"Where do the children play?"

As I traipse the sun-drenched streets of Fumel, my adopted hometown for the next 7 months, the glaringly obvious hits me. It’s a Sunday, and although I had not expected to see the shops open, I had expected to be able to find a bar in which I could log onto the internet and catch up with the latest sporting results from back across the Channel. Alas, as I seemed to uncover more of the town, I seemed to be getting further and further away from anything remotely resembling a bar, with my search eventually ending at the site of the ‘soon to be completed’ municipal swimming pool. However, with my copy of yesterday’s Times clasped firmly in my sweaty palm, I returned to the town hall to bask in the sunshine which flooded its’ public gardens. There I sat awhile to soak in the view from my new home, and also to see how the first day of the Ryder Cup had unfolded.

Not a bad backdrop to The Times

       

     After walking what I understand to be the length and breadth of the town twice in two days, I still find it difficult to define exactly what the town is. In some ways, the magnificent town hall and church seem almost out of place with the rest of the town, which appears to be in transition from its’ ‘heyday’ when the metal works employed up to 2,000 of the local community. The factory now employs a far more meager 200 odd and the site itself from the outside appears closed. The streets are littered with run-down shops and derelict houses, which is why I found it particularly odd when I passed the sites of a new shopping centre, new swimming pool and a new hospital, all of which appear, from the artist’s impression, to be spectacularly modern and a real trio of white elephants.

Having barely seen another soul all day, to my delight I stumbled upon the weekend’s showpiece event, the town’s rugby team, Union Sportive Fumel Libos (USFL) versus Le Lardin. The overall attendance at Parc des Sports Henri Cavallier must have been at least 1,000 and that number grew as the day went on, as before the 1^st XV’s play, the 2^nd XV also played Le Lardin. For a full report on the match, see the separate article on the Sport page. My first taste of French rugby was a fairly dull affair, with both teams making error after error and the scorers only bothered by the respective fly halves, or demis d’ouverture. There was a period of dominance from the home pack or melée which yielded two tries and enough to clinch the game. It was a real shock and delight to see the town come alive in such away that I wonder what happens to all the people once the rugby finishes, as in my three days in the town I had never encountered more than a handful of people at any one time. Leaving the venue, I decided to investigate the public transport system, or lack there of. I had been warned that although the railway passes through Fumel, it no longer stops in the town due to lack of demand. Therefore I made the blind trek to neighbouring Libos, where the nearest stop is. I happened upon the station fairly easily, after locating the line itself. Not more than 30 minutes from Fumel on foot, the station of Monsempron-Libos connects the area with the city of Agen (pronounced Aja as far as I can deduce). The journey takes around 40 minutes but trains are fairly limited off-peak, which I assume means that people commute to or from Agen and have no need for regular trains. Nonetheless, it is an important discovery, as I shall no doubt be using the trains fairly regularly this coming year as I look to investigate much more than Fumel town centre. On my way back from Libos, my confusion with regards to the nature of the town reached new heights. As I investigated a supposed shortcut back to Fumel, I stumbled upon some incredible properties, namely an old mill probably a few centuries old at least, which had been converted into a residence which one would usually find in the international listings of Country Life magazine. Other residences I passed all gave an impression of a wealth which I had as of yet not been able to associate with the area.

All in all, I returned to my humble residence, satisfied with my day’s discoveries. Now all that awaited me was this occupation they call teaching. The 8am-6pm school day already lingering over me, I turn in for an early night, after my second batch of pesto spaghetti in 3 days. A Bientot!!!