Excitement washed away any concern that we felt when we saw
an older, stocky man with grey hair and moustache - somewhat resembling Ian 'Huey'
Hewitson - holding a hand-written sign that read: 'Mr and Mrs Hatfield'. He
must have been equally as happy to see us, as we were the last passengers to
pass through security.
This man, whose name I later found out was Michele, was very
quick to state that he doesn't speak English, yet advised that it would be an
hour and a quarter drive to Limoux, and we had to stop at the rugby league
office first to sign some papers. As it turned out, he could speak quite good
English, and turned into our translator later in the day when we met with
people who really couldn't speak English.
We had been on French soil for about 10 minutes when we
experienced our first moment of confusion. Michele had indicated to Marty that
he get into the front right seat of the car, only for Marty to respond with
concern, 'what, you want me to drive?'. Marty and Michele went back and forth
in their own languages, unable to make each other understand, until Marty decided
this didn't sound right and went over to the car to check it out. Surely
enough, the car was left-hand drive, and Marty had been invited to take the
front passenger seat. We couldn't help but laugh and put our ignorance down to exhaustion.
But we did wonder; if this was a cause for confusion, what were we really in
for? If only we knew...
Anyone who has ever driven with me knows how much of a
cautious driver I am. I also often express concern at Marty's driving, although
it isn't that bad. But I sure wish Marty was driving on the trip from Toulouse
to Limoux! The speed limit was 130km/h on the motorway, but sitting in the back
I had a clear view of the speedometer, which reached 170km/h at one point.
Although it wasn't just the speed which had me holding on for dear life; it was
the weaving in and out of the overtaking lane, and Michele answering his phone
multiple times to carry on in French. While the speed certainly ensured that we
made it to Limoux in great time, we were relieved to make it at all!
As we followed the road down from one of the lush, green
hills in the area, we could see a collection of terracotta rooves, and Michele
welcomed us to Limoux. It was beautiful and I was instantly in love with the
place. We could tell straight away that it was small, as Toulouse had been big,
with modern and industrial buildings; there was nothing like that to be seen
here.
We drove through the outskirts of the town and Michele pointed
out the Stade de Rugby: the Limoux Grizzlies' home ground. I was impressed with
the stadium considering the size of the town; a big, old grandstand stood along
one side of the field, which was the greenest colour of any sports field I have
ever seen. I was excited about watching Marty play at this field.
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| Le Matador |
Our first stop in Limoux was a small hole-in-the-wall bar
called Le Matador, which was appropriately decked out in Spanish bull riding
paraphernalia. We met the managers of the Limoux Rugby Treize football club,
all five of them! Turns out that the club is run by the prominent businessmen
in town, some of whom speak English, but most don't.
The managers were all very happy to see Marty, or as they
were calling him, 'Martin John', and were impressed by his height. As they all
stood around the bar drinking their petite glasses of sparkling white wine,
they asked us if we would like a drink.
Marty's first response, perhaps instinct after so many years
of playing footy, was to ask Michele if he had training that night, and after
being given the all-clear, he asked for a beer. The French men broke out in
laughter and gave us both our own small glass of what they were having,
boasting that it was the best in the world - called Blanquette - made right
here in Limoux. While I normally wouldn't choose to consume alcohol in the
middle of a regular Wednesday, this was definitely worth drinking, and we soon
had our petite glasses filled up.
It was around the end of our second glass of Blanquette that
Marty and I looked at each other and said 'this is going to be great!' We
instantly felt their hospitality and like the chances we had taken to get there
might just pay off. Of course, we had this little conversation to ourselves,
knowing that no one would understand us anyway.
After our second glass of Blanquette, and many failed
attempts to communicate, we were invited to sit down at a table set for six to
join some of the managers for lunch. This was our first meal in France, and
despite what we had been told about bread and wine and great food, none of that
could have prepared us for what we were about to experience.
As I had declined another glass of Blanquette, my wine glass
was filled with red wine to have with lunch. I didn't want to be rude at our
first meeting, so at a standard Wednesday lunch, I enjoyed a glass of wine with
my meal...
We were each served a plate of salade verte (green salad)
with a drizzle of olive oil and a savoury pastry. While this might not be very
appetising in Australia - a plate of salad leaves with no other salad - the flavour
of the oil made it so delicious, I could have had more. And the pastry was
fantastic; our first French pastry.
As we sat back, having finished our salad and pastry and
sipping on our wine, we were served our second course. We were told we would be
having steak and potatoes for lunch, but were served steak and chips! As it
turns out, this is a standard meal on most menus, so when in doubt, Marty can
always order his favourite.
As the two Aussies sat with steak and chips in front of us,
our French dining partners were served an interesting meal of plain pasta and
some sort of round meat balls on the side. When we questioned, out of
curiosity, what they were, we were both instantly given some to try. When cut
open they appeared to be a mixture of meat products that had been rolled up in
skin and cooked, perhaps deep fried. They tasted very salty, and from what we
could understand, they were made of pork; which bits of pork we may never know!
Just as we felt full and satisfied with our lunch, the third
course was placed in front of us; a slice of a rich mousse cake. The looks on
our faces must have conveyed our surprise at a third
course for a mid-week pub lunch, as the waitress and bar owner laughed along
with us. Needless to say, we ate every last bit of it, and enjoyed it
thoroughly.
During lunch we were introduced to two other Australian
players that had been in Limoux for five seasons, Sam and Phil. These boys
could speak French, communicating with our hosts and advising us that our
apartment wasn't ready yet so we would be staying in a hotel for the night, and that Sam would be back to
pick us up later and show us around. We could never have anticipated how lucky
we were to have a couple of fellow foreigners to help us out, communicate for
us, and give us some tips on life in Limoux.
 |
| The fountain in the Town Square |
We went into the town square with Sam, and met up with Phil.
When I saw the fountain for the first time, I instantly recognised the town
square from photos of Limoux that I had Googled. It was a beautiful warm and
sunny day; there were people walking around everywhere, and the cafes were
sprawled out into the square with people enjoying cold glasses of beer and
Blanquette instead of coffee. Sam offered Marty a demi peche - peach-flavoured
beer - which is a popular drink, and a nice fruity alternative to natural beer.
After two rounds of demi peche and Blanquette (well, I am in
France now), we accompanied Sam to a few local stores to start to feel our way
around, just observing him as he chatted away to the store people in French. We
spent the afternoon this way, just chilling out at the Commerce Cafe and taking
in what Phil said would be one of the last few days of warm weather. As it
turned out, he was right.
At 5pm we checked into our hotel, which is run by a strong
supporter of the Grizzlies. The hotel consisted of five rooms above a bar and
cafe on a corner of the town square. Our room was on the second floor, up two
old spiral staircases, and was small, but warm. We were just happy to have a
shower and beds to sleep in! We opened the small window at the end of the room
to see the stone walls of the town's gothic-style cathedral just metres away,
and above that were the gargoyles that protruded from the top of the walls. So
much history was right there - I couldn't wait to get out and explore it.
But not that night; by 5.30pm I was fast asleep. I didn't
realise how tired I was until the next day, when I woke at around 7.30am. Turns
out Marty had also turned in early, around 6.30pm. With a good night's sleep
under our belt, we began our day with a breakfast provided by the hotel;
croissant and baguette with jam, no butter. Again, it was delicious. There was
something about eating the pastries here; I don't know yet if it actually
tastes better, or if it is just because we are in France! I will keep
investigating and report on this later...
Thursday consisted of a lot of important men talking French
and organising our lives. Marty signed contracts, and we met more of the
managers of the club, including the co-Presidents. One of the co-Presidents
took us to the nearby town of Carcassonne to organise Marty's visa. What a
relief this moment was! For all the stress we had been through trying to get
the visa, it took about ten minutes in Carcassonne to put the stamp in Marty's
passport. We were told that they made an exception for Marty's situation, and
he could play for the Limoux Grizzlies on Sunday.
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| Limoux, on the river Aude |
Our first 24 hours in France were such a whirlwind. Even as
I write this to recount our experience, I can hardly believe that it all
happened. So much is happening every day as we settle into our lives here, with
so much to learn about the country we call home for now and the people that
have embraced us here. We are excited by the opportunity to experience it all!
This article was written shortly after we arrived in France, to recount our first 24 hours in the country.
This article was written shortly after we arrived in France, to recount our first 24 hours in the country.
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