Typical Morning

Snowy winter's morning.

This time of year, sunrise is at 8:20. And by 8:00 every morning I see people walking to the town square where the local bread store is already doing a good business. Some drive their car and several ladies, they look like they must be in their 70's, ride their bicycles to pick up fresh bread. And now we often join them on these morning walks. I must say there is nothing like a fresh croissant and an espresso for breakfast. What could be more French?

The little town square. Our village of Bagnoles actually has two town squares, the  main square and this one near our house. It was originally a seperate town, Tesse la Madeleine, but in 2000 they merged together. Tesse la Madeleine was a town of craftsmen, but that's another story.

Local bread shop.

Writing begins at 9:00 and continues until 1:00 or until I run out of ideas. Four hours of writing leaves me feeling drained with a head full of mush and eyes that refuse to focus anymore. The restaurants stop serving lunch at 2:00, so we have to hurry if wish to eat out for lunch. Which we often do. It's a good excuse to get out of the house and see other people.
Then its back to the house to work on my Sci-Fi blog and Alice to work on her blog. Marketing is as important as what you write, so afternoons are reserved for checking our online ads, book sites, reviews, sales, comments, and email.
It's a great lifestyle and I only wish I had started writing sooner.

Returning home with our croissants.

Church Bells

It seems that every town in France, big or small, has a church with a bell tower. The largest church in Bagnoles is in the center of town. A grand building that sits high upon a hill, with stairs that seem to ascend to heaven itself.

In our neighborhood the church is only a block away. The stone building has a high bell tower that rises above the nearby buildings and can been seen even from beyond the city limits. It is a beautiful sight that can be admired from the window in our loft, where I have my office. I often look out at night and gaze upon the tower lit up in a majestic flood of light. The sky glows orange from the lights.

But the thing about bell towers is they have bells. And people that have bells, love to ring them. They ring them every hour on the hour. That’s fine with me. I enjoy hearing the bells as Alice and I take our walks around the little town. But ringing bells on the hour can be taken a little too far. Our church seems especially fond of ringing the bells at eight in the morning. Eight is the time when most people are going to work or getting up and preparing to go to work. But I often like to write late into the night. I also like to sleep late on Saturday morning, especially after a productive late night of writing.

This Saturday morning I was awakened by the sound of church bells ringing eight times, one for each hour. There are apparently two bells in our nearby church tower, a smaller one with a higher pitch and softer sound and a larger one with a deeper, louder “gong.” The smaller bell denotes the hour. The larger one is just for fun. I laid awake in bed, waiting for the bells to stop so I could continue my sleep. I counted the ringing of the bell for lack of anything else to think upon. One hundred twenty five (125) times the bell was struck. That’s not counting the dozen or so times it continued to swing as it slowly stopped swaying to and fro, the little bell clapper gonging lighter each time until it no longer struck the sides. Now it seems to me this is an excessive number of times to strike a bell at eight in the morning. French people do have alarm clocks and use them if needed. Noon would seem to be a better time to play with large, loud, bells, at least it would seem so to me. Or maybe five in the evening, so no one would forget to go home from work. But eight in the morning, especially a Saturday morning, seems like just excessive wear on an old bell. If it was intended to get everyone up, it succeeded with me. I got up and started a breakfast of eggs, ham (can't find American style bacon here) and two cups of coffee.

Foot Wear

Good Shoes

The importance of wearing adequate foot protection while sightseeing in Paris cannot be over stressed. The streets of Paris are rough uneven cobblestone in many places. Stairs are everywhere. The designers of the Metro are stair fanatics. What looks like a nice leisurely walk on a tour map can turn out to be miles of walking and climbing. Never wear new shoes that are not broken in, flip flops are a no-go, and never wear cowboy boots for a full weekend of walking in Paris. 

Car Plates

Plates

Today we got our new license plates for our car. When we purchased the car, Toni, at the dealership, took care of the registration for us. He entered all the information into his computer and all we had to do was wait until France mailed us a Gris Card. The Gris Card would be kept in the car at all times, in case a friendly police officer stopped us and wanted to see it. 

Once we had the Gris Card, we took it to the dealership and Toni made us a set of license plates. Yep, no trip to the local courthouse needed. The dealership makes the license plates right there in the garage. They consist of a plexiglass plate and a printed sticker sandwiched together. Toni took our Gris Card which had the assigned number on it and printed off two stickers, pressed them to the plastic plates and wahlah, new plates. The license plates are attached to the car with pop rivets, no fussy nuts and bolts, just drill out the old rivets and pop the new ones in. The mechanic had it done in no time. Since we have a bumper hitch on our car, Toni asked me if I would like an extra plate, in case I later get a trailer. “Sure,” was my reply, and in two minutes he handed me another plate.

Total time at the dealer to get our new plates and have them installed, ten minutes.