Ariègo moun pais

I know the Salon d'agriculture in Paris is over because the town is full of the 'Returned'; soldiers back from the front line.

They stand in the queues in the shops and at the market stalls or sit on the terraces of the cafés and talk about the 'Horror'.

They speak of the skyscrapers that block the daylight around La Defense, of the noise, the traffic jams on the périférique, the crowds around the metro stations.  They speak of the people conveyor belts at the Gare Montparnasse, they complain that you have to take little steps instead of being able to make big strides.  They take a deep breath and say how happy they are to be back.  

They are young men but retain the accent which sings.  I ask them if the Parisians were nice to them and they say yes, but bondieucon,  heureusement qu'on soit rentré''


I sit waiting for Emma to join me at Atmospher, listening to the Returned at the table next to me, and wonder who chooses which farmers to represent the Ariège in Paris.  It would be quite easy.  These are young men who wear berets, sleep in the Stade Toulousain strip, play rugby on a Saturday and Pétanque when they're hung over on a Sunday. They marry the girl they met at lycée, build a new villa on a field on their parent's farm, take over the work and so it goes. 

I'm cringing at this generalisation, but I'm not being unkind.  This is how it is and I'm as happy as they are to get back home.