There is a summer truffle festival going on as I write, about an hour away in Roullens en Malepere, a village southwest of Carcassonne. The Languedoc has long been famous for its truffles and the opportunity to visit a village devoted to them, to learn about them, to see the dogs used in the search for these earthy bits, was irresistible. Unfortunately, it was not to be.
I woke early, got myself and Beau ready, making my way to the car by 9:15 a.m. The car was parked alongside the wall by the marble statue of a giant ear a hundred feet from my house, a legal parking space. I got Beau in the car, put his seat belt on, then mine, and pulled away.
As I pulled away, I felt the car move with difficulty. I moved on up the hill that intersects with the main road, Avenue du Minervois. The car continued to move with difficulty. I parked it a few yards down the top of Avenue du Minervois and realized why. Both of the tires that, in the parking space, had been closest to the wall, that is, those aligned with the front passenger seat, were flat --punctured or deflated. The passenger side of the car had also been scratched and slightly dented.
As I was taking all this in, Raymonde, a woman who works at the Mairie, crossed the street to see what I was looking at. "This was done intentionally", she said. "There's a lot of hooliganism now" she added.
And my car is a perfect target, as its red license plate indicates it is a rented car. When I picked up the car at Blagnac airport in Toulouse, the young man there advised me not to leave the vehicle registration document in the car. "Without that, they can't sell it very easily", he explained at the time. I took his advice and kept the document at home, except when I was using the car, when I carried it on my person.
I called the roadside assistance number for my car, a Citroen. The tow truck would be by in forty-five minutes to an hour. In the meantime, I went to the Mairie.
When I walked in, I was greeted by the Mayor, a young man in his mid-forties. He already knew about the vandalism because Raymonde told him when she walked in. I asked whether I could have a statement from the relevant authority for purposes of establishing a record of the incident for insurance purposes. He produced one within minutes, stamped with the Mairie seal and signed by him. "Have a good weekend --despite this", he told me with a wistful smile as he handed me the document in an official envelope.
What will happen is that I will be without a car until my car is repaired in the middle of the week. The leasing company will either have the car returned to me here, or will hire a taxi to take me to the garage where the repairs to the car will be done. Insurance will cover everything but to that end, the leasing agent for Citroen will require a copy of the statement from the Mairie, attached to an e-mail, sent by me as soon as possible. I don't have a scanner, so I walked down to La Marbrerie give my friends my news and to ask them, as a favor to me, to transmit the Mairie document and my cover letter.
When I got there, I got a clearer picture of what might have happened from Christine, who runs La Marbrerie day to day:
"Last night, I heard a car alarm go off at 2:00 a.m. And nearby,our chef --Luc-- heard some people outside near his door. He heard them fiddle with a car for a long time. So for sure, somebody went looking for a car to steal a car last night. Whoever damaged your car intended to steal it. Perhaps they were able to get inside, but when they looked for the certificat d'immatriculation and could not find it, they realized the car would be hard to sell. So they decided to take revenge by puncturing your tires and damaging the chassis, especially as it's a rented car.
"At least it's not personal. I thought at first that you might have parked in a parking space some creep thinks if his personal parking space. You would never have seen the end of that," Christine ended.
So Caunes, like everywhere else, has its petty crime. There is a small traffic in marijuana, active in the late evening, in front of a house a thousand feet from my door. Around 9:30 p.m. each night, one or two cars stop and wait quietly. One young man alone is believed to be behind the trade --a neighbor. I mentioned the fact to Gilles Adiveze, head of the municipal police, a few days ago. He told me everyone was aware of the traffic, that he dutifully sends in reports of it to the Gendarmerie (which is the ultimate authority in such matters). However, the amounts sold are small enough that even if the seller were arrested and found guilty no prison time would be ordered. So the trade goes on.
I see the dealer frequently, and always wish him "Good day", and him me. I wonder whether he might not have an idea of who did what to my tires, but I'm not going to ask him.
And as it turns out, my tires were not punctured, just the air let out of them. If I can get a taxi to Trebes, I can have the car back in my possession late this afternoon.
That will be something to be grateful for.
*****
Amazingly, the taxi arrives quickly, and takes me just as quickly to Trebes, half-way to Roullens-Malpere and the truffle festival. I arrive at 4:30 p.m., see the truffle-sniffing dogs, buy a truffle 3" across for 7 Euros, as well as a cheese --a tomme from the Pyrenees--and consider myself lucky. The day has been eventful, and far from a waste.
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