Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Day 13: Fete de la Crap
I woke up this morning ready for a day of hard work. After breakfast, I headed up the ladder to finish picking off the render. This was probably the greatest test of my courage yet this trip. The wind was blowing ferociously, so I feared being blown over and I had dust pouring into my face, nose, and eyes. On top of that, I was working directly over a beehive. We plugged it up so bees could not get out as I whacked their hive with a pick, but as the bees returned home, they flew around, confusedly trying to located their hive.
When this was finished, I began to work on getting some concrete render off the walls lower down. For this I used the pneumatic pick. I worked until tea time, then until lunch. After lunch I forwent a siesta to work on the welding I thought was finished; it had not withstood the test of time. It is much stronger now.
After welding, I got back to work on the wall. I finished everything at around 5:00, and had one more task to complete. For the wall to look really good, I painted the metal beam that supports the front door. The wall looks great.
After cleaning up, it was time to go to Limoux for the fete de la musique, a France-wide festival of music. On street corners all over France, bands play, and big acts perform too. When we got to Limoux at about 6:30, the main stage was empty, and there was another little stage with a bad DJ. We met Stephan for a drink in the main square, and the main acts began. There was a women in her forties singing French classics from the sixties, mixing in some American classics such as the song from Titanic. She was backed up by a recorded track. Alternating in with her was a man in his sixties, singing equally bad, prerecorded French classics. After I danced once with Cheryl, and the drunk who was cheering almost asked her for a dance, Stephan and Cheryl and I decided to look around for more music. Garth headed to Alvin's for a dinner party, promising to return at 11. After walking the whole city and finding nothing, not even an open Creperie, we ended up eating dinner in one of the restaurants in the square. After eating, and subjecting ourselves to more of the same performance (trust me, the songs got better each time he sang them), we headed into the bar to watch the Spain/Honduras game. The bar was empty; I think the French have given up on the World Cup this year after their embarrassing defeat.
After the game, Stephan went home. His house is on rue Paussifile. Say that out loud. Cheryl and I took a walk around Limoux, down to the water, and then back to the square, where Garth picked us up, fresh bread Alvin had just baked in hand. After a small glass of Banyuls, a Port-like wine from the coast near here, I headed to bed.