Market Day and the FSHC

Market Day and FSHC

 

There are moments in my life, and no doubt yours, when suddenly you look up and several days have passed. Other times each day comes and goes at pretty much the right speed. Time just flew by lately, and I am now telling you about an important event in my socio-political local life which took place a week ago. And I had assembled notes for a story about Market Day, which was four days ago. This afternoon I want to have a nice ride, as the sun is shining, it is dry, there is not too much wind. Turned out to be a lovely 28k ride, up a couple of hills. As I was writing this, I got interrupted by a Skype from a pal who is moving to somewhere in Normandy for a year. Time just goes by like that. On Sunday afternoon there was a pretty useful Fete de Recup, waste disposal, re-using, eco building, in the park just a short walk from my house. No time to tell that story.

 

So the meeting on Friday was excellent. It was well up to the most optimistic expectations any of us had. The context is the revitalisation project for the Social Forum. There are no other Social Forums within an hour and half drive, none even in Beziers or Montpellier. It is quite unusual for a town the size of Bedarieux to even dream of putting one on. I am the co-daddy of ours, although not always deeply active over the years. The Forum Social des Hauts Cantons (FSHC or just FS) was very quiet a year ago. An occasional event short event, maybe two a year, or co-sponsoring someone else’s event (we had some money left over). But no meetings of the organising committee, no plans to have another one, people just stopped after the last FS, at least on the organising committee as such. Although I forget exactly why, I took it upon myself to revitalise the FS and plan another one. It was not always fun, but it was a challenge. This most recent event was organised, partly by one new active person, as “the last attempt” to attract some new faces to the group (le Petit Comité) that does the actual basic organising work. Booking the rooms and places we need (there are 6-800 people who turn up). Finding people to organise the workshops, talks and demonstrations. That is easy enough since there are loads of people around here who can do workshops, but the basic organising takes precision and lots of time to fit them all in. Picking a few movies. We also need to hit up the Mayor for a few thousand euros too. Do publicity and print leaflets. And so forth. Before this event we simply did not have the personnel to do this base work. The FS was in doubt, it might not happen again, the group might fade away. Certainly if this meeting was not good, I would fade away from the FS. I would have said, nice try, but some organisations just die and get composted into the next movements or organisations.

 

BUT, I do love stories with good middles (the end is not yet in sight), the meeting was uplifting and quite exciting. There were about 40 people, and I didn’t even know half of them. In other words, not at all “the same old faces”. We had an animateur, who set up and guided the whole evening. It was a new experience for some, making a modelling clay model of “Democracy and Decroissance”. And then we answered questions by ourselves on a paper, and told the others in our small group how we had answered. We were all supposed to be with people we didn’t know, which was cool. I was with three older women, one of whose name I knew but that is it. And we chatted in between. Then we individually thought of the three most important things to do deep work about, suggestions on the wall, vote three times, once for each of your favourites. Very unusual chats going on constantly during this effort. Then work on the top four concepts or questions. That sort of thing. We never sat in rows, for that matter circles, only around tables which changed constantly. Then a fairly adequate pot-luck, and more chatting. Then some “traditional collective dancing music” by a fairly good live band. I didn’t dance, but next time I might try to get a guitar player pal who does classic rock and jazz, so I can dance. Still some people liked it, after all they are French and some of them wish to preserve their traditions. Finally, I added six names to the list for the Little Committee, the organisers. So maybe, possibly, if we get lucky, the FS might live again. That would make me very satisfied.

 

There is more to say. No doubt it will come later.

 

I often find that Market Day, the Monday morning between 9-12, is a good barometer of my quiet life here in the sticks. It is the only time of the week, perhaps excepting Saturday morning, when I can drift into the centre of town and have some sort of semi-spontaneous social events. Admittedly there is a backbone to the short time. The Attac informal ruling group sits down for a coffee every Monday from about 9.30 to 10-45, when they decamp and set up the Citizen’s Table in a central location from 11-12. This has been going on, almost without stop (no table in August, or if it is raining, for example), for over a decade. I used to have the key to a storage place and set it up for a year or two, when I was also President. Long ago. The informal meetings is needed because Attac is probably the liveliest and most active of all the groups in town. They do lots of projects. One member is also the Agenda 21 worker for the Mayor. He is a vital connection for work, ideas, support, and so forth. Also a source of conflict, but that comes in a later blog.

 

In addition, on Monday and Saturday, I ring up Yves on the way into town, see where he is, whether he has time for a coffee, and if so we sit and chat for half an hour or more. The rest of the time on Market Day, I wander around, looking for action. Last Monday I actually had a longer than normal chat with Elodie, who runs Le Local, the cafe, food, resto establishment, the “alternative” city centre hot spot. She knows a lot about what is going on and what people are thinking. I also had a moment when I chatted with one of our near neighbours, an older guy who goes swimming at the same time we do, in the summer. Excellent swimmer, also teaches ball room dancing for the old people’s association. He had a serious injury to his arm recently and is in rehabilitation. So we talked arms for a bit. In addition, I had an exceedingly short chat with Ute, the German architect, two kids, a woman who lives on the causse. Later, on the way home, I pass the cafe where the guy who writes in the Midi Libre hangs out almost every day. ML is the regional paper which covers the whole South up to Marseille. I had my first ever long chat with his son, who is a VERY keen cyclist. Way younger and fitter, I have never ridden with him. But we can still talk about bikes. He is a computer guy who works in Montpellier, but hangs at the cafe on Monday mornings. Early on this morning, I found out that Yves was not coming, but of course met him on the street, where he was doing a job. I miss our nearly weekly chats, but it does free up time for more semi-spontaneous social events. Oh yes, I leaned against a wall, out of the flow of traffic, and listened to a very good tenor sax player. He was sitting on his sound system which was playing rhythm (bass and drums as I recall), while he played live sax. I felt privileged, as he played mostly accessible jazz like things, none of them familiar. THAT was a real treat. Must hung out without moving for 15-20 minutes at least. I hope he comes back. Loads of people dropped money in the hat, so he might return if the weather is good. I forgot I also saw and chatted with two Anglo immigrant women who I often see on Market Day. We don’t have any other social relationship, although several common friends. But I always enjoy myself and I think they do too. We look for each other. Their trip into the Market is totally different than mine. But for a short period we share the space.

 

I love Market Day when it is sunny, warmish, not much wind, and the place is buzzing.

 

 

 

 

Seasons Changing

Seasons changing

 

It is definitely autumn now. I have raked the leaves under the ornamental plum three times now, and started filling in the leaf compost bin, which will vanish into the soil of the veg patch next spring. The leaves of the cherry and the Tree of Judea are beginning to come down. Two days of rain and today a heavy fog in the morning, indicate that the “Cevenol” effect is in action. The warm moist air from the Med gets blown up north to the Cevenne mountains, where it pisses down, eventually causing floods downstream, nearer to the sea. Mostly in places where greedy mayors allowed houses to be built in known flood plains so their tax budget would increase. I have just folded up my summer short sleeved shirts and will shortly tucked them under my bed in my plastic immigrant storage bags. Naturally they will be replaced by the winter gear, heavy jumpers and long sleeved shirts. It is a real plus in life to be able to live where I can have clothes for two seasons, and use the summer ones every year. I am constantly looking at the prairie we have (not really a lawn as such) calculating when to make the very last trim so it does not grow too much more and looks neat and tidy all winter. The meeting season is underway full scale. After the deep hibernation from June to September, the associations woke up, and the flow of meetings in October is full on.

 

For example, Attac organised a rather successful pique-nique last Saturday. Maybe forty people there at one time or another, a few kids, some partners, local bio sausages, with pretty good home- made tabouli, locally baked bread, organic of course, with some fine home made puddings. We had it at the picnic area of the newly refurbished Pierre Rabhi Park. Now Pierre Rabhi is someone who comes often to Bedarieux, our mayor likes him a lot. He is a “quite radical agro-activist” and writer, sadly not well known in the Anglo world, but he is worth knowing about. A bit of searching in English would be a very good idea, he is exceptional. http://cycloasis.org/partners/pierre-rabhi/ There is plenty of stuff in French about him or by him. Anyway the picnic was well timed on the day, which was a bit murky and fresh. Just about when everyone had dessert and several people had left (including me), the rain came down. The other notable feature of the picnic was that there were six people, SIX, who spoke English. One French guy, the professional cycling teacher I may have mentioned, a young German who I have never seen before, a kind of unusual American woman who seems to be back in the area after some travelling, an English alternative energy guy from a tiny hamlet who seems to be adopting Bedarieux as a place to be politically active. OK, five people. Rather unusual, and rather nice actually to drift past a conversation in English or even have the option to speak English. Of course, except for the American woman, they all speak French as well, sometimes I speak French with them. In fact, I had the intriguing experience to be talking to the English guy (whose French is really good) and a French guy, but when the French guy drifted off, we spoke in English immediately. Doesn’t happen much in my life here.

 

Then yesterday evening, Christophe, who is a militant in Attac, and also works for the Town Council on Agenda 21 (google) organised a meeting about “the energy transition”. Funny how that concept is popping up in France this last year. I know it is new because one of the most well-informed Attac militants was saying a month ago that she didn’t know what that meant, and had not heard it before. The notion of Transition Towns (Villes en Transition) is also growing a bit, with the “manual” having been translated into French. As yet, there are no overt signs of that particular movement in Bedarieux, but I know people know about it. This meeting was very well attended, sixty people maybe. Quite a spread of participants. Elected officials, middle class folks, activists, and people from the hills dress informally (and smelling like wood smoke in the winter). One thing I noticed very happily is that the two “experts”, one working for a group called Negawatt http://www.negawatt.org/ as well as an energy co-op http://www.enercoop.fr/ and the other working for a company that consults and organises projects, http://www.groupevaleco.com/ were well informed, knew the alternatives and were very matter of fact. This “transition” is no longer an idea, but a practical path. It was intriguing to me because back in the very early seventies when I started collecting material for my edited book on Radical Energy (there was no such book on earth at the time), most of this was speculation and a few experiments. I never finished the editing job, character flaw. Now you simply inform yourself a bit, order the products and set them up with or without professional aid Even in our lotissement (suburban stye development) there are two little windmills and several solar panel arrays. Back then, alternative energy was dreaming, and a few examples. The argument had not been won yet. But today, their expert responses to questions were simple, sane and without huge debate.

 

The first question was about how it is all capitalism and profit, and therefore somehow a plot. But, in response, the experts said they agreed, not trying to make that argument. A huge relief to me as I have heard it so many times before. Yes, one agreed agreed it could be just capitalism in disguise, but that is why they were a co-op with profits not given to shareholders, and that he agreed with the hostile guy who thought he was going to argue. The second expert even said hey, we make a living, 6% profit, although there were few who thought 6% was a big deal. And when another guy who is off grid completely asked a question, the experts also agreed with him as well. And even argued FOR people doing it themselves and being disconnected which they agreed was one strong possibility, even though not their choice. No fights, no shouting arguments, just how can we do it, this is how you can do it. For anyone who thinks there has been no change, I can tell you we have, over the years, done a lot. I am aware, and everyone else was, that most of the developments are funded by the state, and are executed by giant multinationals, with massive industrial windmills, purely for money. But there are now at least two sides, and two tendencies, and plenty of realistic plans. Industrial built in France or elsewhere line, admittedly the bits are made here, but the assembly is more likely in Spain, Denmark or Germany. Good meeting, followed by some nice pizza and lively chatter. Oh yes, there was a movie on Fukushima, which is a total disaster, getting worse, and I don’t want to watch it ever again.

 

Off to the Saturday Market, a much smaller one than Monday, but the products sold, maybe ten stands, are all organic and local. So what happened? First I had my customary coffee with Yves, my pal who is a joiner, locksmith, father of five. We often sit and chat for half and hour or an hour on a Saturday or Monday, unless one of us has something more important to do. We talked about his work,and also about rich people and the nature of money. A few words about the kids. Probably my best French pal. Passed by “the English table” too, while Yves was buying some veg at the organic stall. We chatted briefly about operations, cataracts, and not much else. There are four of them who are the core of this group, and they meet on Saturday and Monday. Sometimes another couple joins them, and today someone’s daughter popped by, I think they were visitors. I take less interest in visitors than I once did. Usually they don’t really have a clue what is going on, say things that I am tempted to reply to in a critical manner, and I probably won’t see them again. But maybe it was a nice English couple who lives here full-time, and I just don’t know them. Passed down the road to the organic local coffee shop (obviously the coffee is not local). On the way, I had a remarkable conversation with two of the ex-cyclists who no longer ride with the club. Usually I don’t talk much with them, but this time we had a rather long (ten minutes) discussion about the World Championships. I seldom talk about cycle racing with my cyclist pals, somehow it never happens. Many of them are not really fans of racing on TV, others are cynical about doping and dismiss the racing with a wave of a hand and motion resembling injections. Furthermore, it is clear, when I do talk, that they don’t really follow racing, they don’t even know all the French riders, and don’t seem to care much. Others just lecture me about what they know and dismiss my observations since I have never been a boy racer. Overall, it was rather unusual. My last semi-serious conversation was with a German woman whose French is impeccable. She is an architect, and lives on a farm on the causse above Bedarieux, husband grows grapes and makes wine. She helps right now, it is the season. She is a lovely woman really, smart, part of the vague alternative culture, nice kids who almost got taught some English by me, but the idea did not become a plan. She works at what she can, a very underemployed woman. I think she might speak English better than I speak French, but we seem to have got in the habit of speaking French. And as I left Le Local (see previous blogs), I saw my friend Michel, who I think must have a new girlfriend. At least he went to the Fukushima/energy meeting on Friday night with her, and she was there with him on Saturday morning. Could be his sister, I didn’t get introduced yet. He is slightly hard to get to know, or maybe he just doesn’t like me, but a nice guy. We have been in several groups together. He built himself a bio-eco house just above ours, and is currently doing one for another friend who is a very high level windmill specialist. It was a good Saturday at the market. Next report might be on the Monday market. I love Market Days, although I don’t actually buy anything.

 

 

Market Day

I go the market for at least an hour and half every Monday morning, no matter what. Unless I have something more important to do. Sometimes I squeeze in another thing, like a physio appointment, before I go to the market. As I come back for lunch, at about 12h15 (plus or minus 15minutes), I know how I am feeling about the experience. On a scale of ten, most market days are seven minimum, sometimes ten. Ten is when I leave thinking how glad I am to be alive, how satisfying it is to know my pals, and important it is to hang in the market, in my own evolving way. Lower than five is really disappointing, I usually leave early, as there is no one around and the weather is terrible. The Market Experience gets a five or six every six weeks.

When it all began ten years ago, I hardly spoke French. I knew almost nobody whatsoever. I thought the market was mostly for shopping. During all my holidays in France, I had always wanted to live some kind of cool French Market Day experience. I might have two or three commodity errands to do on Market Day, but mainly I go to hang out. It is the one time of the week, other than a pale copy on Saturday morning, when I can have the strong possibility of somewhat random encounters with people “in town for the market”. The rest of the week, the centre of town is really not very lively.

One routine that was disrupted today was buying my eggs from the usual egg guy, Jean-Claude. I might tell his story later, but in any case he seems to be quitting. I don’t like those kinds of changes. I am going to have to make a good new choice, or we are going to get organic eggs from Lidl.

But the main activity today was to say Meilleur Voeux to everyone whom I have missed since the New Year. We have until the end of January to do the jobwith “everyone”, but it is best to get it over with as soon as possible. So I went to see “the cyclists”, who inconveniently gather in many groups nowadays. Prior to a year or so ago, the cyclists would gather in one spot on the main street, in the heart of the market, depending on the sun and the wind. A cluster of older guys chatting animatedly. Now they are scattered all over town. All this is due to some kind of club conflict which I will tell you about in one of those long carefully-crafted analyses I promise you. Nowadays you can’t tell for sure where someone will be, an inconvenient fragmentation. With an exception or two, all the Market Day cyclists are retired. I never hang with them all morning, as I have other things to do.

I always pass by the “Citizen’s Stand”, managed by the local Attac group. The group has recently grown and revitalised, after stagnating under the influence of not very skilful person or two. Now there is still a rather dominating person or two, but the group is energetic. New people have been attracted. The group had had at least two big ups and downs since it started in 1998. I was once president of the group, in spite of terrible French, seven years ago. Back in 2002-4, I used to set up and manage the stand every day (unless I could not), in all four seasons. You will hear more about Attac, as I still go to meetings. More MV done. Longer chat with Jean-Claude, yes there are many Jean-Claudes, always.

In the middle of all this I also had a long chat about “death, ill health and dying in Bedarieux” with one of my immigrant pals. It reminded me of huge gaps in my local knowledge. The French try REALLY hard to keep old people in their own dwellings as long as possible. Then you go to a room or maybe a little flat (sometimes shared), then a nursing related room (sometimes shared), then the Alzheimer unit or medical unit bed. All this can happen locally. I am beginning to take more interest in where to live in the near future, especially in relation to getting older and medical care. I like talking with other Anglo immigrants though, the conversations are usually longer and range further from the utterly trivial (what is on British TV) to the profound. Immigrants also pass on tips about how to deal with the local environment, from the immigrant point of view.

I had a minor cultural triumph today. I had already exchanged Meilleur Voeux with a long-time political pal last week. You are supposed to remember every person you wished Happy New Year to, and NOT do it twice. It’s like shaking hands or giving a kiss to a person twice in the same day. Making a mistake like COULD indicate a certain kind of casual, uncaring automatisme. So as I approached “the political group”, I picked out the four I had seen last week, and distinguished them from the five who needed Meilleur Voeux. MV, MV, then came my (already done) pal. He stretched out his hand (I didn’t). Suddenly, he remembered. Too late. He laughed, apologised casually, agreed we had no need to do it again. With some other form of non-verbal communication he recognised my superior cultural behaviour, and I beamed. And moved on. Its like surprising some French person with a “bon soir” when they still say “bon jour”. But that is another linguistic and cultural story.

If I can’t “go to the market” where I next live, I will miss it.