I really should have spoken with that farmer....

Remember that post about the farmer who lived behind the apartment complex we used to live in?
Here it is if you're interested. In short, the farmer seemed to have magic fertilizer because his plants grew so fast it was incredible to me. He also had pigs. Loud loud pigs. At times it was scary. I am not sure if you've ever heard a pig screaming, but it is one of the more disturbing sounds I've ever heard. At first listen in fact, you're not entirely sure that the sound isn't coming from a small child. Blech.
I'll get to the point: in an ironic turn of events, the pig killed and ate the farmer. True story. Sad story. Horrifying in fact. I've been wanting to post about it for ages but what with no net at the house and all....
Here's the link to the article in the local paper.
In English, the 300 pound-ish pig charged the 77 year old farmer and knocked him down. She killed him. She ate part of his legs and head. The nephew of the farmer found him when it was too late and called the authorities.
How frickin' horrifying is that??????
And to think I laughed when the farmer was in our complex looking for that pig one time, when she got loose. Eeek. My heart went out to the family. What an awful awful experience. Gawd.

Road watching, a Guadeloupean pastime

I can't help but notice how the Guadeloupeans love more than anything (except champagne, did I mention the champagne consumption? More than in France mainland combined, our fair island)...to be by the side of the road and watch life pass by. Cars, people, animals...
A friend of mine and I discussed this not too long ago. She was intrigued like me. She had spoken with a local woman about this street-side phenomenon, and it seems, according to the woman, that back in the days of twenty or fewer cars on the island, people socialized mainly by saying hello to those who passed by the house via the road. With fewer cars, there was less moving around, so where you were situated dictated your level of social interaction. Logic would dictate that you build your house close to the road in order to not miss any of the action.

My friend also said she talked with an acquaintance who is currently involved in the purchase of some land with her family. The land has enough room for three houses. Her family offered her the land closest to the road - first choice - this was extremely nice from their point of view. She didn't go for it and of course they all called her crazy. Imagine? Being able to be essentially on the road and turning it down? How will she keep up with things? How will her friends remember to pick her up on the way downtown? Indeed.

Yeah, well, I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm drifting. Drifting between my American ways, involving and not limited to bringing my coffee cup (full) in my car with me in the morning on the way to work - and - being perfectly happy with the option of sitting on the porch watching the goats in the yard which overlooks the neighbors houses so I can watch what's going on. I know. It probably sounds like the equivalent to watching mosquitoes on bug lights in the deep south, but trust me....there's plenty to see.

The longer I'm here, the more I drift. The more I drift, the more I understand the enjoyment in things I flat out laughed at upon arrival. Seriously, when my friend asked me if I wanted to 'sit on the porch while you eat that banana and watch the goats?' I was shocked at my own rapid and genuinely enthusiastic response: 'Totally!' Hey, perhaps I'll soon be like the guys in their cars and trucks who I always seem to be behind on the road. You know, the ones who slow from 80k/hr to 0, stick their arm out the window in a seemingly pointless spot on the road, honk the horn, and wave and yell enthusiastically to their friend in the window or on the porch juuuust on the side of the road while they hold up thirty or so cars......
baaaaaaaaaa

We meet again, and this time, I'm employed. In France.

Thanks to the speed of Guadeloupe, I've all but entirely abandoned my post as blogger girl. We've moved - finally (insert under the breath compilation of curse words meant to drive home the essence of finally) to a new house in Guadeloupe. In fact we've been there for over a month, and my dreams of clacking away on my laptop on the sunny terrace have been pushed into the corner with the boxes we still have not unpacked. Apparently there are some necessary steps for getting internet at a new address in Guadeloupe, involving one where we wait for a letter from the internet company to arrive from Martinique so that we can then send it back, so that they can approve moving our internet service from the old house to the new. Really? Really. I may possibly have mentioned before the (lack of any) sense of urgency in Guadeloupe. Et, voila.
And so we wait.
It's been a good exercise really, because if we want to really use the net for an extended length of time, to research travel information for example, we need more than an iphone moving at the speed of Orange Caraibe. Generally speaking though, it's surprising what we don't miss once it's gone. I did however miss hurling my thoughts into the blog from time to time. I went old school and did some writing with a pen and paper. That was fun.

So we've got a new home, I got myself a car, and in a rather unceremonious sequence of events, I also got myself a job. I'm thrilled to have the job, and won't knock it for a second, but I will say that I was warned ahead of time about French administration, and boy were they right to warn me. I'll just say it's a bit like everything else in Guadeloupe - put on your patient hat. I'm able to write today because I've landed in Toulouse for some job training. Between Paris, where I changed planes, and Toulouse, I've already encountered two strangers who told me that I was the first American they've ever met who spoke French. I find this to be in contrast with the number of American people I know who speak French. Anyway, what still shocks me is that I get by with relative ease with the limited French I have, and I think that's pretty cool. A year ago I would have been hurting for communication in France.
It's nice to get this small blog blurb out of my system and onto the keyboard. But I really need to figure out what time it is, and where I should eat lunch. You know, the important things. Food and timing. Since I'm in the land of foie gras and other assorted duck products, I'm going to enjoy the local flavor and eat me some duck this week, preferably in or alongside some sort of red wine. Followed by something sinful and sweet which will not help with the size of my ass but I really could not care less this week. I'm in France! As my mother would say, "EAT SOMETHING!' I'll make you proud mom, really I will.