There are moments in your life in a foreign country which offset other days and other experiences like at the Prefecture (see previous post "la honte").
About once a month or so, I will suddennly hear a school bell clanging out on the street. It gets louder and louder, accompanied by some hollering. The first time I heard it, I naturally thought it was a teacher searching for students or the organ grinder with his monkey (yes, we have one of those too in this neighborhood). The beauty of living near the Port of Nice is that it is a real neighborhood, and part of the oldest part of the city. As opposed to where I lived before - first in what was the Russian Czar's palace at the turn of the century, now transformed into a school, and secondly in the bourgeois part of the city - full of rich anglophones, tourists, and retired people from the north of France.
But here in the Port you get a little bit of everything, and nothing too scary. So it took me a few months, staring from the heights of my balcony, to understand what the heck this guy with the tiny little cart and school bell was selling. He kept hollering out things I couldn't understand, clanging his bell and stopping every few feet and looking around. Nobody else was out on their balcony, wondering if he was a Jehovah's witness announcing the apocalypse. He stands practically in the middle of the intersections, yelling and ringing. His cart was just a little thing, grubby and dirty and made of wood as far as I could tell. There was nothing on it, no produce, no food, nothing with color. I strained to hear what he said, but just couldn't make it out. Sounded like he was saying "vicious" - not the way to get a client, whatever you're selling, I thought.
Finally, Barry Manilow (my neighbor who is old-school nicois thru and thru, has an "accent du sud" to die for, dyes his hair, constantly, and I mean CONSTANTLY smokes skinny cigars, plays guitar and should break out into the CopaCabana at any moment) explained. He's the Sharpener. He'll sharpen your stuff for a few euros. Just go down on the street with your knives, your scissors, your sabre, whatever. He's got some stone that he turns with a crank or something.
In the States, if you have an ice cream truck that comes thru your neighborhood, it is considered quaint. I've got Mr. Sharpener. The mystery is only partially solved-- I still don't know what he shouts. Believe me, I've had the dictionary out trying to figure it out. Thomas gave me a blank look because he's never here when the guy is out on the street. Next time I see Barry I'm going to get to the bottom on it. p.s. to my family: kind of reminds you of Mom and the "ee tan yah"?
