From the Great Wood in Brittany
402

Well,
I still haven’t seen snow here though we’ve had our share of both hail
and sunshine today and it’s bitterly cold. Driving back from the
boulangerie this morning I could see down the hill to the sea – clear
dark blue but flecked with whitecaps. The boulangerie is one of the
social centres of Ploudalmézeau. Actually we have three boulangeries
here; I haven’t quite worked out how a town of fewer than 5,000 people
(according to last year’s Guide Rouge) can support three boulangeries
working flat out six days a week. Still, there is almost always a queue
and a chance to chat about the weather to someone else in line. Here it
sems the weather is every bit as much a topic of conversation as in
England. The ‘Méteo’ usually dismisses Brittany as ‘raining again’ and,
though that is far from universally true, there is enough to keep the
countryside very green throughout the year. Alongside
the boulangeries we have two pharmacies – essential to the French way
of life – a scattering of bars and restaurants (sadly only open mostly
at weekends except in the summer or the school holidays), matched only
by the number of banks. And there is the market – Friday is market day.
The market is mostly about food, although there is also the ever
hopeful double-glazing salesman. I cannot imagine how so much food can
be consumed by those 5,000 people – there is fish (three stalls),
cheese (two or three), fruit & vegetables (half a dozen), cooked
food of all sorts (perhaps a dozen), and the rest. On a cold February
Friday there are perhaps 20 stalls, in the summer perhaps 50 or 60.
Shopping is done I’m sure, but also much conversation – it can take our
friends an hour or more to walk the hundred yards from the Hotel des
Voyageurs to the Maison de la Presse. We are still more in the English
mode of functional shopping and having to learn that all of life is
really a social event. If
the market is good for fresh food then the supermarkets are the source
of everything else – including much conversation and gossip in the warm
and dry. We have two of them: a medium-sized Leclerc, with its
startling blue showing up in the sky at night for miles around, and a
Casino, refurbished after a fire last summer. Casino is the smaller but
seems to be the haunt of the true Ploudalmézien, who can be disdainful
about the brash newness of Leclerc. (Leclerc moved from simpler
premises a few years ago; the old building remained empty for a while
but is now the home for the local Music School – just occasionally I
feel tempted to drop in and try the Breton bagpipes). Leclerc
also happens to have an excellent restaurant, not haute cuisine but
five courses of good wholesome food for 7€50. We went there on
Wednesday – early to avoid the queues; the restaurant regularly fills,
mostly with workmen, by 12:30. On offer were a salmon terrine, an
enormous plate of couscous, fruit yoghurt, cheese, wine, and coffee –
more than I can eat for lunch. The ‘menu ouvrier’ in its various forms
must still be one of the best bargains anywhere. I haven’t counted, but
offhand I can think of at least half a dozen restaurants with ‘menu
ouvrier’ boards inside 20 minutes from here. The largest is the Jardin
des Abers in Breles, with 50 or 60 long tables, all of which will be
full. Every street in the pretty village is lined with white vans for
the magic hour, then empty again. All
this consumption has to lead somewhere of course, and much of it leads
to the déchetterie, the rubbish tip. In England I recall trips to the
tip as chores to be accomplished as quickly as possible. Here there is
a social context too. Our déchetterie is cared for by Mr B, who comes
and checks your load as you arrive and points you towards the correct
receptacle – I think there must be a dozen or more choice, from used
batteries to garden waste. Once you’ve been there a couple of times you
become a regular and are greeted with a Bonjour and a hand-shake. I had
another little lesson this week when Mr B and I were both wearing our
leather work gloves: as I put out my hand he slipped his glove off –
too fast for me. I apologised for my gaffe –“Ce n’est pas grave.” OK,
but next time I’ll remember. The
trailer that I brought over from England draws much admiration: here in
a place where everyone has a trailer, mine has luxuries such as brakes.
I can guarantee that whilst I am struggling to offload yet another load
of garden waste onto the heap – that rain again – at least one person
will stroll casually past having a good look, then drop into
conversation about trailers and life in general. On one occasion they
went as far as to compliment my French – but I still didn’t offer to
sell. Bob
Janes and his wife Jane Revell divide their time between rural Brittany
and urban London – a tough choice. Bob is an occasional organisational
consultant and coach and an avowed internet tekkie. He enjoys having
choices about his life after 25 years in international business,
working in finance, strategy and change management. Jane is a writer,
teacher and trainer in personal development and English as a Foreign
Language. More at www.bobjanes.com and www.janerevell.com
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I still haven’t seen snow here though we’ve had our share of both hail
and sunshine today and it’s bitterly cold. Driving back from the
boulangerie this morning I could see down the hill to the sea – clear
dark blue but flecked with whitecaps. The boulangerie is one of the
social centres of Ploudalmézeau. Actually we have three boulangeries
here; I haven’t quite worked out how a town of fewer than 5,000 people
(according to last year’s Guide Rouge) can support three boulangeries
working flat out six days a week. Still, there is almost always a queue
and a chance to chat about the weather to someone else in line. Here it
sems the weather is every bit as much a topic of conversation as in
England. The ‘Méteo’ usually dismisses Brittany as ‘raining again’ and,
though that is far from universally true, there is enough to keep the
countryside very green throughout the year.
Alongside
the boulangeries we have two pharmacies – essential to the French way
of life – a scattering of bars and restaurants (sadly only open mostly
at weekends except in the summer or the school holidays), matched only
by the number of banks. And there is the market – Friday is market day.
The market is mostly about food, although there is also the ever
hopeful double-glazing salesman. I cannot imagine how so much food can
be consumed by those 5,000 people – there is fish (three stalls),
cheese (two or three), fruit & vegetables (half a dozen), cooked
food of all sorts (perhaps a dozen), and the rest. On a cold February
Friday there are perhaps 20 stalls, in the summer perhaps 50 or 60.
Shopping is done I’m sure, but also much conversation – it can take our
friends an hour or more to walk the hundred yards from the Hotel des
Voyageurs to the Maison de la Presse. We are still more in the English
mode of functional shopping and having to learn that all of life is
really a social event.
the boulangeries we have two pharmacies – essential to the French way
of life – a scattering of bars and restaurants (sadly only open mostly
at weekends except in the summer or the school holidays), matched only
by the number of banks. And there is the market – Friday is market day.
The market is mostly about food, although there is also the ever
hopeful double-glazing salesman. I cannot imagine how so much food can
be consumed by those 5,000 people – there is fish (three stalls),
cheese (two or three), fruit & vegetables (half a dozen), cooked
food of all sorts (perhaps a dozen), and the rest. On a cold February
Friday there are perhaps 20 stalls, in the summer perhaps 50 or 60.
Shopping is done I’m sure, but also much conversation – it can take our
friends an hour or more to walk the hundred yards from the Hotel des
Voyageurs to the Maison de la Presse. We are still more in the English
mode of functional shopping and having to learn that all of life is
really a social event.
If
the market is good for fresh food then the supermarkets are the source
of everything else – including much conversation and gossip in the warm
and dry. We have two of them: a medium-sized Leclerc, with its
startling blue showing up in the sky at night for miles around, and a
Casino, refurbished after a fire last summer. Casino is the smaller but
seems to be the haunt of the true Ploudalmézien, who can be disdainful
about the brash newness of Leclerc. (Leclerc moved from simpler
premises a few years ago; the old building remained empty for a while
but is now the home for the local Music School – just occasionally I
feel tempted to drop in and try the Breton bagpipes).
the market is good for fresh food then the supermarkets are the source
of everything else – including much conversation and gossip in the warm
and dry. We have two of them: a medium-sized Leclerc, with its
startling blue showing up in the sky at night for miles around, and a
Casino, refurbished after a fire last summer. Casino is the smaller but
seems to be the haunt of the true Ploudalmézien, who can be disdainful
about the brash newness of Leclerc. (Leclerc moved from simpler
premises a few years ago; the old building remained empty for a while
but is now the home for the local Music School – just occasionally I
feel tempted to drop in and try the Breton bagpipes).
Leclerc
also happens to have an excellent restaurant, not haute cuisine but
five courses of good wholesome food for 7€50. We went there on
Wednesday – early to avoid the queues; the restaurant regularly fills,
mostly with workmen, by 12:30. On offer were a salmon terrine, an
enormous plate of couscous, fruit yoghurt, cheese, wine, and coffee –
more than I can eat for lunch. The ‘menu ouvrier’ in its various forms
must still be one of the best bargains anywhere. I haven’t counted, but
offhand I can think of at least half a dozen restaurants with ‘menu
ouvrier’ boards inside 20 minutes from here. The largest is the Jardin
des Abers in Breles, with 50 or 60 long tables, all of which will be
full. Every street in the pretty village is lined with white vans for
the magic hour, then empty again.
also happens to have an excellent restaurant, not haute cuisine but
five courses of good wholesome food for 7€50. We went there on
Wednesday – early to avoid the queues; the restaurant regularly fills,
mostly with workmen, by 12:30. On offer were a salmon terrine, an
enormous plate of couscous, fruit yoghurt, cheese, wine, and coffee –
more than I can eat for lunch. The ‘menu ouvrier’ in its various forms
must still be one of the best bargains anywhere. I haven’t counted, but
offhand I can think of at least half a dozen restaurants with ‘menu
ouvrier’ boards inside 20 minutes from here. The largest is the Jardin
des Abers in Breles, with 50 or 60 long tables, all of which will be
full. Every street in the pretty village is lined with white vans for
the magic hour, then empty again.
All
this consumption has to lead somewhere of course, and much of it leads
to the déchetterie, the rubbish tip. In England I recall trips to the
tip as chores to be accomplished as quickly as possible. Here there is
a social context too. Our déchetterie is cared for by Mr B, who comes
and checks your load as you arrive and points you towards the correct
receptacle – I think there must be a dozen or more choice, from used
batteries to garden waste. Once you’ve been there a couple of times you
become a regular and are greeted with a Bonjour and a hand-shake. I had
another little lesson this week when Mr B and I were both wearing our
leather work gloves: as I put out my hand he slipped his glove off –
too fast for me. I apologised for my gaffe –“Ce n’est pas grave.” OK,
but next time I’ll remember.
this consumption has to lead somewhere of course, and much of it leads
to the déchetterie, the rubbish tip. In England I recall trips to the
tip as chores to be accomplished as quickly as possible. Here there is
a social context too. Our déchetterie is cared for by Mr B, who comes
and checks your load as you arrive and points you towards the correct
receptacle – I think there must be a dozen or more choice, from used
batteries to garden waste. Once you’ve been there a couple of times you
become a regular and are greeted with a Bonjour and a hand-shake. I had
another little lesson this week when Mr B and I were both wearing our
leather work gloves: as I put out my hand he slipped his glove off –
too fast for me. I apologised for my gaffe –“Ce n’est pas grave.” OK,
but next time I’ll remember.
The
trailer that I brought over from England draws much admiration: here in
a place where everyone has a trailer, mine has luxuries such as brakes.
I can guarantee that whilst I am struggling to offload yet another load
of garden waste onto the heap – that rain again – at least one person
will stroll casually past having a good look, then drop into
conversation about trailers and life in general. On one occasion they
went as far as to compliment my French – but I still didn’t offer to
sell.
trailer that I brought over from England draws much admiration: here in
a place where everyone has a trailer, mine has luxuries such as brakes.
I can guarantee that whilst I am struggling to offload yet another load
of garden waste onto the heap – that rain again – at least one person
will stroll casually past having a good look, then drop into
conversation about trailers and life in general. On one occasion they
went as far as to compliment my French – but I still didn’t offer to
sell.
Bob
Janes and his wife Jane Revell divide their time between rural Brittany
and urban London – a tough choice. Bob is an occasional organisational
consultant and coach and an avowed internet tekkie. He enjoys having
choices about his life after 25 years in international business,
working in finance, strategy and change management. Jane is a writer,
teacher and trainer in personal development and English as a Foreign
Language.
Janes and his wife Jane Revell divide their time between rural Brittany
and urban London – a tough choice. Bob is an occasional organisational
consultant and coach and an avowed internet tekkie. He enjoys having
choices about his life after 25 years in international business,
working in finance, strategy and change management. Jane is a writer,
teacher and trainer in personal development and English as a Foreign
Language.