By Alan McCullagh, April 2015 I'm having a nice cup of Barry's Tea in a Nicholas Mosse mug here in Orange, Vaucluse this evening - and I never drink tea. Yes, I know I'm becoming one of "those" ex-Pats. I'll just blame the self-reflexive effects of writing this and go back to my strong black coffee in the morning. I met my other (French) half back in summer 2002 in Dublin (queue Liam Reilly & Bagatelle). Our story began over a wayward cardigan button and a plea for help - with me gallantly responding with needle and thread at the ready. Our future together was sealed - or should that be sewn? Christelle spoke English with a tantalising mix of a half Kerry, half Galway and half Southern French accent (yes, I know...) Her English was so good that most of my family, upon first meeting her, took me briefly aside wanting to know where my *French* girlfriend was. This quality later came back to haunt her as at one point in her studies she was disapprovingly informed that she had a "non-standard" English accent. Apparently Hiberno-English was not considered to be on the same level as that of the Queen or US sit-com derivatives. I'm still most impressed even after all these years back in France that when she chats to old Kerry friends, I'm the one asking for translation. So we met in the Pale and "ma chère et tendre" brought me out beyond the Pale, back to France in her suitcase (or rather her left-wheel drive Peugeot 106 "Kid") for my first visit to the Deep South in September of that year. My Leaving Cert Honours French paled in comparison to my future wife's mastery of "the language of Shakespeare" at that point. In fact my rusted "Language of Molière" skills felt virtually non-existent as those carefully prepared French school discourses on the pros and cons of Nuclear Power weren't much use when asking to "please pass the salt" or when buying a baguette at the "boulangerie". Thankfully my future in-laws were also more-than capable and willing (which is perhaps more uncommon) to communicate in English with me whilst simultaneously encouraging me to make a maximum of effort to "switch the disks" to my Gallic host language. Having taken the ferry from Rosslare, we travelled the length of the country in the little car. In true student-style we took all the non-toll roads and even slept in the vehicle. We saw the beauty of France, off the beaten track, off the main thoroughfares of the Point A to Point B Autoroutes. As though to bid my welcome however, this first visit to Provence somehow drew the wrath of nature. Following a number of fine days we visited the nearby picturesque, hill-top, medieval fortress of Mornas. I vividly remember the first dousing droplets of rain falling and wondering "à l'irlandaise" when this unusually heavy shower would pass and sunny spells return. Climate shock began. Forty-eight hours later it was still pelting down in diluvian proportions for what was to be the worst episode of flooding in the region in a decade. In some places there was up to the equivalent of 8 months of rainfall in a period of 24 hours. To get back to Ireland, via the TGV train station in Avignon we had to literally "take the high road" in a Transit van as all the "low roads" were unpassable and the journey impossible by car. I strongly recall at one point passing by the village of Bedarrides and asking what the small twigs and leaves were poking out of the water in the neighbouring "lake". They were in fact the tops of the mature, grape-laden vines submerged by the deluge, a year's worth of effort and crops just awaiting the imminent "vendanges" grape-harvests which had been due to start within days. My studies at Trinity (with a time in Leuven, Belgium for Erasmus) and my girlfriend's studies in Avignon continued as we nurtured our long-term relationship. Christelle would complete her English masters' thesis on 'The Role of Women and Irish Feminism in the time of Independence' and I would later submit my final dissertation on 'The relationship of Church and State on the subject of Same-Sex Marriage'. But before completing that I was to have my "baptism of fire" to the southern French climate in the summer of 2003. And that will be my next story. To be continued...... |
|