In Bordeaux I see head-scarfed gypsies, the younger ones begging and the older gypsies instructing them - as if allocating them targets. And there are students and bikes too. The photograph is outside one of the university buildings, but we found at least four parts to the university in different parts of the city.
The cyclists are all over, even in the market,
marche des Capucins, which people ride into , and load up shopping straight away, none of this nonsense about leaving the bike outside for somebody to nick while you stagger around with laden shopping baskets. Lots of women are on bikes. My husband notices them being more aggressive than men, demanding their rights to ride when a car or van blocks their path.
All races, white and various negro races, some very very black are here along with a few Asian women wearing Muslim head scarves. The Asian men are less obvious because they blend in with the dark haired brown eyed French men. The variety of races is revealed through the variety of restaurants: Moldovian, Japanese, a Spanish food stall in the market called
La Table de Don Quichotte with specialitiés de charcuteries du terroir Basque et Espagnol
This isn't just a city centre for the young and employed. Older retirees and mothers with buggies abound. I spoke to a mother with her 18 month old at a tram stop. She came from Portugal a couple of years ago when her husband got a permanent job here. In Portugal they'd both been working and still were struggling to pay for their house, but here in Bordeaux, she can stay at home and look after their children, and they can pay for their house here
and still have enough money to send home to pay for their house in Portugal.
One morning in a cafe we realised that everyone there was playing lotto including a couple of African men and some middle aged women. You had to choose your numbers and your bet, then validate your card at a machine and wait to see if your numbers came up on a screen. People were coming in to meet each other. One woman knew the cafe manager and introduced her grown up son - it was a thriving meeting place.
At an oyster bar in the market, someone cycled in with a boy of perhaps six years - who ran into the bar and hugged the manager. Perhaps, being Wednesday it wasn't a school day because even more young children arrived with their family and went behind the bar.
On the sunny Wednesday afternoon in a park the Jeune-Sapeurs-Pompiers-33 passed - around 30 of them, men and women carrying each other in fireman's lifts. Thirty-three is the number of the department and I guess these were trainee firemen, but some of them looked as young as 12 or 13. May be they're volunteers.
On Tuesday, outside the museum, a whole class of teenagers passed chattering along the street. I don't know why or where they're going or where they're coming from, but they're classes, not just groups of youngsters aimlessly walking.
This is the breath taking view from the top of the highest sand dune in Europe. Decades ago, I came here at midday and climbed to the top of the dune. I can still remember the heat and exhaustion of such a silly escapade. This time, I came at five in the afternoon, with a hat, and found that now there are steps to take you up to the top, so it's much easier.
