WINTER BIKING TOUR IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

This morning, a cloudless sky and the thermometer well below freezing level. Over here, at 550 m (about 1700 feet) that inaugurates a splendid dry winter day ideally suited for some biking.

I always owned a bike, but only last year I finally managed to get a real good one, a 24 gear hybrid with disk brakes for the front wheel. Pure bliss!

Over here, we have a lot of tarmac roads, narrow but well kept. Our village is small, 250 people it seems, hamlets included. That was not always so. In 1850 there lived here about 1200. The first hamlet I try to reach is "Les Vigues", not far away but high up. Heavy going, first gear. The old house on the left would be great for a museum but it is occupied. I would like to have a look inside but how to get invited?
1 Hamlet called "Les Vigues"

Right near this place I pass by this abandoned saw mill. Please admire the roof. On the left side
it has no supporting structure - never had since I came here - and nevertheless, the roof does not collapse. A miracle. The owner died two or three years ago. He was my first and last local enemy. Never greeted me when I met him. That was due to the fact that in the first year of our coming here he supplied me with wet firewood. So the next year I looked for someone else. He did not like it.

2 Abandoned saw mill - don't miss the roof


The road continues to climb. All around nothing but fields for the cows. Don't know how many are here but certainly two or three times more than humans. These cows are special because of their red-brown color. Very hardy, most stay outside night and day, winter and summer.
They are called "Salers", special breed only existing here in Cantal region of Central France. Have a look, see photo N° 4.



N° 3 Dirt road near "les Fraux"

This pic N°3 is only shown because I like it. Don't go there, this time, the ground must be a little muddy. In winter I am a tarmac lover.

Having passed this dirt road, I reach the top, nearly 100 m (350 feet) above the village. I am sweating profusely because of two pullovers plus one anorak. Must wear this because when racing down, the wind will be icy. The Département of Cantal has nothing but ups and downs, ups and downs. The biking fool is continually sweating, respiration wheezing followed by downhill racing where you feel the cold.

N° 4 Salers cows in front of the Cantal Mountains

Pic N° 4 shows the highest point of the village surroundings. Those mountains are good for skiing, cross country and alpine. One hours' drive and I am there. But not now. Down we go but not too fast. Because, over here, it's not only up and down but continually turning.
Except the main roads, nothing is straight. Fortunately I have a disk brake on the front wheel, a great invention.

When living in Paris and going to work on my bike, my Peugeot cycle was equipped with those crappy rim brakes. The bowden cables broke every three months and in the cycle shop they explained to me that this is normal. Those cables are wear and tear I was told. I put Peugeot on my personal black list and wowed never to buy from them anything else. No bike, no car, no household appliance. Nothing.

N° 5 The road to Pleaux


Pic N° 5 shows a road pretending to be horizontal. But it isn't. And please admire those sign posts. Some show the distance, others not, some give you the road number others not. Don't know why, nobody knows, could be a state secret.

This main road is reasonably straight. They have been doing there some serious road ironing. When biking along, I see right and left portions of the old small ever bending country road. The tarmac is slowly eaten up by weed and I imagine in 20 years from now those bends have disappeared from sight. Could be food for archaeologists, thousand years from now. Opening up this old road with the help of a tooth brush............

N° 6 The village of Cros de Monvert


This is our neighbor village. Nearly as dead as Rouffiac but only nearly. Because we have a pub!
In fact it's the only one in the area and thus attracts rural boozers from everywhere. The place is at the same time a restaurant but the food is ghastly. Don't dare to tell more about it, lawyers may be lurking to make some quick buck on me for slander.

This one is a bit long (I mean this story). The last 4 or 5 km till home feature one long uphill and a steep downhill. Photo N° 7 shows the deepest spot between our two villages. In winter the sun never shines here.
N°7 From here it's uphill, either side. Always slippery


Plus a place where ferocious farm dogs race along with me. Trouble is this portion is uphill! The dogs run and I try to go fast. Next time I'll bring my alarm pistol with me. It makes a big noise and I hope they run away, those barking devils. I'll tell you the outcome, stay tuned.

Here, at the end, a sample of the local dance "La Bourrée".

THE CREATION - REALLY SO GOOD?

In the first pages of the Bible - the Genesis - the creation of everything is being explained as if it all happened in six days.

Each day ends with the words "God saw that it was good". And at the end of the sixth day - marking the end of the creation - He he even said: "God saw all that he had made and behold, it was very good".

Well, I do not agree with that and try to explain why.

Looking around and looking up at the sky, night or day, one must admit: everything works smoothly. But it is far from being optimized. I mean we all live in a kind of crocodile creation. Mister Big feeds on Mister Small. That goes for ants and for cats and especially for us, you and me.

If you can, you devour those who cannot help it without having much qualms about it. Eaten or being eaten: that is the motor of all that is living, crawling and growing on Mother Earth.

And if you look up at the sky, at those stars sparkling so peacefully above, the same script prevails. There are those black holes gobbling up everything in the vicinity. And even our sun will not warm us dutifully for ever. In some billion years she will explode and roast the whole system. No mercy here either.

That's what I call the crocodile creation. It works, true, but only at the price of immense suffering at absolutely all levels.

CHRISTMAS - TO MORE DAYS TO GO

Merry Christmas to all of us. Let it happen, everywhere.

And for the next year AD 2008?
Best wishes? Lots of everything?
Let's be open for surprises!

ABOUT HUNTING

Sunday afternoon, blazing sunshine, we are walking through the forest on one of those GR hiking food paths, crisscrossing France from east to west and from north to south. We are not alone in this oak forest. A guy all clad in dark green but with a shining red cap stops us: "be careful", he tells us, "pay attention! This is hunting period and they are shooting with real bullets".

I loath hunters, I dislike them, I hate them. But hypocritically I keep those sentiments to myself.

I only say, politely as hell: "well, as far as I know, it's up to the hunters to be careful. We are just walking on this hiking path". Let's not forget my golden sens of humour and I add to make him smile: "I hope all your shortsighted colleagues are wearing specs and have a look before shooting".

He does not smile, he just stares at me as we walk on.

Being a hunter these days means, you are killing for pleasure and in total safety for yourself. Hunting is a kind of sport, it seems.

Hunting season. You get up in the morning, too early for telly. So what to do? Let's do some killing, great fun, no danger involved. The boars, the rabbits, the stags, the pigeons are not armed.

Imagine all those little and big animals outfitted with rifles, even little submachine guns. I bet all those hardy sportsmen would prefer to stay at home or gather around the billiard table, boozing in safety.

Or what about sending all those game killers to places where shooting is important if our hunter wants to stay alive? I imagine a hunter asking for a hunting permit "You want to hunt?"
"No problem", he is being told, "in order to get this permit you must engage for one year in active warfare. For the moment, this means you would be on service in Iraq or Afghanistan".

I imagine our happy weekend killers would think twice before going for places were hunting means always being hunted, too.

That's my dream.

MOUSE IN THE HOUSE

We have two cats living with us in the house. There is Mitsi the female stalker hunter and big heavyweight Katzi. Is he hunting, too? I am not sure about that. During daytime, when he is not sleeping, he follows my wife and gives her those tragic looks of total love.

Mice are aplenty here. Must be. They are basic fare for barn-owls, called white lady in French, for the buzzards, other owls of all kind and naturally for the dozens of village cats that are generally kept but not fed by the local farmers.

If God has created mice he must have done so just to supply food to scores of other more fortunate animals. Thanks therefore for not having been created on that precise part of the food chain. Thank you.

Well, that's not the subject but it might be useful to give it some thought.

So, with our two predators over here, mice don't have a chance. Nearly every morning I find some dead and/or mutilated corpses on the premises.

Unfortunately, the situation changes when it rains at night. Cats don't like water . Without being sure, I think rain does not keep them from hunting but they prefer to have dinner in dry places, meaning here in this house. And as everybody knows, cats like to play, fooling around with the dinner prior to eating it.

Next morning of a rainy day, I find Katzi and Mitsi sitting in front of a bookshelf or another piece of furniture. Miaw, miaow miaow or mie, mie, mie, meaning mousy has escaped from the playground and is now in hiding.

At this precise moment, my wife swings into action. She is a great hunter, too. Mousy has no chance. As a indoor hunter, she does not carry a gun but but a dish towel plus sometimes a coat hanger or a broom stick. Boum, the towel zeros in on the little beast and some seconds later it is wrapped in and carried out of the house. Second chance for the mouse to go on living a mousy life. Or get caught again by our two home predators.

Katzi and Mitsi are mere onlookers at that stage. For them, towel hunting is far too fast. The mouse is already back to nature for a considerable time and our cats are still prowling in front of the book shelf looking for the vanished mouse.

As to me, I am just onlooker. Like any male lion (I am born in August) I don't hunt but get a share of the food.

Heating the house

We had a rotten summer over here in Cantal, a splendid September/October and now, instead of going through a peaceful automn, nature kickstarted winter time.

Low peaks were -9°C and my wife clamours for winter tyres on her car (Its my job to fix them). Global warming is bypassing us and has been replaced by something I would call global chaos weather.

The entire house is heated by wood, the electric wall heaters are only for emergency use or in the bathroom, in the morning.

The main idea of this text is to pay homage to the kind of heating generated by oak logs. The place is warm but it is NOT the warmth you get from a central heating system.

This warmth is like a winter kiss, gentle and firm. Wood heat radiates right through you and those everchanging flames behind the glass wall makes you feel splendid. In fact, the feeling is difficult to explain, like colour to a blind.

Here is a photo of our insert and I hope everybody appreciates those drying babushkas on top. They are the cherry on the cake.

Late in the evening, I let the fire die out. In order to achieve this I shift all the burning stuff in the middle and that gives rise to a kind of small size fireworks.

I am so glad we have this instead of the central heating system I knew all my life in Berlin, Brussels and Paris.

ON STRIKE

The first strikes happened in Europe - as far as I know - around 1850 and the main reason was the same as the one that occurred in ancient Egypt, more than 3000 years ago "we are hungry".

Right now, here in France, all the public transport has come to a standstill, trains, subways, buses.

The reason for this is quite clear: these transport people have a special pension scheme. They retire at 50 or 55 and get a pension equivalent to 100 percent of their last salary. The money for this comes from taxes meaning from all those other working people who retire at 60/65 and get 50 to 70 percent of their last salary.

During the electoral campaign, The newly elected French president promised to end this situation and now he is trying to implement this. Thus the strike.

In Germany we have a strike of the train conductors, freight trains and passenger trains. Those conductors created first a trade union for themselves and now ask for a 30 percent rise of salary. The German Railway refused, thus the strike.

Has this anything to do with "we are hungry"? I don't think so. This is pure blackmail carried out by a group of people who happen to own something like a "joker".

On the French and the German telly, I see the faces of these trade union bosses. I see glee and triumph there, kind of "fuck you, we shall overcome". "We'll get you, shell out the money or kick the bucket."

That is what I see on their faces. If the country comes to its knees, they don't care. They want the money and pronto, a soft life for their members, featherbedding paid by others who work harder and longer.

ON HYPOCRISY

This goes on for months and months. Nearly every day we are being told by our faithful media how big efforts are being deployed to prevent the Mullah regime in Iran to develop the Atom Bomb. This big mushroom explosive that could terminate human species.

The Americans talk to the British who talk to the Chinese who consult the Russians who speak to the French and they are all of the same opinion: the Iranians should not be allowed to develop the Atom Bomb. No Sir. Far too dangerous, they could use it. Or better, it is even sure they would use the Atom Bomb. Because those Iranians they are not such good and honorable people as we are, they are not feeling so responsible as we do!

It's such a pleasure to hear from all these responsible nations and people how hard they are working to prevent humanity to destroy itself via the Iranians.

However, all these months I am waiting to hear from one of those humanitarians this: in order to give an example, we are destroying our own Atom Bombs stockpiled at home.

LONG LIFE - BE AN OPTIMIST

Some days ago I saw an article at Frieda's blog INSPIRE, MOVE & TOUCH that made me think ever since. She mentioned a book "Health at 100" where it is said that people with positive outlook live longer than negative oriented.

Reading this the normal question is to which category I belong. According to my wife I am p. but as to me and myself, I feel I am both, it just depends on the situation and what is going on.

Being negative means you think no good comes out of this or that. Next, it gives you the impression to understand fully what is going on without dreaming about a happy fairy tale ending.

Here is a poem from Bertold Brecht that illustrates the idea (my translation - I do hope it still has some meaning)

I have to admit: I don't have any hope.
The blind talk about a way out.
I see.

When all errors have been used up
The last companion sitting in front of you
Is nothingness.

That's not black, it's bleak and in fact he made it only till 58. So be warned.

A positive attitude towards life could certainly be illustrated by the famous words said by Martin Luther nearly 500 years ago:

Who loves not woman, wine and song,
Remains a fool his whole life long.

This guy loved life, don't you think? Here is another one from Martin Luther (the one who lived 500 years ago, not the one who was killed in the sixties):

If I would know doomsday coming tomorrow, I would still plant an apple tree today.

Last not least, let me tell a little joke. A patient came to his doctor and said:

"Doctor, I wish to live till 100 and in perfect health". And the doctor : "well, do you smoke?"
"No "
"Do you drink?"
"No"
"Women"
"No"
"Well", said the doctor, "you might live that long but just tell me WHY"

Monarchical republics

In school we were told that in a kingdom you have king (sometimes a queen) who gets the job by birth and in a republic the president and/or the prime minister is chosen by the voters.

At those happy times nothing was ever said about those strange hybrids we can see nowadays, in many countries.

First, you have the species called "President for life". You get the top job and you keep it. Sure, there are elections, but................... A good example is Egypt.

Second, like in a good old kingdom the little one succeeds papa. As far as I know, there are two countries Syria in the Middle East and North Korea, just above South Korea.

Those two, however, play in different leagues. When papa died in Syria, the son was an eye doctor in London and I imagine it was not that easy to adopt. But he made it and it appears he has learned his trade and is doing quite well. In North Korea the succession to the "throne" was further hampered by the fact that the country is a communist one . Till now, the commies always killed their last king - when they could get him - or sent him and his family into exile.
Thus I think North Korea merits amply our admiration, they established the first communist monarchy.

Once you have a royal family in a country you get the aristocracy into the bargain. Or the other way round. The nobles choose the king among them. But there is a big republic - the United States of America - where the top jobs seem to be family business. In this country the family president is not called George I and George II but modestly - it's a republic - N° 41 and N° 43.
And in this family pool is another fish swimming who might be one day.......... For the moment, he is just governing a subtropical southern state of the Union.

All this can be called happy diversity of human behavior. It enriches us and them.

I should have added a photo, as I do most of the time. Any suggestions what to show??