We’re still here by the tower and I’ve been off taking pictures and writing postcards. While we were in Spain I only spotted one post office and that was thanks to the tourist office pointing it out. While here in France… they’re yellow and plentiful.

 

(There are old photos around the village from the 1900’s, this is one near the old post office)

So I went to the tabac for cards and on to the post office for stamps. But I couldn’t get into the post office. I checked the opening hours and although I don’t know all the days in the week I thought it should be open. Then I noticed a sign with numbers and pictures. Number 1. a finger pressing a button. Number 2. a bell ringing. Number 3. someone pushing a door. Ok, you know what I had to do…… but why?

(Hiding behind a bush on main street)

I pressed the button, a camera took my picture (that wasn’t on the sign), a bell rang and I pushed the door… what would I find inside?

An empty room with only a white haired man sitting behind a desk, his head down. I asked for my stamps, very slowly in French. He gave them to me without looking up. I wondered why again.

Back outside I realised he could see me coming down the road for at least 100 yards (or meters!), he heard me push the door and still he waited for Number 1. push the bell. Why?

Never mind, I had my stamps and I went off to write my cards. Thirty minutes later I realised I didn’t have enough stamps, no, no, no…….

(Light and dark in our hotel)

I’d have to go back…..

(Detail on the church entrance)

This time I’m ready. I don’t care what his rules are I’m going to enjoy getting my stamps. I took a different road to the post office, he couldn’t see me from this side. I pressed the button and placed my face in front of and very close to the camera and when I heard the bell I pushed the door. (Forgot to say, I looked up how to say “I made a mistake” (Je fais une gaffe)) With a big smile I told him I had made a mistake and needed more stamps. And the air changed. He looked at me, asked me how many and looked at me again to say “Au revoir” when I was leaving.

(Moss covered wall, camera’s choice…)

When I came back twenty minutes later to post the cards I saw him outside the door on his phone, another chance to chat. Unfortunately, by the time I reached at the post box he had gone inside and locked the door. Maybe we can be friends from afar?

(Lucky break – went up the tower and spotted Monsieur La Poste coming out of the post office – maybe we need to buy a better zoom lens, Denis?)

There’s a possibility I hadn’t considered – the French are afraid of me?

 

No fear, fearless Mairead.