Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I could see Manuel nodding sagely in the background and I realised my mistake. I hadn't
just thrown the box of rubbish in, but the 'box' with the 'rubbish'. The rubbish may be fine, but
the box itself should have gone into another skip, the box skip, and he was apoplectic; to my
mind I'd put some cardboard in the wrong skip, but he was acting like I had attacked his fam-
ily. He started to fish out the offending carton with a shepherd's crook, but then everything in
the box came tumbling out, glass, plastic, floor tiles - all in the wrong place - and then, as a
final insult, a broken electric pump fell out. He slumped over the side of the skip and took a
moment before raising his head and looking at me with tears in his eyes. I had put electrics
in a non-electrics skip, but by his reaction you'd have thought I'd urinated into a vat of the
Touraine's finest Muscadet.
'I'm sorry!' I said, 'Where do you want the electric stuff?' pointing out that we also had a
fridge and a TV to offload too.
Now his eyes lit up. 'Er, put them in my van,' he said, recovering his composure quickly.
'Over there.' What a racket! I suppose it's a perk of the job, and if he can make something of
the stuff then that's recycling in its purest form - and in the man's defence, he's not the only
one at it.
Twice a year the local council allows you to put whatever sized rubbish you like out the
front of your house; it's called the
monstres
and obviously it saves having to hire a van or
trailer, or begging your gardener to use his for the job, and it means that big rubbish, white
goods, broken down TVs and old sofas aren't just dumped by the side of the road - or rather,
they
are
dumped by the side of the road, just with an official stamp of approval.
It also offers a chance to the local Romani population to do a bit of recycling of their
own. The children have a saying around here, a warning to others not to touch their stuff:
'Pas touche Manouche, si non ta mère te mettra une couche!'
, which is slightly offensive
in tone but roughly translates as 'Don't touch my stuff, Gypsy, or your mother will put you
in a nappy.' Frankly I don't understand what it means either, just that the Romani here are
renowned for their sharp practice. They have a 'reputation'. There are lots of them here too,
possibly because it's quite flat, which is an important consideration if you live in a cara-
van, but they aren't feared as much or treated as pariahs like 'travellers' are back in the UK.
There are few confrontations and the same families have been here for generations, which is
something I've never really understood - I mean, are you travelling or not? Make your mind
up.
They all have a very distinctive look, and yes I know how that sounds but bear with me.
They are obviously all inter-related and having stayed in the same place for years now all
look very much like each other, the men resemble a young, but swarthier, Elvis Presley, with
jet black, greased-up quiffs and clothes like early rockers. The women, though stunning when
younger, are clearly encouraged to beef up as they age and often resemble a later-period, Las
Vegas Elvis, which at least gives the whole thing continuity.
