Showing posts with label Ariege. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ariege. Show all posts

Thursday, 5 March 2020

Nine hours

Sometimes so much can be absorbed in nine hours. The absorbing in this case was a 'weird stuff' road trip that Ezra (son) and I indulge in every so often. This blog has recorded many of them over years.
The weather was looking good - grey, damp, light rain maybe . . . After a bit of map perusal we set off in a Westerly direction to cover an area of the Ariege, previously uncharted - to us.
There is a French word - insolite, which I rather like; its meaning, odd, out of the way, unusual. These road trips usually reflect this word; sometimes intentionally - Ezra might have noticed a factory, dam, old mine or something else possibly interesting (in his mind), or it might just be a 'let's see what we happen upon' which Jane Austin might have said if she had taken part in an insolite horse and carriage road trip.

Photos from the day:


Former bureau and its doorbell sign




Part renovation on the far right side




captive taps within plane tree 


Wonderful old auberge with 15 euro menu


Their piano, bike and chair storage area




 Yes, a blue dog...


Not going anywhere...




Our route of the day highlighted in pink




















Thursday, 9 October 2014

Shall I compare thee . . .

to a well-organised (but not overly obsessive) wood pile. What could be more beautiful? To those who heat their house in this fashion would undoubtably agree; there's nothing quite like standing back and admiring the stacks of oak, rescued chunks of builder's planks, and branches cut from the previous years fruit tree pruning.
Now I just have to get the chimney swept. Sweeps are sought after here in September and October. Organised folk might have got the job done in the spring, but somehow the whole winter experience becomes lost with the first warmish evening and we move on to all the next season's jobs; the fire left full of last ashes and the chimney forgotten.
The first sweep I called had done the Aude region and was now moving onto the Ariege. The second arrived yesterday, took one glance and said: 'Non madame, c'est pas possible' - he had back ache and our particular type of 'insert' fire is complicated and heavy to deal with.
So back to the Pages Jaune . . . Success: Mr Bladel is coming on Saturday and has assured me that his health is fine and that any type of fire is no problem.
As the weather seems stuck firmly in late summer at the moment, fires, blanket and hot water bottles all seem mysterious things, but will no doubt all be soon revisited.