Marzipan veggies and visitors

The windows of the chocolateries are filled with marmites, soup-cauldron-shaped black and milk chocolate imprinted with the canton seal and filled with multi-coloured marzipan carrots, pea pods and other veggies. The date 1602 is imprinted on all, while some may have ladders. The marmites are part of the Escalade, the celebration that honours Mère Royaume pouring hot vegetable soup on top of the French trying to scale the wall of the old city giving her enough time to roust the soldiers, who went on to defeat the French.

The celebration is held on two consecutive weekends: This weekend was the marathon with 27,500 runners who pound the cobblestone streets as crowds and bands cheered them on their way. Vendors sold hot-spiced win and vegetable soup to the watchers, who stamped their feet to keep warm.

Next week will be the real celebration when the streets will return to 1602 as citizens parade in costumers of the period, horse clip-clop by carrying armoured soldiers. Children, in costume, more reminiscent of Halloween than 1602 (Calvin is probably turning in his grave at the frivolity) sing the Escalade song.

The festive air countered the grey skies, but this year a grey November was unimportant. My daughter spent 10 days on this side of the Atlantic in a super visit that was a reward for every worry I ever had while raising her and a reminder of why I really, really, really like her. And although I was sad to see her return to the US, my attention was immediately distracted by the arrival of a friend from New York.

Ours is as unlikely friendship. Someone who knew us both closely might wonder if it would be possible for a Bush-voting, labour-union derider, shopping lover could be good friends with a labour-union supporter, shopping phobic person who believes that Bush should be tried for war crimes and sentenced to the smallest cell in Gitmo. Well as Banderas sings in Evita… “The answer is yes.”

Sometimes I suspect we think of each other as some kind of exotic creatures with such different lives. But it is not where we differ that brings us close, although it is certainly fodder for fascinating discussions. It is where we are the same: mothers, career women, single women, women with a sense of humour, animal lovers, and the ability to celebrate the similarities and respect the differences. We dip regularly into each others lives, although she has made one or two visits for several years either to Geneva or to Argelès, so I feel as if I know her family and friends as much as if I were sitting in the living room I have never seen sharing a cup of tea.

For the second time in less than a week, a taxi pulled into the driveway this morning to carry someone I care about back to their normal life, leaving me with my normal life. But because of the internet and because of the good will away is not like in the time of the First Escalade in 1602 when a letter exchange could take six months or more. Now these people are just on the other side of my keyboard, sometime exchanges are in seconds sometimes in hours, but they are there.

I wonder what Mère Royaume would have thought about that.