I've been awarded a new name.
Not that I don't already have enough names... but my two little twin nieces decided that "Antse" (which is my family nick-name) is too hard to pronounce and have thus christened me "Tatsin".
But that's only the smallest thing that happened. As I write this, a lovely old lady clears the table further to the entrance of this little café in a side street of the small French town of Moulins-sur-Ailles, a most delightful little French town, it must be said. Not that I know many little French towns, but I am quite sure this is one of the more delightful ones. And where else should a traveller like me go in such a delightful little French town, if not to the CYBER CAFE. It turns out, that I'm the only one using it for entering the cyberworld. Mostly, it is frequented by who I can only imagine have always (i.e. from before the time of its converstion into a cyber cafe) been its regulars. Wacky people, hill-billies they might be called in other parts of the world. In the four times I've been here I seem to have met most of them more than once. There's Tate, who tried to explain his name to me with "Tit for Tat". He appears like a really creapy man, with that oddly pervasive look in your direction and an occasional outburst of one or two weird German words, when he suddenly appears behind my shoulder as I type into my laptop. But he's lovely at heart, you know, that kind of guy. Seems to be a chess player and communicates with some German chess player, so I had to translate some phrases for him when I came in today, since he knows I'm German now (well, it seems everybody does - there was even a clique of guys sitting in the corner today who suddenly got the news and started shouting "Ich liebe dich!" at me - the sort of thing young people on the street in Damascus or Amman sometimes do...)
White plays and wins.
White plays and draws.
Black plays and wins.
Black plays and draws.
Weiss spielt und gewinnt.
Weiss spielt und gleicht aus.
Schwarz spielt und gewinnt.
Schwarz spielt und gleicht aus.
That was tough translation work.
Oh, and today he had a lady with him, probably his mother - very old, white hair and similarly creepy. Also lovely, though, I'm sure. I sat on a table a few meters away from the two. A while after he'd re-translated the German chess phrases for her into French, she walked toward the toilet, but then slowed down as she approached my table. She peeked over, then slowly shuffled to my side and stared at my screen. "Excuse-mois. Je suis curiouse, tres tres curiose."
Hmmm, and the others... There's also a guy who comes in with unkempt, long, greasy hair and a crust of blood that runs down his cheek from his temples. Looks like he's been through a lot. And one (in a white un-printed t-shirt), who's quite young, quite handsome and smiles so much that you end up thinking: how can he be one of those guys who are regulars in the cafe/pub on the corner? He smiles at me, obviously sorry that he can't speak English, then turns back to his beer.
Well, that's about it. But to be honest, Tate's the most exciting one of them. He even knew of Tate Gallery in London.
But even all that - a little world in itself - is not why I'm in France. For the last two weeks, a marvellously remote and anciently stylish chateau about 15km from this delightful little French town has been my abode. Well, not mine alone, but that of my 'whole' family - two dozen people and a dog. I haven't eaten so much cheese, meat, paté, tarte aux pommes and drank so much wine, pastis, martini, beer and eau de vie in many, many months. In fact, never before have I eaten that much in the short span of two weeks.
And all that during Ramadan...
