Thursday, May 21, 2009
OK some of you asked for pix and this is the only one that appeals right now. Being in the water means no longer having to pee in a pot.
This is a weird day in between all the hustle of getting the boat launched yesterday, and leaving for London tomorrow for a week of yoga, then coming back to Marans, with my birthday sandwiched in between, along with a shopping list of forgotten/desired items not findable or affordable in France. Prices here can be a bit shocking. We have to buy a new battery for the boat when we get back - bigger than a car battery so I’m expecting 100 Euro or so. Food seems expensive - but maybe it’s just difficult to make the comparison.
Anyway - I’m not going to describe the boat launch - you can see it on YouTube. STOP PRESS EEK UPLOAD TAKING TO LONG, WILL HAVE TO DO THIS TOMORROW: I want to write about the harbourmaster.
The harbour master here is the appropriately named M. Coindeau. For me he symbolises the way France is. I know nothing about him, except that he is a ‘fonctionaire’ - a local government employee. He’s in his 30’s I suppose - although he could be younger. I imagine him being the latest in a long line of harbour masters. His job is mainly petty bureaucracy - form filling, done mostly by hand and with occasional reference to an ancient computer. He also checks the boats each day to make sure he has everyone listed, and that no-one has snuck out without paying. The commune owns a small crane and I think the high point of his work is probably that he gets to operate it now and again to launch smaller boats. He has a little harbourmaster car that claims now to be ‘electric’ - although it looks exactly as it did last year. Otherwise it’s the kind of small shabby generic white vehicle that you see everywhere in rural France (which is most of it). His office is housed in the same building as the toilet & shower block - looks like 1950’s concrete, although could be later. He’s laid back about being paid, and has put us on the list here for a permanent berth. I’m not sure if it will happen in our lifetimes.
In my fantasy of his life, M. Coindeau has a wife, a little ‘plan pied’ house about 20 minutes drive form his work. He has very civilised hours of 9 - 5 with Wednesday afternoons off, although he varies it a bit in the busy times in summer when there are several boats leaving and arriving with every daylight tide.
He has a wife in her late twenties and they have two children, and maybe one more planned or on the way. They have a small family car and they visit their respective in-laws at all prescribed holidays. I am not sure when he takes his vacances - summer is too busy but the French are quite hidebound about this. Maybe he & Mme C, and les petits fly off to Gambia or Martinique in the winter, although he shows no sign of a winter tan when I arrive in May. Although perfectly pleasant M. Coindeau is a man of few words, even given my linguistic limitations.
He and his wife and the kids shop in Super-U at the weekend, they rent DVDs and maybe he even gets on the Internet now and again, but not on a Mac. I like the idea of his wife being a teacher in one of the well-supported public schools - maybe she teaches 8 or 9 year olds. They use old-fashioned wall-charts, promote French nationalism in a European context, teach a bit of comparative religion and don’t have SATS tests. The kids speak good French and pronounce all their vowels. (French doesn’t really work otherwise. They look forward to jobs for life, and retiring on public service pensions - not generous, but adequate for their modest life style. (This is still my fantasy, you understand.)
I think what I am trying to conjure is the unchanging feel of France, in spite of ‘progress’ there is something about the stability of rural life that anchors the country to its roots and culture. The taxes are maybe higher than ours, and there are fewer new cars and flashy boats. There is less obvious wealth. Some complain that France is over-bureaucratic, too heavily taxed, too repressive of unfettered capitalism, but this is part of its charm. Maybe it’s the employment of M. Coindeau - and his offspring in perpetuity, for all I know, that give France its enduring quality. (You realise I don’t speak for the cities - Paris, Nantes, Marseille might as well be on another planet - although the white French seem to need to touch base with their own country every August, while the UK likes to take off on a long-haul to somewhere much more exotic.)
An aside on life here amongst the boat community in the winter: it seems there were big disputes last winter between those who get electricity thrown in with their mooring fees (modest) and those who pay for a separate supply. As more and more heaters were switched on, ovens used, kettles boiled… supplies were often pirated. You’ll be glad to know that a new hot water system has been installed in the shower (and washing up) block. The water comes out of the taps at scalding temperatures but the showers are surprisingly well behaved. The drains still smell a bit, but it’s become familiar and therefore quite comforting.
OK. Time to get busy on unloading the car, sorting out what’s where on the boat. Everything necessary - nothing unnecessary is the goal! I think I’ll start with a coffee…
