Notre Vie Quotidienne

My Weekly Exercise and Le Mistral

2008-03-07T22:09:00.016-04:00

We have this "wind" in Provence, known as le mistral. My friend Kay, the mom of Rainer, a student in Emily's second grade class last year at DIS, kindly tried to warn me about it. They had lived in Toulouse for several years when Rainer was a baby. "Oh, Kay...," I thought, "I can deal with wind; after all, it is known to gust so strongly in the foothills of Denver, that occasionally an SUV gets knocked over!" Little did I know what lay in store with le mistral, (specifically, a cold gale-force wind, with gusts up to 100 kts, that can endure, unrelenting for as much as 65 hours, only to continue for several more 65 hour stretches, after an occasion, and all too brief, middle-of-the-night break.)

More than a wind, le mistral is a giant bully that once awakened, just won't stop pushing and shoving. If I were ever asked to give the one reason not to move here, my answer would not be the incessant challenges of dealing with French bureaucracy or the closed society of village life, nor the lack of shops or modern conveniences, and not the high cost of essentials such as books, gas, clothing, food, media and electronics. No, my answer would unquestionably be: le mistral.

I tell you about the mistral today because it has been blowing fiercely all week and the weather forecast gives no hope of immediate relief. Normally, when the wind is blowing, I head over to the piscine in St. Paul de Trois Châteaux and get my thrice-weekly endorphin boost through thirty minutes of intense swimming. Unfortunately, that was not a choice available to me because the pool is closed all week for annual cleaning! Beyond the lack of access to the pool, I had hoped to gather pictures along my run route that winds through the vineyards on a small farm road that runs parallel to the river from St. Roman de Malegarde in the direction of Cairanne, so that I could show you the wild white sweet alyssum growing abundantly, en mass throughout the vineyards. Thus, after too many days without exercise, I donned my running clothes. Against my better judgment, I headed out the door and into the wind. Hey, I once ran during a snowstorm in Boston; this shouldn't be so bad; after all, the sun was shining!

According to AccuWeather, the temperature had been -2°C (29°F) overnight and by 1pm, had risen to 5°C (41°F), but the "RealFeel" with the wind was -1°C (31°F) The first sensation of cold and wind took my breath away. After I got beyond the stone houses in the haut village, I had the benefit of sun shining on one side of my body, while cold wind pelted the shaded side. Not so bad I thought; the sunny side was actually quite warm. It created an interesting contrast of sensations on my skin. During normal (non-windy) runs, the scent of the delicate white blooms is just like the sweet alyssum that for decades I planted in my flower boxes, rich like honey. However, when I reached the flat terrain that lines the vineyards, the wind was so cold and gusting so hard that I could not perceive any smells whatsoever. I focused on remaining debout.

Upon nearing the halfway point, I stopped to snap some photos of the wild French sweet alyssum. The mistral was shaking the field with such force that the flowers were a white blur between the grapevines. Only the thick old vines stood still. I had not realized how cold my hands had gotten within my gloves; it was difficult to make the lens adjustments and push the shutter so I had to temporarily remove the gloves. As I focused the camera for a close-up, I realized that the wind was keeping the flowers from their normal, vertical stance. I crouched and waited for a break in the gust. Suddenly a moment of calm arrived; I snapped a couple of photos and then was nearly knocked off my feet when the hammering resumed.

With my hands practically numb from exposure while taking the pictures, it was time for me to head back as quickly as possible. I rounded the corner, turned away from Cairanne and began the trek toward St. Roman. Suddenly I was facing the full force of the mistral head-on. I had not realized what I would be up against on the route home. I was picking up my legs and thrusting them in front of me with all my might, but it was as if I was not moving. After thirty minutes of this, I had covered less than 50% of the return trip. My thighs ached and my skin was numb. Why on earth had I ventured out in this wind? Head down, I inched forward, muscles burning from the strain. It was as though my whole body was being pushed back.

At last, I made it to the house. A run that normally takes me 30 minutes, 35-40 if I stop to take photos, took nearly three times as long! Now I understand why the houses here are built of stone. As in the children’s tale of the three pigs, there really is a wind who, like the wolf, can blow a lesser house to the ground, and it is known as le mistral. When my hands warmed up I checked AccuWeather: Winds from the north were no less than 17 mph and the steady gusts were upwards of 42 mph. The temperature had warmed to 9°C (49°F) but the “RealFeel” was °C (39°F). I was very happy to be back inside our heated home. Though my muscles were sore for several days, the experience was invigorating; I had my endorphins, my photos and my story!

“Behind the Mistral is the beauty of Provence. Its fierceness blows away clouds and grime and doubt, leaving colors the depth of dreams and a freshness that can come only after the Mistral's scouring...Provence needs the Mistral or it ceases to be the Provence of my dreams. I need the Mistral to cut through those dreams to truth - beauty comes after the wind.” Kamiah A. Walker

Poule au Riz, Part II

2008-03-05T10:17:00.006-04:00

A couple of days ago I told you about the memorable Sunday lunch we enjoyed at the home of our neighbors, Odile and Armando Perrone. As promised, I have scanned Odile's recette for cooking the elderly hen. Remember that most French family recipes are "au pif" so, follow your gut where the instructions or measures may be vague. If you do try Odile's Poule au Riz, you will have a tender chicken with delicious sauce that is great on the rice as well as the slices of hen. Let me know how yours turns out.

This recipe serves 6 to 8 people.

Ingredients:

1 Hen (not a young one)

2 carrots

1 onion, with 3 whole cloves stuck in it

1 bouquet garni (thyme and bay leaves)

250 grams rice

salt & pepper

for the sauce:

2 soupspoons of potato starch

1/2 glass cold water

1/4 glass of boullion (taken from cooked chicken's pot)

1/2 juice of a lemon

2 soupspoons of capers

salt & pepper

Put 2 liters of boiling water into a large stockpot. Add carrots, onion with cloves inserted, bouquet garni and salt. Plunge the hen into the boiling water and and cook at least two hours, maybe more, until tender.

In the mean time, rinse the rice and let it drain. When the hen is done, season with pepper, remove it and keep it warm; cook the rice.

To make the sauce, in a small bowl, put the 2 soupspoons of potato starch; add the 1/2/ glass of cold water and mix well. Remove the 1/4 glass of hot bouillon from the chicken pot and add to the sauce. Mix very well. Add the lemon juice, salt and pepper to taste.

Serve a slice of chicken accompanied by the rice and the sauce.

Enjoy with a smooth French white wine.

Bon Appetit!

Notre Poule au Riz

2008-03-03T20:04:00.001-04:00

In past posts, I've frequently mentioned my Italian voisin, Armando. It was with Armando and his family that we travele d to Italie and spent a whirlwind weekend on the gorgeous Italian coast the day after my birthday. I also mentioned the Perrones in the story about our Sunday promenade in February.

During the six months we have lived here, we have had a number of great meals at the Perrone home. Usually, we arrive to find both Armando and Odile in the kitchen. However, our most memorable meal to date was the Poule au Riz we enjoyed one recent Sunday, prepared solely by Odile. She is a very soft-spoken and kind woman. She dropped by earlier in the week to invite us to dinner and she asked me if I thought Emily would be “ok” with a vrai French poule dinner. People frequently ask me what Emily will eat in advance of dinners at their homes, so I thought nothing of it. Of course, Emily loves chicken.

Sunday arrived and we headed over at noon. The aroma in the house was heavenly. Odile explained that the key to the dinner was going to the nearby hen farm and asking for an old hen. A young hen won’t do for this recipe. The flavor and ultimate results will not be the same. An old hen will stand up to the two hours or so that the meal cooks.

She lifted the poule out of the pot and I managed to keep my mouth closed as it dawned on me why she had come by earlier in the week to see whether I thought it would bother Emily to have the meal. The old hen we were having for lunch still had her head, beak and legs attached. I’m glad she was old; I hope she had lived a good life. We found it fascinating, not at all disturbing. I have to say, it gave me a respect for the meal that I have not previously felt. I believe that we need to regain connection with the food we eat. Life in this small country village is giving us that connection. I am grateful for this opportunity.

The meal was memorable not only for the poule, but also for the wonderful sauce Odile prepared. She explained that although it had a lemon flavor, it was not a true béchamel, but was made in a lighter fashion, without crème. I am going to post the recipe, but because the notes she gave me are all in French, that post will occur at another time, as I have a couple of things I may have to discuss with Odile. I recall that clous de girofle does not have anything to do with nails, but refers to whole cloves and that fècule is starch, but I can’t remember, as I write this, what Odile meant by fècule de p-de-t.

You may rest assured that any time I see “ c à s” in a French recette I have come to understand that it means you need a soupspoon full of the ingredient, while “c à café” does not mean add a spoonful of coffee, but instead, use a coffee spoon to measure an ingredient! The way the French write their recipes is rather charming. Thus, I‘ve decided the best solution will be to scan and post her hand-written recipe with this story. Ahhh, it's coming back to me; p-de-t; of course, pomme de terre; use potato starch for the sauce! Rest assured, the translation will be worth the wait.

Opération Brioches, Part II

2008-03-01T06:30:00.003-04:00

Back on January 10th, I posted an article entitled Opération Brioche and I promised that there would be more to this story. Unfortunately, back in October when the story took place, I was not in “Blog Mode” and I did not have the foresight to take photos of the 60 brioches stacked in my car and my kitchen. Nor did I take photos of the Opération Brioches events. Since the January 10th post, I have been searching for photos of brioches to accompany this post.

Having at last come across some fitting brioches and having scanned the official Opération Brioches brochure, I give you Opération Brioches, Part II, followed by a little “brioches photo tour” I have gathered over the course of the past several weeks. (And you thought I was just loafing all this time…;)

As you may recall from the original post, a brioche is a delicious, slightly sweet, soft, light yeast bread, formed into 6-8 rolls gathered in a circle. As I discovered during my brioche photo quest, it comes in many varieties. But the type used in Opération Brioches is the basic, simple, unfrosted variety that looks more like a cluster of dinner rolls than a frosted Danish.

The Opération Brioches brochure explains that this event was about raising funds for “mentally handicapped” children. I use the word “handicapped” in this article, knowing that it is not a politically correct word in America. However, it is the word used in France! As it turns out, the Opération Brioches event occurs every October through all of the schools, nationwide, in conjunction with radio advertising and a telethon to raise funds for France’s “mentally handicapped” individuals.

But, back to the story of my microcosmic experience with Opération Brioches, as an étrangère and newcomer to this tiny French village. At the time that Christophe de Carpentrie, Président de l'Association des Parents des Élèves de l'École Jean Moulin, told me (he did not “ask”) that I would be in charge of our village version of Opération Brioches, I was absolutely clueless. I knew it was a fundraiser, but I did not understand the purpose and I had no idea how it was to be implemented. My immediate reaction was overwhelm. I envisioned making calls (in French) to boulangeries, asking them to donate brioches and then figuring out an appropriate price, creating signage, etc. As a former Brownie Girl Scout leader of a “super seller” troop, I could certainly handle such a manœuvre in English, in America, but in French and in France? I had no comprehension of the cultural expectations.

When Christophe explained that the brioches would be available at the mairie in Vaison la Romaine, I told him he would have to go with me to pick them up. So he did. While he loaded the brioches into the vehicle, I ran over to my bank and got change. Upon gathering the brioches that Thursday afternoon, I began to understand. This was to be a three-day event, starting Friday and taking place throughout France; Each association could decide when and where, over the course of the three days they would sell their allotted brioches. The allotment and price were predetermined and all brioches would be sold for 5 euros apiece. The fundraiser was something that takes place every year; people throughout France were anticipating the purchase of these brioches.

Last year our village school sold 50 brioches; I was determined we would sell our entire allotment this year. So I did my part; I bought three and Emily and I discovered just how delicious they were; we had finished all three by Monday morning. Emily and I called upon our neighbors and alerted them to the sale; we had pre-orders for a dozen brioches. I was told to go to Chez Claudette to ask the proprietor to have our brioches on hand at her restaurant during her lunch rush. She packs the place at noon, day in and day out; surely there we could make early progress with our sale. So on Friday morning, I went by; Claudette agreed and I left with her, our sales permit and two boxes containing 20 brioches. She sold an additional thirteen.

Next would come the Friday afternoon, after-school party for the eleven élèves at Emily's school. I set up a table on the school patio with drinks (sirop for the water, and fruit juice) and brioches for all the children to eat, along with chunks of chocolate (how French!). I unloaded the remaining 40 or so packages of brioches. After serving the children and filling family orders, we had about 15 packages remaining to be sold. Several mothers and a cluster of children set out to show me how the sale was to be completed. We went around to village houses, in a somewhat haphazard way, stopping primarily at the homes of their friends. Within two hours and as darkness arrived, we had sold all the brioches. Mission accomplished!

During all of this, I thought there was tension in the air. Later, I learned that the mothers had been up in arms over a number of issues. First, they could not believe that I left boxes of brioches at Claudette’s restaurant. It had never been done that way in their village; surely I should have stayed there at the restaurant, selling and collecting. They said that Claudette did not have authority to sell the brioches. But, when I showed them the permits I had received from the mairie and I explained that Claudette had one of the permits on hand, posted at her restaurant the entire time she was selling, they reluctantly acknowledged that, yes it could be done that way. In fact, so long as Claudette was willing, it was a much more efficient way to get the sales! Whew!

Next, the mothers were upset that I was in charge of the money. With 60 brioches sold, at 5 euros each, I had amassed, with everyone’s assistance, a sum of 300 euros (equivalent to $450 US dollars). Certainly, I had handled more than ten times that amount with Girl Scout cookie sales, but I was an étrangère and they had no reason to trust me. It was Friday night and I would be unable to unload the money on anyone or make the bank deposit until the following week. Christine, mother of Gaëtan had been treasurer the prior year; she knew the ropes; she offered to drive me to Vaison to take care of the deposit on Tuesday afternoon. And so it went. On Tuesday, all the money was double-checked and turned over at the mairie in Vaison. Double whew!

But they were still upset…the bottom line was that they felt Christophe, le Président, should never have turned the matter over to me. It was not just that I was an étrangère; apparently there has been a long-standing quarrel among the parents. I’ve tried to get to the bottom of the dispute, but each time I get close, it seems to shift. I have heard that the mothers do not like the way he treats them; he gives a lot of orders, but appears to do little himself. I asked if this is a man vs. woman sort of problem; the moms said maybe...

From my understanding of village life, another component in the discord may be that the de Carpentries are “outsiders.” While they are French, they are not from around here; they are from a far-away village in northern France. The family bought land and moved here about three years ago. They have built a house on the land and appear to be planning to stay and raise their children in this village. In some ways, I think they would be better off as true étrangers from a foreign country; the villagers seem much more accepting and forgiving of our blunders than they may ever be toward their fellow Frenchman. Maybe my speculation is naïve.

Either way, there seems to be an active campaign against Christophe, while the women have sympathy for his wife, Anne-Catherine I’m trying to discern whether he has earned the negative rapport. This conflict is just beneath the surface of every event undertaken by l'Association des Parents des Élèves de l'École Jean Moulin. It will take more encounters with this group and a lot more analysis to reach a point of understanding those interpersonal dynamics. Wouldn’t it seem that in a village of only 250 people, with a student body of only eleven children, representing ten families, the adults could manage to get along? Unfortunately, this is not the case.

In addition to the unexpected detour through the underbelly of the parents’ association, Opération Brioches gave me a first hand look at the intertwining of school, associations, charity and government in France; we had to go to the mairie (city hall) in Vaison la Romaine to pick up our allotted brioches. It would be to this same bureau I would return the following week to hand over the funds we accumulated through the sale of the brioches. The parents association was expected to participate in this national fundraiser and yet, no funds were accumulated for our school. This is so different from the way we do things in the United States. Fascinating!

Now, for the little brioche photo tour, first, I present to you the photo most recently taken. I had been standing at the bakery counter of the E. Leclerk in Bolène, waiting for a clerk to wrap and mark my baguettes for more than five minutes. No clerk was to be found. My eyes drifted to the pastry case and voilà! At last I had found the perfect brioche for my story! I snapped a couple of flash photos, and wouldn't you know it, a clerk came running up. "Madame, you are not allowed to take photos! For security, no photos are allowed!" Geeze, a photo of a brioche might put the whole grocery chain at risk...I hope you appreciate that I came close to arrest to bring you this photo. Judge for yourself just how threatening it may be to France's security.

While the brioches we sold during Opération Brioches were in a plain round aluminum tin and looked much more commercial, like a package of dinner rolls you might find in the U.S., they had the same delicious taste as the one above.

This next brioche is one I found, again at E. Leclerk, just before Mardi Gras. These are the "King's Cakes" that have a little treasure to be hidden in a piece to be found by a child.

This is a Swiss brioche, and I must say that Emily and I loved it. It comes closest to a frosted Danish.

I leave you with this lovely "Broche de Paris" which I must confess, by our standards, had the least appealing flavor of all. If only it had tasted as good as it looked...this was the only one we tossed in the poubelle after one slice!

Notre Gite: Le Mas des Garennes

2008-02-27T11:42:00.016-04:00

T oday I would like to tell you about the lovely gîte touristique located right here in Saint Roman de Malegarde. It is know as Le Mas des Garennes (provencial farmhouse of cottontail rabbits) and is open year-round. Jacques and Stéphanie Kaneko are the onsite owners and operators. Their eldest daughter, Iris goes to school with Emily. Inès, their younger daughter, will begin CP at our village school in the fall. All three girls are frequently found playing on the swing set in the Kaneko's enormous yard.

A while back, Stéphanie and Jacques gave me a private tour of the lovely facilities; they keep the gîte in immaculate condition and each apartment has been tastefully furnished. The house belonged to the Kaneko family and Jacques decided to completely remodel the building and convert it to a gîte following the death of his mother several years ago.

There are two, two bedroom apartments, Gîte Genêt and Gîte Lavande, which are available for full-week or weekend rental. Each is top-notch, with cable television, modern kitchens including dishwashers, washing machines for your laundry and beautiful bathrooms. There is a boulodrome, a very nice barbeque area and a piscine for guests. The facility is registered with Gîtes de France. Pets are accepted.

If you are planning a trip to Provence, I would encourage you to consider staying here in St Roman at this lovely country gîte. Be sure to let me know when you are coming; I'd love to give you a tour of our village! For pricing and availability, visit their website: Le Mas des Garennes

Their contact information is:
Stéphanie et Jacques Kaneko
5 Route de Rasteau
F84290 Saint Roman de Malegarde
Tél.: 33 (0) 490 289 692
Port. (Cell phone): 33 (0) 679 234 303
Email: kaneko@wanadoo.fr
Website: http://www.provencegites.fr/

Notre Météo: Printemps Arrive!

2008-02-25T11:51:00.002-04:00

Printemps arrive! Above you see a spectacular yellow mimosa tree in bloom, as I see it on my daily run through the vineyards. These mimosa arbres are sprinkled throughout our village. The photos I post today show that spring has arrived in St Roman. Some of the plants were discovered on our hour-long Sunday stroll with our voisins. It was about 60 degrees at noon yesterday and we wore no vests, sweaters or jackets, just shirtsleeves.

I am thrilled to see signs of spring popping out all around. Winter is my least favorite season and I am always relieved when it is over. Our météo indicates that we have more days in the 60's predicted this week and next. We may have rain in the next several days, but that's ok; it's great for the crops.

Many folks in the village say that this warmer weather has arrived too early; we have just completed the third week of February and according to the calendar, we still have three full weeks of winter. I've looked at our 15 day forecast and there might be legitimate cause for concern. As of yesterday, AccuWeather was predicting that a cold front would move into the area around March 9th and that our lows would drop below freezing, possibly for several days.

Nonetheless, I can't help but admire all the beautiful blossoms. Armando tells me that the white blossoming trees are amandiers, while the pink blossoming trees are either abri cotiers or pêcher. The dark pink blossoms of the cerisier come later, likely arriving the end of March or beginning of April. He says that when the fruit is ready, we are free to stroll and pick what we want to eat. Now I am really eager for spring!

I've just re-checked the forecast and the freezing temps are gone, at least for now. Hopefully, the highs and lows the second week of March will be in the 40's and not below. Yes, those highs will be 20 degrees cooler than yesterday, but not cold enough to destroy the delicate blooms of our arbres aux noix et arbres fruitiers.

Needless to say, should the freeze actually arrive, many of the blossoming trees would suffer damage and that might mean a loss of our almond, peach and apricot crops. Let's be optimistic that a late freeze does not happen this year.

Our marie has determined the time is right to return water to our midieval four-headed fountain. Surely this indicates that any freeze yet to come will be of no consequence. I hope so.

You can always have a look at the St Roman de Malegarde weather forecast, weather maps, temperature charts and other interesting weather information by clicking on the AccuWeather icon I have posted in the right column of this blog. On the forecast pages, you have the option of viewing the temperatures in Celsius (click the red "Metric" button at the top to the right of the date) or in Fahrenheit (click the blue "English" button at the top to the right of the date.)

Happy Spring Everyone!

Voyage en Italie, Part Two

2008-02-20T14:14:00.025-04:00

As I reported on Monday, Friday drew to a close with champagne, courtesy of Olivier, celebrating my birthday! We stayed the night in comfortable beachfront bungalows at the Villaggio d ei Fiori Centro Turistico sul Mare. This facility offers very affordable bungalows, chalets, holiday homes, camp areas, a restauran t, pizzeria, swimming pools, tennis courts and other family amusements. Since we were up late partying on Friday night, our Saturday started mid-morning with brioche at the Villaggio café. Seven euros bought us three brioche, three cappuccinos and one steamed milk for Emily; what a deal!

Upon consuming sufficient amounts of Italian caffeine and pastries, we headed to the market to buy the supplies that would fill the little trailer. Just wondering through the grocery was a special treat. It was very important to my companions that we selected products authentic to the Liguria region. Liguria olive oil is protected with the D.O.P. mark on its packaging (Denominazione di Origine Protetta). Most of the packaged foods we bought were from companies that have been in existence, supplying these products since the 1800's. I believe that these products which have withstood scrutiny for 100 to 150 years are bound to be the best!

After gathering an obscene mound of formaggio romano, parmigiano e mozzarella, D.O.P. olive oil, tomatoes, anchovies, tuna packed in olive oil, meats, sausages, pasta, bread sticks, cakes, cookies filled with nocciola, coffee and candies, we loaded the trailer and resumed our promenade through old San Remo and its open air market. As I mentioned yesterday, the market was filled with beautiful fashions, flowers and plenty of souvenirs, all very reasonably priced. We figured we could find a way to squeeze a few more things into the car.

Our promenade led us through the charming old town, called La Pigna, built during the Moyen Âge as a walled city, complete with castle, to protect the citizens from Saracen raids. There we saw an abundance of steep and narrow streets, charming squares, and passageways that are reminiscent of medieval times. Traffic is limited to pedestrians in this part of San Remo. Homes five stories high, often with shops on the ground floor, were linked across the passaggio with an array of arches at varying heights. The couloirs and the bâtiments were unforgettable. In every direction, pictures were waiting to be taken.

Tourism took hold in San Remo in the 18th century and the town rapidly grew beyond La Pigna, with grand hotels that stretched to the sea. This époque, extending into the early 19th century, brought many famous visitors to San Remo, including Czar Nicola of Russia, Empress Maria Alexandrovna, consort of Alexander II, and Empress Elizabeth of Austria. During this period and spilling into the start of the 20th century, many impressive and luxurious buildings were erected, including the Russian Orthodox Church of San Basilio.

With more time, San Remo offers tourists a number of interesting museums, churches and homes to be toured, including the one-time villa of Alfred Nobel, which he purchased in 1891 and died within in 1896. Each year the officials of San Remo send to Stockholm the flowers used to decorate the annual Nobel Prize Award Ceremony and Banquet.

A number of well known artists have ties to San Remo, including writer Italo Calvino; Sicilian playwright and Nobel Prize winner Luigi Pirandello who lived there a year and became artistic director of the Casino; artist and writer Edward Lear who lived and died there; Italian-born sculptor Giuseppe Moretti who lived in San Remo in his final years and died there in February 1935. Moretti is best known for having designed the world's largest cast iron statue of the Roman god Vulcan (56 ft. or 17 m.), which was erected on Red Mountain in Birmingham, Alabama. Famous actor and comedian Carlo Dapporto was born in San Remo as was Director and cinematographer Mario Bava, born in 1914.

While our group would most certainly beg to differ, the Scottish writer Tobias Smollett who traveled through San Remo in 1765, wrote in his book Travels through France and Italy, (published in 1766), “The women of St. Remo are much more handsome and better tempered than those of Provence." Huh!

We continued to stroll until we reached the beachfront promenade, lined with flowers and palm trees. The palm trees along the seaside walk of Corso Imperatrice (Empress Avenue) are there for all to enjoy as the result of the generous gift to the city made by Maria Alexandrovna, consort of Alexander II of Russia, after having spent the winter of 1874 in San Remo.

This beautiful city is nestled in a large inlet, between Capo Nero to the southwest and Capo Verde to the northeast. This location offers calmer waters and protected beaches. The year-round mild temperatures and phenomenal growing conditions for flowers and citrus are attributed to its microclimate. The unique conditions are achieved through the combination of the location on the Mediterranean coast and the framing protection from the Maritime Alps with its highest peak, Monte Bignone, at 1,300 meters (4,265 feet) above sea level rising directly behind the city.

From the tiled walkway we had easy access to the beach, for one last dose of Mar Ligure. We practically had the sand to ourselves. Emily could have stayed there for hours, but by mid-afternoon, we worked up an appetite. We were ready for our final authentic Italian meal before heading back to France. More tomatoes and mozzarella, more pasta and parmigiano, more wine, more caffé; is it possible to have too much?

We arrived back home Saturday night; the unloading went quickly and we all settled in for a well-earned rest. Needless to say, my shutters stayed closed until noon the following day! We've enjoyed pasta, parmigiano and tomatoes every night this week and my only regrets are that I didn't manage to cram in a few more hours on our promenade and a few more treasures into the remorque!

Ah well, magari un'altra volta!

Notre Petit Voyage en Italie

2008-02-18T16:33:00.009-04:00

Early Friday morning we loaded into Armando’s voiture avec remorque vide (car with trailer attached and empty), for our weekend voyage en Italie. The six of us, Armando, Odile, their son Leonardo, Emily, our voisin Olivier, and I were quite comfortable in the Peugeot station wagon. We made our way to Orange and the entrance to the A7 autoroute, traveling at rapid pace past Avignon and Aix-en-Provence where we changed to the A8, proceeding beyond Nice and Monte Carlo on our way to the Italian border. The drive time was estimated at 3 hours, plus a 45-minute stop at the halfway point. We arrived in San Remo mid-day; the weather, sunny and warm, could not have been better!

After checking in for our lodging and checking out the beach that comes with it, we took off on foot through town. What a beautiful place! San Remo is situated on the coast of the Mar Ligure, just 28 km from the French border and the Côte d’Azure. It is a city of about 57,000 people and has been a popular seaside resort since the 18th century. Its reputation as la Cittá dei Fiori, "the City of Flowers" is well deserved, as you can see by the photos I’m including with this post. Everywhere I turned, there were cyclamen and other beautiful flowers in full bloom. Orchids and roses were thriving outdoors, as were oranges and lemons. It was delightful to see the abundance of color thriving mi-février (in the middle of February). Besides flowers and beautiful beaches, the city and region are also very well known for their citrus and very special olive oil.

For the French, special motivations for a weekend trip to San Remo have to include eating and shopping! We found great restaurants on every corner. In the storefront, we saw elegant fashions and incredible leatherworks. Even the open-air market had beautiful fashions and fur coats for sale. Our remorque was empty for a good reason. We were on a mission to fill it with special Italian treats that are expensive and hard to find in France. First on the list were Italian books for Greta, Armando and Odile’s daughter who is heading to university in the fall, with a major in Italian. While Armando sorted out the list of books, we found a great sidewalk café to satisfy our quest for gelato.

After we had our fill of gelato, walking and window-shopping, we enjoyed a relaxing evening and a great authentic Italian dinner with tomato and mozzarella salads, pastas, tasty local wine, cappuccinos and superbe tiramisu. We ended the night with fun, laughter and champagne in celebration of my birthday! More photos and stories tomorrow about San Remo, our purchases and the rest of our weekend…

Happy Birthday to Me!

2008-02-14T22:53:00.005-04:00

Before I head off to bed, I just had to post these two photos of beautiful Valentine's Day treats I saw in a pâtisserie window today in Vaison.

Today is my birthday and we have been out all day celebrating with friends. Tomorrow Emily and I head off to Italy with some neighbors for the weekend.

I will return on Monday with lots of stories to tell. I leave you with a shot of two Valentine copines enjoying lunch in Vaison...Have a Happy Valentine's Day and a great weekend!

Susan and friend, Julie Stevens

Notre Gâteau au Yaourt

2008-02-13T11:15:00.000-04:00

Late yesterday afternoon I decided we needed a cake in the house. I did not grow up in a family that typically had cake on occasions other than birthdays, which meant we had layered frosted birthday cake, about five times a year. In contrast, in this part of France, it is common for families to keep a homemade cake on the kitchen counter. Furthermore, the norm here includes eating cake for breakfast, as we did last week with the Gâteau Chocolat that I made for Mardi Gras. We have adjusted to these local customs...I guess Marie Antoinette knew what she was talking about when (if) she said, “Let them eat cake!”

Anyway, since I’ve given up chocolate for Lent, the Espinasse family recette for Gâteau au Yaourt seemed to be just the thing. We happened to have on hand the necessary Alsa Levure Chimique “Alsacienne” and the tiny container of plain yogurt necessary to properly prepare the cake. I love this cake recette because, besides being delicious, it has only six ingredients, three of which require no measuring: the eggs, the sachet Alsa and the 125g container of yogurt. The yogurt container is key, because the measured ingredients, the flour (x3), sugar (x2) and vegetable oil (x1) are calculé with this container! What could be simpler?

I got halfway into the preparation and realized I was one egg short; while the recipe says you can use only 2, in my opinion, 3 eggs are the way to go to get the best texture and taste. So I called my favorite voisine, Julie and walked over to borrow the egg. Forty-five minute, a cup of tea and delightful conversation later, I returned to finish the cake.

While Kristin’s recipe posted at “Au Pif” says you can use 2 teaspoons of baking soda, her beau-frère introduced me to the Alsa product, used by French families since 1897, shown in this photo. Alsace is a region in the north of France, next to Germany. I am convinced that Alsa Levure Chimique “Alsacienne” is the secret ingredient that gives the cake its spongy texture. The 11 gram packet includes pyrophosphate of sodium, bicarbonate of soda, bread wheat and wheat gluten. I suppose, with a bit of experimentation, you could get the same result combining baking powder and baking soda. Opening and dumping the little pink sachet is much easier!

Emily assisted with the mixing; it is very important to do this with a whisk to remove all the lumps. Don’t forget to grease and flour the moule before you pour in the batter.

The cake went into the oven just as our dinner came out. When the baking was completed about 45 minutes later, it went to rest on the windowsill between the shutters and the glass, so that it would cool by the night air. We ate several slices last night and took two to Julie, in thanks for the egg that make the cake possible.

We had half a cake remaining when we went to bed. Emily’s copine Mia, from Buchet, arrived at 10am this morning for a day of play. Now, an hour later, the gâteau is just a memory. Note to self: Pick up more eggs and yaourt at the marché this afternoon!

A Beautiful Day for Notre Promenade

2008-02-10T22:53:00.000-04:00

Sunday morning, close to noon, my portable rings. OK, I admit, I was still upstairs in my jammies and all the shutters were closed. Anyone passing by our house would know I had not yet started my day. A familiar cheerful voice speaks to me in French, with a delightful Italian cadence. It's my friend and property manager, Armando. "Suzanne, have you had a nice sleep?" he asks, "Odile and I would like for you to join us for a little promenade this afternoon. Stop by our house around 14h and we'll have a little coffee before we go.”

How could I resist? I ran downstairs to eat breakfast, lunch, whatever might be available in the fridge and to make sure Emily knew she would have to be dressed for a hike within the next two hours. We would be walking au fond du sac. Just after the church bells anounced the 2 o'clock hour, we arrived at the Perrone door.

"Au fond du sac" I repeated as Armando explained that we would have a short drive to our starting point and that we would take along Emily's bike. Of course, I thought, we are going to walk through "the deep part of the sack." Instantly my brain made the connection to our American use of the French "cul de sac" (bottom/butt of the sack, or dead-end loop in a subdivision) and I contemplated its phonetic relation to the French expression "cul sec," meaning "bottoms up" or "down the hatch!”

Maybe now you get a hint of how exhausting it is for an adult brain to function immersed in a language not ones own...I see in my Word R eference online dictionary there are many interesting combinations using the word cul; I make a mental note to go back and study some of the ones that may come in handy next time I need to sling a few words...

Ok, hit the rewind button; back to the story about our promenade. After a pleasant visit over coffee and a slice of Gâteau Moelleux aux Marrons that Odile had prepared the day before, we joined up with another voisine and her two children. We now had four adults, three children, a bike, a trike and a kid-porting backpack loaded into Armando's car.

The weather could not have been more cooperative; plenty of sunshine, blue sky, and mid-fifties temperatures. We stayed out until close to 18h, strolling on a delightful loop through a deep area of vineyards, stopping for a brief rest, past an occasional old stone farmhouse and a few barking dogs. A great time was had by all. I hope you will enjoy a few of the photos I shot along the way. I'd love to read your comments!

Notre Gâteau Chocolat

2008-02-05T23:57:00.000-04:00

Today was Mardi Gras, literally “fat Tuesday.” This was the last day before le Carême (Lent) begins. Forty days of wandering through the desert of introspection, with a hope of being spiritually renewed upon the arrival of Paques (Easter) and the heralding of printemps (spring).

In some perverse way, I happen to enjoy Lent. I like it better than Christmas. It seems that forced contemplation and deprivation suit me. Nonetheless, in preparation for my suffering forty days of wandering through the wilderness of my soul, I also enjoy the festivity and gluttony of Mardi Gras!

So, this year it seemed especially fitting that Emily and I prepare a decadent gateau chocolat from an authentic French family recette. The task was rather daring, as we set out to make the cake “au pif” using a combination of instructions from Kristin Espinasse’s blog posting of the famille Espinasse recette and some varying written advice received directly from the source.

I was told that only the Lindt marque Dessert Le 70% Cacao and Beurre de baratte demi-sel à la fleur de sel de Guérande would do for this special cake. I went to the Leclerc in Valreas yesterday afternoon, to find the magical ingredients. My outing met success, a clear indication that this mission was blessed. After dinner, Emily and I began the process.

The recette calls for a "bain-marie" and since our little summer vacation home is short on culinary equipment, I had to get creative. A small glitch, like the absence of a double-boiler was not going to hold us back. We fashioned one out of a big pot filled with hot water, by placing a large, rimmed bowl on top, containing our butter and chocolate. It worked like a charm and soon we had chocolat fondant.

Our next challenge came with the job of adding the eggs to the melted chocolate and butter without scrambling them. It took a cooperative effort, with Emily continually in motion, to get us to the finish line and to get the cake into the oven. Emily’s hard work, stirring as each of the five eggs was added, met a suitable reward: The exclusive right to lick the bowl!

Precisely twenty-two minutes later, the gâteau was removed from the oven and set on the windowsill to refroidir, in true French fashion. I busied myself washing the dishes and preparing the table for the decadent twenty-four hour binge that would follow. At 8:30 last night, our efforts were rewarded. The cake had sufficiently cooled and it came gracefully out of the moule in one piece, onto our waiting platter. We filled our glasses with ice-cold milk.

Emily decided to have her first slice in purist fashion and I chose to follow Kristin's advice, anointing the creation with crème Anglaise. We have continued to feast on this chocolate sin for more than twenty four hours; we both had chocolate cake for breakfast this morning! Luckily, there is no separation of church and state here in France, and so the children get Ash Wednesday off from school. We will go to a special children's service tomorrow morning at 10:30 in Vaison. With all this cacao and sucre pumping through our veins, there was no way we could get to sleep before 11:00 p.m. tonight. So we climbed into my bed with the lecteur de DVD portable and turned on a sweet movie, Christmas Child. Fat Tuesday is drawing to a close and my commitment to relinquish chocolate for forty days will soon begin; I wonder how much more of this rich extravagance I can consume before the stroke of midnight. I wander down to the kitchen on the pretext of making popcorn for the movie; I take one last morsel directly from platter to bouche, sans crème. As the movie ends and Emily drifts off to sleep, I reach for my laptop, to seize the memory of our first French Mardi Gras before I willingly and now completely prepared, drift into the wilderness of le Carême.

Notre Recherche d'Escargots

2008-01-18T12:22:00.000-04:00

It was a dark and stormy August night....ok, so maybe it wasn't stormy, but it was dark! So dark in fact, that we huddled together carrying flashlights. As we tiptoed through Monsieur Gonfalone's jardin the excitement grew. Was it too early? Would we find them? If so, how many?
There had been a storm earlier in the day and the snails would likely be out en masse. They love the moisture and a good rain encourages them to move about and eat some fresh greens. I've enjoyed escargots all buttery and garlicky, in restaurants and there is something appealing to me about gathering them up, as fresh as can be, to recreate the French specialty in the kitchen of our gite.

Emily and I had a great time snail hunting during our two-week stay at the Gite de La Ferme De La Magdelaine. Although we found many, many snails each night, we did not capture and cook them. I have every intention of doing just that this spring and will write about the experience, now that I have been advised by some knowledgeable French gourmand that you can actually catch and eat these slimy suckers! My adviser told me to feed them lettuce for a day or so, and then purge them in salt water. He didn't know the specifics, so I went to Food Network, my trusty resource for all things edible and this is what I found:

If using fresh snails, follow the procedure below for cleaning and preparing the shells:
INGREDIENTS: 48 fresh snails in their shells; White vinegar; Salt; Dry white wine; 1 onion, coarsely chopped; 2 carrots, coarsely chopped; 1 stalk celery, coarsely chopped; 1 bouquet garni; 10 cloves garlic, mashed; Salt & Freshly ground black pepper

Allow snails to fast for at least 1 day. (I'm guessing this starts after you feed them on lettuce, for a day or two)

Rinse snails under cold running water and then transfer to a large bowl and cover with white vinegar and a handful of salt. Cover snails with a heavy plate to keep them submerged and allow them to purge for at least 3 hours. Rinse again under cold running water and clean thoroughly to remove all traces of mucous. Place snails in a small saucepan and cover with water. Boil for 10 minutes. Drain and remove snails from their shells. Transfer shells to another saucepan and cover with salted water and boil for at least 30 minutes. Remove shells from the water, clean thoroughly and let them dry completely before proceeding. Clean shelled snails again and remove the black part at the end of the tail. Place snails in a saucepan and cover with a mixture of half water and half dry white wine. Add onion, carrots, celery, bouquet garni, 10 cloves garlic, salt, and pepper. Partially cover saucepan and bring to a boil. Simmer for 2 hours, or until tender, and allow snails to cool in cooking liquid. Drain snails (discard poaching liquid) and pat snails dry. Proceed with recipe as directed.

Now, here is a great recipe for escargots from this part of France:

Escargots à la Provence Recipe courtesy Emeril Lagasse, 2000
Photo courtesy of The Food Network

5 tablespoons olive oil

1/4 cup chopped shallots

Salt and pepper

3 dozen fresh snails, purged and removed from the shell

1 tablespoon chopped garlic

1 cup dry white wine

4 tablespoons cold butter, cut into small pieces

1 cup aioli, recipe follows

1 cup fine dried bread crumbs

1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh parsley leaves

Loaf crusty French bread

In a large saute pan, over medium heat, add 2 tablespoons of the oil. When the oil is hot, add the shallots. Season with salt and pepper. Saute for 1 minute. Add the snails and garlic. Season with salt and pepper. Continue to saute for 1 minute. Add the wine and bring to a simmer. Cook for 10 minutes. Stir in the cold butter. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. Remove the pan from the heat. Place the snails in the porcelain snail dishes. Spoon the liquid over each snail. Spoon a teaspoon of the aioli over each snail. In a small mixing bowl, combine the bread crumbs, parsley and remaining oil. Season with salt and pepper. Mix well. Sprinkle the bread crumb mixture over the aioli. Place the dishes on a baking dish and place on the top shelf of the oven. Broil for 2 minutes. Remove the pan from the oven and cool slightly. Serve the snails with French Bread and wine.

Aioli: 4 cloves garlic

2 egg yolks

Pinch salt

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons good olive oil
Place the garlic in a large mortar and crush. Add the eggs and incorporate. Season with salt. Slowly stir in the oil, a little at a time, until all of the oil is incorporated and the mixture is like a thick mayonnaise. Yield: about 1 cup

Escargots à la Provence Recipe, Courtesy Emeril Lagasse, 2000

Notre Voisin Italien

2008-01-14T15:51:00.001-04:00

I'd like to introduce you to our Italian neighbor, Armando Perrone. He has lived in our village for more than twenty years and serves as a trusted guardian of most vacation homes in the area. Should you arrive in St. Roman without a place to stay, he is the man to see, as he carries the keys and can match you with an available house that fits your needs.

In addition to being a great superintendent and manager for the owners of our home, Armando also serves as general contractor for new construction under way at the southwest end of the village.

(More about Armado in the months ahead, so please come back soon!)

Notre Dîner Partagé

2008-01-11T07:05:00.000-04:00

One day this week, while I was surfing the net, I had the good fortune to discover a great recipe for Tarte à la Tomate, through a link on Kristin Espinasse’s French Word a Day blog. (I am on the newsletter list for this entertaining and informative website.)

This recipe is so simple; I did a quick look around and discovered I already had all four ingredients; no trip to the marché would be necessary! As I commenced preparation, I thought, "This looks too good not to share." I quickly phoned my voisine down the rue and asked her to join us. “It’s going to be a simple dinner,” I said, “just a tomato pie, a green salad and a loaf of bread.” (Vin goes without saying when you live in France!)

Julie, a former actress on the BBC, said that the menu sounded perfect for her healthy eating New Year's resolution. I quickly washed the lettuce for the salad, set the table and my daughter popped the tarte into the oven. Twenty minutes later, Julie and I were sipping wine and sharing tales; the pie was out of the oven and the house smelled divine.

Throughout my adult life, I have loved to entertain. But looking back, there were many years I burdened myself with Martha Stewart heroics. When entertaining reaches that level, it just becomes too much work for a hostess to relax, unless of course, you’ve got a sizeable staff hanging out in the kitchen. As part of my effort to simplify my life and focus on the things that bring me pleasure, I am re-defining the way that I entertain.

With redefinition, mid-week, impromptu dinners become manageable; Guests enjoy family meals. More time is found for building friendships, as the visits tag to things that you are going to be doing anyway! I warned Julie that the house would not be clean and she insisted such was not important; she’s dropped by enough to be aware of what she was getting into. As it turned out, this dinner was such a breeze that, as the pie cooked, I had a few extra minutes to hide away the clutter and make a quick sweep of the floor before she arrived. And Emily had time to review her spelling words for the next day’s exam. We were prêt à manger!

In all, it was a wonderful evening and I am so grateful that I listened not to the voice in my head (you know the party-pooper) saying, “You don’t have enough time to put together a dinner…doing this is going to take away valuable writing time…it’s going to keep Emily from her homework.” That voice was wrong. Le voilà! I had my story. Yes, a few dishes lay in the sink, but I could wash them in the morning while I waited for the coffee to brew. As I turned out the lights, got into bed and closed my eyes, contentment sang me to sleep. Isn’t that what life is about?

Opération Brioche

2008-01-10T17:53:00.000-04:00

What is brioche you might ask? Well, it is this wonderfully delicious, slightly sweet, soft, light yeast bread, formed into 6-8 rolls gathered to make a circle. It is great for breakfast, but some of us have been known to eat brioche morning, noon and night until our supply runs out!

Now that you know what brioche is, I bet you are really wondering how one could make an "operation" i.e. a campaign not unlike a military manoevre, out of a bunch of rolls. Well, that was what I wondered back in October, when I learned that the Président de l'Association des Parents des Élèves de l'École Jean Moulin had decided that I would be the one to "deploy" the brioche, the one responsible for the success of the Association's mission, because he and his family were going to the mountains during Opération Brioche! Should we all run for the hills I wondered?

(~more to come~)

Notre Petite École Jean Moulin

2008-01-09T11:45:00.000-04:00

As one might expect, enrollment of minor children into the French public school system is a requisite for being granted legal residence in this country. This was one of the wonderful benefits I looked forward to in planning our move to France: no longer would I be paying private school tuition for Emily's French emmersion education. Her former school, Denver International School had prepared her well for the transition. Before leaving, I made copies of all her report cards and made certain that they, and several of her most recent French workbooks (mathematiques, graphiques, dictee, etc.) were packed in the suitcase.

During our first week in Provence, while we waited for our house in St. Roman to be vacated, I visited with the Secretaire de la Mairie, Nathalie in preparation for Emily's enrollment. You see, the school would need a letter from the Maire that verified Emily was a resident of St. Roman. Nathalie said "Ne t'inquiète pas!" (Don't worry!) and she gave me the phone number for the Maitress so that I could arrange an advance meeting to go over Emily's abilities. She said that the teacher wanted to determine just how much French Emily knew coming in.

During the following week, I called the number at every opportunity, to no avail, as the first day of school rapidly approached! I had been told that Mme Cottin resided in an apartment above the school...couldn't she hear the phone ring?....was there no sense of urgency to prepare for the upcoming start? (OK, it's clear I was looking at this through American eyes!) On the morning before the first day of school, at last, she answered. Yes, she wanted to meet with us, but she would only be there until 11:30! I quickly scheduled our rendez-vous for 10:45. We gathered up all of Emily's books and documents and headed to the car.

Our meeting with Annette Cottin went quite well; I could see her visibly relax as she started to peruse Emily's work. Yes, the books were identical to the texts she uses and it was clear that Emily was an excellent student. I left her a copy of all four years of Emily's DIS reportcards (written in both French and English), from maternelle, petite section to grande section, CP (1st grade) and CE1 (2nd grade). Emily would enter CE2(3rd grade). She informed us that the school day would start at 9am and finish at 4:30, but the children go home for lunch from noon to 1:30. Furthermore, while the school week used to consist of only 4 days, with no classes whatsoever on Wednesdays, the Department Vaucluse was instituting a new schedule (quel dommage) which would require attendance every other Wednesday, for a half-day class, 9 to noon.

Ms. Cottin showed us the one-room school and told Emily she would be allowed to select one of the desks on the first day. Emily was facinated, as the wooden tops of the desks lift up for storage of the children's books and supplies. I was informed that the school expected enrollment of 11 students and that they ranged from 1st through 5th grade. There was one sheet of paper for me to fill out, with contact information (no releases or waivers to sign!) and I would need to purchase the nationally required student insurance (12-36 euros, depending upon the extent of coverage preferred) She handed me the vacation schedule, jotted down the class hours and a few items for us to purchase: 1 cahier de jour (day planner), 2 cahiers (4-ring binders) and a couple packets of dividers. C'etait tout!

Notre Petite Voiture Rouge

2008-01-07T18:54:00.000-04:00

Just look at this little red car. Can you believe it is being driven by an American lawyer who used to drive a fully-loaded luxury Lexus SUV? No leather seats in this little car and no automatic DVD changer....actually no DVD player at all and the radio only works occasionally! But, it is paid-for and it runs. This car reminds me of the first car I bought in Boston. It was an ancient Volkswagen fastback with visible rust; advantages? I never had to worry about it being stolen and other drivers always gave me the right-of-way ~ they figured I had nothing to lose ~ a big advantage navigating the roadways in Boston!

Here in France this petite voiture rouge has huge advantage when I'm searching for a parking spot on market day ~ it will fit anywhere. Now that gas prices have climbed and the dollar has tumbled, I am especially glad that this little Citroën gets about 450 km per 25 litres! And when the tourists flood the streets in the summer, pas de problème. I'll have to post some photos of our "neighborhood" and you will understand the greatest advantage: I can navigate the streets of the vieux villages without fear of side-swiping the stone walls or taking out a camera toting tourist...I swear, some passages are only about five feet wide.

I'll tell you more about how I came to purchase this voiture in a later post.

Notre Queue Française

2008-01-06T18:54:00.000-04:00

This morning, I read a humorous article written by John Philipp on Gather.com. His article, posted December 31st, is entitled Waiting in Line…a new approach and it deserves a read. The author suggests that those who are “waiting” in line are “linees” while those who can reframe the experience are “liners.” He supports his ideas with examples and experiments that readers can try out. So far, the article has generated more than 150 comments from the Gather community, including several which note the behavior of people in lines in Italy and Great Britain. The article and comments got me thinking about the interesting French line behavior I have observed since my arrival last August. As they illustrate, every culture has its peculiarities when it comes to lines. My story describes clear differences I’ve experienced as a “linee” in the US as contrasted with those in France. Here in Provence, the most common thread in line behavior that I have observed is the sense of community and relationship enjoyed by most folks in these small villages.

For example, one day this fall, I was standing in line, five people deep, at my bank in le grand village of Vaison La Romaine (the “big” town, pop ~ 5,000), waiting for the seul (only) teller that works behind the desk. Each time the buzzer rang and the clerk unlocked the door to admit yet another linee, all the French folks in line turned to greet the newcomer. Not wanting to appear rude or too conspicuously foreign, I too, turned on cue each time and greeted each client as they joined the back of the line. It was a Friday and the line grew at least eight deep as I neared the counter. As each satisfied customer departed, those of us remaining in line bid the lucky fellow good day on his way out!

This French bank line behavior casts a striking contrast to the behavior I have observed of those waiting at banks in America. First of all, I have never seen any line of American bank customers, in unison, turn to greet an arriving customer. Second, we Americans tend to be annoyed that the folks ahead of us may not be appropriately organized to expedite their turn at the counter and it is not out of happiness for them, but for ourselves advancing in the line, that we are thrilled to see those slowpokes move along and leave the bank! In addition, here in Provence, no matter how long you have waited, when your turn finally comes, it would be unthinkable to simply rush up to the counter and make your demand. It is anticipated that one will extend a greeting and pleasantries, no matter how brief, before moving to the business of the day. To do otherwise will certainly peg you as an American!

Moving on to the second occasion that comes to mind, I vividly recall joining a line at a gas station on the 31st of August. It was a Friday morning and I was in a hurry to get to Avignon to return my rental car before 10 a.m. in order to avoid an additional day of fees. I was scheduled to pick up the car that I had purchased and I had to be back to my village by noon to meet my daughter for lunch. I raced into the only gas station within 20 kilometers of my tiny village. After filling up, I literally trotted inside to pay. Ahead of me were three gentlemen, and the line was growing. It was early morning and presumably everyone needed to get on about his business. After the first customer paid his bill and turned to leave, the clerk, a grandmotherly woman, slowly came out from behind the counter and wrapped her arms around the next customer, a young man, greeted him warmly and gave him the requisite three bises (kisses mutually administered one at a time to alternating cheeks; You see, not one, or two, but no less than three of these kisses are expected in this part of France). She inquired about the health of the young man’s family, chatted for a moment and then returned to her station behind the register.

What amazed me was that no one else in line seemed impatient or showed any sort of concern that the clerk’s social life was holding up our service. After a moment of reflection, I said a silent prayer of thanks that I had chosen to move to a place where people took time for each other, but I also expressed my gratitude that (Thank God!) the clerk was not on kissing terms with any of the other “linees.” After all, I had only been in Provence for two weeks and it takes time to undo decades of Americanization…

Can you imagine the American reaction to a convenience store clerk who dared behave in the way of the French grandmother? Beyond the obvious displays of impatience that would have ensued, at least one waiting customers would likely have complained to management that the clerk was spending too much time on personal business. If the behavior persisted day after day, week after week, as it surely does at the station in Tulette, such a clerk in the U.S. would eventually be called in by a supervisor and told to stop fraternizing or face termination!

My most recent French line experience of note occurred on New Year’s Eve as I was driving through a tollbooth on the autoroute near Orange. I handed the attendant my Capital One Visa, normally a very quick process. Within seconds, she reached out to hand me back my card and my receipt, but paused to take another look at, not the signature side, but the FRONT side of the card. As the file de voitures (line of cars) behind me grew, she proceeded to explain to me that my Carte Bleue was très jolie, in fact, the most beautiful she had ever seen (and I imagine she has seen quite a few!). Clearly she felt no sense of stress or urgency to clear the line. You see, my card sports the famous Vincent van Gogh painting Starry Night, c.1889. I drove away feeling happy to have shared an interest in art with that young woman, even though no bises were exchanged and I will likely never see her again. Boy, am I pleased that I had the good fortune last year, to select an Impressionist painter's work to adorn my Visa card!

Can you believe that not one single French motorist tooted a horn as I sat there with my foot on the brake? It was New Year’s Eve for heaven’s sake and surely everyone had a party to attend. Furthermore, it was obvious that we were just chatting; she had handed me my receipt and the gate had been raised. I was free to depart, but I had not moved on. Nope, I’m fairly certain that, under the same circumstances, horns would have honked at most American tollbooths! In fact, I’ve experience impatient honking on more than one occasion when I dared to ask directions of a grumpy American tollbooth attendant after being given the green light…(b.t.w. I don’t recommend asking questions or taking time to chat at tollbooths in New York or Massachusetts!)

While my little village of about 200 people rarely experiences a queue (line) more than 2 people deep, and that, usually only at the Mairie (city hall) or maybe at the Salle de Fête (literally: party room, but more like an American community hall) on lôto (a game similar to bingo) night, I do find myself in lines when running my errands in neighboring villages. Now that four months have passed, I’m behaving less and less like an American as I take my place in these French queues. As a result, I’m feeling less stressed and more patient. Alors, si l’on qui attends (Thus, if the one who waits) can stop looking at her watch and focus on relationships, the lines in these villages become social opportunities! Very civilized, wouldn’t you say?

If you are in need of a five minute break, a moment to relax, then please click this link to enjoy the beautiful music video tribute to Vincent van Gogh, created by talented artist, Anthony DiFatta. I never tire of hearing Don McLean's song, Vincent, especially poignant accompanied by DiFatta's slide show of van Gogh's moving works. Learn more about van Gogh's tragic life.

Welcome to Notre Vie Quotidienne

2008-01-01T23:13:00.001-04:00

Bienvenue! I invite and welcome you into our daily life in the tiny village of Saint Roman de Malegarde, situated in the hills of Provence. Over the coming month, I will be adding articles at a lightening pace, to bring you up to speed with all that has gone on since our arrival in mid-August 2007. There have been so many wonderful experiences to report, as well as challenges we have overcome. With four months behind us, our home is settled and our papers are in order. France has embraced us. My desk is clear and the writing has begun. I hope you will enjoy the adventure.