Quand le blé va bien, tout va bien

Fresh off of Toussaint it’s time to recognize the work of another saint. December 4th in France is the Feast of Saint Barbara.

One of the traditions in honour of Saint Barbara is to place wheat seeds in three saucers (in celebration of the Holy Trinity), water them and then cover them with damp cotton cloth. You’re supposed to keep them moist throughout advent so that you have a nice green centre piece for Christmas Eve dinner which is an important meal in these parts.

The way in which the wheat grows is supposed to reveal how your year will progress hence the expression “Quand le blé va bien, tout va bien” or in Provençal “Quand lou blad vèn ben, tout vèn ben”. I’m sheepish to admit I’m a bit superstitious so the environmental planner in me has looked around our house assessing the likelihood for wheat growing success. Our house doesn’t have a lot of natural light so we’re going to have to engage in some borrowed sun light if we have any hope of a good 2013. Wish us luck!

Quirky language differences #1: “I miss you”

This morning in my french class a funny difference between English and french came up. We were talking about missing people and things and I learned that the construction of the sentence in french is the opposite of what I thought it was. The verb manquer (to miss) is a rather odd one!

I miss you: Tu me manques.

My children miss Canada: Le Canada manque à mes enfants.

Until today, if I had read the above sentences in french I would have assumed they meant: “You miss me” and “Canada misses my children”. As our instructor was explaining how to use the verb I was thinking that this grammar exercise would make a very good start to french-immersion-meets-who’s-on-first skit! My kids are homesick. Canada misses them. Wow. That’s rather generous of you. Are you sure? We’ve haven’t yet made it to Newfoundland, or Canmore …

Speaking of french immersion, if you haven’t seen it yet, “French Immersion“, the movie is very funny and worth tracking down at home.

ctrl + alt + del: Paris

Last weekend we took a break from our life in the Provence countryside and headed to Paris. Our small rascal turned 6 last week and we took a trip up the Eiffel Tour as a gift. It was a quick in and out with our leaving here on Friday afternoon and returning on Sunday evening.

The last time I was in Paris was May 1998 to celebrate my 30th birthday. At that point I’d never been to Europe and really wanted to mark turning 30 in a memorable way. It looked for a while like my first Paris adventure might be a solo trip but then my dear friend MB declared “no way” and came along. I was in a different place back than – no rascals, no Chris, Shadow before Tuck, and 2/3 of the way through my PhD so that visit had a different feel and itinerary. Now, 14 years (gulp) later I returned with my family in tow to celebrate another birthday.

Paris is probably one of the most romanticized, photographed and written about cities in the world. It’s easy to be drawn to its allure and we were all certainly excited about our visit.

We took the TGV to Gare de Lyon – what a civilized way to travel. Our station (TGV Aix-en-Provence) is so popular that we were unable to book a parking spot for the weekend. When we were waiting on the platform I was amazed by how many people were there too. The appeal is easy to understand – the trip took under 3 hours (the drive takes about 9h) and it deposits you at the very conveniently located Gare de Lyon. One metro stop later and we were in the 4th arrondisement where our lovely friends offered us their flat for the weekend.

With the rise of airbnb and other apartment rental sites many travellers seem to be opting to stay in other people’s homes rather than hotels. There are certainly advantages when travelling with kids! As much as I enjoy eating out, I would much rather have breakfast at home on a vacation before heading out for a day of adventure. And in our case, our loaner-apartment had much more space than a hotel and we got to “live” in a real neighbourhourhood if only for a weekend.

We spent Saturday shopping, wandering around and at gôuter, visiting with Canadian friends who are spending the year in an amazing apartment in the 11th, a part of Paris I’d never visited. As city kids our girls are pretty good walkers but our extended pedestrian adventures lead to a chorus of ‘our dogs are barking‘ by the end.

On Saturday evening we jumped on bus from the 11th and headed over for our Eiffel Tower rendezvous. About halfway through our trip the bus driver declared he wasn’t going to École Militaire (our stop) because there was “une manifestation” (“une manif” if you live there, apparently) which meant we had to get off the bus and walk for about 30 minutes. There was a very funny exchange between the bus passengers and the driver that I found characteristic of french Q&A between ordinary people and people with power: “What’s happening?” “There is a manifestation, I cannot go to the École Militaire.” “Ok, so if we get off the bus do we need to use another ticket?” “It is not my decision. There is a manifestation, I cannot go to the École Militaire”. “Where is this bus going next?”. “It is not going to the École Militaire. There is a manifestation.” We looked at the kids, got off the bus, and the dogs started barking again.

Arriving at the Eiffel Tower by foot from the south is a fun approach and we got to hear our kids’ first realization that it actually looks, in real life, like what you think it’s going to look like! They were very excited. R., in particular, kept saying “wow, we’re really here.”

Going up the Eiffel Tower takes some fore planning. I bought our tickets in July and the earliest booking we could get was 20h. We got to see the end of the sunset and then the Tower light up which, I think, made it all seem a bit more special. The first time they turned on the strobes a huge roar came up from the crowds at the base! We all vowed that on our next visit we’d dress more warmly (it’s still the end of summer down here in the South but it’s full on fall in Paris), we’d book an daytime visit and give ourselves more time to make sure we actually get up to the third level. A combination of small rascal fatigue, a very long line to go up and some incredibly obnoxious spanish tourists behind us in line lead us to decide another visit was needed to reach niveau 3.

We spent Sunday morning at the Centre Pompidou and then watching some pantomime rollerblading buskers before heading back to the South on the train. Other than the ‘alerte bombe’ in Gare de Lyon it was a relatively uneventful trip back with the kids’ reporting a good time was had by all. At some point I’ll write about the number of very fit guys in fatigues with machine guns I’ve seen since arriving but that reflection on the militarization of cities needs its own space.

For me this weekend was a bit of an urban reboot. Our village, Puyloubier, had a 2008 population of 1,755 and Paris had 12,161,542. Since we’ve arrived we’ve made weekly trips to Aix-en-Provence and two trips to Marseille, but both are quite different than a visit to a global city like Paris. And for a planner like me the chance to be in a big city is a welcome treat.

We made a very deliberate choice to spend this year in the countryside thinking that if we were going to pick up and move we’d try something quite different other than fumbling our way through life with a new language. Life in our small French village is obviously quite different than life in Roncesvalles “Village” so the urbanist in me was keen to get a city-fix on this Paris weekend adventure.

This weekend I loved the chance to walk everywhere and to experience streets, people and a diversity of choices of things to do and eat. We got to see parts of the city I’d never visited before and we also got to enjoy Paris through the experiences of our girls. We had some good laughs over how rats seem to be following us on this year long adventure. On our third day in our village we were walking up the main road when we saw something drop from above and into a gutter. At first we thought it was a bird that had hit a window and dropped, stunned. But then the brown lump jumped up and ran up the road! It was a rat – someone must have caught it and tossed it out the window! Last Saturday morning outside the Pompidou H. noticed a rat eating some french fries and then less than 1m away one of its buddy’s was lying belly up having gone to the great sewer in the sky, dead as a door knob.

I love the serendipity of cities. When you smush that many people together in a built-up space surprising things happen. On our subway ride home from the Eiffel Tower on Saturday night there was a guy playing accordion with a bunch of riders singing and clapping. R. turned to me and said “wow, this really does feel like Paris!”. People find new and innovative ways to use their public spaces. On Saturday afternoon we visited the Luxembourg Gardens. To my delight we found ping pong tables in the park and they were being used by teenagers. At home it seems like most efforts to design spaces for youths result in skateparks. Time for ping pong in Toronto I think!

In the week leading up to our trip I wondered if, after a Paris weekend, I’d have second thoughts about our choice of sabbatical location? Both families we know on sabbatical in Paris right now are deep in the groove of the City of Light. I also wondered how our kids would feel? Would being reminded of a big city make them homesick? Would they too wish we were living in a bigger place with more familiar surroundings?

It’s curious. It was lovely to be there but I was also happy to return to the South and our small village. On the train home I took a chance and asked the girls if they wished we were living in Paris. Their answer was “no” in part because they like the mountain and all the space outdoors.

In Toronto it’s noisy which, when I am there, I don’t mind. But here it’s quiet and that’s a welcome break. At home and in Paris when I look up I see big buildings and the human imprints on the environment we’ve shaped. Here when I look up I get to see a big sky and a massive mountain. These vistas still surprise and delight me every day.

It would seem that in one way life here isn’t that different than life at home in Canada: we really like our time in the city and then when we leave for the countryside of the Greenbelt or Prince Edward County or further afield in Algonquin Park, we appreciate the dramatic change.

We’re only one month into this adventure so now that we’re back I’m openly relieved that life in our sleepy village continues to have its own pleasures and appeals. We’re headed to London for school break at the end of the month so I will be curious to see what wicked temptations arise from visiting another great city in which we can speak our first language and understand things without having to try so hard. Until then, back to mes devoirs in which the simple relative pronouns are causing me much dismay.

Je parle français comme une vache espagnole

One of the most common questions I was asked at home when the location of our sabbatical came up was “how good is your french?”. The answer, I learned today in my new french class, is “Je parle français come une vache espagnole” which when translated means “I speak french like a Spanish cow” or more idiomatically “I’m butchering french when I speak it”.

Now before you get your knickers in a knot, don’t worry, this is not what my new lovely french teacher told me about my french. It was just a funny expression we learned at the end of class because earlier on I had said “je parle français comme une touriste”.

The hierarchy of french language competency in our family mirrors our skiing ability: Chris is the most competent and comfortable, after 4 years of french immersion the big rascal has good comprehension and is happy to speak, I’m next and the small rascal is the beginner but expected to surpass me on the hill and in the classroom by Christmas.

My french is good enough that I have been able to attend sports-permission medical check-ups with the kids, inquire about the purchase of new butane powered french ovens, and to call my new french teacher to say I might be late because “Je suit bloqué dans un bouchon” [stuck in a traffic jam]. But it’s pretty rough, my grammar stinks, and I’d like it to be better.

So last week I tried out a conversation class in Aix-en-Provence. It’s very fun to be a student for a change! The teacher is lovely and the way she teaches really resonates with me. It’s a bit of a drive but I think it will be worth it.

We had some funny laughs. At one point we were discussing my incorrect use of avoir instead of être for the passé composé conjugation of arriver. When she first noted my mistake I said “a-ha! Mrs. Vandertramp“. Do you remember learning that tool to help you remember which verbs take être? In France they use a tool called “la mason d’être“. The urban planner in me likes it better

I’ve always envied people for whom language acquisition comes easily. I’m not one of those people so if I want my french to get better I am going to have to swallow a dose of my parental advice medicine. As our kids ramp up their learning to make life in their french village school easier we’re spending a lot more time with them, in these early days of school, on homework and goofing around with their cool new Larousse dictionaries. A few nights ago when doing her reading assignment for a quiz, the big rascal made a long list of words she didn’t know while I sat with the small rascal showing her how to look up words in the dictionary. We’ve had many conversations about how this sabbatical will succeed or fail based on some pure grit and determination to sort through what is new, unfamiliar or yet to be learned.

For me and my cow/tourist french a quick stop at Monoprix’s rentrée department netted a new pencil case, some felt tipped markers and some flashcards for my Thursday conversation classes. This is me walking my talk.