builder's wife who seems to have reinvented herself from a seemingly rather quiet and demure woman into a confident femme with a mean haircut and attitude in her new attire. Good on her!
A treat was in order to celebrate our car starting no nicely. We ducked into our favourite patisserie under the arch. Jean-Louis welcomed us back and was clearly tickled to hear how I have dreamed about his jesuite pastries for the past two years. It was lovely to be remembered and welcomed. With a jesuite in one hand, some fresh peaches from a stall in another, and a glass of wine attached to the lips, lunch was pretty good. Earlier in the morning we'd also bumped into our good friends John and Jude. They are an English couple who decided to move permanently to Ceret when Brexit was threatening. It was good to see them, and no doubt we will have a full catch-up soon.
Some early observations on our arrival back in Ceret:
- First it was the doves. We had forgotten how much you hear doves cooing here.
- The chiming of the church clock, every quarter hour and definitively on the hour, is so nice.
- The French have been really welcoming, friendly and helpful - the woman in the insurance office, the guy who pumped up our tyres, a person behind a shop counter, chatting at the bus stop, the waiters in Jean-Christophe's restaurant, or whoever. It's made us feel very comfortable being back.
- On the face of it, there seems to be much less dog shit around. That's a major advance.
- We feel very snuggly in our little apartment. It's small, light, and airy and has everything we need.
A little later: After cleaning the mezzanine, including bleaching and sponging down the stains on the ceiling, we are very pleased with how it has turned out. The marks have virtually gone away, and we are now confident that the apartment is now fine to rent out again in the future. We will repaint the ceiling before we leave, but leave it as is in the meantime while we try and sort out the insurance. Needing some time out, we headed to Le Comptoir, for a small coffee at 3pm. It didn't feel too overwhelmingly hot, and we were keen to get out and about. It was fun watching the world go by, and also some young school kids playing with water pistols at the fountain and what seemed to be a holiday programme class of young girls learning to dance flamenco. The latter is so far removed from something you would see in New Zealand, particularly not in a public square.
 |
| Flamenco tuition in the Place de Picasso. |
Around 5pm it was appropriate to try a demi de rosé (half a litre of rosé wine) with some glaçons (ice cubes), and soon some of our friends began to appear. By 7pm we were a table of 10-12, mostly English, but with some Americans in the mix. Before they turned up we were chatting with a French couple. It was fun to see everyone again, but John and I are wary of getting sucked into the typical large-party, early-evening drinks sessions. Like us, a few of our friends also prefer small groups, and being less obviously intrusive in the otherwise quiet French apero setting.
