Crows of France

 

In the interest of harmonic balance I am in this turn obliged to speak positively about some feature of France. And for today I have chosen:

Birds.

This is not all birds of course. Birds don't generally observe nations, and usually to speak positively of birds somewhere is to speak positively of them everywhere. The most ubiquitous birds here are the seagulls and the pigeons, and I would describe them as charming, filthy, hilarious, obnoxious, occasionally terrifying, feisty, and delightful, but most of all... pretty much the same as they are everywhere.

Would you like a picture of a bird?

Okay. Here is a seagull to start with.

Heroic, no?

You're right. Not particularly heroic, but suitable for framing!

But what about the less common birds. There are a couple of mostly white parrots that live on a 4th or 5th floor balcony down the street from us, and they are absolutely fucking insane. Screeching, talking, aye screaming with strange piercing shrills, they are on the one hand always hilarious and on the other hand a reminder that there could be even worse neighbors than some of the ones we have had here (maybe I'll tell you about that one day when I'm allowed a turn complaining again). I thank god we do not live on the particular block whith those parrots. They are surely a menace! But merely walking by them regularly we are free to delight in them at our ease, and we do. There are also occasional sightings here (like by me, this evening!) of rose-ringed parakeets who are a fantastic green color, and not actually native to the area. They are escapees or released captive birds who have established colonies here. And these are great, but again, not my point.

My point, actually, is the crows.

Now crows have culture!

And these French crows are just, I don't know, I can't explain... I think I just like them better!

In Minnesota I did love the squawking murders of crows that regularly visited my neighborhood, but I never had much success breaking through all their ferocious independence. They were all absorbed in their own bustling scene, and a bit pristine about their distance. I've only recently begun seeing these French crows more, and I find them very easy to hang out with. They are smaller, more thoughtful, and kind of quietly interested.

Plus, it turns out they're special!

I looked them up. The common type of crow around here is all black and called a carrion crow. But there is another crow that is not at all common here called the hooded crow, and that crow isn't just black. I've seen pictures of them and they're striking with their gray and black. 

These hooded crows are more common in Italy and Eastern Europe, but we are nearish to the edge of their range.

Now, if you'll notice...

Hey, wait! 

I haven't shown you any of these crow pictures from the beach. So here:

So now, if you'll notice, this isn't the all black of the carrion crow, is it? But also, the hooded crows have way more gray than these guys.

These crows are hybrids!

Corneilles hybrides!

They are from an interbreeding between the two related types as has been documented in a French Ornithological study. There are some here, and in a couple of other beach towns nearby. So these aren't carrion crows or hooded crows, they're both!

And they are just the nicest sorts of crows, you know? We have been seeing them in the local villa garden we walk through more often these days. And I actually recognized one that I had taken a picture of in the garden yesterday as it joined us on the beach! Which makes sense since the beach was extremely nearby.

My darling wife and I hung out by the ocean together with the crows for a lovely little while. I took pictures of them and they didn't mind at all. The waves crashed, strange smells drifted out of the undersewer river, and the crows foraged in its clear waters among the pebbles.

It was a nice time. And then we walked home, they flew off, and the cool Autumn night fell.

Complaining about France

 

Since my arrival in this country I have felt it was best to temper my complaints about it. I am well aware that one, especially if that one is me, can, by giving voice to grievance, get a little carried away with it. While on the one hand I feel that complaining about France could conceivably erode our ability to stay and be happy here, on the other hand it might be quite the French thing to do! Everyone is always complaining here. I mean except for when they're talking about how great it is.

I'm actually saying I can relate!

So maybe I'll just make sure to alternate: Wax eloquent? Then a bitter screed would certainly be acceptable. Bitter screed? Then surely I can say something nice next time. Like, there's always the cheese. Or to be less cliched, there's always the unnerving but kind of fun way everyone is always saying "goodbye" like three times. I'm pretty sure I could work that into a positive post.

And what's my giant beef with France anyway? It really isn't any of that obvious stuff everyone's always going on about; the bureaucracy, the lack of creativity, the judgementalism. Whatever, that's like going for a swim in the sea and complaining about the fishes! My real complaint, aye the great and horrible disaster of France is both tempered and horrible, and it is so strange that my very suggestion of it elicits nothing but resistance back where I come from, pronouncing a great gulf of misunderstanding back where most of the people I know still are. I imagine it would offend the French horribly as well. But here it is:

France is an awful lot like America.

I'll try to say something nice next time.

Bonne journee. 

Au revoir.

A bientot.

Halloween in France

 

Yes, Halloween is a thing here in France too. In the morning costumed little kids (Harry Potter! The Little Matchstick Girl! A Karate Kid) were actually going into shops for candy. The candy didn't look too impressive though. Little commercial packages of something colorful? Certainly none of that fancy stuff from the local chocalatiers. This evening, in the wine bar we were drinking wine in, the bar's little dog barked at some trick or treaters, but eventually some wee revelers came in only to find the man there had no candy and did not feel comfortable giving them alcohol or meat. They seemed to take it in course. There are many places here that are decorated for the day as well, but all of the ones that are have a sort of French restraint to it, just one large web full of spiders, not two, which would suggest an overzealousness the neighbors might sniff at. It's all nice to see, but nothing to sweep me away. A local museum with gardens we now regularly visit is all lit up at night in a very spooky glowing green color, but I am honestly not sure whether that is a Halloween special lighting, or just how they roll.

So with all that, I have been helping myself to some extra Halloween feeling by pumping up some of my photographs with "Halloweeniness", but I'd say it has brought back mixed results and I have shifting feelings about these images. I'd say it's maybe a bit too grand a town for a proper Halloweeen feel. I don't know what you'd say, since you don't say much.

"What do you mean" you say. "I talk all the time in clerkmanifesto!"

Oh, right. Sorry. My bad.

You'd say "I don't know. I kind of like them, especially when you start adding in the rabbit witch (sorciere lapin!), one of your more complicated and enigmatic characters."

Oh, good, then I'm glad I'm including them.

Some of these pictures are of a church where not that long ago a religiously crazed man famously went and stabbed a bunch of people. I guess that's the kind of thing that's almost Halloween, but isn't? I think it would have to have been a hundred years ago, and include ghostly reappearances for it to go properly Halloween. Now it's just tragic fundamentalism. This fresh in the history it's a horrifying anecdote and is missing the required spooky cozy chill. 

It needs that fictional quality.

But it's worth noting it, don't you think?

You consider this, but quietly and thoughtfully.

"No, no." I say. That counts as talking too.

The other roll of film

I am not accustomed to voluable, passionate responses to clerkmanifesto posts, but yesterday's introductory comments to my photos of the Villa Ephrussi lit the Internet on fire!

This may or may not be why the Internet is now a burnt, smoking husk of itself.

But hey, I'm still here on my own Internet! And I am sorting through the thousands of comments on my piece "The roll of film from a fancy french garden estate". 

I am trying to respond to them all, but there are so many! 

Like, take a look at this:

"Hey Clerkmanifesto, new reader here. I just read your introductory comments to "The roll of film from a fancy french garden estate" and not only was I deeply moved by them, I also realized I had been on the wrong Internet for decades. Yours is the Internet I want to be on! I guess I got out just in time! I loved these introductory comments to your photos so much! God how I loved them. I loved them a lot. They inspired me to look at your photographs which I hope to do one day if I remember to. I am even making a note to myself: "don't forget to checkout that clerkmanifesto thing sometime next week and look at those pictures!" Unfortunately I lost the note though. Who are you again? Thanks for your time and attention to this matter."

So, that's cool. But how do I respond? They did not leave an address, and they actually only thought their comments quietly to themselves.

So maybe I should let that one go? I don't want to look like I want anyone to read clerkmanifesto. It just seems so... unseemly.

Anyway, here is the other roll of pictures of the fancy garden estate. I understand that all this fun we're having here in the introduction doesn't really apply to your looking at these pictures, and I'm only including them now because it was what I had originally planned for today's post.

I don't expect you to look at them. After all, you've got bigger fish to fry, what with the Internet being burnt to a crisp and your also having to worry about my ability to read your mind.