This photo is from the Olympic stadium, of huge sculpture (?) that represents the athlete.
Wednesday, December 31, 2003
Happy New Year!!
Happy New Year all! I'm excited that we get to be the first (out of everyone I know) to say it. Movie, dinner, before dinner drink, 1/2 bottle of wine, after dinner drink, dessert, coffee and a walk in sub-zero temps back to the car for my birthday! Spoke to Ky via internet and Mom on the cell phone and left a message for J, thanks for all the birthday wishes. Have had enough to drink to kill a rhino so off to bed with me (after 2 tylenol and a litre of water). Hope you all have a year full of whatever you wish. Love from France.
This photo is from the Olympic stadium, of huge sculpture (?) that represents the athlete.
This photo is from the Olympic stadium, of huge sculpture (?) that represents the athlete.
Monday, December 29, 2003
Barcelona
You know, you all, my faithful Blog readers, are a tough crowd. I mention I’m going to Barcelona and the second I get back you all want to hear about it right NOW. Ok, fine, just let me catch my breath.
First let’s say that Barcelona can not be done as a whirlwind tour. Go… take a week… there is so much to see and Barcelona is one of the most tourist friendly towns that it has ever been my privilege to visit. (Well except for the whole unfortunate highway incident, but we’ll get to that)
They speak two main languages in Barcelona (and mercifully one of them wasn’t French). Catalan, which is very like Spanish in the way that the language the British speak is like English, only worse. Let’s say that, if put to it, I could understand enough to get the gist of a conversation, but that I would have to respond in Spanish. The other language is of course Spanish. Well, Castilian Spanish which is a better example of the whole previously mentioned British analogy. (Confused yet?) The only thing about the Spanish is the whole lisping thing. Everything that has an ‘s’ in it is pronounced with a sort of lisping ‘th’ sound, the effect being that it sounds like your trying to talk with marbles under your tongue and I think it makes all the men sound completely gay. (Sorry, complete stereotype, I know).
In all seriousness though never discount the psychological benefits of traveling in a country whose language you speak. I almost hated to come back to France because for the first time in weeks (months) people understood me and I understood them. You folks have no idea how demoralizing and frustrating it can be to not be able to ask for so much as bread without it turning into ‘a thing’.
The city of Barcelona itself is situated in a very hilly coastal part of Spain. The area is basically foothills of the Pyrenees next to the Mediterranean. It’s huge but, more importantly, it is blessed with a variety of architecture that I’ve never before seen. The Gothic cathedrals are breathtaking, but even more so are some of their more famous modernist buildings. There are also many buildings that seem to have a very Middle Eastern, Moroccan flair to them.
In my humble opinion the ‘pièce du résistance’, the crowning piece of architecture is the temple of La Sagrada Familia. If you follow that link it will take you to a brief history of the structure, go there, it’ll save me having to repeat the 5 paragraphs here. Let me say that the concept originated in 1866 and has been under almost constant construction since 1881. The work is now under the direction of its third architect. The temple has a different façade from almost every angle (each façade representing a different part of Christ’s life) and after over a hundred years it is still little more than a shell held up by scaffolding and permanent residence to 4 or 5 large cranes. It would take so much room on this site to post all the necessary photos (do not want to anger the generous Blogger crew) so go HERE instead, they’re not our photos but they’re a good substitute. The temple is being built with private funds and donations (so give early and give often).
On the first day we followed the signs to the center of the city. This was easier than you would imagine in a city the size of Barcelona. The cool thing is that the city has a series of tunnels that actually go under hills and vast parts of the city itself. You can avoid huge sections of city which means avoiding tons of traffic lights and traffic. Of course you have to pay to use the tunnels but, trust me, definitely worth the 2.44€.
Several miles and tunnels toward the center of town we found ourselves at MNAC (Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya), which is like the central jewel in the crown which is central Barcelona. In front of MNAC are the ‘Magic Fountains’ which lead to ‘Plaça Espanya’ and the fountain of ‘Los Tres Mares’. The whole area reminded me strongly of the Balboa park museum campus in San Diego. MNAC is flanked by other museums and a replica of a Spanish medieval city that was built in 1929. Behind MNAC are the Olympic Stadium, the swimming venue and the main Olympic square. Also there, is giant sculpture that looks like a needle with a ring around it but which our tour guide said was meant to represent an athlete. The thing is so huge and distinctive that it can be seen from miles around. If you stand at the Olympic stadium (built for the 1992 Olympics) You can see beautiful panoramic views of the city in every direction.
The one odd thing about the MNAC area was the cats. Cats, yes cats, they were everywhere and we’re not talking feral or stray cats. These cats belonged there. They all wore collars and looked well fed. I can only speculate as to why they were there, but there was no doubt that they lived and were cared for in that area.
While on our initial walk around central Barcelona we discovered a tour bus company that, for a small fee, offered transportation to all the major sites. This seemed to be a perfect way to see the city, so the next day that’s what we did.
This is where our first day ended and the first highway nightmare took place. Let’s say here that I can laugh about it now. For a blow by blow visit S’s site.
The next day we purchased tickets for our bus tour, at 15€ per person it was a steal. The tour consisted of a northern route (the blue route) and a southern route (the red route) There were many stops along the way at tons of sites including cathedrals, parks, buildings of architectural note, palaces and the harbor. A one day pass allowed you to get on and off at any stop you wanted as many times as you wanted. Time being the key word here as there is no way that you could get off and see all the stops in one day.
Also key is that you had to be waiting at the company’s stop when the bus arrived. (This particular tour companies stops had big eyes on them. You can see the eye at the bottom right of the Starbuck’s picture I posted). The tour company would not stop for you if you tried to wave them down when you missed them by mere seconds. (Not that this could have possibly happened to us!) You either waited for the next bus, which would be along in 13 to 25 minutes or ran/walked to the next stop so you could at least sightsee a bit while waiting for the next bus to come along. The tour guides provided commentary in Spanish, Catalan and English. Depending on the guide you could also hear it in French and German.
The other consideration was the weather, or more precisely, the temperature. The first day on our own it must have been 60°, we ended up having to shed coats and I began to regret the turtleneck I was wearing. But the actual day of our tour I don’t think it got above 40° which is pretty damned chilly sitting in the wind of the upper deck of a moving bus. But that was the best place to take photos. The other down side of it being winter was that many of the sites were being repaired, winter not being prime tourist season, the sites would be swaddled in netting (to protect pedestrians from falling debris) and/or hidden behind scaffolding. S dragged me well off the beaten path to photograph the front of a beautiful gothic cathedral, only to arrive and find it covered in green netting with only the two tallest spires peaking out of the top.
Our first stop on the bus tour was the ‘Poble Espanyol de Montjuïc’, Built in 1929 for the International Exhibition of the same year it is one of the city’s main leisure venues. It was built to resemble an authentic Spanish town. It has many bars and restaurants as well as several art museums, but its main feature is the artisan shops. These shops featured the work of wood, glass, leather, wool and clay artisans. Many of the artisans offered workshops during the day too. Ok, can we say shopping!
We wandered around the little pseudo town and bought some stuff here and there. We visited one of the museums which featured some pottery by Picasso and the work of modern artists who worked in the Picasso style. Odd place.
We wanted to come back for dinner but didn’t want to wait an hour for the restaurants to open so we could make a reservation. So on with the tour.
We hopped a bus that took us past the Olympic park to an aerial tramway, that wasn’t running. We got off there because the bus was too crowded and I couldn’t handle it. Then we walked passed the next stop which was, well, basically a cactus garden. As if we haven’t seen yuccas and ocotillos before. So we walked on down the hill for about a mile to find the next stop at the harbor. The next stop was in a giant circle where the ‘Mirador de Colom’ stands atop an extremely high column pointing of into the distance. (Go west young man?) We caught the next bus there and got seats on the upper deck so we could take unobstructed pictures. On to tour the ports, ‘Port Vell’ and then further east to ‘Port Olimpic’. ‘Port Vell’ featured restaurants, an Imax theatre, an aquarium and lots of boats. ‘Port Olimpic’ featured the two tallest buildings in Barcelona and the Olympic village where the athletes lived; these buildings have been converted to apartments. The whole village is quite beautiful and is saturated with sculptures and free form art work of every description.
Then whirlwind drive-bys of the ‘Parc de la Ciutadella’ which features the Barcelona Zoo, the ‘Museu d’Art Modern and the ‘Parlament de Catalunya’. This in itself would be a full day. It features about 6 other museums too.
Then ‘Pla de Palua’ (Plaça del Palacio – Plaza of the Palace) Yeah, weird some stuff was titled in Catalan and some in Spanish. By now it’s getting onto 3:00 pm and breakfast was long ago. We got off at ‘Barri Gothic’ which is Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter. This is where Barcelona’s two thousand years of history originates. You can still see parts of the city walls and Roman city. Here again another full day’s adventure. This is the part where S drags me down side streets to get a good shot of the Cathedral only to find it swathed in green netting. Boy was he bummed. Then back to the stop where we got off to find Pizza Hut for a quick lunch. We ate at Pizza Hut because our tour package included discounts to museums and such and a discount at Pizza Hut. There is a Pizza Hut near every major venue in this city. We ate and asked for ‘ la cuenta’. By the time the stinkin’ teenagers brought back our change though our next bus was passing by the window, we missed it. Though two other tourists who were a bit closer tried to flag them down too and they wouldn’t stop. Great, hang here for another ± 20 minutes or walk the mile to next stop. So walk it was. We walked to ‘Plaça de Catalunya’ this is the main square where the city’s main thoroughfares radiate from. Also another whole days adventure with the opera house, the ‘Teatre del Liceu’, and the ‘Palau de la Música’ which is a stunning jewel of the modernist era and an absolute must see sight.
Then to ‘Passeig de Gràcia’ the 19th century neighborhood that features an abundance of modernist style buildings. The modernist buildings are referred to as Catalan art nouveau and are sites not to be missed. (see what I mean, everything is a site not to be missed, you need a solid week here.)
This is where time became an issue, it’s almost 4:00 it’ll be completely dark by 5:30/6:00 and we’ve just begun the red route of the tour. We can’t get off anymore or we’ll never see everything and it’s starting to get f*&#$ing cold on that upper deck of the bus.
My main thing was that I had to see ‘La Sagrada Familia’. From a distance the structure is evident only by the preponderance of construction cranes. But as you actually come up to it you can see the shell of the structure with miles of scaffolding inside. We took some photos but didn’t get off the bus. This is where I had my Starbuck’s sighting as the bus was pulling away from the stop. I tried not to cry and snapped a picture.
Next Park Güell named after Gaudi’s (Gaudi the primary architect and visionary of Sagrada Familia and other structures in the city) great patron, Count Eusebi Güell. The park was initially meant to be a neighborhood but only Gaudi’s actual residence was ever completed and now houses a museum of Gaudi’s work.
Then a monastery, then the Royal Palace, then the Barcelona Futbol stadium, then…then it really started to get cold and we got off to switch busses and head back to our parked car.
Then on to the second highway nightmare. (See S’s blog)
Dinner and drinks at the hotel and then fall into bed in complete exhaustion. The next day we had breakfast and headed home. I want to go back to Barcelona though. With more time available next time. Though during the highway nightmares S swore he would never return. Hopefully in hindsight it won’t seem so bad. I loved Barcelona and want to move there now. S however refuses to commute internationally, party pooper.
We tried to squeeze our visit into a weekend so S could be back to work on Monday. Where a good portion of the French took the whole two weeks off, S did not, he even worked on Christmas Eve. And they say that Americans are workaholics…hmm go figure. He will however be taking off the day of my birthday and New Years day.
Well, that’s it in a nutshell then (well the shell of a really BIG nut anyway…ok, never mind, just too many place to go with that). (Perhaps the 4th cup of coffee was a mistake.) Off to shower and dress…yes I have been speaking to you in my jammies, unwashed and with foul breath. Hey you have to write when the Blogging juices are flowing. If you stop to clean up first, the juices go elsewhere and then it’s 4 or 5 days before they come back, and by that time you’ve forgotten the details. Alright off I go, and hey don’t tell mom about this, she’d be so embarrassed, she raised me better (I should have at least brushed my teeth). Oh, dad, white out this paragraph before you let her read it, ok.
The photos are of two of the many art nouveau buildings in the 'Passeig de Gràcia’ area.
First let’s say that Barcelona can not be done as a whirlwind tour. Go… take a week… there is so much to see and Barcelona is one of the most tourist friendly towns that it has ever been my privilege to visit. (Well except for the whole unfortunate highway incident, but we’ll get to that)
They speak two main languages in Barcelona (and mercifully one of them wasn’t French). Catalan, which is very like Spanish in the way that the language the British speak is like English, only worse. Let’s say that, if put to it, I could understand enough to get the gist of a conversation, but that I would have to respond in Spanish. The other language is of course Spanish. Well, Castilian Spanish which is a better example of the whole previously mentioned British analogy. (Confused yet?) The only thing about the Spanish is the whole lisping thing. Everything that has an ‘s’ in it is pronounced with a sort of lisping ‘th’ sound, the effect being that it sounds like your trying to talk with marbles under your tongue and I think it makes all the men sound completely gay. (Sorry, complete stereotype, I know).
In all seriousness though never discount the psychological benefits of traveling in a country whose language you speak. I almost hated to come back to France because for the first time in weeks (months) people understood me and I understood them. You folks have no idea how demoralizing and frustrating it can be to not be able to ask for so much as bread without it turning into ‘a thing’.
The city of Barcelona itself is situated in a very hilly coastal part of Spain. The area is basically foothills of the Pyrenees next to the Mediterranean. It’s huge but, more importantly, it is blessed with a variety of architecture that I’ve never before seen. The Gothic cathedrals are breathtaking, but even more so are some of their more famous modernist buildings. There are also many buildings that seem to have a very Middle Eastern, Moroccan flair to them.
In my humble opinion the ‘pièce du résistance’, the crowning piece of architecture is the temple of La Sagrada Familia. If you follow that link it will take you to a brief history of the structure, go there, it’ll save me having to repeat the 5 paragraphs here. Let me say that the concept originated in 1866 and has been under almost constant construction since 1881. The work is now under the direction of its third architect. The temple has a different façade from almost every angle (each façade representing a different part of Christ’s life) and after over a hundred years it is still little more than a shell held up by scaffolding and permanent residence to 4 or 5 large cranes. It would take so much room on this site to post all the necessary photos (do not want to anger the generous Blogger crew) so go HERE instead, they’re not our photos but they’re a good substitute. The temple is being built with private funds and donations (so give early and give often).
On the first day we followed the signs to the center of the city. This was easier than you would imagine in a city the size of Barcelona. The cool thing is that the city has a series of tunnels that actually go under hills and vast parts of the city itself. You can avoid huge sections of city which means avoiding tons of traffic lights and traffic. Of course you have to pay to use the tunnels but, trust me, definitely worth the 2.44€.
Several miles and tunnels toward the center of town we found ourselves at MNAC (Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya), which is like the central jewel in the crown which is central Barcelona. In front of MNAC are the ‘Magic Fountains’ which lead to ‘Plaça Espanya’ and the fountain of ‘Los Tres Mares’. The whole area reminded me strongly of the Balboa park museum campus in San Diego. MNAC is flanked by other museums and a replica of a Spanish medieval city that was built in 1929. Behind MNAC are the Olympic Stadium, the swimming venue and the main Olympic square. Also there, is giant sculpture that looks like a needle with a ring around it but which our tour guide said was meant to represent an athlete. The thing is so huge and distinctive that it can be seen from miles around. If you stand at the Olympic stadium (built for the 1992 Olympics) You can see beautiful panoramic views of the city in every direction.
The one odd thing about the MNAC area was the cats. Cats, yes cats, they were everywhere and we’re not talking feral or stray cats. These cats belonged there. They all wore collars and looked well fed. I can only speculate as to why they were there, but there was no doubt that they lived and were cared for in that area.
While on our initial walk around central Barcelona we discovered a tour bus company that, for a small fee, offered transportation to all the major sites. This seemed to be a perfect way to see the city, so the next day that’s what we did.
This is where our first day ended and the first highway nightmare took place. Let’s say here that I can laugh about it now. For a blow by blow visit S’s site.
The next day we purchased tickets for our bus tour, at 15€ per person it was a steal. The tour consisted of a northern route (the blue route) and a southern route (the red route) There were many stops along the way at tons of sites including cathedrals, parks, buildings of architectural note, palaces and the harbor. A one day pass allowed you to get on and off at any stop you wanted as many times as you wanted. Time being the key word here as there is no way that you could get off and see all the stops in one day.
Also key is that you had to be waiting at the company’s stop when the bus arrived. (This particular tour companies stops had big eyes on them. You can see the eye at the bottom right of the Starbuck’s picture I posted). The tour company would not stop for you if you tried to wave them down when you missed them by mere seconds. (Not that this could have possibly happened to us!) You either waited for the next bus, which would be along in 13 to 25 minutes or ran/walked to the next stop so you could at least sightsee a bit while waiting for the next bus to come along. The tour guides provided commentary in Spanish, Catalan and English. Depending on the guide you could also hear it in French and German.
The other consideration was the weather, or more precisely, the temperature. The first day on our own it must have been 60°, we ended up having to shed coats and I began to regret the turtleneck I was wearing. But the actual day of our tour I don’t think it got above 40° which is pretty damned chilly sitting in the wind of the upper deck of a moving bus. But that was the best place to take photos. The other down side of it being winter was that many of the sites were being repaired, winter not being prime tourist season, the sites would be swaddled in netting (to protect pedestrians from falling debris) and/or hidden behind scaffolding. S dragged me well off the beaten path to photograph the front of a beautiful gothic cathedral, only to arrive and find it covered in green netting with only the two tallest spires peaking out of the top.
Our first stop on the bus tour was the ‘Poble Espanyol de Montjuïc’, Built in 1929 for the International Exhibition of the same year it is one of the city’s main leisure venues. It was built to resemble an authentic Spanish town. It has many bars and restaurants as well as several art museums, but its main feature is the artisan shops. These shops featured the work of wood, glass, leather, wool and clay artisans. Many of the artisans offered workshops during the day too. Ok, can we say shopping!
We wandered around the little pseudo town and bought some stuff here and there. We visited one of the museums which featured some pottery by Picasso and the work of modern artists who worked in the Picasso style. Odd place.
We wanted to come back for dinner but didn’t want to wait an hour for the restaurants to open so we could make a reservation. So on with the tour.
We hopped a bus that took us past the Olympic park to an aerial tramway, that wasn’t running. We got off there because the bus was too crowded and I couldn’t handle it. Then we walked passed the next stop which was, well, basically a cactus garden. As if we haven’t seen yuccas and ocotillos before. So we walked on down the hill for about a mile to find the next stop at the harbor. The next stop was in a giant circle where the ‘Mirador de Colom’ stands atop an extremely high column pointing of into the distance. (Go west young man?) We caught the next bus there and got seats on the upper deck so we could take unobstructed pictures. On to tour the ports, ‘Port Vell’ and then further east to ‘Port Olimpic’. ‘Port Vell’ featured restaurants, an Imax theatre, an aquarium and lots of boats. ‘Port Olimpic’ featured the two tallest buildings in Barcelona and the Olympic village where the athletes lived; these buildings have been converted to apartments. The whole village is quite beautiful and is saturated with sculptures and free form art work of every description.
Then whirlwind drive-bys of the ‘Parc de la Ciutadella’ which features the Barcelona Zoo, the ‘Museu d’Art Modern and the ‘Parlament de Catalunya’. This in itself would be a full day. It features about 6 other museums too.
Then ‘Pla de Palua’ (Plaça del Palacio – Plaza of the Palace) Yeah, weird some stuff was titled in Catalan and some in Spanish. By now it’s getting onto 3:00 pm and breakfast was long ago. We got off at ‘Barri Gothic’ which is Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter. This is where Barcelona’s two thousand years of history originates. You can still see parts of the city walls and Roman city. Here again another full day’s adventure. This is the part where S drags me down side streets to get a good shot of the Cathedral only to find it swathed in green netting. Boy was he bummed. Then back to the stop where we got off to find Pizza Hut for a quick lunch. We ate at Pizza Hut because our tour package included discounts to museums and such and a discount at Pizza Hut. There is a Pizza Hut near every major venue in this city. We ate and asked for ‘ la cuenta’. By the time the stinkin’ teenagers brought back our change though our next bus was passing by the window, we missed it. Though two other tourists who were a bit closer tried to flag them down too and they wouldn’t stop. Great, hang here for another ± 20 minutes or walk the mile to next stop. So walk it was. We walked to ‘Plaça de Catalunya’ this is the main square where the city’s main thoroughfares radiate from. Also another whole days adventure with the opera house, the ‘Teatre del Liceu’, and the ‘Palau de la Música’ which is a stunning jewel of the modernist era and an absolute must see sight.
Then to ‘Passeig de Gràcia’ the 19th century neighborhood that features an abundance of modernist style buildings. The modernist buildings are referred to as Catalan art nouveau and are sites not to be missed. (see what I mean, everything is a site not to be missed, you need a solid week here.)
This is where time became an issue, it’s almost 4:00 it’ll be completely dark by 5:30/6:00 and we’ve just begun the red route of the tour. We can’t get off anymore or we’ll never see everything and it’s starting to get f*&#$ing cold on that upper deck of the bus.
My main thing was that I had to see ‘La Sagrada Familia’. From a distance the structure is evident only by the preponderance of construction cranes. But as you actually come up to it you can see the shell of the structure with miles of scaffolding inside. We took some photos but didn’t get off the bus. This is where I had my Starbuck’s sighting as the bus was pulling away from the stop. I tried not to cry and snapped a picture.
Next Park Güell named after Gaudi’s (Gaudi the primary architect and visionary of Sagrada Familia and other structures in the city) great patron, Count Eusebi Güell. The park was initially meant to be a neighborhood but only Gaudi’s actual residence was ever completed and now houses a museum of Gaudi’s work.
Then a monastery, then the Royal Palace, then the Barcelona Futbol stadium, then…then it really started to get cold and we got off to switch busses and head back to our parked car.
Then on to the second highway nightmare. (See S’s blog)
Dinner and drinks at the hotel and then fall into bed in complete exhaustion. The next day we had breakfast and headed home. I want to go back to Barcelona though. With more time available next time. Though during the highway nightmares S swore he would never return. Hopefully in hindsight it won’t seem so bad. I loved Barcelona and want to move there now. S however refuses to commute internationally, party pooper.
We tried to squeeze our visit into a weekend so S could be back to work on Monday. Where a good portion of the French took the whole two weeks off, S did not, he even worked on Christmas Eve. And they say that Americans are workaholics…hmm go figure. He will however be taking off the day of my birthday and New Years day.
Well, that’s it in a nutshell then (well the shell of a really BIG nut anyway…ok, never mind, just too many place to go with that). (Perhaps the 4th cup of coffee was a mistake.) Off to shower and dress…yes I have been speaking to you in my jammies, unwashed and with foul breath. Hey you have to write when the Blogging juices are flowing. If you stop to clean up first, the juices go elsewhere and then it’s 4 or 5 days before they come back, and by that time you’ve forgotten the details. Alright off I go, and hey don’t tell mom about this, she’d be so embarrassed, she raised me better (I should have at least brushed my teeth). Oh, dad, white out this paragraph before you let her read it, ok.
The photos are of two of the many art nouveau buildings in the 'Passeig de Gràcia’ area.
Sunday, December 28, 2003
Starbuck's Sighting
Just returned from Barcelona and S has decided that the lawn needs to be mowed. Now?! Right now in the fading light and 40° temperature. I’m sitting in warmth and sorting through some terrific digital pictures (some of which I’ll share with you over the next week or so), fixing a leftover turkey sandwich, unpacking and reading e-mail. For now just news that we made it, we had a great time and this photo.
I had a Starbucks sighting in Barcelona, was on tour bus at the time and couldn’t stop did think of leaping off the thing but was sitting in upper deck. So all I have is this photo.
More later.
I had a Starbucks sighting in Barcelona, was on tour bus at the time and couldn’t stop did think of leaping off the thing but was sitting in upper deck. So all I have is this photo.
More later.
Monday, December 22, 2003
The Week In Review
A recent British survey conducted by researchers at the University of London has found that single women have fewer mental and emotional issues and dysfunctions than married women. Hmmm…shocking! And that women with husbands AND children are basically, well, doomed basket cases. Hmmm…let me call my sisters and warn them.
Ok, then on that note we’re off for the week in review.
We had an appointment on Wednesday, December 17th with a company called ImpaQt. They are the company that MCo. Has hired (or may hire) to help us with our language acquisition. (As if it was a matter of purchase.) Our initial meeting was supposed to be for purposes of evaluating our current skills. That shouldn’t take too long.
The first person we met at ImpaQt was Maggie, a very Irish young woman with a strong accent overshadowed only by her strong personality. She was bubbly and effusive and loud and far too chipper for that time of the morning. I liked her on site. She greeted us enthusiastically and offered tea. S took her up on the offer and then we got to work. We were given oral and written tests consisting of paragraphs in French followed by questions in French that we were to answer in English. Each of the 5 paragraphs got progressively more difficult and S and I amused ourselves near the end by making up answers to what we thought the questions were. We were laughing loudly but with Maggie greeting people in the hallway nobody heard us.
When we were done with our tests we were introduced to Chris, a brit, who next to Maggie seemed straight laced and proper to the extreme in his navy blazer and slacks. He shared with us some personal anecdotes of his move to France and his linguistic journey. He then collected our tests which were neither looked at nor discussed; too bad really, they were quite funny. He proceeded, instead, to go over what we felt our basic language needs might be. Basically what do we want or need to learn. He outlined some goals told us that a proposal for education would be submitted to MCo. (with a cost estimate I’m sure) and that assuming approval of the proposal we would start in January. Damn, I thought this was about language lessons not a god damned corporate merger. We’ll be heading home in less than two years, could we move this along already?
…
On Thursday morning, we had to go into the city for medical check-ups so that the ‘préfecture’ can issue S’s work and our residency permits. The exam basically consisted of peeing in a cup, a ludicrous eye exam, chest x-rays and an interview with a physician. S was called in first and then me.
The peeing in a cup part was pretty easy, no great skill involved there. The eye exam was a bit tricky though. See, I don’t actually know my alphabet in French very well. I used to know it and I think it’s similar to Spanish but I don’t remember; in any case I was not quite prepared for this test. I was asked to read the smallest line of the eye chart and I can only assume that the nurse thought I was either blind as a bat or stupid beyond comprehension.
The whole mental process slowed things down considerably. To begin with I first had to see the letter that was pointed to and identify it (not as easy as it sounds because I couldn’t tell what some of the letters were, was that a D or an O, that an I or a J, an M or an N.) then take the English word, translate it to Spanish and then see if I could remember the French. So some of my answers were wrong, some were in English, some were in Spanish and maybe some were in French. So yeah basically I think I got them all wrong. I figured the nurse would ask if I wore eye glasses or if I needed to put my glasses on or something along those lines, but since she didn’t speak English, nor I French, I’m sure she decided it wasn’t worth the trouble and just signed off on the exam.
Well then, on to be weighed, can’t fail that can I? After the kilos were recorded, I undressed and hugged a very cold machine to take the chest x-ray. Not as painful as a mammogram but almost as humiliating, really though another no brainer.
Finally, the interview with the doctor, this could be tricky; he would also assume stupidity when I gaped at him uncomprehendingly after each question asked.
I sat in a hallway reading posters about AIDS prevention; urging the use of ‘préservatifs’ (condoms not preservatives). I waited with my new chest x-ray in hand until finally a doctor invited me into his office. He began speaking to me in rapid French. I laughed a little and requested in my best French, “parlez vous lentement sil’ vous plait”.
“Oh, in English then?” he asked laughing a little too, as he took my x-ray and clipped it up on his light box thingy. He glanced at the x-ray seriously and said, “Hmm, we have a problem here”.
“We do?!” I said, staring at the x-ray to see if I could spot the problem. (Hmm, I thought that was my liver but maybe it’s not.)
“No” he says laughing again. Great, the man is a comedian. He proceeds to ask me all the usual questions. Family history, surgeries, pregnancies, current medication blah, blah, blah, etc.etc.etc. He signs my form and sends me on my way.
On the way out I asked S if his doctor spoke English too. He said no. How the hell did that interview go I had to wonder?
…
On Saturday we went back to Andorra for some duty free Christmas shopping. We specifically went looking for my Christmas gift. I had already completed my Christmas shopping. S was getting me knives for Christmas per my request. (I hate trying to cut up raw chicken with a dull knife. Aside from not working well, it gives me the willies.) And since my birthday is coming up (again?) soon we needed to purchase me a birthday present. (Yes I’ll be 40 this year…just practicing the line I’ll be using for the next 5 or 10 years) This time we wanted to go all the way to the center of the country to Andorra La Vella.
As we drove toward the Pyrenees we could see that the mountains were completely covered with snow. It was going to be cold. As we got closer to the mountains we began to see signs that said ‘Access Andorre équipement obligatoire’ which I took to mean we would need chains on the little Peugeot if we were going to go into the mountains. S, however, insisted obtusely that if the sign meant we needed chains it would say we needed ‘chaines’. So on we drove. The further we got the more signs we saw. On the encouraging side was that all other road traffic was of the same type of vehicle and no one seemed to be turning back. (Just a bunch of optimistic fools) The sun was shining brightly and everything was beginning to stream and steam. We went thru two tunnels under the mountains to avoid the climbing, winding switchbacks that would inevitably be involved in going up and over the mountains. Perhaps without the tunnels we might have needed chains, but it began to appear as if the ‘équipement’ signs were a bit alarmist. Everything was wet and steaming but not at all slippery.
Most of our fellow travelers, on the way up the mountains, were laden with ski gear. It was the beginning of the two week Christmas break for most French folk and the slopes were already covered with skiers and all the lifts were moving. Every likely ski spot has valleys of hotels and lift towers all the way up to the top. Happy people in parkas and carrying ski gear were everywhere and it seemed to lend a festive air to the town of Pas de la Casa.
Once we got through the tunnel on the way to Andorra La Vella, however, the snow slowly began to disappear. Andorra La Vella is a large and busy town filled with all the same duty free type shops we had seen in Pas de la Casa only in greater numbers.
The first shop we saw and went into after parking in a very crowded lot, was a cashmere shop. Going in there reminded me of that scene in ‘Pretty Woman’ where Julia Roberts’s character goes into the shop on Rodeo Drive and the women in there look at her like she’s scum and won’t wait on her. Yeah, it was something like that. There were three older women in this shop and when we walked in, in our jeans and gortex jackets, they looked at us like we must be misplaced. I ignored them walked over to the rack of coats and began trying on what ever caught my eye. Eventually one of the sales ladies came over and asked, in a language that isn’t French or Spanish but maybe a mixture of both, what size I needed. Sizes are different here so I told her, in Spanish, I was looking for something that was medium in America. Once we narrowed down the language we would speak, we began narrowing down the size and the woman seemed to warm to the task. After trying several I settled on a coat. I told the woman we would buy it and she just lit up. ‘Perfecto, la señora se ve muy elegante’! Right, now that we’re buying the coat. S bought me the beautiful long black wool/cashmere coat. Did I mention it was just what I wanted? Did I mention it’s beautiful and that I love it? Well I had so been wanting a nice wool dress coat and my new coat is absolutely delicious.
From there we started the hunt for the knives. I had researched on-line and knew exactly what I wanted. I didn’t honestly think we’d find them there. We wandered into several stores but a vast majority of the shops sell jewelry, ski/sports gear, perfumes and electronics. During our hunt we walked into a building that had many shops and then found that it was more of a mall on the order of Watertower Place in Chicago. Lots of little high priced designer boutiques on several floors built around a central area. No knives but I saw a pair of brown leather boots that were buttery soft and so beautiful I just had to have them until I saw the 400 € price tag; for that price I could be half way to a pair of Jimmy Choo’s.
We did finally find a department store that had the exact knives I wanted. We made our purchases and were pretty much done for the day, mission accomplished. And since we don’t ski, we were pretty much tapped out for things to do, besides that, I was concerned about getting off the mountain before dark to avoid ice on the now wet and steaming roads.
On the way home we decided that our day hadn’t been long enough yet and we needed to see a movie. The theatres play many American movies and usually they are shown in VO (version originel) and VF (version français). We hit the multiplex near our house to see if Lord of the Rings – Return of the King (Le Seigneur des Anneaux – Le Retour du Roi) had opened on the same day here as there and it had. The multiplex near us however was only playing VF. The ticket boy told us that their sister theater at Place Wilson in the city was playing the VO. So we ran home grabbed a quick dinner and headed into the heart of the city.
We parked under the ‘Place du Capitole’ where a huge holiday bazaar of local artisans was in progress. The capital building had spotlights on the bell tower and flags, and was flanked on three sides with holiday lit buildings. The Crowne Plaza, Le Hotel de l’Opera, and department stores all lit for the holidays with the bazaar in the center of the square like a brightly lit jewel. Hundreds of people were wandering around and doing their holiday shopping or sitting in the cafes. We glanced briefly at the booths on the edge of the bazaar and decided we’d have to come back. It was wonderfully busy, noisy and festive. We walked around to the front of the capital where there was a brightly lit garden of heavily flocked Christmas trees.
We finally got to the theatre where we found that the VO Lord of the Rings started at 8:30 and it was a 3 ½ hour long movie. Hopefully the bazaar would be open on Sunday. Though nothing is ever open on Sunday, it was the last Sunday before Christmas so we hoped that an exception would be made.
We bought our tickets and noticed that the VO of Love Actually was also playing. Our Sunday afternoon was taking shape.
There was a cool feature at the ticket counter. There was a large electronic billboard that flashed the movie title, time remaining on current showing, start time of next showing and number of seats still available for the next showing. It was pretty cool. We could see that the theatre we were going to had over 200 seats and that there were only 32 left at 7:00 when we bought our tickets.
We located our theatre and then wandered around the complex a bit. The concession ‘stand’ was self serve, like a buffet, grab what you want and pay on the way out. Popcorn was available but since we didn’t see the big popping machine we wondered how old it was. We didn’t actually see anyone purchasing or carrying any popcorn. Pop was available but in bottles or cans, no fountain pop.
We decided to find our seats with 45 minutes to go and it was a good thing. The show was completely sold out and the theatre was already ¾ full. I was curious to see if there were really that many English speaking people coming to see the movie in English (Though it would be subtitled in French). I hate watching subtitled movies because you spend so much time reading that you miss seeing a lot of it, I think. (No I don’t read that slow, it’s just distracting.) But I heard no English in the theatre. A manager came in and made people move to the middle of the rows so leftover seats could easily be found by late comers. Everyone that was asked to move grumbled of course, but moved.
When they first began showing commercials along with the previews in American theatres I was pissed. It’s bad enough we have to watch the darned things on TV, but we pay to see the movie not the ads. Well, it’s nothing compared to the number of ads we saw at this movie. I’m not kidding, 15 solid minutes of advertising, it didn’t seem like 15 minutes, it WAS 15 minutes, and there were two adds that ran twice during that time. Good god!
Finally the movie started and we became completely absorbed. I love going to really long movies that move along so well you don’t notice the passage of time. The movie was terrific and all the pre-release hype seems to, for once have been on target. Everyone applauded at the end.
We walked back to our car in the cold midnight air, among other movie goers and late diners. The streets seemed to still be full of people. It was a great evening. I made S go down and get the car by himself. Underground parking garages make me nervous. While I waited for him near the garage exit, I was asked twice by passing gentlemen if I needed a ride. I guess it was a little late for a woman to be standing around alone.
…
Sunday morning dawned, rainy and cold. We decided we’d go ahead and drive into town to see if by some chance the bazaar might be open and also to see if we could catch an early showing of ‘Love Actually’. We left the house at noon and the sun seemed to be making a valiant effort to break through the clouds. As we drove toward the center of town we noticed that almost everything was open. Grocery stores, boutiques and department stores, even the butcher shops seemed to be open. As we approached the Capitol the traffic slowed to a crawl, everyone was out for some last minute shopping. The atmosphere was wonderful. I love the busyness of it. I used to love downtown Chicago at this time of year for the same reason. Everyone just seems to be in a good mood and the air is full of excitement.
All signs pointing to the Capitol said that the parking lot was full so S said he’d drop me off and go a few blocks out to the Esquirol to park and meet me at the bazaar. As we were driving toward the entrance of the capital garage though, we saw a steady stream of cars going on down so S decided to give it a shot. He let me out and went to park. He ended up having to park down so far he was near the 5th circle of hell, but at least he didn’t have to drive somewhere else. He said he’d never had to park that far down and had no idea the structure went that far down. I hoped the garage really did go that far down and that we weren’t in some Twilight Zone episode.
The bazaar had everything. Hand made paper products, glassware, toys, ceramics, wood crafts, hand knitted winter wear, holiday decorations, silk scarves, food, food, food and more food. There were at least three Canadian stands featuring maple syrup, Canadian beer and sweaters. The smells of the place were sometimes wonderful, sometimes overpowering, and in a few spots not too good; the worst was a stall that was selling cheese that actually made my stomach turnover and threaten worse. S thought it smelled like three day old wet dog. Several of the food stands had these huge stock pots bubbling away with spiced wine. You know we had to try that. It was hot and not too bad, the one we tried was a little heavy on the anise and I hate the taste of black licorice, but overall it was ok. A few swallows and I was warm all the way to my toes.
We went to the theatre and bought tickets to a 4 O’clock show. We then wandered around Place Wilson. It’s a circle (as opposed to a square) with a central fountain. The road goes all the way around the fountain and there are about 6 spoke like streets leading out of it. Lots of specialty shops and cafes line the circle. We decided to eat at a little Italian place that had outdoor seating. We sat next to one of those giant outdoor heaters and were quite toasty. We had pizza and wine and dessert and coffee and we were feeling pretty happy.
We’d seen the movie before but it’s one of those that can be seen more than once. This time we were in one of the smaller theatres. The thing about subtitled movies is that they apparently lose much in translation. S and I would be the only ones laughing during parts of the movie. That in itself was rather humorous.
…
We’ve made reservations to be in Barcelona for a few days after Christmas. We decided to go ahead and spend our first French Christmas at home. We found turkeys at one of the hyper markets and bought the biggest one they had, it weighs in at a whopping 7 pounds. During our hunt for turkey I went right to the back of the market where the butcher shop is. I figured that that was where I would find the whole birds as opposed to the parts you find in the refrigerated cases. I began reading labels on everything resembling a winged animal. There were chickens, geese, duck, quail, Cornish hens and turkey. The shocker was that most of the birds were still sporting there fully feathered heads and feet! I found it difficult to ask for something that appeared to be watching me.
We were also able to finally find some sweet potatoes. So that and a green salad will be our meal. Well, I still have a present or two to wrap, hope you are all not expecting your Christmas cards to arrive in a timely fashion because they won’t. Sorry, you know me…
Merry Christmas to all and I’ll post a Barcelona update next week after we get back.
P.S. J will be here in less than 2 weeks!!! I can’t wait.
P.P.S. The photo is what I scanned from the Cinema program. Enjoy.
Ok, then on that note we’re off for the week in review.
We had an appointment on Wednesday, December 17th with a company called ImpaQt. They are the company that MCo. Has hired (or may hire) to help us with our language acquisition. (As if it was a matter of purchase.) Our initial meeting was supposed to be for purposes of evaluating our current skills. That shouldn’t take too long.
The first person we met at ImpaQt was Maggie, a very Irish young woman with a strong accent overshadowed only by her strong personality. She was bubbly and effusive and loud and far too chipper for that time of the morning. I liked her on site. She greeted us enthusiastically and offered tea. S took her up on the offer and then we got to work. We were given oral and written tests consisting of paragraphs in French followed by questions in French that we were to answer in English. Each of the 5 paragraphs got progressively more difficult and S and I amused ourselves near the end by making up answers to what we thought the questions were. We were laughing loudly but with Maggie greeting people in the hallway nobody heard us.
When we were done with our tests we were introduced to Chris, a brit, who next to Maggie seemed straight laced and proper to the extreme in his navy blazer and slacks. He shared with us some personal anecdotes of his move to France and his linguistic journey. He then collected our tests which were neither looked at nor discussed; too bad really, they were quite funny. He proceeded, instead, to go over what we felt our basic language needs might be. Basically what do we want or need to learn. He outlined some goals told us that a proposal for education would be submitted to MCo. (with a cost estimate I’m sure) and that assuming approval of the proposal we would start in January. Damn, I thought this was about language lessons not a god damned corporate merger. We’ll be heading home in less than two years, could we move this along already?
…
On Thursday morning, we had to go into the city for medical check-ups so that the ‘préfecture’ can issue S’s work and our residency permits. The exam basically consisted of peeing in a cup, a ludicrous eye exam, chest x-rays and an interview with a physician. S was called in first and then me.
The peeing in a cup part was pretty easy, no great skill involved there. The eye exam was a bit tricky though. See, I don’t actually know my alphabet in French very well. I used to know it and I think it’s similar to Spanish but I don’t remember; in any case I was not quite prepared for this test. I was asked to read the smallest line of the eye chart and I can only assume that the nurse thought I was either blind as a bat or stupid beyond comprehension.
The whole mental process slowed things down considerably. To begin with I first had to see the letter that was pointed to and identify it (not as easy as it sounds because I couldn’t tell what some of the letters were, was that a D or an O, that an I or a J, an M or an N.) then take the English word, translate it to Spanish and then see if I could remember the French. So some of my answers were wrong, some were in English, some were in Spanish and maybe some were in French. So yeah basically I think I got them all wrong. I figured the nurse would ask if I wore eye glasses or if I needed to put my glasses on or something along those lines, but since she didn’t speak English, nor I French, I’m sure she decided it wasn’t worth the trouble and just signed off on the exam.
Well then, on to be weighed, can’t fail that can I? After the kilos were recorded, I undressed and hugged a very cold machine to take the chest x-ray. Not as painful as a mammogram but almost as humiliating, really though another no brainer.
Finally, the interview with the doctor, this could be tricky; he would also assume stupidity when I gaped at him uncomprehendingly after each question asked.
I sat in a hallway reading posters about AIDS prevention; urging the use of ‘préservatifs’ (condoms not preservatives). I waited with my new chest x-ray in hand until finally a doctor invited me into his office. He began speaking to me in rapid French. I laughed a little and requested in my best French, “parlez vous lentement sil’ vous plait”.
“Oh, in English then?” he asked laughing a little too, as he took my x-ray and clipped it up on his light box thingy. He glanced at the x-ray seriously and said, “Hmm, we have a problem here”.
“We do?!” I said, staring at the x-ray to see if I could spot the problem. (Hmm, I thought that was my liver but maybe it’s not.)
“No” he says laughing again. Great, the man is a comedian. He proceeds to ask me all the usual questions. Family history, surgeries, pregnancies, current medication blah, blah, blah, etc.etc.etc. He signs my form and sends me on my way.
On the way out I asked S if his doctor spoke English too. He said no. How the hell did that interview go I had to wonder?
…
On Saturday we went back to Andorra for some duty free Christmas shopping. We specifically went looking for my Christmas gift. I had already completed my Christmas shopping. S was getting me knives for Christmas per my request. (I hate trying to cut up raw chicken with a dull knife. Aside from not working well, it gives me the willies.) And since my birthday is coming up (again?) soon we needed to purchase me a birthday present. (Yes I’ll be 40 this year…just practicing the line I’ll be using for the next 5 or 10 years) This time we wanted to go all the way to the center of the country to Andorra La Vella.
As we drove toward the Pyrenees we could see that the mountains were completely covered with snow. It was going to be cold. As we got closer to the mountains we began to see signs that said ‘Access Andorre équipement obligatoire’ which I took to mean we would need chains on the little Peugeot if we were going to go into the mountains. S, however, insisted obtusely that if the sign meant we needed chains it would say we needed ‘chaines’. So on we drove. The further we got the more signs we saw. On the encouraging side was that all other road traffic was of the same type of vehicle and no one seemed to be turning back. (Just a bunch of optimistic fools) The sun was shining brightly and everything was beginning to stream and steam. We went thru two tunnels under the mountains to avoid the climbing, winding switchbacks that would inevitably be involved in going up and over the mountains. Perhaps without the tunnels we might have needed chains, but it began to appear as if the ‘équipement’ signs were a bit alarmist. Everything was wet and steaming but not at all slippery.
Most of our fellow travelers, on the way up the mountains, were laden with ski gear. It was the beginning of the two week Christmas break for most French folk and the slopes were already covered with skiers and all the lifts were moving. Every likely ski spot has valleys of hotels and lift towers all the way up to the top. Happy people in parkas and carrying ski gear were everywhere and it seemed to lend a festive air to the town of Pas de la Casa.
Once we got through the tunnel on the way to Andorra La Vella, however, the snow slowly began to disappear. Andorra La Vella is a large and busy town filled with all the same duty free type shops we had seen in Pas de la Casa only in greater numbers.
The first shop we saw and went into after parking in a very crowded lot, was a cashmere shop. Going in there reminded me of that scene in ‘Pretty Woman’ where Julia Roberts’s character goes into the shop on Rodeo Drive and the women in there look at her like she’s scum and won’t wait on her. Yeah, it was something like that. There were three older women in this shop and when we walked in, in our jeans and gortex jackets, they looked at us like we must be misplaced. I ignored them walked over to the rack of coats and began trying on what ever caught my eye. Eventually one of the sales ladies came over and asked, in a language that isn’t French or Spanish but maybe a mixture of both, what size I needed. Sizes are different here so I told her, in Spanish, I was looking for something that was medium in America. Once we narrowed down the language we would speak, we began narrowing down the size and the woman seemed to warm to the task. After trying several I settled on a coat. I told the woman we would buy it and she just lit up. ‘Perfecto, la señora se ve muy elegante’! Right, now that we’re buying the coat. S bought me the beautiful long black wool/cashmere coat. Did I mention it was just what I wanted? Did I mention it’s beautiful and that I love it? Well I had so been wanting a nice wool dress coat and my new coat is absolutely delicious.
From there we started the hunt for the knives. I had researched on-line and knew exactly what I wanted. I didn’t honestly think we’d find them there. We wandered into several stores but a vast majority of the shops sell jewelry, ski/sports gear, perfumes and electronics. During our hunt we walked into a building that had many shops and then found that it was more of a mall on the order of Watertower Place in Chicago. Lots of little high priced designer boutiques on several floors built around a central area. No knives but I saw a pair of brown leather boots that were buttery soft and so beautiful I just had to have them until I saw the 400 € price tag; for that price I could be half way to a pair of Jimmy Choo’s.
We did finally find a department store that had the exact knives I wanted. We made our purchases and were pretty much done for the day, mission accomplished. And since we don’t ski, we were pretty much tapped out for things to do, besides that, I was concerned about getting off the mountain before dark to avoid ice on the now wet and steaming roads.
On the way home we decided that our day hadn’t been long enough yet and we needed to see a movie. The theatres play many American movies and usually they are shown in VO (version originel) and VF (version français). We hit the multiplex near our house to see if Lord of the Rings – Return of the King (Le Seigneur des Anneaux – Le Retour du Roi) had opened on the same day here as there and it had. The multiplex near us however was only playing VF. The ticket boy told us that their sister theater at Place Wilson in the city was playing the VO. So we ran home grabbed a quick dinner and headed into the heart of the city.
We parked under the ‘Place du Capitole’ where a huge holiday bazaar of local artisans was in progress. The capital building had spotlights on the bell tower and flags, and was flanked on three sides with holiday lit buildings. The Crowne Plaza, Le Hotel de l’Opera, and department stores all lit for the holidays with the bazaar in the center of the square like a brightly lit jewel. Hundreds of people were wandering around and doing their holiday shopping or sitting in the cafes. We glanced briefly at the booths on the edge of the bazaar and decided we’d have to come back. It was wonderfully busy, noisy and festive. We walked around to the front of the capital where there was a brightly lit garden of heavily flocked Christmas trees.
We finally got to the theatre where we found that the VO Lord of the Rings started at 8:30 and it was a 3 ½ hour long movie. Hopefully the bazaar would be open on Sunday. Though nothing is ever open on Sunday, it was the last Sunday before Christmas so we hoped that an exception would be made.
We bought our tickets and noticed that the VO of Love Actually was also playing. Our Sunday afternoon was taking shape.
There was a cool feature at the ticket counter. There was a large electronic billboard that flashed the movie title, time remaining on current showing, start time of next showing and number of seats still available for the next showing. It was pretty cool. We could see that the theatre we were going to had over 200 seats and that there were only 32 left at 7:00 when we bought our tickets.
We located our theatre and then wandered around the complex a bit. The concession ‘stand’ was self serve, like a buffet, grab what you want and pay on the way out. Popcorn was available but since we didn’t see the big popping machine we wondered how old it was. We didn’t actually see anyone purchasing or carrying any popcorn. Pop was available but in bottles or cans, no fountain pop.
We decided to find our seats with 45 minutes to go and it was a good thing. The show was completely sold out and the theatre was already ¾ full. I was curious to see if there were really that many English speaking people coming to see the movie in English (Though it would be subtitled in French). I hate watching subtitled movies because you spend so much time reading that you miss seeing a lot of it, I think. (No I don’t read that slow, it’s just distracting.) But I heard no English in the theatre. A manager came in and made people move to the middle of the rows so leftover seats could easily be found by late comers. Everyone that was asked to move grumbled of course, but moved.
When they first began showing commercials along with the previews in American theatres I was pissed. It’s bad enough we have to watch the darned things on TV, but we pay to see the movie not the ads. Well, it’s nothing compared to the number of ads we saw at this movie. I’m not kidding, 15 solid minutes of advertising, it didn’t seem like 15 minutes, it WAS 15 minutes, and there were two adds that ran twice during that time. Good god!
Finally the movie started and we became completely absorbed. I love going to really long movies that move along so well you don’t notice the passage of time. The movie was terrific and all the pre-release hype seems to, for once have been on target. Everyone applauded at the end.
We walked back to our car in the cold midnight air, among other movie goers and late diners. The streets seemed to still be full of people. It was a great evening. I made S go down and get the car by himself. Underground parking garages make me nervous. While I waited for him near the garage exit, I was asked twice by passing gentlemen if I needed a ride. I guess it was a little late for a woman to be standing around alone.
…
Sunday morning dawned, rainy and cold. We decided we’d go ahead and drive into town to see if by some chance the bazaar might be open and also to see if we could catch an early showing of ‘Love Actually’. We left the house at noon and the sun seemed to be making a valiant effort to break through the clouds. As we drove toward the center of town we noticed that almost everything was open. Grocery stores, boutiques and department stores, even the butcher shops seemed to be open. As we approached the Capitol the traffic slowed to a crawl, everyone was out for some last minute shopping. The atmosphere was wonderful. I love the busyness of it. I used to love downtown Chicago at this time of year for the same reason. Everyone just seems to be in a good mood and the air is full of excitement.
All signs pointing to the Capitol said that the parking lot was full so S said he’d drop me off and go a few blocks out to the Esquirol to park and meet me at the bazaar. As we were driving toward the entrance of the capital garage though, we saw a steady stream of cars going on down so S decided to give it a shot. He let me out and went to park. He ended up having to park down so far he was near the 5th circle of hell, but at least he didn’t have to drive somewhere else. He said he’d never had to park that far down and had no idea the structure went that far down. I hoped the garage really did go that far down and that we weren’t in some Twilight Zone episode.
The bazaar had everything. Hand made paper products, glassware, toys, ceramics, wood crafts, hand knitted winter wear, holiday decorations, silk scarves, food, food, food and more food. There were at least three Canadian stands featuring maple syrup, Canadian beer and sweaters. The smells of the place were sometimes wonderful, sometimes overpowering, and in a few spots not too good; the worst was a stall that was selling cheese that actually made my stomach turnover and threaten worse. S thought it smelled like three day old wet dog. Several of the food stands had these huge stock pots bubbling away with spiced wine. You know we had to try that. It was hot and not too bad, the one we tried was a little heavy on the anise and I hate the taste of black licorice, but overall it was ok. A few swallows and I was warm all the way to my toes.
We went to the theatre and bought tickets to a 4 O’clock show. We then wandered around Place Wilson. It’s a circle (as opposed to a square) with a central fountain. The road goes all the way around the fountain and there are about 6 spoke like streets leading out of it. Lots of specialty shops and cafes line the circle. We decided to eat at a little Italian place that had outdoor seating. We sat next to one of those giant outdoor heaters and were quite toasty. We had pizza and wine and dessert and coffee and we were feeling pretty happy.
We’d seen the movie before but it’s one of those that can be seen more than once. This time we were in one of the smaller theatres. The thing about subtitled movies is that they apparently lose much in translation. S and I would be the only ones laughing during parts of the movie. That in itself was rather humorous.
…
We’ve made reservations to be in Barcelona for a few days after Christmas. We decided to go ahead and spend our first French Christmas at home. We found turkeys at one of the hyper markets and bought the biggest one they had, it weighs in at a whopping 7 pounds. During our hunt for turkey I went right to the back of the market where the butcher shop is. I figured that that was where I would find the whole birds as opposed to the parts you find in the refrigerated cases. I began reading labels on everything resembling a winged animal. There were chickens, geese, duck, quail, Cornish hens and turkey. The shocker was that most of the birds were still sporting there fully feathered heads and feet! I found it difficult to ask for something that appeared to be watching me.
We were also able to finally find some sweet potatoes. So that and a green salad will be our meal. Well, I still have a present or two to wrap, hope you are all not expecting your Christmas cards to arrive in a timely fashion because they won’t. Sorry, you know me…
Merry Christmas to all and I’ll post a Barcelona update next week after we get back.
P.S. J will be here in less than 2 weeks!!! I can’t wait.
P.P.S. The photo is what I scanned from the Cinema program. Enjoy.
Updates Soon But Meanwhile
I have loads to tell. The language lesson inventory, medicals for residency and the weekend in town including movies we saw, but I'm not too organized here. But for now, here is a bizarre weather phenomena. Remember it doesn't snow in southern France!
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
The Grand Unveiling
And just for fun, and to show it's all true, a photo of our 'Charlie Brown' tree. Merry Christmas all.
Market Day
I was up early this morning and saw S off to work at 6:30. Don’t honestly know what the point is to being up that early, the sun isn’t truly up until 7:45ish. But I decided to get dressed and bundled up and head out the door into the pre-dawn darkness for some fresh warm bread for my breakfast. It was down to 29° overnight and according to Yahoo Weather it was only 32° when I headed out the door. It didn’t seem too cold when I started out so I decided to go ahead and loop past the post office first. As I neared the post office, however, my ears and nose were starting to get quite numb. I hurriedly dropped my letter into the slot and headed toward the main drag to the bakery for my breakfast and some much needed warmth.
The side street that the post office is on was choked with trailers. I forgot that Tuesday mornings there is an open air market on this street. There were several refrigerated trailers quite visible because of the lights blaring from inside. Two large trailers are butcher shops, one trailer houses the fish monger, another houses the sausage guy and one extremely large gleaming white trailer sells cheese. The cheese trailer has cheese of every conceivable variety and description. I stay as far away as possible from the fish and cheese trailers because the smell is overpowering and I don’t think I can face it on an empty stomach.
Most of the rest of the stalls are open air stalls mostly large tables where wears are displayed. There were 4 or 5 produce stands showcasing carrots, leeks, oranges, tangerines, potatoes, lettuce, cabbage and a wide variety of fresh colorful apples. The produce is arranged nested in colorful boxes filled with shredded paper. It makes you hungry just looking at the variety of fruit and the smell of the tangerines brings back memories of the tree in Mama Reyes’ back yard. Remember how we used to pick the tree bare of fruit as far up as our short arms would reach?
There were a surprising number of people already milling around the stalls, even at this hour and temperature. All of them carrying baskets or dragging rolling carts. It was a sight that made me feel happy just to be there. It was cold and bustling and very charming in a way.
As I wove my way down the street between stalls stopping briefly here and there to look I found one stall that was selling shoes or more precisely, clogs. Clogs in many colors and for every member of the family. One vendor was selling down vests and I thought I should get one, as they reminded me of how cold I was. As I moved on I noticed two stalls that reminded me of Charlotte, they had bolts and bolts of beautiful fabrics and best of all they had buttons. Buttons! A table loaded with buttons, buttons in boxes, buttons in buckets. It would take a full day to sift through all of those buttons. I kept thinking how much she would love all those buttons and wondered how much closet space she has left for fabric. She would need an annex to her room for all of this tempting fabric. (I wondered too if she would make me some pillows if I sent her some of it.) I wished I could linger longer but my ears had reached that state of frozenness that makes them start to hurt and burn.
As I headed out of the street I could see my goal ahead with lights shining and promising warmth. As I walked I noticed that there were many more people out this morning, bundled up beyond all recognition and heading toward the market with baskets in hand. The bakery too was packed with people holding baskets, some already full of shopping. The wait at the bakery was long but I didn’t mind. It’s a darned good thing you can’t gain weight from inhaling bread aroma. (You can’t can you?) I bought four fresh, warm buttery croissants and couldn’t wait until I got home to eat one, besides if I waited, they'd be cold when I got home in this weather. I tucked the bag with the remaining croissants inside my jacket so we could keep each other warm.
The side street that the post office is on was choked with trailers. I forgot that Tuesday mornings there is an open air market on this street. There were several refrigerated trailers quite visible because of the lights blaring from inside. Two large trailers are butcher shops, one trailer houses the fish monger, another houses the sausage guy and one extremely large gleaming white trailer sells cheese. The cheese trailer has cheese of every conceivable variety and description. I stay as far away as possible from the fish and cheese trailers because the smell is overpowering and I don’t think I can face it on an empty stomach.
Most of the rest of the stalls are open air stalls mostly large tables where wears are displayed. There were 4 or 5 produce stands showcasing carrots, leeks, oranges, tangerines, potatoes, lettuce, cabbage and a wide variety of fresh colorful apples. The produce is arranged nested in colorful boxes filled with shredded paper. It makes you hungry just looking at the variety of fruit and the smell of the tangerines brings back memories of the tree in Mama Reyes’ back yard. Remember how we used to pick the tree bare of fruit as far up as our short arms would reach?
There were a surprising number of people already milling around the stalls, even at this hour and temperature. All of them carrying baskets or dragging rolling carts. It was a sight that made me feel happy just to be there. It was cold and bustling and very charming in a way.
As I wove my way down the street between stalls stopping briefly here and there to look I found one stall that was selling shoes or more precisely, clogs. Clogs in many colors and for every member of the family. One vendor was selling down vests and I thought I should get one, as they reminded me of how cold I was. As I moved on I noticed two stalls that reminded me of Charlotte, they had bolts and bolts of beautiful fabrics and best of all they had buttons. Buttons! A table loaded with buttons, buttons in boxes, buttons in buckets. It would take a full day to sift through all of those buttons. I kept thinking how much she would love all those buttons and wondered how much closet space she has left for fabric. She would need an annex to her room for all of this tempting fabric. (I wondered too if she would make me some pillows if I sent her some of it.) I wished I could linger longer but my ears had reached that state of frozenness that makes them start to hurt and burn.
As I headed out of the street I could see my goal ahead with lights shining and promising warmth. As I walked I noticed that there were many more people out this morning, bundled up beyond all recognition and heading toward the market with baskets in hand. The bakery too was packed with people holding baskets, some already full of shopping. The wait at the bakery was long but I didn’t mind. It’s a darned good thing you can’t gain weight from inhaling bread aroma. (You can’t can you?) I bought four fresh, warm buttery croissants and couldn’t wait until I got home to eat one, besides if I waited, they'd be cold when I got home in this weather. I tucked the bag with the remaining croissants inside my jacket so we could keep each other warm.
Monday, December 15, 2003
"I gotta go get eggs!"
Picked S up at the airport this morning. I missed him! Well, just a little, I guess. He came bearing gifts, not all for me. On our way home he said he was going to shower and go to work. I had a brief panicked moment when I realized that that meant he was taking the car. I can't give up the car! Are my two weeks of vehicular freedom over? Where did they go? I'm not ready! Before panic could completely set in I feigned a grocery shortage and went for a FINAL drive to the mall and grocery store while he showered. I'll be better soon.
Later...
When I returned from my panicked flight to the mall, somewhat restored and calm, the big green I-hope-my-toilet-troubles-are-over truck was arriving. The nice man took a big hose out to the pipe in my back yard and flushed large quantities of water at high pressure through the pipe. Very effective! So happy to have fully functioning toilets again. It's the little things.
Later...
When I returned from my panicked flight to the mall, somewhat restored and calm, the big green I-hope-my-toilet-troubles-are-over truck was arriving. The nice man took a big hose out to the pipe in my back yard and flushed large quantities of water at high pressure through the pipe. Very effective! So happy to have fully functioning toilets again. It's the little things.
Saturday, December 13, 2003
Sapine Noel
Christmas tree in stand outside of front door. I’ve shaken it and swept away the constantly falling needles. This lovely tree cost me 25€. This lovely tree is shorter than I am but makes up for it in stoutness. It is wider than it is tall but the 2 foot center peak stands 2 feet above the rest of the foliage, making this tree in effect a 3 foot tall tree. Well, let’s just say that ‘sapine noel’ in France are not what they are in the states and they cost 2 or 3 times as much.
As I am, in my predictably anal way, sweeping and vacuuming needles from the front hall and porch M Babec arrives to tell me that the ‘machine’ will be here at 1:30 on Monday to take care of the sewer problems. This is good news; I was beginning to picture us having to move to a hotel for a week or so. Had in fact just gotten off the phone with S where we were both discussing options and who we could call for translation help with this problem. It’s terribly frustrating to not speak the language and have a need to communicate more thoroughly than my online translator will allow.
I open the boxes of lights I bought for the tree find two odd things. First, the light strings do not plug into each other. But more strangely still, the light string is not so much a string as a circle. The lights are on a wire that starts and ends at the plug. How in the heck do I get these on the tree? If I fold the circle and treat it like a string then there are two bulbs together. This is going to take some thought. If anyone can offer some insight as to how these are supposed to go on the tree, let me know ASAP.
Off to buy an extension cord and power strip.
As I am, in my predictably anal way, sweeping and vacuuming needles from the front hall and porch M Babec arrives to tell me that the ‘machine’ will be here at 1:30 on Monday to take care of the sewer problems. This is good news; I was beginning to picture us having to move to a hotel for a week or so. Had in fact just gotten off the phone with S where we were both discussing options and who we could call for translation help with this problem. It’s terribly frustrating to not speak the language and have a need to communicate more thoroughly than my online translator will allow.
I open the boxes of lights I bought for the tree find two odd things. First, the light strings do not plug into each other. But more strangely still, the light string is not so much a string as a circle. The lights are on a wire that starts and ends at the plug. How in the heck do I get these on the tree? If I fold the circle and treat it like a string then there are two bulbs together. This is going to take some thought. If anyone can offer some insight as to how these are supposed to go on the tree, let me know ASAP.
Off to buy an extension cord and power strip.
Friday, December 12, 2003
Toilet Troubles Continue or Oh Shit!
Plumber was here. He arrived while I was out and had begun working in the back yard. As I pulled into the driveway I could hear the sound of a compressor at work. He was snaking the main sewer, from house to street, with the longest, stoutest snake I’ve ever seen. He had made himself a nice and disgusting pile in the back yard. After a while he stopped work and came to find me in the house. He took me to his pile to show me his finds. (As if I would find this as fascinating as he does) Then he tells me the bad news.
I can’t even begin to tell you what a mess he has described. Apparently the previous tenants or the tenants previous to them had put plastic bags (he showed them to me), paper towels, cigarette wrappers etc. down the drains. This along with regular use has blocked a pipe that is at least 6 inches in diameter. The problem is that even with his 60 foot snake he cannot reach the heart of the problem. It will take a different type of machine and they’ll have to come at it from the street end and work toward the house. He is going to contact M Babec and tell him the bad news. I’m not seeing this having a swift or inexpensive solution.
On that note, I’m going out to buy a Christmas tree.
I can’t even begin to tell you what a mess he has described. Apparently the previous tenants or the tenants previous to them had put plastic bags (he showed them to me), paper towels, cigarette wrappers etc. down the drains. This along with regular use has blocked a pipe that is at least 6 inches in diameter. The problem is that even with his 60 foot snake he cannot reach the heart of the problem. It will take a different type of machine and they’ll have to come at it from the street end and work toward the house. He is going to contact M Babec and tell him the bad news. I’m not seeing this having a swift or inexpensive solution.
On that note, I’m going out to buy a Christmas tree.
Thursday, December 11, 2003
Le Sapeurs Pompiers
No plumber today.
In other developments…
The AIT guidebook says to expect three knocks on your door around Christmas time. The garbage guys, the mailman and the firemen will come by to sell calendars; this is your opportunity to give them their Christmas bonus. Tonight I had a visit from ‘le sapeurs pompiers’ – the firemen.
Could someone please explain to me why it is that firemen always look like that. A couple of them rang the buzzer at the driveway gate this evening and let me tell you as they came looming out of the dark in their reflective striped coats I was speechless Then one of them gives his spiel and shows me the calendar. I wipe my chin and manage to say one moment please and go for my purse. As I hand them the 5 Euros I’m thinking, yeah I’ll take two…calendars that is.
And now a photo of Le Chateau de Puilaurens.
In other developments…
The AIT guidebook says to expect three knocks on your door around Christmas time. The garbage guys, the mailman and the firemen will come by to sell calendars; this is your opportunity to give them their Christmas bonus. Tonight I had a visit from ‘le sapeurs pompiers’ – the firemen.
Could someone please explain to me why it is that firemen always look like that. A couple of them rang the buzzer at the driveway gate this evening and let me tell you as they came looming out of the dark in their reflective striped coats I was speechless Then one of them gives his spiel and shows me the calendar. I wipe my chin and manage to say one moment please and go for my purse. As I hand them the 5 Euros I’m thinking, yeah I’ll take two…calendars that is.
And now a photo of Le Chateau de Puilaurens.
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
Still the Toilet
2 pm and no plumber has arrived, go next door to Anne, who is home because she has the day off today, and ask her to call and explain to M Babec what has happened. As predicted he had misunderstood and says he’ll call the plumber again.
The plumber must live down the street because in 2 minutes he arrives. He smiles and asks “Still problem?” I say yes and we go down to the WC, where I flush and… nothing happens, I mean, toilet flushes no problem, no leaking. Flush again, nothing happens. Swearing under my breath I turn to the plumber and explain to him where the water was coming out of and what was happening. He chuckles and flushes again, this time, Niagara frickin falls. Drag over the towels I had on standby. He says he sees what the problem is but that he is too busy to fix it today. “Do you have another WC up?” he asks pointing upstairs. “Yes” I reply thinking ‘And thank god I do’. Well, good he says because he has many jobs but he will return to remove toilet and fix problem. I don’t bother to ask when he will return, but am hoping the problem will be fixed before J and Rich arrive in January. Am not, however, holding my breath.
Photo of the Abbots chapel at the Abbey at La Grasse
The plumber must live down the street because in 2 minutes he arrives. He smiles and asks “Still problem?” I say yes and we go down to the WC, where I flush and… nothing happens, I mean, toilet flushes no problem, no leaking. Flush again, nothing happens. Swearing under my breath I turn to the plumber and explain to him where the water was coming out of and what was happening. He chuckles and flushes again, this time, Niagara frickin falls. Drag over the towels I had on standby. He says he sees what the problem is but that he is too busy to fix it today. “Do you have another WC up?” he asks pointing upstairs. “Yes” I reply thinking ‘And thank god I do’. Well, good he says because he has many jobs but he will return to remove toilet and fix problem. I don’t bother to ask when he will return, but am hoping the problem will be fixed before J and Rich arrive in January. Am not, however, holding my breath.
Photo of the Abbots chapel at the Abbey at La Grasse
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
Toilet Saga Continues
Plumber arrives at 9:30 this morning. Comes in with giant snake and reams toilet. Comes out of WC and says “Work good now, no more problem”. I thank him and walk him to the door. When I return to the WC I realize I’ll have to scrub and disinfect again and this time include scrubbing the walls. There are… um…things on the walls. So I scrub and clean and finish the job by cleaning the toilet bowl last and flushing it. Water pours from the pipe that comes out of the back of the toilet. Floor is once again flooded, but heck at least the bowl isn’t backed up, now the water just flows directly to the floor.
Keeping cool I ponder what to do next. Call landlord and explain that problem is not solved? The man speaks less than zero English. Call the plumber back? Think I have to go through landlord so he knows there’s still a problem. So I go on line, translate two short sentences, call the landlord and deliver my lines. Silence on the other end. Then he says, he’ll call the plumber. As I hang up I’m suddenly picturing how this call will go. I imagine the plumber will say he’s already been here and M Babec will assume he misunderstood me and that I must have just been calling to tell him the plumber had been here and let it go. I’ll wait until tomorrow and see if plumber shows up. Thank goodness there is another bathroom upstairs.
Another photo of a church courtyard in Avignonet-Lauragais.
Keeping cool I ponder what to do next. Call landlord and explain that problem is not solved? The man speaks less than zero English. Call the plumber back? Think I have to go through landlord so he knows there’s still a problem. So I go on line, translate two short sentences, call the landlord and deliver my lines. Silence on the other end. Then he says, he’ll call the plumber. As I hang up I’m suddenly picturing how this call will go. I imagine the plumber will say he’s already been here and M Babec will assume he misunderstood me and that I must have just been calling to tell him the plumber had been here and let it go. I’ll wait until tomorrow and see if plumber shows up. Thank goodness there is another bathroom upstairs.
Another photo of a church courtyard in Avignonet-Lauragais.
Monday, December 08, 2003
The Toilet Saga
Landlord’s presence is like curse. Toilet in my WC is leaking copiously onto floor and is plugged, have plunged and snaked and still plugged. Water is leaking from base of toilet and is coming from bowl because when bowl is empty water stops.
Landlord was called and he arrives to stand at toilet, flush and scratch his head as toilet begins to seep water onto the floor. He flushes the toilet again (because one bowl full of water on the floor wasn’t enough). The bowl fills to the top and then slowly begins to once again seep its contents onto the floor. The man seemed flustered at this but what did he think would happen, I had already mimed the problem to him. He takes up plunger and begins energetic plunging, splashing activity. I just cleaned the floors and disinfected them and myself, but I’ll happily do again, THANKS!
Finally, pulls out cell phone to call little old repair man. Says repairman will be here to fix toilet, but fails to specify when this will occur.
Meanwhile...a photo to share. S at a crossroads in a tiny village street.
Landlord was called and he arrives to stand at toilet, flush and scratch his head as toilet begins to seep water onto the floor. He flushes the toilet again (because one bowl full of water on the floor wasn’t enough). The bowl fills to the top and then slowly begins to once again seep its contents onto the floor. The man seemed flustered at this but what did he think would happen, I had already mimed the problem to him. He takes up plunger and begins energetic plunging, splashing activity. I just cleaned the floors and disinfected them and myself, but I’ll happily do again, THANKS!
Finally, pulls out cell phone to call little old repair man. Says repairman will be here to fix toilet, but fails to specify when this will occur.
Meanwhile...a photo to share. S at a crossroads in a tiny village street.
Saturday, December 06, 2003
Go away already
Opening the shutters with the loud groaning, creaking, banging racket that signals the beginning of my day to the neighbors. It’s 6:30 on Saturday morning and I’m sure they don’t appreciate my perkiness when they are trying to have a nice ‘lie in’.
Have been lying in bed wide eyed since 4:30. Ever try to talk yourself back to sleep. Yeah, not real successful is it. ‘Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep’ over and over, not sure if I’m trying to hypnotize myself or bore myself back to sleep, but in either case it doesn’t work. Try counting but while the back of my mind is still counting without missing a single digit, the front of mind has already gotten board and is zooming ahead, tossing thoughts hither and yon, willy nilly.
There’s no point. I get up and want to open all the shutters right then, but waking people up with that racket in the 5 am stillness of a Saturday morning would be rude and unforgivable. Wander aimlessly, turn on the heat, start some laundry, empty the dishwasher and then my stomach says, “Um, excuse me but, where’s my breakfast?” (Only not in exactly those words). Frying some bacon, making coffee it’s now 5:45. Can I open them now? Huh, mom huh, can I please? Like some little kid at Christmas. I just want to peak. No, must wait, still too quiet outside.
Go to pour my coffee and scramble some eggs, when I am charged by a hideously large brown spider. Haven’t seen any of them around for a while, but here it comes right towards me, off the counter onto the floor and scuttling for shelter as if it’s life depends on it. (Obviously he’s heard. It does.) He crawls onto the kitchen rug that I quickly fold over him and begin to stomp and dance on while bad words, ignited by the adrenaline rush the fright of seeing the damn thing gave me, stream out of my mouth. The litany ending with something like “die sucker die”. Then my right knee is sending loud and urgent messages upstairs to the head office suggesting I should stop now. He’s dead. It’s ten after six. Take rug carefully out to laundry.
Finish cooking and set out my breakfast. Got my bacon, got my eggs, got my coffee too. It’s 6:30 and I hear the beginning twitters of bird song. It’s time. I open the window and shove the loudly protesting shutters open to find… Oh, I think you know what I find. It’s raining again.
Later that morning…
Hellooo, thank god I was up early. The landlord, with the garage door repairman in tow, arrives at precisely 9:00 am. First, holy geeze, glad I was up and dressed and the house is something resembling clean. Secondly, the man said they were coming at 9:00 am on Dimanche! Dimanche, that would be SUNDAY. Dimanche not sounding much like Samedi. Specifically remember them saying Sunday because I repeated it back to Monsieur Babec to be sure and the repairman speaks English and he said a week from Sunday. (This was last Friday when the repairman came to look at the garage doors with Monsieur Babec)
I let them in and Monsieur Babec hands me a piece of paper which is to certify that the radiator system had been serviced this year (I can read). Then, lord help me, he goes over and begins to play with the knobs on the control panel to show me what he’s talking about. I nod and smile that I know what he’s talking about. He goes out to annoy the repairman and an hour later I reach for the radiator to warm my hands and it’s stone cold. “Did he turn it off?” I mumble out loud and go check. No, what he has apparently done is turn the pilot off. I think that if I press the little button with the lightning bolt on it, it should turn the pilot back on. Instead, however, I misguidedly decide to go get the landlord, since he’s here he can risk explosions, especially since he’s the one who turned the goofy thing off. I bring him in and show him that the radiators are cold and point to the panel. He goes over and fiddles with knobs and buttons and looks baffled. I’m just beginning to be sorry that I didn’t go ahead and do it myself as he pulls out his cell phone to call a repairman. Good grief. Resist the urge to go over and push the button to turn the pilot back on. Sit down and read my book.
He peeks in and says that the repairman will arrive in 5 minutes. Praying silently for patience. Repairman arrives, an ancient and bent little African man. Smiling hugely, showing glowing white teeth to match his helmet of tight white curls. The man blessedly speaks English. I tell him what I suspect and he winks at me and goes over and pushes the little lightning bolt button and voila! flames spring up and we’re back in business. Monsieur Babec smiles broadly and walks the little old fossil back out to his equally fossilized Citroën. Poor man, to be dragged out in this weather for that. If I’d known what the repairman looked like I would have just done it myself. Oh well.
Everyone is driving away. Heat is on, garage doors both work perfectly and Monsieur Babec is done with his overseeing project for the day. All quiet now on the French front.
Have been lying in bed wide eyed since 4:30. Ever try to talk yourself back to sleep. Yeah, not real successful is it. ‘Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep’ over and over, not sure if I’m trying to hypnotize myself or bore myself back to sleep, but in either case it doesn’t work. Try counting but while the back of my mind is still counting without missing a single digit, the front of mind has already gotten board and is zooming ahead, tossing thoughts hither and yon, willy nilly.
There’s no point. I get up and want to open all the shutters right then, but waking people up with that racket in the 5 am stillness of a Saturday morning would be rude and unforgivable. Wander aimlessly, turn on the heat, start some laundry, empty the dishwasher and then my stomach says, “Um, excuse me but, where’s my breakfast?” (Only not in exactly those words). Frying some bacon, making coffee it’s now 5:45. Can I open them now? Huh, mom huh, can I please? Like some little kid at Christmas. I just want to peak. No, must wait, still too quiet outside.
Go to pour my coffee and scramble some eggs, when I am charged by a hideously large brown spider. Haven’t seen any of them around for a while, but here it comes right towards me, off the counter onto the floor and scuttling for shelter as if it’s life depends on it. (Obviously he’s heard. It does.) He crawls onto the kitchen rug that I quickly fold over him and begin to stomp and dance on while bad words, ignited by the adrenaline rush the fright of seeing the damn thing gave me, stream out of my mouth. The litany ending with something like “die sucker die”. Then my right knee is sending loud and urgent messages upstairs to the head office suggesting I should stop now. He’s dead. It’s ten after six. Take rug carefully out to laundry.
Finish cooking and set out my breakfast. Got my bacon, got my eggs, got my coffee too. It’s 6:30 and I hear the beginning twitters of bird song. It’s time. I open the window and shove the loudly protesting shutters open to find… Oh, I think you know what I find. It’s raining again.
Later that morning…
Hellooo, thank god I was up early. The landlord, with the garage door repairman in tow, arrives at precisely 9:00 am. First, holy geeze, glad I was up and dressed and the house is something resembling clean. Secondly, the man said they were coming at 9:00 am on Dimanche! Dimanche, that would be SUNDAY. Dimanche not sounding much like Samedi. Specifically remember them saying Sunday because I repeated it back to Monsieur Babec to be sure and the repairman speaks English and he said a week from Sunday. (This was last Friday when the repairman came to look at the garage doors with Monsieur Babec)
I let them in and Monsieur Babec hands me a piece of paper which is to certify that the radiator system had been serviced this year (I can read). Then, lord help me, he goes over and begins to play with the knobs on the control panel to show me what he’s talking about. I nod and smile that I know what he’s talking about. He goes out to annoy the repairman and an hour later I reach for the radiator to warm my hands and it’s stone cold. “Did he turn it off?” I mumble out loud and go check. No, what he has apparently done is turn the pilot off. I think that if I press the little button with the lightning bolt on it, it should turn the pilot back on. Instead, however, I misguidedly decide to go get the landlord, since he’s here he can risk explosions, especially since he’s the one who turned the goofy thing off. I bring him in and show him that the radiators are cold and point to the panel. He goes over and fiddles with knobs and buttons and looks baffled. I’m just beginning to be sorry that I didn’t go ahead and do it myself as he pulls out his cell phone to call a repairman. Good grief. Resist the urge to go over and push the button to turn the pilot back on. Sit down and read my book.
He peeks in and says that the repairman will arrive in 5 minutes. Praying silently for patience. Repairman arrives, an ancient and bent little African man. Smiling hugely, showing glowing white teeth to match his helmet of tight white curls. The man blessedly speaks English. I tell him what I suspect and he winks at me and goes over and pushes the little lightning bolt button and voila! flames spring up and we’re back in business. Monsieur Babec smiles broadly and walks the little old fossil back out to his equally fossilized Citroën. Poor man, to be dragged out in this weather for that. If I’d known what the repairman looked like I would have just done it myself. Oh well.
Everyone is driving away. Heat is on, garage doors both work perfectly and Monsieur Babec is done with his overseeing project for the day. All quiet now on the French front.
Friday, December 05, 2003
Language Exchange
Leaving the house at 8:30 to pick S up at the airport at 9:45 this morning. He’ll have time to get home, switch the contents of his suitcase for summer wear (It’s summer in Johannesburg now), take a nap, and do a bit of work before I take him back to the airport this afternoon for his flight out.
I get outside and start the car and it sounds like one of the squirrels is dead or still sleeping or, at the very least, seriously ill. The little Peugeot starts and drives with not so much of a Corvette roar and purr as with a tuberculin cough and rattle, a sound so pathetic that you know its days are numbered. You just have to love diesel engines.
Driving to the airport under a perfectly and unbelievably clear vault of French blue sky. Instead of feeling happy at this sudden clearing of weather I’m feeling damn near murderous. S will be back one day and it would be the sunny one. Days of gloom and he gets back to this. Not fair I tell you.
This time of morning the traffic is backed up for blocks before the circles. I must navigate 4 circles on my way to the highway. When traffic is this heavy though, they are a nightmare. I look ahead of me to see what the big hold up is and notice big wide yellow signs that say ‘CONVOI EXCEPTIONNEL’ oh yeah you guessed it, WIDE LOAD. Some genius is trying to navigate a double wide mobile home through morning rush hour traffic and around these stupid, ridiculous circles. It’s ok, at least now I have plenty of time to open a window and enjoy the lovely, almost warm, weather.
Walking out of the airport with S and he looks up and says. “Wow, it’s gorgeous!” Yeah, whatever.
Got S home and fed and settled. I’m pacing now because today at 3 I get to meet a new AIT member, Andrea, who will be introducing me to my language exchange partner, Michelle. God I hate stuff like this. Meeting new people. My stomach is in complete turmoil and I’m seriously regretting having eaten lunch.
Andrea arrives at 3:00 on the dot and I like her on sight. She’s my height with short dark hair, very tan and has a look in her eye that I instantly recognize as sarcastic wit. Yes, just my type of woman. We get into her shiny blue Peugeot cc cabriolet and she says, “Well since your American I can start peppering you with my rude American questions.” The French don’t do that, they don’t ask stuff like ‘How long have you lived here’, ‘What does your husband do’ (big no no, like asking how much money you make), ‘How old are you’, ‘Do you have any children’ etc. etc. etc.
We drive through our little burg toward Michelle’s house, chatting away. The more we talk the more I like her. I tell her that my husband is a ‘corn pimp’ (as he was dubbed years ago by my brothers) and she says her husband is ‘into ants’. That’s all she says about him, but it’s obviously a lucrative job that has garnered them assignments in many places, including Cameroon, D.C., Paris and now here. She is originally from Michigan. They have been abroad for almost 20 years
Michelle lives in a neighborhood that can only be described, in my new brit vocab, as ‘a little bit dodgy’. Her little duplex apartment is about the size of my garage. She lives there with her husband, 4 sons, 3 dogs (2 of them quite large), a hamster and an aquarium full of tropical fish (no Nemo). As we walk through the front door we have to navigate the already narrow entry hall which is congested with the detritus of boyhood and an ironing area piled with clothes in all stages of pressing. The barking of two large dogs can be heard, but Michelle has locked them into the bathroom.
We enter the tiny little living room and as I sit down on a lime green futon, that had seen better days in the 80’s, a small brown bullet leaps into my lap. It’s Oscar and he looks up at me from my lap with the limpid brown adoring eyes that only small dogs seem to be able to muster. ‘Pet me please and I’ll be your friend for life’ those eyes say and of course I do. Oscar melts into my lap with a contented sigh and doesn’t move from there for the rest of my visit, except to prompt me with a nudge of his head when my hand stops moving over his long and doggy smelling mop. Ahh, pet therapy.
Michelle is Lebanese and grew up speaking French as her primary language. She and her husband currently work as life guards at the public pool down the street from me and she is in the process of getting the French equivalent of a teaching credential.
(A side note here. Almost every town, no matter how small, has a public swimming pool.)
She will teach at the elementary school level and her English has to be graduate level and (I kid you not) she has to have an oxford accent. Michelle’s biggest concern is passing the verbal portion of her examination in which they give her a paragraph on a topic and she must speak on that topic for about 20 minutes. I tell her I can help her with the conversational parts, but the oxford accent is beyond me. I offer Alabama southern (‘Lawd’ knows I do southern well) but she doesn’t understand what I mean or why Andrea is suddenly laughing hysterically. One of those you had to be there (or from there) things I guess.
We chat in English and then they chat in French and I try to follow them. When I look blank they translate bits for me
We talked about the peculiarities of driving in France. French schools don’t have drivers’ ed. programs. You have to pay big bucks at a driving school for this privilege and Andrea says it’s quite the racket. This got us off on road signs and we began to pepper Michelle with questions on their meaning. There is one particularly funny sign whose meaning is obvious but we had to ask. The sign is a bright yellow diamond shape outlined with red and containing a big red exclamation point in the middle. No translation needed.
We discussed the weather and I was informed that it will rain most of the fall. Then through the winter it’s usually sunny. Also was warned to be prepared that the wind will blow 80% of the time to varying degrees. Yippee! (Sarcasm? Me?)
Michelle and I exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet on Monday at my house for coffee around 4. Two of her sons attend the elementary school across the street and this will give us an hour before school is out. I told her that unlike in France, where you absolutely do not drop in uninvited, she could feel free to knock on my door anytime as I’m usually home. We’ll see if she can make herself do that.
Andrea drove me home and promised to be in touch more regularly as soon as the tennis season is over. Tennis season?
Got home in time to load S up into the car and drive back to Blagnac.
………
The mailman has delivered another care package from my good friends at Amazon.com. It contains some books and some things for S’s Christmas stocking. One of those things, unfortunately, will not make it to Christmas. I hold it and turn it over in my hand, set it down and walk away, even go so far as to hide it with his other presents only to go and snatch it back out. I have no will power, I rip off the plastic wrap and security stickers and pop “Pirates of the Caribbean” into the DVD while I settle into my comfy bed to snack and be with Johnny for the night. Shh, don’t tell S.
I get outside and start the car and it sounds like one of the squirrels is dead or still sleeping or, at the very least, seriously ill. The little Peugeot starts and drives with not so much of a Corvette roar and purr as with a tuberculin cough and rattle, a sound so pathetic that you know its days are numbered. You just have to love diesel engines.
Driving to the airport under a perfectly and unbelievably clear vault of French blue sky. Instead of feeling happy at this sudden clearing of weather I’m feeling damn near murderous. S will be back one day and it would be the sunny one. Days of gloom and he gets back to this. Not fair I tell you.
This time of morning the traffic is backed up for blocks before the circles. I must navigate 4 circles on my way to the highway. When traffic is this heavy though, they are a nightmare. I look ahead of me to see what the big hold up is and notice big wide yellow signs that say ‘CONVOI EXCEPTIONNEL’ oh yeah you guessed it, WIDE LOAD. Some genius is trying to navigate a double wide mobile home through morning rush hour traffic and around these stupid, ridiculous circles. It’s ok, at least now I have plenty of time to open a window and enjoy the lovely, almost warm, weather.
Walking out of the airport with S and he looks up and says. “Wow, it’s gorgeous!” Yeah, whatever.
Got S home and fed and settled. I’m pacing now because today at 3 I get to meet a new AIT member, Andrea, who will be introducing me to my language exchange partner, Michelle. God I hate stuff like this. Meeting new people. My stomach is in complete turmoil and I’m seriously regretting having eaten lunch.
Andrea arrives at 3:00 on the dot and I like her on sight. She’s my height with short dark hair, very tan and has a look in her eye that I instantly recognize as sarcastic wit. Yes, just my type of woman. We get into her shiny blue Peugeot cc cabriolet and she says, “Well since your American I can start peppering you with my rude American questions.” The French don’t do that, they don’t ask stuff like ‘How long have you lived here’, ‘What does your husband do’ (big no no, like asking how much money you make), ‘How old are you’, ‘Do you have any children’ etc. etc. etc.
We drive through our little burg toward Michelle’s house, chatting away. The more we talk the more I like her. I tell her that my husband is a ‘corn pimp’ (as he was dubbed years ago by my brothers) and she says her husband is ‘into ants’. That’s all she says about him, but it’s obviously a lucrative job that has garnered them assignments in many places, including Cameroon, D.C., Paris and now here. She is originally from Michigan. They have been abroad for almost 20 years
Michelle lives in a neighborhood that can only be described, in my new brit vocab, as ‘a little bit dodgy’. Her little duplex apartment is about the size of my garage. She lives there with her husband, 4 sons, 3 dogs (2 of them quite large), a hamster and an aquarium full of tropical fish (no Nemo). As we walk through the front door we have to navigate the already narrow entry hall which is congested with the detritus of boyhood and an ironing area piled with clothes in all stages of pressing. The barking of two large dogs can be heard, but Michelle has locked them into the bathroom.
We enter the tiny little living room and as I sit down on a lime green futon, that had seen better days in the 80’s, a small brown bullet leaps into my lap. It’s Oscar and he looks up at me from my lap with the limpid brown adoring eyes that only small dogs seem to be able to muster. ‘Pet me please and I’ll be your friend for life’ those eyes say and of course I do. Oscar melts into my lap with a contented sigh and doesn’t move from there for the rest of my visit, except to prompt me with a nudge of his head when my hand stops moving over his long and doggy smelling mop. Ahh, pet therapy.
Michelle is Lebanese and grew up speaking French as her primary language. She and her husband currently work as life guards at the public pool down the street from me and she is in the process of getting the French equivalent of a teaching credential.
(A side note here. Almost every town, no matter how small, has a public swimming pool.)
She will teach at the elementary school level and her English has to be graduate level and (I kid you not) she has to have an oxford accent. Michelle’s biggest concern is passing the verbal portion of her examination in which they give her a paragraph on a topic and she must speak on that topic for about 20 minutes. I tell her I can help her with the conversational parts, but the oxford accent is beyond me. I offer Alabama southern (‘Lawd’ knows I do southern well) but she doesn’t understand what I mean or why Andrea is suddenly laughing hysterically. One of those you had to be there (or from there) things I guess.
We chat in English and then they chat in French and I try to follow them. When I look blank they translate bits for me
We talked about the peculiarities of driving in France. French schools don’t have drivers’ ed. programs. You have to pay big bucks at a driving school for this privilege and Andrea says it’s quite the racket. This got us off on road signs and we began to pepper Michelle with questions on their meaning. There is one particularly funny sign whose meaning is obvious but we had to ask. The sign is a bright yellow diamond shape outlined with red and containing a big red exclamation point in the middle. No translation needed.
We discussed the weather and I was informed that it will rain most of the fall. Then through the winter it’s usually sunny. Also was warned to be prepared that the wind will blow 80% of the time to varying degrees. Yippee! (Sarcasm? Me?)
Michelle and I exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet on Monday at my house for coffee around 4. Two of her sons attend the elementary school across the street and this will give us an hour before school is out. I told her that unlike in France, where you absolutely do not drop in uninvited, she could feel free to knock on my door anytime as I’m usually home. We’ll see if she can make herself do that.
Andrea drove me home and promised to be in touch more regularly as soon as the tennis season is over. Tennis season?
Got home in time to load S up into the car and drive back to Blagnac.
………
The mailman has delivered another care package from my good friends at Amazon.com. It contains some books and some things for S’s Christmas stocking. One of those things, unfortunately, will not make it to Christmas. I hold it and turn it over in my hand, set it down and walk away, even go so far as to hide it with his other presents only to go and snatch it back out. I have no will power, I rip off the plastic wrap and security stickers and pop “Pirates of the Caribbean” into the DVD while I settle into my comfy bed to snack and be with Johnny for the night. Shh, don’t tell S.
Thursday, December 04, 2003
Playing Catch-Up
Got S off to the airport on Monday morning at 5:30 it was dark, cold and raining. (Yes still raining! And yes Rich, I’m whining about the weather again!) It has rained every day since S left, not just the drizzly, sprinkles of previous weeks but pouring rain. It really is making me depressed. It reminds me a lot of when I first moved to IL from California and how depressed I was that first (and second and third and....7th) winter there. It seemed to always be overcast. This time is only different in that there's no one here to complain to. Haven’t been able to go for walks but since I have the car I’ve been out and about for errands and stuff but hard to wander in search of JD when it won’t stop raining. Finally just to get out for a little fun I went for a drive this afternoon and ended up stopping at a little cafe, not because I wanted coffee really but because it was just too cute to pass up. I sat and read a bit under a giant umbrella. I’m sure the other patrons thought I was completely nuts sitting out there in the cold and damp, while they sat inside in radiated warmth. I assumed that that was why people were looking at me, anyway, when I caught some stares being directed my way. Then after catching a few open mouthed, round eyed, ‘oh my god’ stares, I suddenly realized what they were looking at. My hair was beginning to puff up to an unbelievable size. I decided to down my coffee shot, dig out the bookmark, put my hood up and as nonchalantly as possible, head to my car and home before I frightened the other patrons any further.
Here is an odd thing. I think I’ve mentioned that my garage roof has a leak in it. Well, as much as it has rained over the last four days, the garage floor has stayed dry. Completely dry. It’s baffling and a bit frightening to tell the truth. A good heavy mist and I've got a puddle near the washer and drier. But no, completely dry. I’m worried that the water is dammed up up there and when the dam bursts the garage will be flooded. Making note to self not to go to garage for a while.
Well let's see, what have you missed…Oh, yes, the Thanksgiving holiday meal. Well despite all the whining and complaining about lack of tradiontal food itmes it turned out not to be too bad. I would rather have had traditional, but what we ended up with was pretty good.
For Thanksgiving dinner we went to L’Escarbille, a lovely place a few minutes east of us and sort of in the country. This was our second visit. I loved it the first time but S had to be convinced to return. You see the first time we were there, S became very ill.
Our first visit to L’Escarbille was one of our “lets try a new place” visits. It’s actually a very large airy place with terraces in front and back for summer dinning. This time of year though the glass doors are all closed and radiators are gurgling away. On our previous visit I had ordered a whole breast of grilled duck and S ordered some sort of fish. Really, he should have known better since we know that meat of any kind is served practically raw here. (In France even if you ask for your meat to be ‘bien cuit’ [well done] it will be nothing past medium rare. That’s as done as gets.) Well, when S got his fish it was practically raw, but S being the trooper that he is, ate it anyway. Before desert had arrived, though, he excused himself. He was gone so long I began to get worried. When he finally returned he was as white as sheet and asked me if I could forgo coffee so we could leave.
Anyway, under those circumstances, S was not to keen on returning to the scene of the crime. I however, was still harboring memories of delicious food and deserts. I managed to convince S that it was just the fish and that he should order the duck this time and he agreed to try again.
We started with an aperitif of Chivas Regal, don’t ask me why, I always say no to the aperitif, but I just went ahead. Then a wonderful green salad topped with fois gras, it was absolutely heavenly (except for the wedge of cheese that was too salty and too smoked for my taste) We had the grilled breast of duck with some seasoned potatos. The duck was tender and wonderful. It’s like having filet mignon. Have I mentioned how much I love duck? Desert was flan, for me, not as good as mine. Flavor a bit bland but texture was perfect. S had an incredible desert. France is big on ice cream and sorbets for desert for reasons I don’t comprehend. S had a desert titled ‘Manzanilla’, it was three scoops of apple sorbet with chunks of apple in it, soaked in Manzanilla which is an apple liqueur. It was very good.
With dinner we had a ‘new’ Beaujolais. The third Tuesday of November is when the new wines are introduced and available in restaurants and stores. You’ll see the signs in every restaurant. It really is a big deal. Let’s be clear though, we are talking about NEW wine. Really new wine…as in this year’s harvest. I cannot understand what the draw is really. The wine is just slightly redder than Welch’s grape juice and literally tastes green. Everywhere you dine during the next 3 or so weeks, it is pressed on you, you just HAVE to have it. Really, my advice is, don’t. I’m not sure what the draw is. Is it an indication of what the mature wine will taste like? Can a wine connoisseur get a sense of how good this vintage will be? I say let them taste it and let us enjoy the good stuff.
Am currently enjoying a wonderful snack that Z introduced me to. Barbecue potato chips dipped in lemon juice. Have gone through 3 bags of chips in 5 days in this manner. Can’t seem to stop. When teeth start to ache I will blame Z.
Alright then, how about a new feature in my posts. We’ll call it something catchy like…
What I’ve read over the last couple of weeks:
'Big Fish' by Daniel Wallace. Don’t bother. Fast and easy read but pointless.
'The Five People You Meet In Heaven' by Mitch Albom (Tuesdays With Morrie) Ok, but a bit sappy. No new insights into life after death or why regret is useless. But an interesting theory to be read with a box of Kleenex.
'Fortune’s Daughter' by Alice Hoffman. True Alice Hoffman, not as good as “Practical Magic” but not a bad story. A few heartbreaking parts, but in general I liked it. She writes real characters with real flaws.
'I Don’t Know How She Does It' by Allison Pearson. A good and humorous book for every working mom that juggles more than any man ever could! Well I guess he could but the constant bitching and look-at-me-I-fixed-a-meal grandstanding would seal his death. I love her writing though because she’s British and I’m thinking of starting to use words like ‘stodgy’, ‘winkle’, ‘chummy’ and ‘wellies’(and oh, so many others) in my everyday conversation. There’s this lovely quote about being a working mom ( she has arrived home from business and is ‘distressing’ store bought mince pies so that they look homemade for her daughters ‘school carol concert'): ‘Women used to have time to make mince pies and had to fake orgasms. Now we can manage the orgasms, but have to fake the mince pies. And they call this progress’
'The Red Tent' by Anita Diamant. Good story, very biblical only in setting and that it's written about biblical people but good story about women and what makes them all sisters. The Red Tent is of course where women were sent during that time of the month.
Started 'Cry, The Beloved Country' by Alan Paton. Tough to wade through in parts but it's a classic. I'll let you know.
I would like to add that these reviews are solely my opinion and do not represent the opinions of the management. (?) I'm tired, so cut me some slack ok.
P.S. Learning from recent experience I'd like to ask a favor, in the event that any of you ship any packages to us here in France please be sure that you label the box 'Gift' or 'No Commercial Value'. If you insure it for a value or state a value on the box and do not include those words, we will have to pay a customs duty upon receipt. The customs duty is about 30% of the stated value of the shipment, so please DON'T forget. If you use Fedex or UPS (but please don't) look for a box on the form that says 'gift' or 'no commercial value'. Just send it regular mail, it'll take about 4 weeks to arrive but it'll save you tons of money.
P.P.S. Well, as you can see the page has a new bolder look and now I can also add photos. Here is one taken by S on the day we toured the castles in the rain. It’s one of my favorites that he took of the castle at Peyrepertuse.
Here is an odd thing. I think I’ve mentioned that my garage roof has a leak in it. Well, as much as it has rained over the last four days, the garage floor has stayed dry. Completely dry. It’s baffling and a bit frightening to tell the truth. A good heavy mist and I've got a puddle near the washer and drier. But no, completely dry. I’m worried that the water is dammed up up there and when the dam bursts the garage will be flooded. Making note to self not to go to garage for a while.
Well let's see, what have you missed…Oh, yes, the Thanksgiving holiday meal. Well despite all the whining and complaining about lack of tradiontal food itmes it turned out not to be too bad. I would rather have had traditional, but what we ended up with was pretty good.
For Thanksgiving dinner we went to L’Escarbille, a lovely place a few minutes east of us and sort of in the country. This was our second visit. I loved it the first time but S had to be convinced to return. You see the first time we were there, S became very ill.
Our first visit to L’Escarbille was one of our “lets try a new place” visits. It’s actually a very large airy place with terraces in front and back for summer dinning. This time of year though the glass doors are all closed and radiators are gurgling away. On our previous visit I had ordered a whole breast of grilled duck and S ordered some sort of fish. Really, he should have known better since we know that meat of any kind is served practically raw here. (In France even if you ask for your meat to be ‘bien cuit’ [well done] it will be nothing past medium rare. That’s as done as gets.) Well, when S got his fish it was practically raw, but S being the trooper that he is, ate it anyway. Before desert had arrived, though, he excused himself. He was gone so long I began to get worried. When he finally returned he was as white as sheet and asked me if I could forgo coffee so we could leave.
Anyway, under those circumstances, S was not to keen on returning to the scene of the crime. I however, was still harboring memories of delicious food and deserts. I managed to convince S that it was just the fish and that he should order the duck this time and he agreed to try again.
We started with an aperitif of Chivas Regal, don’t ask me why, I always say no to the aperitif, but I just went ahead. Then a wonderful green salad topped with fois gras, it was absolutely heavenly (except for the wedge of cheese that was too salty and too smoked for my taste) We had the grilled breast of duck with some seasoned potatos. The duck was tender and wonderful. It’s like having filet mignon. Have I mentioned how much I love duck? Desert was flan, for me, not as good as mine. Flavor a bit bland but texture was perfect. S had an incredible desert. France is big on ice cream and sorbets for desert for reasons I don’t comprehend. S had a desert titled ‘Manzanilla’, it was three scoops of apple sorbet with chunks of apple in it, soaked in Manzanilla which is an apple liqueur. It was very good.
With dinner we had a ‘new’ Beaujolais. The third Tuesday of November is when the new wines are introduced and available in restaurants and stores. You’ll see the signs in every restaurant. It really is a big deal. Let’s be clear though, we are talking about NEW wine. Really new wine…as in this year’s harvest. I cannot understand what the draw is really. The wine is just slightly redder than Welch’s grape juice and literally tastes green. Everywhere you dine during the next 3 or so weeks, it is pressed on you, you just HAVE to have it. Really, my advice is, don’t. I’m not sure what the draw is. Is it an indication of what the mature wine will taste like? Can a wine connoisseur get a sense of how good this vintage will be? I say let them taste it and let us enjoy the good stuff.
Am currently enjoying a wonderful snack that Z introduced me to. Barbecue potato chips dipped in lemon juice. Have gone through 3 bags of chips in 5 days in this manner. Can’t seem to stop. When teeth start to ache I will blame Z.
Alright then, how about a new feature in my posts. We’ll call it something catchy like…
What I’ve read over the last couple of weeks:
'Big Fish' by Daniel Wallace. Don’t bother. Fast and easy read but pointless.
'The Five People You Meet In Heaven' by Mitch Albom (Tuesdays With Morrie) Ok, but a bit sappy. No new insights into life after death or why regret is useless. But an interesting theory to be read with a box of Kleenex.
'Fortune’s Daughter' by Alice Hoffman. True Alice Hoffman, not as good as “Practical Magic” but not a bad story. A few heartbreaking parts, but in general I liked it. She writes real characters with real flaws.
'I Don’t Know How She Does It' by Allison Pearson. A good and humorous book for every working mom that juggles more than any man ever could! Well I guess he could but the constant bitching and look-at-me-I-fixed-a-meal grandstanding would seal his death. I love her writing though because she’s British and I’m thinking of starting to use words like ‘stodgy’, ‘winkle’, ‘chummy’ and ‘wellies’(and oh, so many others) in my everyday conversation. There’s this lovely quote about being a working mom ( she has arrived home from business and is ‘distressing’ store bought mince pies so that they look homemade for her daughters ‘school carol concert'): ‘Women used to have time to make mince pies and had to fake orgasms. Now we can manage the orgasms, but have to fake the mince pies. And they call this progress’
'The Red Tent' by Anita Diamant. Good story, very biblical only in setting and that it's written about biblical people but good story about women and what makes them all sisters. The Red Tent is of course where women were sent during that time of the month.
Started 'Cry, The Beloved Country' by Alan Paton. Tough to wade through in parts but it's a classic. I'll let you know.
I would like to add that these reviews are solely my opinion and do not represent the opinions of the management. (?) I'm tired, so cut me some slack ok.
P.S. Learning from recent experience I'd like to ask a favor, in the event that any of you ship any packages to us here in France please be sure that you label the box 'Gift' or 'No Commercial Value'. If you insure it for a value or state a value on the box and do not include those words, we will have to pay a customs duty upon receipt. The customs duty is about 30% of the stated value of the shipment, so please DON'T forget. If you use Fedex or UPS (but please don't) look for a box on the form that says 'gift' or 'no commercial value'. Just send it regular mail, it'll take about 4 weeks to arrive but it'll save you tons of money.
P.P.S. Well, as you can see the page has a new bolder look and now I can also add photos. Here is one taken by S on the day we toured the castles in the rain. It’s one of my favorites that he took of the castle at Peyrepertuse.
The Nice Folks At Blogger!
Well have managed to wheedle a freeby from my friend Kimmy at Blogger for a little while until they make me start paying. I am now able to upload photos to my Blog. So here is the first one. Enjoy! This is a house near the 'Pt. Neuf' it faces the Garonne. I promise an update to my Blog soon.
Thursday, November 27, 2003
Happy Thanksgiving All!
Rainy and windy here today. Hang on, isn't that the same forecast I've been reporting for weeks now...::checks previous Blogs::...wait, it is! Isn't that FASCINATING
Ok, bitter moment over. How are all of you?!
Here, well let's see. No turkey, but did find some boneless skinless turkey breasts, but somehow not quite the same. Cannot find a sweet potato to save my soul (Not even canned). They have words for Yam and Sweet Potato, just not the actual tubers. This is really depressing since they are my favorite Thanksgiving fair. (To be served alongside a heaping serving of potato salad just as my Aunt Becky taught me.) Not a cranberry product in sight, no juice or sauce or berries but I know they have them because at a restaurant the other day my dessert was garnished with a cranberry. Thought I had brought a can of cranberry sauce with me, but it's MIA. And stuffing well, forget about it. I never made my own anyway and there's no boxed stuff here. Asked for a recipe from LaVerne but never heard back.
Not that it really matters anyway as it is obviously not a holiday here. S is off to work at his regular hour and I'm here, talking to you all. We will do a nice dinner out tonight though, or tomorrow depending on how late S is getting back from the coast tonight.
S is getting ready to leave me alone for two weeks. He leaves Monday 12/1 for Lyon and returns for a few hours on Friday 12/5 only to leave for South Africa that evening and not return until 12/15. Good news is I'll have the car, so who's coming out to keep me company? Have I mentioned that Johnny Depp lives in the south of France? Any takers? Fine be that way.
(For those who have expressed concern, please know that the U.S. and M'Co. have issued travel restrictions to Turkey so S will not be returning to Istanbul any time in the near future.)
Because of S's frequent travel I'm seriously considering getting a dog, a nice big dog. The French love their dogs as I've mentioned before, so it could go to restaurants and shopping with me. It could leave its own little sidewalk deposits all over town! How fun would that be! I'd get a cat but let's face it, they're only company when they want to be. And in the middle of the night when you are in need of a good menacing, rumbling growl and some sharp, saliva-dripping, long white fangs, cats are hiding under the bed hoping you'll do the honors.
I've mentioned this to S and we are currently in negotiations. In the past when I've wanted a dog, the question is always, "Who has time, and dogs need lots of attention, space and time". Well, I suddenly have lots of time and we have plenty of space and I can pay attention, I really can. The AIT Guidbook's section on pets says that they are not too difficult to bring over or take back. Of course the cost of transporting your pet is not mentioned and there is no way I would leave a pet behind after two years. So it's a dilemma. And then of course who'll watch it when we go places. And when I spend a month away this summer who will feed it and walk it during the day when S is at work. Etc..etc.. Ok, thanks, just needed to talk my way through that and now I'm done. (Until next time the puppy urge strikes me) If I mention wanting a dog again someone please direct me back to this entry. Thanks.
P.S. Someone please tell Shannon B. that I lied, there are Pepsi products in France, she can come on over any time. You have to look for them in the store because for some bizarre reason that I'll never understand they are not as popular as Coke products, but they are there. Diet Pepsi is called Pepsi Max. Thanks.
That is all.
Ok, bitter moment over. How are all of you?!
Here, well let's see. No turkey, but did find some boneless skinless turkey breasts, but somehow not quite the same. Cannot find a sweet potato to save my soul (Not even canned). They have words for Yam and Sweet Potato, just not the actual tubers. This is really depressing since they are my favorite Thanksgiving fair. (To be served alongside a heaping serving of potato salad just as my Aunt Becky taught me.) Not a cranberry product in sight, no juice or sauce or berries but I know they have them because at a restaurant the other day my dessert was garnished with a cranberry. Thought I had brought a can of cranberry sauce with me, but it's MIA. And stuffing well, forget about it. I never made my own anyway and there's no boxed stuff here. Asked for a recipe from LaVerne but never heard back.
Not that it really matters anyway as it is obviously not a holiday here. S is off to work at his regular hour and I'm here, talking to you all. We will do a nice dinner out tonight though, or tomorrow depending on how late S is getting back from the coast tonight.
S is getting ready to leave me alone for two weeks. He leaves Monday 12/1 for Lyon and returns for a few hours on Friday 12/5 only to leave for South Africa that evening and not return until 12/15. Good news is I'll have the car, so who's coming out to keep me company? Have I mentioned that Johnny Depp lives in the south of France? Any takers? Fine be that way.
(For those who have expressed concern, please know that the U.S. and M'Co. have issued travel restrictions to Turkey so S will not be returning to Istanbul any time in the near future.)
Because of S's frequent travel I'm seriously considering getting a dog, a nice big dog. The French love their dogs as I've mentioned before, so it could go to restaurants and shopping with me. It could leave its own little sidewalk deposits all over town! How fun would that be! I'd get a cat but let's face it, they're only company when they want to be. And in the middle of the night when you are in need of a good menacing, rumbling growl and some sharp, saliva-dripping, long white fangs, cats are hiding under the bed hoping you'll do the honors.
I've mentioned this to S and we are currently in negotiations. In the past when I've wanted a dog, the question is always, "Who has time, and dogs need lots of attention, space and time". Well, I suddenly have lots of time and we have plenty of space and I can pay attention, I really can. The AIT Guidbook's section on pets says that they are not too difficult to bring over or take back. Of course the cost of transporting your pet is not mentioned and there is no way I would leave a pet behind after two years. So it's a dilemma. And then of course who'll watch it when we go places. And when I spend a month away this summer who will feed it and walk it during the day when S is at work. Etc..etc.. Ok, thanks, just needed to talk my way through that and now I'm done. (Until next time the puppy urge strikes me) If I mention wanting a dog again someone please direct me back to this entry. Thanks.
P.S. Someone please tell Shannon B. that I lied, there are Pepsi products in France, she can come on over any time. You have to look for them in the store because for some bizarre reason that I'll never understand they are not as popular as Coke products, but they are there. Diet Pepsi is called Pepsi Max. Thanks.
That is all.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
Musings
On Thursday morning I was up pre-dawn to drive S to the airport for a commuter flight to Lyon. Lots of people (Mostly men getting dropped of for commuter flights that early, though most going to Paris) This meant I had the car for a whole day and was miffed that nothing was open at 5:30 am and I had to waste 3 ½ hours of car time waiting for stuff to open. The trip to the airport takes only about 15 to 20 minutes at that un-godly hour of the morning.
Idiom
« J’ai le patate ce matin » A French idiom that means roughly “I ate my Wheaties this morning” or “I’m having a good morning” or “I feel good today”. Those sentiments basically. However, it literally translates to “I have the potato this morning”. So seize your potato and seize the day!
Ice
When you get water or soda at a restaurant, it’s cold but there is no ice in it. If you drive through McDonalds because you just HAVE TO HAVE a fountain pop, you’ll get a total of three ice cubes. I think that maybe gold is somehow used or involved in the ice making process here.
Tortoise Trouble
Merging speedily on the highway on Thursday, on my way to explore the mall, and just happened to glance over to the median and saw a tortoise there. My questions are these: How the heck did he get there? With all this traffic whizzing by, how the heck did he get to the middle? Is he alive? How long has he been there? Or perhaps he was born there and has never left. Does he wait until nightfall to make his crossings when there’s less traffic? Can a tortoise survive being run over by a car? How fast does a tortoise have to cross three lanes of traffic all traveling at at least 130km/hr to not be killed?
Personal Space
The French seem to have no concept of personal space; ok, they have a much different concept of personal space than we do. (Not as bad as the Japanese who seem to actually hire people to push and cram them and then hold them into the bullet trains so the doors will close.) It’s bad enough that some of them are hygiene deficient but then they stand behind you in line at the IKEA, or grocery store or yes especially the post office and they stand RIGHT behind you. They are literally breathing down your neck. I was in line at IKEA on Thursday when I suddenly felt someone’s very close presence behind me. I turned around to investigate and practically kissed the woman behind me. She smiled at me in a puzzled fashion but seemed not to sense anything WRONG with the situation. I scooted forward and she scooted forward. I inched forward and she inched forward. I couldn’t get away from her. Finally, I feigned adjustment of my backpack purse and walloped her as I casually tossed it back onto my shoulder. She stepped back an inch but I could still hear her breathing.
Passing Protocol
In France it is illegal to pass from the right lane. On the highway you turn on your left turn signal, move carefully into the left lane, pass the car on your right, turn on your right turn signal and pull back into the right lane.
If, however, you plan to pass more than one car, say a line of 3 or 4 slow moving cars or trucks. You must leave your left turn signal going the entire time that you are in that lane so others will know that you do not intend to pull back to the right any time soon. This all seems very orderly and straight forward, and it, for the most part, is.
My dilemma is this. The major highway that girdles Toulouse is three lanes. So you would assume that the lanes would be ‘fast’, ‘too fast’ and ‘insanely fast’, moving from right to left. But does that mean that technically we are all to ride all the way to the right. Is it ok to be a ‘left lane bandit’ in the center lane? Do the turn signal rules still apply? Do the turn signals have a second speed for passing in the ‘insanely fast’ lane and then you turn them down to regular speed for staying in the ‘too fast’ lane?
Lane Ownership
The highways have little dotted white lines to delineate separate lanes. As all highways do. However here they seem to be not so much a rule as a suggestion. If you are undecided as to which lane you want or need to occupy it seems to be ok to drive in one with one tire hanging over into the neighboring lane just in case.
Old Bags
I think I’ve mentioned this before. When you shop at the big grocery stores they do not provide you with grocery bags. You must bring your own bags, (or load all your groceries back into your cart and then put them in your car that way) and not only that, but you must bag your own groceries. This is true of all markets. You bag your own groceries. Oddly enough this is not such a bad thing if the store is very busy. When it is bad is when the store is not busy and you have a large order. By the time you have finished unloading your cart the cashier has almost finished ringing you through, and then you have to run over and pay for groceries while trying to bag everything at the same time and pray that the cashier doesn’t feel the need to make idle chit-chat.
Guardrails
Some of the streets through many of these towns are basically old cart tracks that were paved. Meaning that the road used to be largely traveled by foot or cart traffic and then was later paved to accommodate modern vehicles. This being the case, the road is quite narrow. Meaning that there is barely enough room for one car and sidewalk (pedestrian) traffic. This means of course that as you travel through town there are many one way streets. Many of these streets have ornate guardrails at the edges of the sidewalk; I assumed they were there to keep pedestrians safe from the speeding lunatics. In reality, however, those guardrails are up to prevent people from parking on the sidewalk. All over town, if the road is not wide enough to accommodate traffic and parking and there are no guardrails, people park on the sidewalks. No violation, it is OK to park on the sidewalk. If they don’t want you parking on the sidewalk they put up those lovely guardrails. No guardrail? Help yourself.
Daily Bread
You see it in French movies or documentaries about France. It’s a common site. A person walking down the street with a long baguette in their hands. Nothing protecting the bread just a small square of tissue wrapped around the middle so you can hold on to it. And they have to have fresh bread every day. The only things open on Sundays are the bakeries so that people can get their daily bread. But why daily bread purchases? Because if you don’t finish the baguette on the day of purchase it is unfit for human consumption the next day. There is nothing like a fresh warm baguette, but eat it while it’s fresh, because the next day all it is fit for is batting practice. Perhaps a deal could be made with major league baseball for practice bats.
Dernier Sortie Avant Péage
This road sign means, ‘last exit before the toll road’. This means that when you see this sign you should seriously think about whether or not you have any change in your purse and if you don’t, take that exit!
Boar update
S of course did not completely believe me about the boars in the yard. I have to admit that I had some trouble believing it myself the next morning, so I did a little research. It turns out that wild boars are actually wide spread throughout Europe and that they are actually hunted and eaten. There has been, over the past five or six years, a problem with ‘fast-breeding’ boars. Though the major problem is mostly in the east it seems to be spreading. Animal Planet had a bit to say about it and they include a photo of baby boars. The end of the article has some basic facts about the mammals and what they eat. So there you are I’m not crazy. (Though some of you may not accept this as conclusive proof.)
Where there’s smoke there’s fire?
Everyone in France smokes. I have considered taking it up myself just to fit in. But our topic today is this: The French grow little, if any, tobacco. This means that their cigarettes are mostly imported. Mostly imported from the US! Why do they not see this as a plot by Americans to kill off the French? Or have I watched Conspiracy Theory too many times.
Commuters the World Over
I made the 1 hour and 15 minute commute to pick S up at the airport on Thursday night. There were about 10 of us waiting on our side of the glass wall that keeps us from going to the arrival gates. The airport is mostly silent and few people are milling about. The arrivals monitor tells me that S’s flight is on time and will arrive at 7:35 from Lyon. It also shows that there will be 2 flights arriving from Paris, one shortly before and one shortly after S’s flight.
From where I’m standing I can see two sets of escalators. One set of escalators (The up and down flanking a set of stairs for those health nuts) veers off slightly to the left and the other set veers of sharply to the right. S should arrive through the one on the left labeled ‘Port 2’.
At precisely 7:35 people begin to come down from ‘Port 1’, at first I don’t notice anything peculiar since I know it’s not S’s flight and am thus not paying much attention. However as the commuters begin to come through the doors in the glass partition some oddities emerge. 90% of the commuters are men, almost all in dark suites and coats, carrying briefcases in one hand and cell phones pressed to their ears with the other. There are two people who are obviously leisure travelers. You can tell because they are wearing colorful clothing and mostly because when they emerge from the doors they walk toward the baggage claim carrousel. All the others head straight for the exits. About this time people begin emerging from the left side. Same phenomena, in fact it could be a tape loop of the right hand exodus. I look for S and spot him (coming down the stairs of course) just as a fresh wave of passengers start to emerge from Port 1. It’s all very subdued, some still talking shop with fellow passengers; all heading for the exits in an orderly fashion. It reminded me of that scene near the end of The Thomas Crown Affair where all the hundreds of men in bowler hats are all over the museum and you see them in the stairwells and hallways. Like a bunch of movie set extras. Each one looking pretty much the same as the last. Thank goodness that S is so tall.
Idiom
« J’ai le patate ce matin » A French idiom that means roughly “I ate my Wheaties this morning” or “I’m having a good morning” or “I feel good today”. Those sentiments basically. However, it literally translates to “I have the potato this morning”. So seize your potato and seize the day!
Ice
When you get water or soda at a restaurant, it’s cold but there is no ice in it. If you drive through McDonalds because you just HAVE TO HAVE a fountain pop, you’ll get a total of three ice cubes. I think that maybe gold is somehow used or involved in the ice making process here.
Tortoise Trouble
Merging speedily on the highway on Thursday, on my way to explore the mall, and just happened to glance over to the median and saw a tortoise there. My questions are these: How the heck did he get there? With all this traffic whizzing by, how the heck did he get to the middle? Is he alive? How long has he been there? Or perhaps he was born there and has never left. Does he wait until nightfall to make his crossings when there’s less traffic? Can a tortoise survive being run over by a car? How fast does a tortoise have to cross three lanes of traffic all traveling at at least 130km/hr to not be killed?
Personal Space
The French seem to have no concept of personal space; ok, they have a much different concept of personal space than we do. (Not as bad as the Japanese who seem to actually hire people to push and cram them and then hold them into the bullet trains so the doors will close.) It’s bad enough that some of them are hygiene deficient but then they stand behind you in line at the IKEA, or grocery store or yes especially the post office and they stand RIGHT behind you. They are literally breathing down your neck. I was in line at IKEA on Thursday when I suddenly felt someone’s very close presence behind me. I turned around to investigate and practically kissed the woman behind me. She smiled at me in a puzzled fashion but seemed not to sense anything WRONG with the situation. I scooted forward and she scooted forward. I inched forward and she inched forward. I couldn’t get away from her. Finally, I feigned adjustment of my backpack purse and walloped her as I casually tossed it back onto my shoulder. She stepped back an inch but I could still hear her breathing.
Passing Protocol
In France it is illegal to pass from the right lane. On the highway you turn on your left turn signal, move carefully into the left lane, pass the car on your right, turn on your right turn signal and pull back into the right lane.
If, however, you plan to pass more than one car, say a line of 3 or 4 slow moving cars or trucks. You must leave your left turn signal going the entire time that you are in that lane so others will know that you do not intend to pull back to the right any time soon. This all seems very orderly and straight forward, and it, for the most part, is.
My dilemma is this. The major highway that girdles Toulouse is three lanes. So you would assume that the lanes would be ‘fast’, ‘too fast’ and ‘insanely fast’, moving from right to left. But does that mean that technically we are all to ride all the way to the right. Is it ok to be a ‘left lane bandit’ in the center lane? Do the turn signal rules still apply? Do the turn signals have a second speed for passing in the ‘insanely fast’ lane and then you turn them down to regular speed for staying in the ‘too fast’ lane?
Lane Ownership
The highways have little dotted white lines to delineate separate lanes. As all highways do. However here they seem to be not so much a rule as a suggestion. If you are undecided as to which lane you want or need to occupy it seems to be ok to drive in one with one tire hanging over into the neighboring lane just in case.
Old Bags
I think I’ve mentioned this before. When you shop at the big grocery stores they do not provide you with grocery bags. You must bring your own bags, (or load all your groceries back into your cart and then put them in your car that way) and not only that, but you must bag your own groceries. This is true of all markets. You bag your own groceries. Oddly enough this is not such a bad thing if the store is very busy. When it is bad is when the store is not busy and you have a large order. By the time you have finished unloading your cart the cashier has almost finished ringing you through, and then you have to run over and pay for groceries while trying to bag everything at the same time and pray that the cashier doesn’t feel the need to make idle chit-chat.
Guardrails
Some of the streets through many of these towns are basically old cart tracks that were paved. Meaning that the road used to be largely traveled by foot or cart traffic and then was later paved to accommodate modern vehicles. This being the case, the road is quite narrow. Meaning that there is barely enough room for one car and sidewalk (pedestrian) traffic. This means of course that as you travel through town there are many one way streets. Many of these streets have ornate guardrails at the edges of the sidewalk; I assumed they were there to keep pedestrians safe from the speeding lunatics. In reality, however, those guardrails are up to prevent people from parking on the sidewalk. All over town, if the road is not wide enough to accommodate traffic and parking and there are no guardrails, people park on the sidewalks. No violation, it is OK to park on the sidewalk. If they don’t want you parking on the sidewalk they put up those lovely guardrails. No guardrail? Help yourself.
Daily Bread
You see it in French movies or documentaries about France. It’s a common site. A person walking down the street with a long baguette in their hands. Nothing protecting the bread just a small square of tissue wrapped around the middle so you can hold on to it. And they have to have fresh bread every day. The only things open on Sundays are the bakeries so that people can get their daily bread. But why daily bread purchases? Because if you don’t finish the baguette on the day of purchase it is unfit for human consumption the next day. There is nothing like a fresh warm baguette, but eat it while it’s fresh, because the next day all it is fit for is batting practice. Perhaps a deal could be made with major league baseball for practice bats.
Dernier Sortie Avant Péage
This road sign means, ‘last exit before the toll road’. This means that when you see this sign you should seriously think about whether or not you have any change in your purse and if you don’t, take that exit!
Boar update
S of course did not completely believe me about the boars in the yard. I have to admit that I had some trouble believing it myself the next morning, so I did a little research. It turns out that wild boars are actually wide spread throughout Europe and that they are actually hunted and eaten. There has been, over the past five or six years, a problem with ‘fast-breeding’ boars. Though the major problem is mostly in the east it seems to be spreading. Animal Planet had a bit to say about it and they include a photo of baby boars. The end of the article has some basic facts about the mammals and what they eat. So there you are I’m not crazy. (Though some of you may not accept this as conclusive proof.)
Where there’s smoke there’s fire?
Everyone in France smokes. I have considered taking it up myself just to fit in. But our topic today is this: The French grow little, if any, tobacco. This means that their cigarettes are mostly imported. Mostly imported from the US! Why do they not see this as a plot by Americans to kill off the French? Or have I watched Conspiracy Theory too many times.
Commuters the World Over
I made the 1 hour and 15 minute commute to pick S up at the airport on Thursday night. There were about 10 of us waiting on our side of the glass wall that keeps us from going to the arrival gates. The airport is mostly silent and few people are milling about. The arrivals monitor tells me that S’s flight is on time and will arrive at 7:35 from Lyon. It also shows that there will be 2 flights arriving from Paris, one shortly before and one shortly after S’s flight.
From where I’m standing I can see two sets of escalators. One set of escalators (The up and down flanking a set of stairs for those health nuts) veers off slightly to the left and the other set veers of sharply to the right. S should arrive through the one on the left labeled ‘Port 2’.
At precisely 7:35 people begin to come down from ‘Port 1’, at first I don’t notice anything peculiar since I know it’s not S’s flight and am thus not paying much attention. However as the commuters begin to come through the doors in the glass partition some oddities emerge. 90% of the commuters are men, almost all in dark suites and coats, carrying briefcases in one hand and cell phones pressed to their ears with the other. There are two people who are obviously leisure travelers. You can tell because they are wearing colorful clothing and mostly because when they emerge from the doors they walk toward the baggage claim carrousel. All the others head straight for the exits. About this time people begin emerging from the left side. Same phenomena, in fact it could be a tape loop of the right hand exodus. I look for S and spot him (coming down the stairs of course) just as a fresh wave of passengers start to emerge from Port 1. It’s all very subdued, some still talking shop with fellow passengers; all heading for the exits in an orderly fashion. It reminded me of that scene near the end of The Thomas Crown Affair where all the hundreds of men in bowler hats are all over the museum and you see them in the stairwells and hallways. Like a bunch of movie set extras. Each one looking pretty much the same as the last. Thank goodness that S is so tall.
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
Smart Car Indeed!
Would anyone really want to be driving a car Designed by Swatch and Engineered by Daimler Chrysler. You see these Smart Cars are everywhere you look here. This car is basically a two seater, not a family vehicle. They look fun, but basically you’re driving a glorified motorbike!
Yeah, boy that’s what I’m buying with the car money I’ve squirreled away! I wonder if they come with an airbag. Could an airbag possibly make any difference in a collision?
Yeah, boy that’s what I’m buying with the car money I’ve squirreled away! I wonder if they come with an airbag. Could an airbag possibly make any difference in a collision?
Monday, November 17, 2003
The Lord of the Flies
I was up last night, well really this morning as it was 00:35hr on Monday morning, to use the WC. As I was heading out of the WC I noticed light coming through the office window and remembered that I had closed the shutters when we’d come home from town, but I had apparently forgotten to latch them when I got in the house. I went over to the window and opened it. As I started to lean out to reach for the shutter I saw two rather large animals in the yard. They appeared to be identical in size and shape and my first thought was “great somebody’s dogs are out and they’re going to knock over my garbage can”. Then I noticed their girth and thought, “Either those are some really fat and low to the ground dogs or they’re…sheep”. Sheep, how cute, someone’s sheep have escaped and they’re grazing in my front yard. I lean out and reach for the shutter when the ‘sheep’ close ranks, butt to butt facing me and heads lowered. Then one of them begins this low porcine growl and I realize that they are BOARS.
Not bores, like your freshman English teacher. Not boors like the people you spend all your time avoiding at the company picnic. Boars as in brown bristly creatures, as in boar bristle brushes, as in Pumba in ‘The Lion King’ (Only not animated).
I sprint through the office across the hall and into the bedroom where I stage whisper ‘Are you asleep’ to S. Of course the man is asleep he’s buried as deep as he can get under the covers and he has a pillow over his head (as if anticipating my intrusion). He sits up slowly and mumbles something incoherent.
“Come here, you HAVE GOT TO SEE THIS”. He has to see it because if he doesn’t he won’t believe me in the morning.
He stumbles out of bed “Do I need my glasses?”
I want you to SEE …”Yes!”
I sprint back toward the window and turn to see that S has wandered sleepily into the WC.
“Not in there, come here to the window" I hiss.
He makes it to the window in time to see the two creatures trotting down our driveway and into the street.
“Bears” he mumbles groggily.
“Boars” I correct his already retreating sleepy back. I wonder if he ever even woke up. He won’t remember this in the morning.
I pull the shutter closed and latch it and then close the window. Thinking to myself “I’ve never seen anything like that”. It reminds me of “The Lord of the Flies”. Well except that we’re not young boys and we’re not trapped on a deserted island and, well, we haven’t pegged someone's head into the ground atop a spear (yet). Ok, not like “The Lord of the Flies” at all but for some reason it was the first thing that popped to mind. There were boars in that book weren’t there?
Where did they come from? Wild or Domestic? And what were they doing out there? Looking for truffles?
Not bores, like your freshman English teacher. Not boors like the people you spend all your time avoiding at the company picnic. Boars as in brown bristly creatures, as in boar bristle brushes, as in Pumba in ‘The Lion King’ (Only not animated).
I sprint through the office across the hall and into the bedroom where I stage whisper ‘Are you asleep’ to S. Of course the man is asleep he’s buried as deep as he can get under the covers and he has a pillow over his head (as if anticipating my intrusion). He sits up slowly and mumbles something incoherent.
“Come here, you HAVE GOT TO SEE THIS”. He has to see it because if he doesn’t he won’t believe me in the morning.
He stumbles out of bed “Do I need my glasses?”
I want you to SEE …”Yes!”
I sprint back toward the window and turn to see that S has wandered sleepily into the WC.
“Not in there, come here to the window" I hiss.
He makes it to the window in time to see the two creatures trotting down our driveway and into the street.
“Bears” he mumbles groggily.
“Boars” I correct his already retreating sleepy back. I wonder if he ever even woke up. He won’t remember this in the morning.
I pull the shutter closed and latch it and then close the window. Thinking to myself “I’ve never seen anything like that”. It reminds me of “The Lord of the Flies”. Well except that we’re not young boys and we’re not trapped on a deserted island and, well, we haven’t pegged someone's head into the ground atop a spear (yet). Ok, not like “The Lord of the Flies” at all but for some reason it was the first thing that popped to mind. There were boars in that book weren’t there?
Where did they come from? Wild or Domestic? And what were they doing out there? Looking for truffles?
Friday, November 14, 2003
Monkey Pants
Hey, my left eye is still twitching, it’s been twitching for over a week now, and I don’t know how to make it stop. Any ideas? Anyone? Anyone?
(Oz : The monkey's the only cookie animal that gets to wear clothes, you know that? So, I'm wondering, do the other cookie animals feel sorta ripped? Like, is the hippo going, "Hey, man, where are *my* pants? I have my hippo dignity!" and you know the monkey's just, (with a French accent) "I mock you with my monkey pants!" and there's a big coup in the zoo.
Willow: The monkey is French?
Oz: All monkeys are French. You didn't know that?)
(Hmm.. . I didn’t know that either.)
I bought some lisianthis today, purple of course. I put them in a vase near the window. (yes, lisianthis are flowers [Though Microsoft Word fails to find them in its dictionary]) What I failed to notice is that ‘near the window’ is also ‘near the radiator’. My lisianthis are looking a bit wilted in the baking heat of the radiator. I hope placing them in the freezer will help them recover. (Kidding)
Even on the lowest setting the radiators, um…radiate, yes radiate, baking heat. The radiators are so efficient that we turn them off at night or it gets too warm to sleep. Weird huh? I need them during the day while I sit here looking out my office window, but at night under that nice warm comforter it gets a bit TOO warm. I’m weird, I know this. Of course ::laughing wickedly:: it’s only getting down to 47 at night so it’s still rather warm, don’t you think? ::cackling wildly::
Ok, enough of that free association crap. No, I am not drunk! Honestly, a girl tries something fresh and new and everyone accuses her of being inebriated.
All right, the visit to Illinois was wonderful. I miss J already and I need my baby back. I was glad to visit with all of my wonderful and supportive friends and am facing a true depression wondering how the heck I’ll get through the next 8 to 10 months without my baby and my friends.
I finally picked up my Visa on Friday the 7th. (we were supposed to leave on Thursday, you’ll recall) I faced my elevator ride to the 37th floor with dignified and quiet stoicism. (Yes and a Xanax alright!) You all would have been so proud, S was proud. (Zeno would have been proud!) We were in and out of there in less than ten minutes. I’ll tell you the ride down would be a real ego boost if a bathroom scale were available in the little coffin. It moves down so quickly that I think I was ten pounds lighter for about 20 seconds there. If the building had been taller I think I might have achieved 0 gravity.
In their great benevolence and generosity (yeah right…dorks), M’Co., allowed us to fly business class on the return trip. It’s supposed to be like the big unveiling of ‘the new life’, since we are now OFFICIALLY in France. Whatever! Big Dorks! Make my life pure hell for a few months and one trip to France in Business class is supposed to do it for me! I’ll tell you what would make me happy, it would be to see those….umm, but I digress.
Yes, right, business class.
This meant that we got to ‘hang’ in the Air France “Lounge” for an hour and a half before our flight, where two nice women served us cookies and cheese and any beverage we wanted, while we sat in comfy chairs and surfed the web and chatted amiably with fellow fliers and got manicures and waited for our flight to the sounds of a string quartet and…. Ok, we sat, we had beers and we stole electricity to charge our computer batteries while we waited. When it was time to board the plane we were lead through a special door right to the walkway and boarded well ahead of (Mind you I say this because I’ve been in this category and will be in this category on every other flight except for our “Last Flight” back and it’s really how you feel in those cramped seats) the rest of ‘the cattle’. We were served champagne while we waited for the rest to find seats and stow carry-ons etc. (Count 1 beer, 1 glass of champagne) I of course immediately set to playing with everything my chubby little hands could reach. (Ok, my hands aren’t chubby but it makes a nice visual doesn’t it?) My own two tiny pillows, my own cute little blanket, the buttons on my chair that made it recline and one that made the foot rest come up and down. I got a little bathroom kit bag with a toothbrush, toothpaste, eye cover thingy, shoe horn (why?), comb, moist towlettes, sewing kit, razor and shave gel, two Tylenol, spare underpants, q-tips, loose change and a bathroom sink! Really! Ok, from the underpants on I made up, but the rest is true, I swear, I still have it all (except the Tylenol). In the arm rest on one side was my tray table and on the other side the armrest was hiding my own little personal TV screen. I could stretch my legs out and not touch the seat in front of me. Yeah, ok, I’m THAT short. Not really all that short though. S was in heaven with the leg room. While we waited other business passengers stowed gear and milled around drinking.
There was a funny little Indian man with a beautiful blanket around his shoulders. It looked like a Sari or like Sari fabric but it was very quilted looking too. He caught me looking at him and gave me the most unfriendly look. I stopped staring right away and went back to ‘chubby hand’ exploring. Geez, it’s not like I was staring at him with my mouth hanging open or anything, like some first-time-business-flier-country-bumpkin or something.
Anyway, the only other fun thing was that we were given dinner menus and when dinner was brought they put little table clothes down on our tray tables. It was just a bit over the top. Had some nice wine with dinner and then switched to water. Too late though, the damage was done. Began to have a headache right then, a headache that did not leave for 3 ½ days. Couldn’t sleep on the plane, pillows, blankets and reclining seats not withstanding, it was impossible to get comfortable in the suffocating heat of that space. I know ‘the cattle’ don’t get that kind of heat to sleep in and thank god for that. I got up and found a bucket of ice and a big bottle of Evian in the galley and proceeded to drink myself silly. Well silly because I would spend the last 2 hours of the flight going back and forth to the loo (WC…bathroom). Of course when I found the water and asked for the bucket of ice, the shivering, blanket wrapped flight attendant looked at me as if I was nuts so perhaps that should have been a big clue that all was not well in Missyville.
You know, between the 9 hours of flight time and losing 7 hours of clock time, you spend what amounts to a good portion of a whole day (night in our case) in travel. We left Illinois house at 2:00 pm on Monday and arrived at Castanet-Tolosan House (doesn’t quite work does it, perhaps I’ll just call it France-house instead) at 1:00 pm on Tuesday. How fair is that?
Of course we went to buy milk, eggs etc. only to find everything closed…on a Tuesday. No fresh food for us then. (Maybe there is still some icky UHT milk sitting on a shelf somewhere. It’ll do in a desperate pinch I guess) This thought crosses my aching brain as I’m swearing under my breath about the French and their goofy holidays. Of course come to find out, purely by luck, the French celebrate Veterans Day same as the US. I saw this on the AIT calendar while half heartedly going through the mail.
As luck would have it ‘Aunt Sally’ arrived on my doorstep the second I’d crossed the threshold just to add her two cents to my jet-lagged-hung-over-migraine. Found my little complimentary Tylenol right then.
I began to unpack on complete autopilot and willed myself to try to stay awake until at least 6 to try to get back on schedule. The large creature currently trying to batter its way out of my skull through my eye sockets wouldn’t have it though and at 3 o’clock I finally gave up and fell into bed. S took this as his cue to also collapse.
I awoke to total darkness and reached for my new little IKEA clock with the light switch in it and flicked it on. After a brief screaming session and battle with nausea I focused on the clock to see that it said 6. 6 am or pm? This is where unreality took over and really got spooky. Where am I? Is it day or night? What time did I lie down? How long have I slept? What the hell is that thing over there?? (Ok, getting carried away again it was just S) I made my aching brain focus enough to get out of bed and go into the office. It was 6 pm I had only been asleep for 3 hours.
I started to wander around and unpack things again with my head dragging along in a bucket next to me as I couldn’t bear to wear it any longer. Honestly the whole thing felt totally surreal through that headache. I realized that I had not eaten since breakfast right before we’d landed in Paris and that would have been around 9 am France time which was…who the hell knows what time, on what land mass….aaaagggghhh!! Ok, so focusing on food, I went into the kitchen to find fish sticks, a can of corn, a can of pears and some Pepsi. Dinner is served.
Yeah, you’re right. NAUSEA city on a plate. Ate, and went right back to bed, curled into a fetal position and tried to just hang on to my dinner (if you could call it that). Poor S, he had to work on Wednesday. He had meetings. I don’t remember him leaving. I got up around 1 or 2 pm and tried to eat again but was instantly nauseous again. I went to bed and that’s where S found me when he got back from work at 8. He’d brought some milk and other staples but I was done with food and the creature in my head that was still searching for an exit appeared to have grown. I do remember IM’ing La and maybe Ky or e-mailing but it was all a bit hazy. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t focus and I definitely could not eat.
On Thursday morning I was up at 3 am. I was awake so I read for a bit. I fixed S breakfast at 6 and then I went to bed and slept til 2pm when I was awakened by, yes, a French Telemarketer. I think I’ve been marked by the telemarketing demon, as someone who is just too much fun to torment. I’ve given up on adjusting to the time again. I’ll sleep when I’m sleepy and I’ll work when I’m awake. I’ll eventually settle into a pattern. Unfortunately without that old schedule-pinning-routine thing I may be in for some trouble. You see as I type this it is 2 am on Saturday morning and I’m wide awake. S is of course sleeping poor man, but me…well maybe it would be easier to just move to the time zone I’m living instead of trying to adjust to the time zone I’m in. So for now, love and kisses from Irkutsk.
(Oz : The monkey's the only cookie animal that gets to wear clothes, you know that? So, I'm wondering, do the other cookie animals feel sorta ripped? Like, is the hippo going, "Hey, man, where are *my* pants? I have my hippo dignity!" and you know the monkey's just, (with a French accent) "I mock you with my monkey pants!" and there's a big coup in the zoo.
Willow: The monkey is French?
Oz: All monkeys are French. You didn't know that?)
(Hmm.. . I didn’t know that either.)
I bought some lisianthis today, purple of course. I put them in a vase near the window. (yes, lisianthis are flowers [Though Microsoft Word fails to find them in its dictionary]) What I failed to notice is that ‘near the window’ is also ‘near the radiator’. My lisianthis are looking a bit wilted in the baking heat of the radiator. I hope placing them in the freezer will help them recover. (Kidding)
Even on the lowest setting the radiators, um…radiate, yes radiate, baking heat. The radiators are so efficient that we turn them off at night or it gets too warm to sleep. Weird huh? I need them during the day while I sit here looking out my office window, but at night under that nice warm comforter it gets a bit TOO warm. I’m weird, I know this. Of course ::laughing wickedly:: it’s only getting down to 47 at night so it’s still rather warm, don’t you think? ::cackling wildly::
Ok, enough of that free association crap. No, I am not drunk! Honestly, a girl tries something fresh and new and everyone accuses her of being inebriated.
All right, the visit to Illinois was wonderful. I miss J already and I need my baby back. I was glad to visit with all of my wonderful and supportive friends and am facing a true depression wondering how the heck I’ll get through the next 8 to 10 months without my baby and my friends.
I finally picked up my Visa on Friday the 7th. (we were supposed to leave on Thursday, you’ll recall) I faced my elevator ride to the 37th floor with dignified and quiet stoicism. (Yes and a Xanax alright!) You all would have been so proud, S was proud. (Zeno would have been proud!) We were in and out of there in less than ten minutes. I’ll tell you the ride down would be a real ego boost if a bathroom scale were available in the little coffin. It moves down so quickly that I think I was ten pounds lighter for about 20 seconds there. If the building had been taller I think I might have achieved 0 gravity.
In their great benevolence and generosity (yeah right…dorks), M’Co., allowed us to fly business class on the return trip. It’s supposed to be like the big unveiling of ‘the new life’, since we are now OFFICIALLY in France. Whatever! Big Dorks! Make my life pure hell for a few months and one trip to France in Business class is supposed to do it for me! I’ll tell you what would make me happy, it would be to see those….umm, but I digress.
Yes, right, business class.
This meant that we got to ‘hang’ in the Air France “Lounge” for an hour and a half before our flight, where two nice women served us cookies and cheese and any beverage we wanted, while we sat in comfy chairs and surfed the web and chatted amiably with fellow fliers and got manicures and waited for our flight to the sounds of a string quartet and…. Ok, we sat, we had beers and we stole electricity to charge our computer batteries while we waited. When it was time to board the plane we were lead through a special door right to the walkway and boarded well ahead of (Mind you I say this because I’ve been in this category and will be in this category on every other flight except for our “Last Flight” back and it’s really how you feel in those cramped seats) the rest of ‘the cattle’. We were served champagne while we waited for the rest to find seats and stow carry-ons etc. (Count 1 beer, 1 glass of champagne) I of course immediately set to playing with everything my chubby little hands could reach. (Ok, my hands aren’t chubby but it makes a nice visual doesn’t it?) My own two tiny pillows, my own cute little blanket, the buttons on my chair that made it recline and one that made the foot rest come up and down. I got a little bathroom kit bag with a toothbrush, toothpaste, eye cover thingy, shoe horn (why?), comb, moist towlettes, sewing kit, razor and shave gel, two Tylenol, spare underpants, q-tips, loose change and a bathroom sink! Really! Ok, from the underpants on I made up, but the rest is true, I swear, I still have it all (except the Tylenol). In the arm rest on one side was my tray table and on the other side the armrest was hiding my own little personal TV screen. I could stretch my legs out and not touch the seat in front of me. Yeah, ok, I’m THAT short. Not really all that short though. S was in heaven with the leg room. While we waited other business passengers stowed gear and milled around drinking.
There was a funny little Indian man with a beautiful blanket around his shoulders. It looked like a Sari or like Sari fabric but it was very quilted looking too. He caught me looking at him and gave me the most unfriendly look. I stopped staring right away and went back to ‘chubby hand’ exploring. Geez, it’s not like I was staring at him with my mouth hanging open or anything, like some first-time-business-flier-country-bumpkin or something.
Anyway, the only other fun thing was that we were given dinner menus and when dinner was brought they put little table clothes down on our tray tables. It was just a bit over the top. Had some nice wine with dinner and then switched to water. Too late though, the damage was done. Began to have a headache right then, a headache that did not leave for 3 ½ days. Couldn’t sleep on the plane, pillows, blankets and reclining seats not withstanding, it was impossible to get comfortable in the suffocating heat of that space. I know ‘the cattle’ don’t get that kind of heat to sleep in and thank god for that. I got up and found a bucket of ice and a big bottle of Evian in the galley and proceeded to drink myself silly. Well silly because I would spend the last 2 hours of the flight going back and forth to the loo (WC…bathroom). Of course when I found the water and asked for the bucket of ice, the shivering, blanket wrapped flight attendant looked at me as if I was nuts so perhaps that should have been a big clue that all was not well in Missyville.
You know, between the 9 hours of flight time and losing 7 hours of clock time, you spend what amounts to a good portion of a whole day (night in our case) in travel. We left Illinois house at 2:00 pm on Monday and arrived at Castanet-Tolosan House (doesn’t quite work does it, perhaps I’ll just call it France-house instead) at 1:00 pm on Tuesday. How fair is that?
Of course we went to buy milk, eggs etc. only to find everything closed…on a Tuesday. No fresh food for us then. (Maybe there is still some icky UHT milk sitting on a shelf somewhere. It’ll do in a desperate pinch I guess) This thought crosses my aching brain as I’m swearing under my breath about the French and their goofy holidays. Of course come to find out, purely by luck, the French celebrate Veterans Day same as the US. I saw this on the AIT calendar while half heartedly going through the mail.
As luck would have it ‘Aunt Sally’ arrived on my doorstep the second I’d crossed the threshold just to add her two cents to my jet-lagged-hung-over-migraine. Found my little complimentary Tylenol right then.
I began to unpack on complete autopilot and willed myself to try to stay awake until at least 6 to try to get back on schedule. The large creature currently trying to batter its way out of my skull through my eye sockets wouldn’t have it though and at 3 o’clock I finally gave up and fell into bed. S took this as his cue to also collapse.
I awoke to total darkness and reached for my new little IKEA clock with the light switch in it and flicked it on. After a brief screaming session and battle with nausea I focused on the clock to see that it said 6. 6 am or pm? This is where unreality took over and really got spooky. Where am I? Is it day or night? What time did I lie down? How long have I slept? What the hell is that thing over there?? (Ok, getting carried away again it was just S) I made my aching brain focus enough to get out of bed and go into the office. It was 6 pm I had only been asleep for 3 hours.
I started to wander around and unpack things again with my head dragging along in a bucket next to me as I couldn’t bear to wear it any longer. Honestly the whole thing felt totally surreal through that headache. I realized that I had not eaten since breakfast right before we’d landed in Paris and that would have been around 9 am France time which was…who the hell knows what time, on what land mass….aaaagggghhh!! Ok, so focusing on food, I went into the kitchen to find fish sticks, a can of corn, a can of pears and some Pepsi. Dinner is served.
Yeah, you’re right. NAUSEA city on a plate. Ate, and went right back to bed, curled into a fetal position and tried to just hang on to my dinner (if you could call it that). Poor S, he had to work on Wednesday. He had meetings. I don’t remember him leaving. I got up around 1 or 2 pm and tried to eat again but was instantly nauseous again. I went to bed and that’s where S found me when he got back from work at 8. He’d brought some milk and other staples but I was done with food and the creature in my head that was still searching for an exit appeared to have grown. I do remember IM’ing La and maybe Ky or e-mailing but it was all a bit hazy. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t focus and I definitely could not eat.
On Thursday morning I was up at 3 am. I was awake so I read for a bit. I fixed S breakfast at 6 and then I went to bed and slept til 2pm when I was awakened by, yes, a French Telemarketer. I think I’ve been marked by the telemarketing demon, as someone who is just too much fun to torment. I’ve given up on adjusting to the time again. I’ll sleep when I’m sleepy and I’ll work when I’m awake. I’ll eventually settle into a pattern. Unfortunately without that old schedule-pinning-routine thing I may be in for some trouble. You see as I type this it is 2 am on Saturday morning and I’m wide awake. S is of course sleeping poor man, but me…well maybe it would be easier to just move to the time zone I’m living instead of trying to adjust to the time zone I’m in. So for now, love and kisses from Irkutsk.
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