Transaction costs and farming

Many people stress about the ‘cost of living’ but the ‘cost’ of living is not the only thing that makes demands on one.  Institutional economics has developed the concept of ‘transaction costs’. These are the costs, financial but also in terms of time and stress, that occur when trying to find a new ‘supplier’.  When I go to the ‘market’ to buy tomatoes I have relatively straightforward choices between variety, quality, origin and price.  But, when I want to find a dentist, mechanic or accountant, things become more complicated.  The same is true if I want to buy, say, bottling machinery that will preserve those tomatoes.  

This has huge implications whenever people talk about, or conceive of, ‘the market’.  It means ‘trusted trading partner’ becomes a criterion that is much more important than ‘best deal on the street.’      I have been working with some clients of my business for almost fifteen years, since I first started it.  I have been using the services of some key suppliers for almost as long.  These are smooth relationships, far removed from the cut and thrust of spot markets.   I have good relations with these people, all tried and trusted business partners. 

When moving home (and especially country) developing these relationships anew can be one of the hardest things.  This was especially noticeable when I moved from Wageningen to Brussels five years ago.  Most of the contacts I made for things like a computer support, flat sharers etc., were achieved via the local Couchsurfing  group. Trying to find a mechanic was hell (no-one in the Brussels Couchsurfing group had a car).  The dentist, doctor and notary were found through lists of British-speaking professionals on the UK Consulate’s web-site.  But that was pretty much a stab in the dark. I mostly went for those that were easily accessible by public transport.   

Now I am going through the same process in Hendaye.  The mechanic, handyman and translator are already in place (though in some cases with reservations).   The search is on for a doctor and wood-supplier.  It’s much easier in a small town. You ask your acquaintances if they can recommend a (fill in gap here).  Sometimes it will just be a friend of theirs, others someone who does give good service.

But I am trying to take my search a bit deeper here.  I have recently joined a Jardin Collectif, which I blogged about a few weeks ago.  Jardins Collectifs are a form of community supported agriculture (CSA) help move farmers, growers and consumers move away from the brutality of spot markets and into a mode of exchange that is more trust-based, offers them more continuity and helps to balance the grower’s cash flow across the year.  

If you don’t already belong to one try researching what is available in your neighbourhood: a box scheme for fruit and veg (preferably from a local grower) or a meat-bag scheme.  When living In Wageningen I even belonged to a group that had keys that gave us access to a trailer full of dairy and meat products and an honesty box.  (I don’t think that model would work in a larger city such as Brussels!!).  Let’s help farmers and growers move away from the insecurity associated with reliance on spot markets and/or contracts with multi-national retailers.

Everything must Go

The Manic Street Preachers (MSP) are in Brussels tonight on their ‘Everything must go’ tour.   I sat looking at the poster for eight hours last weekend while engaged on my own ‘Everything must go’ odyssey.  I’ve spent five years building a beautiful space here in the centre of the ‘jihadi capital’ of the world. Now, its time to leave.  It means losing a lot of ‘stuff’.

The decision to go was made long before Paris 13/11/15 and before the Brussels bombings in February.  I decided some time ago that I need more trees, more open space, better weather, more outdoor swimming opportunities and less 0430 outbound flights over the city centre than Brussels offers.   The Machelet plan was the deal breaker for me and Brussls.  Two years ago air control starting sending out flights over the city centre every five minutes, from 0600 onwards, and twice as frequently at weekends.  For the last two summers it has not been possible to have the windows of the flat open in the summer months.

This winter, after two years of searching, I stumbled across ‘the place’: where the mountains meet the sea (to quote Neil Young), where people on the street meet your eye, say hello and start a conversation, where there is a ‘border mentality’. It’s like Wales but with palm trees, oranges, lemons and banana plants. I spent five months checking out if it could really be my future home. I decided, as sure as I could, that it could be.

The consequence of this is that I somehow have to get the contents of a 70m flat square into a 2 m square ‘truck’: shipping costs are extortionate and certainly exceed the value of the furniture that I own.  So I am shrinking back to almost the size of possessions that I bought with me when I came to live in ‘Europa’ 15 years ago.  It involves some difficult decisions. 

I was fortunate enough that there was a brocante (an urban car boot sale) taking place around the corner from my flat last weekend, fortunate enough that my lodger took me to an event in the local community centre where the organiser happened to be, fortunate that the pitch closest to my flat was still available.  And from that pitch I stared at the ‘Everything must go poster all day.  Everything? Well except 2 square metres.  That means losing a lot of books, a lot of knick knacks, tools and things that might ‘come in useful one day’.      I started stripping the cellar and hidden cupboards of all the stuff I haven’t even used since I moved here.  That bit was easy. One van load straight down to the tip.   Preparing for the sale itself involved a week of making decisions about what is of value to me NOW, and what is just memories, It took week of stripping out cupboards and shelves and putting things in 3 categories ‘keep’, ‘maybe’, ‘lose’.  I started getting stricter with myself about the second two categories.  I took almost a van load of stuff across the road, and sold almost as much (about half) as I anticipated, but for half the price.  The early morning trade was brisk and people didn’t haggle too much.  Late morning through lunchtime the trade went slack and the real penny pinchers came out to insult me.  Mid afternoon I just dropped my prices to Mickey Mouse levels. What’s leftover goes to Belgian equivalent of Oxfam.  Since then three van loads of furniture have gone out the door.  There are probably another eight loads left.   At this rate I will be virtually camping in my flat when I get there next month. As John said ‘It’ll be like starting over’.

Like a chance meeting with an ex-lover

It was a beautiful sunrise that greeted me on my last day in Entre-deux-Mers seen from across a sea of vines.  Two nights before there had been a dramatic distant electric storm that lit up the night sky, and got the birds starting to sing at 2 AM, adding a high counterpoint to the gruff croaking of frogs from a pond in the nearby wood.  

By eight o clock the car was packed and we were saying our goodbyes.  Twelve hours, one thousand kilometres, one and a half tanks of fuel and 75 Euros worth of péages later I catch a glimpse of the Basilique at Koekelberg.  It’s been the landmark for ‘homecoming’ for me for almost the past five years.  (A suitably impressive landmark as it is among the ten large churches in the world).  This time, after seven months away it was like unexpectedly running into an ex-lover on the street or at a social gathering.  You remember the things that loved about her (the way she bit her lip when thinking) and those you hated (calling you ‘hun’ all the time and making you feel you were playing a bit part in a American sit-com).  

Driving through the road tunnel that (sometimes) fast tracks you from Basilique to Sainctelette a wave of conflicting memories and emotions came flooding back.

Just to share a few (in no particular order).

Some things I love(d) about Brussels,

• Muzique Publique (and particularly Bal Queimada)
• La Musee des Beaux Artes
• The Friday night roller blade rides, when large parts of the road network are closed down to let a bunch of crazies race around the city on roller blades (and bicycles)
• The Royal Greenhouses
• The European Parliament (as both a structure and an inviting and inclusive institution, welcoming hundreds of delegates and visitors every working day)
• The organic market in Rue des Tanneries
• The jumble of architectural styles.

And hate(d)

• The weather (statistical fact: it rains here more days a year than in London).
• The run down state of much of the Metro. (I moved here in 2011 when work was afoot on upgrading Art-Loi, one of the two major hubs of the metro system where the north south and east lines cross).  When I left Brussels in October it was still a building site – I am willing to bet it still is).
• The Wathelet Plan
• The ‘Quad Bike Crew’ of the Quartier Maritime (these last two together have made my quarter unliveable over the last two summers).
• A lack of trees and swimming pools.  (the two the closest to me have both been closed ‘for renovation’ throughout much of my four year stay here).
• The ‘leave your trash on the pavement someone will take it away’ mentality of some local residents.

I guess there will be more.  What are you pet loves/hates in relation to Brussels?

Molenbeek Blues

Last night (last Saturday) I get a text message from my flat sitter about the ‘Paris bombers’.  Who? I’d been off line for 36 hours so I hadn’t heard anything about this. I ask in the local café and am told that there were seven suicide bombers, 129 dead and many more injured.  I’m mortified.  

Only two days ago (on Thursday 11/11) the French authorities imposed month-long border controls, ostensibly to prevent trouble-makers from disrupting COP21 - but that’s still two weeks away! The residents of Hendaye and Irun, who are used to doing regular commutes across the river border for work, school, love or (for the French) cheap fuel, fags and liquor, were not happy.  I thought to myself that something doesn't add up here. I thought maybe it is as a disguised attempt to keep the Syrian refugees at bay (Sweden, the most tolerant of EU nations,  also 'closed' its land borders the same day).  But it was something deeper: much deeper. The French authorities clearly knew something was afoot.  They just didn’t know what. 

As the details unravelled I became increasingly personally engaged in the horror. One of the suicide bombers and - it turns out later - possibly two of his accomplices - lives/lived in my neighbourhood - almost opposite my apartment.  It takes several days for the weight of this to sink in. 

For a couple of years I have felt a distinct sense of mal á l‘aise in my neighbourhood.  I’d put it down to me suffering from the ‘grass is always greener’ syndrome, the Mathelet plan – which had made my flat virtually uninhabitable in summer months with flights going over my apartment from 0600 to 2300 every five minutes; the vous m'avez entendu? boys on their quad bikes (supposedly illegal in Belgium) circulating the neighbourhood every five minutes; Brussels’ seemingly interminable grey skies and the lack of swimming pools that are actually open. 

Teun Voetenn's eloquent article sums up most of my experiences of living in Molenbeek; the lack of opportunities to socialise, the inability to buy a newspaper (or alcohol) in my locale.  The very reasons I moved to Brussels, to lead a civilised , French lifestyle   

After several days reflection I realised that my discomfort with Molenbeek might have deeper causes,  of having – for several years - been in the immediate proximity of angry young Muslim men planning acts of terrorism, of indiscriminate mass murder. The lesson learnt is that I should listen to my heart a bit more and not try to rationalise away my feelings about the ‘vibe’ of a place.  

The hottest day of the year

I did a grand tour of Belgian traffic jams today. The first on was at Rue Belliard, where it took twenty minutes to make the 500m from Arts-Loi to the tunnel because they have narrowed the five lane road to two lanes. --AVOID Indefinitely--.  The second was on the A40 where it took forty minutes to make two kilometres on the highway - though it was not at all evident whether that was due to an accident or what. I realised it might be a long wait when I saw first aid squads giving out water (in bags labelled 'civil emergency drinking water';) to people stuck in the 33 degree heat.   I was grateful for that - as I had just finshed mine before hitting the queue.  That was a thoughtful and inclusive gesture but also perhaps symptomatic that the Belgians recognise that they don't manage their motorways very well.  There were overheated cars stranded on the hard shoulder every 200m or so. 
On the upside I helped a friend move - under a stressful timetable - and got to do my first natural water swim this year (sharing the pool with goldfish and dragonflies! :-). Hopefully the first of many.   I came home with 'van driver's tan': a reddish brown left arm and a white right one.  Can anyone lend me a right hand drive car for the weekend so I can get the balance right???

Pictures in a gallery

I was at the Chagall retrospective at the Musée des Beaux Artes yesterday. I was really impressed. I was familiar with some of his work but was not aware of the scope and depth of his work. And he did a lot as he lived to be almost 100 years old.  The audio guide was really useful in explianing the contexts of his work - the outbrek of war, his time in France etc.) and the symbology he employed. 

Highly recommended if you are in Brussels in the coming weeks.  But hurry! It's only on for two more weeks. And go as early as you can. It was already crowded by midday.  

This is a portion of one of his later works called the rainbow – when he appears to have found some peace.  

And here's a link to some of the images on display  

Agroforestry in temperate climes

This blog came out of the (short) walk I did two weeks ago (see last blog). It seemed to merit its own space.

I tend to think of agroforestry as a tropical thing: vanilla pods being wound up coconut trees, while coffee and cassava mature in the shade. OK - perhaps I am mixing my agro-ecosystems up here – but you get the picture! On a recent walk in Belgium, I came across agroforestry in action in the temperate north – a place where I wouldn’t expect it.

It was an orchard on the estate of the Hulp Chateau where they were growing rare and endangered varieties of fruit trees. The powers of globalization - sucking in exports from European countries where labour is cheaper – and wanting uniform products delivered on specific dates - means that Belgium has lost 80% of its orchards and the apple and pear varieties grown have been decimated. This site is preserving those species endangered by hyper-commercialization - but actually does much more.

It marries conserving rare apple and pear (and other fruit) trees with a low intensity grazing regime. As such it has a number of synergies. The cows keep the grass short (no need for spraying agrochemicals or mechanical controls) and also fertilize the soil – recycling its nutrients. Having grass cover prevents soil and nutrient erosion.

It was a real treat to see this lovely, vibrant, orchard with the cows grazing contently underneath the canopies of the trees. So different from the tightly packed rows of miniaturised trees (bred thus for easier picking) standing on bare soil - that pass for orchards these days. It’s a shame that there was no visible sales point. I’m sure the juices from this orchard taste delicious.

Such approaches don’t need to rely on CSOs or NGOs. Driving down the back roads from Halle to Bruxelles earlier in the summer I passed a farm where there were cows grazing and chickens pecking in an orchard. I did a three point turn and went back to find the farmyard. ‘Can you sell me a chicken?’ (I fancied an organic roast that weekend) No, they don’t sell them (they probably keep them for themselves and their neighbours). But they did have potatoes and eggs for sale. Ah well that’s good enough. A ‘tortilla á la paysan’ was on the cards. It was good to see traditional farming practices still in place 20km outside of Bruxelles – and no – they weren’t organic - it was just the way they learned, and like, to farm!

All the leaves are red and the sky is blue

Saturday 1st November. Chateau de la Hulp (70m elevation!). The Soignes Forest.

The weather forecast predicted a bright andd sunny day- so despite dancing until just before the very last metro last night and having promised a friend to help him move in the late afternoon / early evening - I get myself out to the forest south of Brussels. This place looked nice on the map and I chose it for no other reason. I wasn't disappointed.

It was almost 20 degrees - T shirt and shorts weather - just wondering and hoping that we might have another very late Indian summmer, as we did in 2012!