Merry Christmas

Wednesday was the Louvre and the Mona Lisa.

Thursday was Euro Disney and Mickey Mouse.

And, for all of you that have had the good fortune to visit the American Disneylands, let me tell you, visiting Mickey and friends in temperatures well below zero with blowing snow quickly had me dreaming of the California or Florida sunshine.  As my Dad would say, we froze our buns off!  We were so thankful to one of my university professors who had gone out of her way to lend us her children's old snowpants for the girls, as there is no way they would have lasted an hour without them.  As it was, unlike their Mom, they didn't complain once about the cold, and gave the day two enthusiastic thumbs up.

On the 24th, the girls got dressed in their Christmas best for another chilly stroll down the Champs-Elysées and an early Christmas Eve tea at the Laduree Tea Room (Laduree Tea Room), which started as a bakery in 1862 and whose specialty is macaroons.  I've never been much of a macaroon fan, but given that this is the treat the Tea Room is renowned for, I couldn't bring myself to order anything else.  I chose a plate of 4 small macaroons: raspberry, chocolate, lemon and vanilla, and was quickly converted.  I have now redefined the meaning of macaroon and have added it to the ever growing things I love about France list, especially the lemon and vanilla Laduree variety.  (I am now curious...are all macaroons in France this delicious?  I am looking forward to doing some research on that question and will let you know!).

We spent a cozy Christmas Eve with Barry's Mom and Dad looking out on the Eiffel Tour.  The girls were relieved that Santa managed to find them in our rented Paris apartment.  We were hoping to send out a more timely Merry Christmas post, but internet connections have been giving us some challenges.  We do hope that everyone is enjoying some quality time with loved ones this holiday season.

Grace and Lily Tour the Louvre!

Christmas vacation feels like it has finally arrived.  With my parents visiting us for the holidays, Virginia and I took advantage of their presence to catch a film on Sunday afternoon.  I followed most of the film though in the last 30 minutes a major plot twist was beyond my comprehension and as I left the theatre, I couldn't help feeling like I wanted a timeout from our year away.  Turns out I just needed to go to Paris!  The City of Lights has welcomed us back and as I sit here typing away with a view of the Eiffel Tower, I couldn't be happier.

We were lucky to come yesterday and not on Monday as our taxi driver told us that traffic on Monday was a "catastrophe!"  As we headed to our apartment, he relayed how he has never seen as much snow this early in the winter in his 35 years in Paris.  Maybe  Al Gore was right about Europe heading into another ice age.

We organized an apartment through holiday-rentals.uk.co and as soon as we opened the door we were ready to move in.  Our 400 square foot apartment in Avignon will be hard to return to after 5 days in this penthouse apartment overlooking the Seine with a view of the Eiffel Tour.  The owner obviously had a great time decorating the apartment for Christmas (Christmas tree and all) and we were soon all in the spirit.

Today was a day where there was no denying the fact that tourists we are. I spent the entire day with my Canon Rebel around my neck and my Sony camcorder in my right hand.  Ginger made a couple of great purchases in August when she visited the Louvre with her parents.  She bought two children books of the Louvre and with the map spread out at the kitchen table we came up with a plan of attack for the world's largest museum highlighting the must sees for Grace and Lily.  It worked so well for the girls to have a focus as traveled the multitudes of rooms that the Louvre offers up.  The first room we entered overwhelmed me as it was an amazing room filled with Greek antiquities.  Grace particularly liked the sculpture of the Three Graces.

Each room we entered became part of a treasure hunt as the girls searched for paintings and sculptures that they were familiar with.  Both girls were very impressed by The Card Shark with the Ace of Diamonds by Georges de la Tour.

Lily found it quite hard to believe that her grandfather had waited 75 years to see a painting (the Mona Lisa) that she has now seen in only her fifth year.

As we tucked the girls in tonight and went over their highlights from the day, it was fun to hear both of them reflect on their day.  Once again they amazed me with their energy, their resolve and their love of family.  Both of them spent 5 hours walking through the Louvre and their biggest thrill was doing it with their grandparents.  Tomorrow, weather permitting we will check out the other side of Paris by visiting Mickey at EuroDisney.  Here is a little video that sums up the day.  There is one minor error as Lily points out Louis the 14th's crown when it is really Louis the 15th's.  But to a five year old, I don't think that there is really that much of a difference between 14 and a 15.

December in Avignon

It's been a busy month, as Decembers always are.  But, exams are finished, birthday parties done, and packing for Christmas in Paris and New Years in Florence is underway.  (Whoa, that's me writing about holiday plans in Europe.  Every once and a while I still get taken by surprise that I'm living in Southern France! )
Before we head north, I wanted to send a few December pictures taken in Avignon.  We pass the Santa above everyday on our 3 minute walk to school.  This photo was taken before a violent, and very cold, mistral wind blew for several days.  Père Noël is now looking much more haggard and desperate!

A photo of Lily and Barry walking through Avignon's Christmas marché set up in Place d'Horloge.   

The girls standing outside of city hall.  The downtown is beautifully lit up.

This is just inside of city hall:  a 10 metres by 10 metres nativity scene with a provençal flair.  I was told that everyone here has a nativity scene (une crèche) in their homes, but baby Jesus only comes out on Christmas Day.  Barry and I splurged and bought ourselves our own provençal style crèche and figurines at the Avignon market.    

Next post from Paris.   

Lyon Part Deux

As promised here are a few videos that capture the feel of our day last week in Lyon.
The girls were great troopers as our day started at 9am with a high speed train to Lyon and ended with a 11:15 bedtime back in Avignon.  As always seems to be the case the girls fared better than their parents.

The magnificent Place Bellecour provided us the opportunity to see Lyon from the Large Ferris Wheel.  The girls loved this ride!  It was literally 15 minutes after my brush with Fear Factor and the downing of a few pieces (and I do mean few!) of Cow stomach but fortunately the ride was smooth.

Following our afternoon of walking through the streets of Vieux Lyon, we stumbled across a swing ride that the girls loved.  I went to buy two rides for the girls but 4 rides were the price of two so around they went for the next 20 minutes.  The ride came at the perfect time as the girls were just starting to get tired and spinning around for 20 minutes seemed to rejuvenate them.

The final video shows the Lyon Theatre dancing its way through the night.  The streets were packed with people giving the city a very festive atmosphere.

It really was a spectacular day!

Merci Marie

On September 8th, 1852 the city of Lyon, France was awaiting the inauguration of the Virgin Mary Statue that sits atop of its Notre-Dame Basilica, but it had to be cancelled due to storms that day.  The inauguration was postponed to December 8th, which ended up being another rainy and stormy day.  This time the inauguration went ahead, and although most scheduled celebrations were cancelled, many inhabitants decided to light a small candle in their windows to welcome the statue.  It became a yearly habit that today has developed into the “Fêtes des Lumières” attracting hundreds of thousands visitors over the course of 4 days.  We decided to take advantage of the quick one hour trip on the fast train (TGV) and add our family of four to the many visitors.

As we emerged from the Place Bellecour metro station we all got a great first impression of Lyon.  Grace let out a yelp as she spotted the huge ferris wheel set up in the square, which considerably stole the limelight from the bronzed Louis the XlV on horseback in the centre .  The weather was so warm, and the view looking up to the basilica on Fourvière Hill, with the blue sky and sunshine, was beautiful.  Grace and I were fast and furious Lyon fans. We settled down for coffees and “Oranginas” in the sunshine at one of the cafés lining the squares to plan out our day.

We had heard it said that Lyon is the gastronomic capital of France, so the first line of business was to make a decision about lunch.  Lyon is known for their “bouchons”, small and cozy restaurants that ensure an authentic lyonnaise dining experience without costing an arm and a leg.  We had had one, the ”Aux Trois Petits Cochons” recommended to us by a “Française” who had lived in Lyon for several years.  And, when we found out it was only a short walk across the square, it definitely seemed like the place to go.  

On arriving, we were originally told it would be impossible for us to get a table, but the owner quickly came up and said that if we were willing to eat right away he could get us a table, but added he would have to kick us out at precisely 1:15.....and after a pause, added, “doucement” (gently) as they were expecting 100 guests at this time.  For a Canadian family with 2 small children this gave us over an hour and a quarter - plenty of time, so we took the table offered.  Grace remarked that the place looked  "real Frenchy”, as did the lunch options!  Our menu translation skills remain poor and so making meal selections often involves a little panic and some serious guesswork.   We glanced through the lunch selections:  tête de veau (calf’s head: I instantly picture wobbling pieces of brain) “non”, pied de veau (hoof on a plate?) “non merci”, tripes (cow intestines: I won’t even mention what comes to my mind) “pas pour moi”.  So, while ruling out what we didn’t want to order was relatively easy and fast, making a choice among the remaining unknowns was a bit trickier, especially since it was all very rush-rush.  We ordered “des saucissons et frites” (sausage and fries) for the girls, Barry asked for the “gras-double poêle à la lyonnaise”  and I thought I would try “la marmite de moules à la provençale”.

The girls’ meals were the first to arrive and Barry asked the owner if there was any ketchup for Lily’s frites to which he answered, “Impossible, c’est interdit ici”, but promised to bring her some sauce that was much tastier.  When I translated  for Lily that ketchup was forbidden here, she grew very quiet and serious and asked why.   It was a though she were trying to make sense of a world in which owners of restaurants outlawed ketchup!   Luckily the owner quickly returned with a heaping bowl of his special white sauce, and all of us agreed it was better than that red stuff.  Barry was served a steaming bowl of french onion soup for starters and I started with a salade aux copeaux de saumon fumé  (salad with smoked salmon). Both were delicious.

Next to be brought out was a big, hot, black, covered pot  that was placed in front of me.  This was the part of the meal that we knew held some unknowns, and I had no idea what I would find lifting up the lid.  Tentatively, I had a peak and....relief!  Mussels!  I’ve never considered myself a huge mussel fan and have never ordered shellfish at a restaurant, but the sauce provençale  they were cooked in smelled and tasted delicious.  Grace quickly pushed aside her fries in favour of sharing my much more interesting meal.  

I was so distracted by my lunch, that it took me a few minutes to check in with Barry.   When I glanced over, I knew immediately that something wasn’t right.  First, Barry eats fast, so when I noticed his plate was still heaping full I knew it wasn’t a good sign.  Second, he was quiet and, I swear, slightly pale.  Third and the clincher, he said he was no longer hungry.  We tried to determine what body part may have been fried à la lyonnaise  for Barry’s lunch, but it remained a mystery.  It took until nearly midnight that night when Barry’s google search revealed it to have been strips from the first 3 stomachs of a cow.  Needless to say, gras-double has been added to our no-go french menu items.  Barry’s appetite did recover very quickly when the chocolate cake and crème brûlée were served to finish off our meals.

After lunch, the girls and Barry rode the big ferris wheel, while I checked out some Lyon shopping.  We then strolled over the Bonaparte Bridge to Old Lyon and took a tram trip up to the Basilica and enjoyed the view of Lyon and the Saône River below us.  We took our time wandering down the garden paths on Fourvière hill to the narrow pedestrian streets of old Lyon.  We settled into a warm and quaint tea house for a light dinner of savoury crêpes, and then headed out to a swing ride along the river where the girls settled in for 4 rides in a row; a big hit!

We were crossing back across the river at 6:00 just as the light shows were starting. The basilica and the bridges were beautifully lit up and as we entered back into the downtown, the crowds had gotten thick, but we managed to get to see several of the light shows and displays among the almost 80 that were happening across the city.  As we arrived back at Place Bellecours where we had started our day, we found a place to sit, to rest and to watch some more of the excitement before we headed back down into the metro for our ride back to the train station.

Some of you may know that the 8th of December is a very meaningful day, not only for the city of Lyon, but also for our family; it’s the day we adopted Grace 7 years ago, and we usually celebrate the day with a cake, a card and perhaps a meal out.  As we were sitting among the crowds and the lights, Grace told us that is had been the absolute best adoption day of her life.

Merci Lyon!

Cheese First, Then Cake

We knew after being invited out several times into others’ homes, that we couldn’t let our small apartment stand in the way of returning the favour.  So, we set the date for November 26th à partir de 18:30,  and began the preparations to host our first soirée french style.  We knew that above all we needed wine and cheese and then add some yummy finger style food to fill out the menu.  Barry set out to get the two most important items on our list.  First stop, a swanky looking wine store with dimmed lighting and black and purple colouring, where Barry told the proprietor that he was hosting for the first time some French friends and wanted some suggestions as to what wine to serve.  All Barry remembers of the first bottle he was shown was the 80 euro price tag.  Needless to say, as much as we appreciate our new friends, he settled on several bottles much less expensive:  a white from the Alsace region and a red from the village of Vinsobres.

He took the same approach at the fromagerie and left with 3 very large slices of “brie de meaux”, “époisse coupe” and “ossau iraty 6 mois” costing just under 20 euros.  These names meant nothing to us:  they were just hunks of super stinky cheese!  Even Grace, who has always been the family’s biggest cheese lover, was put off by the pungent odour that hit us as Barry unpacked his white paper-wrapped purchases.   Some fresh bread, green olive and basil tapinade spread on bread slices, ham rolled with soft garlic flavoured cheese, fresh bunches of purple muscat grapes, quiche lorraine and pizza ordered from the place around the corner filled out our menu.

As I cleaned, I had to use a little creativity to rearrange furniture so everyone had a place to sit, and the girls had a place to play. Including us, we had to make room for a total of 13.  We have to admit we were a little confused and surprised when the second guest to arrive was an unknown bearded man toting a bottle of coca cola with his daughter.   Asking him who he was seemed a little rude, so I took the bottle of coke from him while welcoming them both.  I wanted to say to him that it must be a real party if people off of the street were showing up, but worried it wouldn’t translate so well.  It quickly became clear that he was good friends with one of our invited guests and we were glad they were comfortable enough to invite him and his daughter.  As it booted our head count up to 15, it did take some last minute rearranging of of the seating situation, however!

We call this our first french dinner party, but really it was a multi-national mélange.  Apart from the four Canadian hosts, there was an Italian, a Japanese, and a Spanish all who have made their home here in Avignon. It made for some fun cultural exchanges.  For example,  the Frenchman, Benoit  was shocked when Roberto from Spain suggested that Barry add coca cola to his wine as the Spanish do on hot summer days.  And then Elena, our Italian representative enthusiastically encouraged Barry when he joked that he would be writing to all his Canadian friends that the French drink coca-cola in their wine, while  Benoit pleaded “non!,” and clutched his heart

Here’s another story that made us laugh that night.  When Benoit and his friend Laure asked what they could bring, Barry just threw out “bring an hors d’oeuvre” thinking that this was a french word and would be an easy request for the french couple.  However, that night they admitted that Laure kept asking Benoit “What does he mean by an “hors d’oeuvre” “and had to research in several books a dish that would be suitable.

Everything really did seem to be going very smoothly.  Even our unexpected guest was so at ease he proceeded to fall asleep on our wicker couch:  a feat I would have sworn impossible!   As food plates became empty, Barry and I had a quick tête-à-tête in the kitchen about what needed to be served next:  cake or cheese.  I know, if it was time to call a friend you would have all yelled “Pick the cheese!  Say cheese!”  and this was Barry’s vote.  But I couldn’t back down from taking the trick question angle: “Cheese seems the correct answer, but I’ll say cake!”.  I swore that I remembered having the cheese after sweets at one of our earlier get togethers and that I read about this unusual french order in some or other book.  So, Barry acquiesced and out came the cake.  I headed back to the kitchen to get out our very stinky cheeses, cut some bread and arrange the grapes on several plates.  I was feeling pretty proud: I had never arranged any group of platters that looked so French!  However, as I walked in to serve my first carefully arranged plate,  there was a palpable pause in the conversation, and even before Laure’s eyes widened and she remarked that she had never seen cheese served after the cake, I knew that I’d made the wrong call.  Quickly Elena said “Hey, but there’s grapes with it, so it’s not a problem!”  Our sleeping guest promptly awoke at this point saying “And there is a good reason for this order, the cheese is very strong!” (See, I really wasn’t exaggerating, this cheese stank!)  Benoit just seemed very happy that at least we hadn’t forgotten the cheese, and proceeded to hold each plate up to his nose and with great concentration play “name that fromage” by smell alone.  The Canadians, we were impressed by his olfactory party trick. And the cheese?  Among the best we’d ever tasted. Grace made the comment that if you could quickly get it past the nose, it was delicious!

It was a very busy evening, but very worth it.  Everyone did seem to enjoy themselves.

On Monday over coffee we discussed  the evening with a husband who wasn’t able to attend due to a business trip.  I remarked, in total jest, that I had made a serious rookie error and had served the cheese after the cake.  We knew that he and his wife had discussed it when he, with a drop of the chin and a shrug of the shoulders, said in a low and serious voice “Vous n’avez pas eu une choix!  La fromage était très puissante!” (You didn’t have a choice, the cheese was very strong!)

So, our guests were kind to excuse away the little mistake and we’ve been able to amuse numerous other French people with it. It goes something like this.

- You brought the cheese out after the cake?? How long have you been in France?
-Well over 3 months, but we don’t get out that much.  And, the cheese was very strong.
-All the same it is a mistake, but not a serious one, just a funny one.

And then we all laugh.

We are having a smaller get together tonight at our place, and I can assure you the dessert will be the last thing we serve.

Papa Lily

I must say that I really love our life here in France.  All of us have acclimatized far better than I ever could have hoped.  One thing that I always say to my friends here is that it is so very hard to compare our life here to the life that we have left back in Canada for the year.  The big difference is of course that we don't work here.  All the stresses that accompany the daily routines that revolve around standing in front of 30 adolescents each and every work day don't apply here.  When my instructor panics over a non-functioning computer lab, I just sit back, relax, and take comfort in the knowledge that I am not in charge.

One of the main motivations for coming to France for the year was to have a family adventure at a juncture in our lives when our kids are old enough to enjoy galavanting around Europe and young enough to not question the crazy adventure that mom and dad dreamed up.  As I have discussed before, being able to accompany Lily on her numerous field trips has been one of the highlights of our stay.   It has allowed me to hang out with Lily on numerous occasions and of course the field trips supply ample opportunities for me to laugh at myself.  The feedback regarding the Lècher, Lacher story leads me to believe that many of you have been enjoying Lily and my outings as well.  The other day I was chatting to Lily's teacher and told her that my friends were enjoying hearing of my little error in pronunciation.  She smiled, turned away, then broke out in a laugh and said that her friends had enjoyed the story as well.

Besides giving me material for the blog, the outings have also provided me with a moniker that I quite enjoy.  Papa Lily!  It warms me when I arrive at school and Lily's classmates acknowledge me with a quick "Bonjour Papa Lily".  I feel like I am part of the class.  I volunteered for another couple of sorties in the past week that were great fun.  On Friday, Lily's cultural education continued with a trip to the Avignon Opera to see the Avignon Ballet Company perform.  It was spectacular!  The Opera house is an amazing building right off of the main square in downtown Avignon.  Lily was in the second row and  sat with her hands on the seat in front of her for the entire show enthralled by the dancing and the music. 

On Monday we returned to the scene of the crime.  I got to practice my new found vocabulary and the students were fantastic at letting go of the rope this time.  I was quite proud of myself.  I think I have the most fun at gymnastics as I get to bring out my teacher voice from storage.  Here is a photo of Lily in action:

Another indication of how comfortable Lily is with her school life is she is now very happy holding hands with her partner.  Here is Lily with her teacher and one of her friends.

The Neighborhood! by Barry

Life continues to roll on here.  Just a quick post today to let everyone know we are well and still having fun.  We are excited for the upcoming visit of my parents in two weeks.

I thought today I would do a little update on daily activities and the continuation of our integration into the community.  Above is a picture of the local vegetable and fruit market that Grace, Lily and I visit 3-4 times a week.  The owner is a wonderful man that always has a smile for the girls.  He has had his store here since 1973 so has seen many changes in the community.  I asked him if the opening of the large supermarket on the other side of the remparts 8 months ago has affected his business.  I was surprised at his response.  "Pas de tout."  In Canada the influx of large stores / supermarkets has spelled the end of many mom and pop stores.  Obviously the clientele of this store appreciate the quality produce and the service provided by the proprietor.  He did say that when the hospital was converted to a the University, there was a definite downswing in his business.  His reasoning was that sick people are more likely to purchase fruits and vegetables for their health than university students.  When I see the mad rush to the sandwich bar at lunch I would have to agree.  I have begun to feel like a regular at his store as witnessed by my last visit when I asked him if he had any mangoes.  He replied "I do but they taste horrible and are very expensive."  Needless to say I didn't purchase a mango that day.

Here are Lily and Grace in front of the Café de la Bibliothèque.  Once again the owner (Antoine) is super friendly to the girls always asking Lily if he can borrow her trottinette.  I still haven't been able to transition to a café (a small strong expresso ) from a café au lait.  Ordering my daily creme (café au lait) is a sure fire way to identify myself as a tourist.  Antoine's daily "bonjour" and wave make me feel like part of the neighborhood in a Cheers sort of way.  Friday morning I was quite panicked as we needed to make a cake for the weekly bake sale.  Having only one egg in the fridge I rushed down to the corner store only to find it closed.  Seeing Antoine, I sheepishly asked him if he had an egg that he could spare.  "Bien sûr" he replied and disappeared into the neighboring restaurant, reappearing a couple minutes later with the required egg.

Here are the girls in front of our local boulangerie. Unfortunately our daily loaf of bread from here has definitely contributed to the 2 kilograms that I have put on since arrival.
Love to all and more later.

Bordélique

For me,  learning new vocabulary is usually tough slogging that involves looking up the definition, writing it down and actively trying to memorize it. Take the word “malgré” for instance. “In spite of” the fact that I looked up its definition numerous times and wrote it down and tried to commit it to memory, the correct meaning would continue to elude me everytime I heard it over the course of a couple of weeks.  Part of the problem was that my brain was trying to make its own connections: everytime I heard “malgré”, the English word “migraine” would pop into my head and would send my brain on some wild tangent trying to link it to something meaning “painful” or “unpleasant”.  I do finally have that one pinned down, but there’s always a handful of new vocabulary ready to tumble out of my longterm memory at the first lack of focus.

Then every once and awhile, my brain passes out a “go directly to long term memory card” to a new word I’ve just learnt, and there it sets up shop with nary an effort on my part.  “Avoir une mémoire de poisson rouge” is a french saying to which I can totally relate, so unfortunately the quick learn approach doesn't happen as often as I would hope, but it’s a real bonus when it does. An example follows.

Our whole family was invited to our first children’s birthday party in France last Saturday.  We were all excited and a bit nervous and didn’t want to arrive too late, especially since it was to an address we didn’t know.  I felt relieved when we turned down the street only 5 minutes past the invite time and saw the birthday girl’s mom on the street waving at us.  As we got closer she greeted us in French with a  “Hey, you are the first ones to arrive. So Canadian! You’ve even beat the birthday girl here!”.  

After entering the rented out space that was so lovely decorated with cushions to sit on, and pretty lights looped up along the walls, Barry and I  spoke to both girls about not being too wild or loud when the other children arrived.  We laugh at this now, because even Grace at her wildest couldn’t have competed with the chaos that ensued when the other 15 children started to arrive.  I should explain here that from what we’ve observed, French children play more roughly and even at the maternelle playground there’s a whole lot of “hands on/hang off/wrestle around on the ground” play.  But even having witnessed that didn't prepare us for the back room behaviour at this party.  The kids were yelling, boys physically fighting and body slamming, food flying, cushions falling and parents yelling:  15 years plus of recess duty under my belt and even I was seeing some firsts.  My “teacher’s hat” has been well put to rest for the year, so beyond body-guarding Lily, I merely observed feeling thankful I was in no way in charge.

Then the party moved out onto the street where it was time for me to also learn some new birthday party games, including the “15 plus children running up to the tourist train to yell at and dance around the tourists” game, and the “banging on the side of a small bus as it drives by and then holding onto its bumper and running down the road behind it” activity. *(Grandparents please note: I did not permit your grand-daughters to participate in the latter.)  Some games I did recognize were also played on the street: “1,2,3 Soleil” (a french version of “Red Light, Green Light”) and “Jack a dit” (a french “Simon Says”).

It was at this point of the party that the birthay girl’s mother approached me to ask, “Ca va?  Ce n’est pas trop bordélique pour toi?”.  Now, I had never heard the word “bordélique” before, but I needed no translation, no french-english dictionary; I knew exactly what that word meant because I had been observing and living its very definition for the past few hours.  “Bordélique”, as you can probably guess, means “chaotic”, and I needed no further review or study.  Instantly, I owned a new french word.

I could honestly answer her that we were all having a good time, because we were.  And, I should add that we were told that this mother doesn’t usually put on the typical french birthday party, so we are thinking that our initiation may have been far from routine.  But, interesting?  Memorable? Bordélique? Définitivement!

Typewriters

     Back in September I remember telling a couple of young Americans, quickly in English, that I felt as though I had no personality when speaking French.  This made them both laugh, but I said it in all seriousness.  Now, in no way am I inferring that I am the life of the party in English, but expressing your opinions, thoughts, feelings during everyday conversations is the primary way of sharing a little bit of yourself with others and helping them know you better. It is also something that’s easy to take for granted when using our maternal language, but becomes the biggest challenge when conversing in a language in which we are not yet fluent.  And as for trying to have fun with a clever insight, or a tongue-in-cheek comment, well, as far as I’m concerned, best not attempted.  Barry came home from class quite early on in the term and gravely remarked that he decided that he wouldn’t even try to be funny in French.  As for me, the only laugh I got for weeks while speaking French in class was unintentional when I said that I thought mace was only legal in Canada when used in bear attacks.
     The first hurdle when entering any conversation is understanding what the other person is saying to you, not always an easy feat when listening in a second language. As with the kisses, Barry and I have developed different strategies when being spoken to in French and not having the foggiest clue the meaning.  Barry puts on a huge smile and nods repeatedly; I tend to stare intently and after a few blinks, look away.  Not such a pleasant visual, is it?  Luckily for all involved, this doesn’t happen to us as often as we are understanding more and are more likely to be able to pick out an expression or word used and ask what the meaning is.
     But hurdle two involves the dreaded reply, and this is when it gets really tricky. It can be a laborious undertaking as I am still at the level where I have to often take the time to mentally translate from English if more than a quick and straightforward reply is needed.  I've come to compare the process to having a typewriter in my brain on which I am pounding away at keys to formulate my response.  I have been picturing it as one of those real old models that requires a serious finger thrust for each letter and whose typebars get all tangled if you get carried away with your typing. This is how slow it sometimes feels to get a response out: formulating a sentence slowly, word per word.  And then, more often than not, I will get hung up on translating one word or phrase and have to resort to the equivalent of ripping out that figurative piece of paper I’m typing away on and starting again using more simple vocabulary or grammar in my reply.  You can imagine how this hampers the flow of a conversation! Of course, people are usually patient, but I do find it stifling to not have that ease of expression or to not communicate fluently in exactly the way I would like.
     Everyday continues to involve little misunderstandings and stunted conversations for both Barry and me. But on the positive side, we both feel that, although slow, progress is being made.  In fact, I think it’s time to upgrade that 1920’s model typewriter that I’ve imagined in my head for a fancy, electric model such as the one that I brought with me to university in the late 1980’s with the built in correction tape.  Hey, now there’s inspiration to keep at it!

Tuesday Thoughts from Barry

Life continues to roll along here. We enjoyed fabulous weather last week and as of yet the dreaded and much discussed Mistral Winds have for the most part left us alone. As we get more and more comfortable with our life here, it makes it easier to venture out into the surrounding locales to get a more global perspective of Provence.

Sunday we took the bus to the nearby market town of Isle sur la Sorgue. It was a very enjoyable day for the entire family. Fall has arrived here and the colour of the Plane trees along the canals was beautiful.  Isle sur la Sorgue has a bustling antique and produce market on Thursdays and Sundays. The entire downtown becomes a pedestrian zone with merchants hawking their wares on either side of the street. As we meandered past the various stalls it was easy to dream of outfitting a provencial house with the various antiques. One particular object that caught my eye was a refinished solid wood workbench that would jump out of the pages of a Home and Garden kitchen. The market will certainly be a great place to take visitors. The entire portrait of Isle sur la Sorgue very much fit the view I had of a provencial town prior to our trip to France.

Yesterday I accompanied Lily's class on another outing. This time we headed to a local gymnasium for an hour of gymnastics.  I had a super time feeling quite useful as I manned a station where the children swung on a rope and jumped onto a mat.  My ability to communicate in French was important in this situation as there were safety instructions that I needed to pass onto the children.  One such precaution that I gave out to the children was that they needed to ensure that they let go of the rope completely when they jumped so as to not get rope burns.  Each time a new group came to my station I lined them up and went over the precautions.  Each time I came to the instruction about letting go of the cord all of the students (except for Lily) had quite a puzzled look on their faces.  After the third group I checked with Lily's teacher with regards to my pronounciation of a particular word and suddenly the reason for the puzzled looks became apparent.  I had been instructing them to "lècher" (to lick) the rope as opposed to "lacher" (to let go of) the rope.  Pretty simple mistake but made for a confusing time for the children.  Imagine being 4 years old, a little nervous as you jump from a block, swing through the air and a crazy anglophone yells at you to lick the cord you are holding onto.  I didn't just say it once, sometimes when they hung onto the rope I would yell "lèche! lèche! pas comme ça! lèche!"  As tends to be the case with me, sometimes knowing a little french is worse than knowing none at all.  But on the positive side, Lily's teacher did tell me that my french was improving as the students had had no idea what I was saying on the first field trip to Arles.  At least now they can understand that I am speaking French even if it doesn't make sense!

Bisou

Bisou.

It’s one of my favourite new little French word. It’s a familiar word meaning “kiss”, and I hear other Moms and Dads using it when they kiss their children good-bye for the day. I now use it too. To me it sounds light, cheery, and sweet; a word perfectly suited for a few quick pecks on your daughter’s cheek before she runs off into the school courtyard.

But, as we all know, all kisses are not created equal! Barry and I are both experiencing some slight kissing culture anxiety. As you probably know, the French greet each other with kisses on the cheeks; three, in fact, in this area. Although I’ve always considered myself pretty relaxed with the touchy-feely stuff, it does feel a little different to greet people in this way when you still don’t know them really well. Yet, at the same time it is warm and friendly.

To be honest, I wasn’t expecting any “bisous” until much later in our stay, if at all. And although not yet frequent, they have begun, and to my surprise, for us it is easier observed than done! The French make it look natural and graceful, but getting it just right is taking these two Canadians some practice. So, let me share with you what I’ve learned to date.

1) When I received my very first cultural “bisous”, I was sitting down and the lady bent down slightly to reach my cheeks. For some strange reason I automatically wrapped my arms around her. As soon as I felt my arms go up I knew it was oh so wrong. But, it was over quick and I learnt my lesson. Let me be clear: the cultural kiss in France does not involve a big ol’ bear hug.

2) Bisou Take 2. A week later I ran into someone who had been most helpful with us the first day of school. As I realized we were going to greet with kisses, I had to conscientiously concentrate to keep my arms down, but succeeded. Hurdle number 1 cleared. However, stifling the hug allowed me to focus on the actual kissing and I over did it, planting real, full-on kisses on her cheeks. This is also how it shouldn’t be done. I believe there should not actually be any contact with the lips. Now, Barry has the opposite problem, he keeps his face far enough away so there is no contact at all and compensates by just making a louder than normal smacking sound in the vicinity of the other’s ear. Upon trying his technique out on me, I ended up with an instant headache. I suggest the right technique is somewhere in the middle; light cheek to cheek contact and a delicate kissing sound.

3) Also, one must remember to start on the proper side and to stick it out for all 3 kisses. Yesterday morning we ran into a lovely mother of one of Grace’s classmates who had us over to her house several weeks ago. Voila! Time for “des bisous”. Perhaps because we were just in Alsace where they were only kissing twice, I left her high and dry on the third kiss - not so graceful.

Then it was Barry’s turn. Barry, in his words, “panicked” and committed to the wrong side - not so natural. Of course this lady, being a practised professional, compensated with “a head fake” (again, Barry’s own words) and avoided full on lip connection. One of Barry’s profs said that as a beginner you’ve got to keep on your toes and be prepared for the first kiss on either side. Evidently, easier said than done!

Of course, everyone here well knows that we come from the land of the handshake and that we’re “bisou” rookies, so our fumbles have been graciously overlooked. And, we do so much appreciate them making us feel welcomed and just a wee bit French.

Conclusion for these canucks: more practice needed.

Cheese Fondue and Sauerkraut

Thankfully, we had no more major transportation issues for the rest of the trip. We were unexpectedly herded out of our compartment and off the train in Basel, Switzerland due to strike action in France. We were directed towards the information office to find out how we could continue our journey to Colmar in France, and to our relief it didn't involve being squished into the sides of busses, just catching a train one hour later. No problem!

We enjoyed our visit with friends in the hills east of Zurich; what a beautiful view they have to the valley below. In our two and a half days there, we experienced warm and sunny, wet and cool, and cold and snowy. We even got a few toboggan runs in. Thanks to Donna for all the yummy food, including a cheese fondue with 3 different swiss cheeses; the girls ate so well there.

Colmar was also very picturesque, with its fall colours and alsation architecture in the old town. We took a little boat trip down the canal, aptly nicknamed "little venice". Barry dived right into the culinary culture upon arriving, ordering the biggest plate of sauerkraut (la choucroute) any of us has ever seen, with large, fatty chunks of sausage, bacon and ham balancing on top. My first alsatian lunch was a little less heart-stopping; smoked salmon wrapped around lentils cooked in a light mustard sauce.

We visited a toy museum, and a natural history museum where the girls saw their first Egyptian mummies, and despite expecting a room of Egyptian mommies and their kids, both girls were fascinated with the 3000 year old mummies. I snuck off to the Unterlinden Museum late one afternoon and, apart from the room housing the renowned Isenheimer Altar, had much of the rest of the museum to myself; so peaceful. One of my favourite artifacts I saw was an early 16th century mandolin, with beautiful inlays, tucked into a corner of the "English Maiden's room".

Lastly, picture this. On the train home, I suddenly heard some hard hitting french rap music that was getting louder. I looked up in confusion, and then amusement, as I made the connection between an eighty plus aged woman, with a stooped back, glasses on the end of her nose, wearing a front buttoned, pale flowered dress, heavy knit brown cardigan, thick brown tights and the kindliest smile walking towards me and the rap that was coming from the brown straw bag she was carrying. That'll teach me to make assumptions about who the fans of rap music are in this country!

We Made It!

I am writing this on the train just outside of Geneva. So despite the strike, we’ve managed to make it to Switzerland, but not without a few hitches! We discovered Thursday night that indeed our train had been cancelled for the following evening, so we all skipped school on Friday to try to get seats on an earlier departure. From Avignon to Lyon, despite the train being 1/2 hour late, all went well; so far, so good! We were hoping that our transfer to a train from Lyon to Annemasse would be just as easy.

The train station at Lyon was very busy as many people were setting out on their holiday travels. When we looked to confirm the schedule for our train trip to Annemasse, we saw the unexpected: “Sortie - velette autobus”. After seeing our confused expressions, a kind young lady nearby explained that this meant we would have to exit the train station to catch a bus instead of the train. She also adviced us to get out there as early as possible as it would be very crowded; our hopes of continued smooth sailing were quickly deflated.

And, crowded it was! We walked out to the bus platform where throngs of travellers were hoping to get a place on buses that were chartered by the train station to try to move travellers left stranded by the strike. We spoke to one official holding a clipoboard, and he told us that there was a bus arriving shortly and heading in our direction, but he said it would be difficult to get on. He added that there was another bus coming, but not for another 3 hours and with no guarantee of getting on it either. Instantly, I had flashbacks to being stranded at the airport in Paris.

When the first bus pulled up there was an unorganized mass of hopeful travellers pushing forward to get their luggage on, and this is where Barry headed into with our luggage. Another crowd pushed toward the bus entrance, and the girls and I tried our best to make some headway there. Needless to say, with a 4 and 7 year old in tow, we couldn’t get too near the door and sure enough, with the bus filled we were left stranded with the other unlucky ones in the parking lot.

I should note that although eager to make it on a bus, no-one seemed angry. I heard one man as we squeezed to get near the bus door say “C’est de fou” (this is crazy), but he had a bemused look on his face. Barry overheard a man say, “C’est la conséquence de la liberté” (this is a consequence of liberty), as he shrugged his shoulders.

So, liberty left us to settle down on a nearby curb for a three hour wait to maybe get on a bus. Thoughts turned to finding a hotel room in Lyon.

But, about 20 minutes into our wait, an unexpected bus appeared. Barry caught a glimpse of a little white paper in the front window with “Annemasse” written in marker, While the driver pulled out a map of France and studied it, Barry sprang into action. He approached the clipboard man and asked if it was at all possible to get on the bus, as we had two young children. Bingo! It got us a parting of the crowd and four seats on the coach. Bravo, Barry!

We had no idea how long the trip would take, but were relieved to have made if off our post on the curb. After almost 3 hours we arrived at the train station in Annemasse. (The trip was a little longer than need be as we had a few unnecessary detours. The busdriver maybe should have studied that map a little harder, as even Grace noted several times, “Hey, haven’t we already drove past here?”).

I’ve been reminded as I’ve admired the view while writing how beautiful and scenic Switzerland is. We're happy to have arrived.

A suivre

.....les manifestations, les pénuries d'essence, opération d'escargot, prendre en otage, être solidaire du mouvement, les casseurs, un bras de fer entre le gouvernement et les syndicats, droit de déblocage, la réforme de retraites......

While on one hand I still haven't worked up the courage to go and get a haircut here for fear of not being able to express myself properly and ending up with a Barry special, on the other, I feel my ability to discuss a strike using accurate French vocabularly is progressing by leaps and bounds, if I do say so myself! Everything I had read about the history and culture of protesting and striking in this country certainly seems to have been of no exaggeration, as we are currently experiencing firsthand. In comparison with scenes we are watching on the television from other French cities, tensions remain mild here in Avignon. However, there definitely is a sense of uncertainty in the air as to when and if the protests will escalate.

Grace is developing at an early age, as perhaps all French children do, an interest in the how and why of strikes. I overheard her tell a little Canadian friend on the phone that school here is great because the teachers love to strike. She has witnessed great masses walking and chanting in the streets. She is especially fascinated with the striking youths (which in Avignon are the older Lycée students aged 15 to 18, and not yet the university students). Early this morning she went running to the window as a group noisily marched down our street with their stash of green garbage cans that they use in their blockades.

The gas shortages due to blockades at the petrol refineries and depots have been causing headaches for drivers. My professer told us this morning that "il a pris ses précautions"; he had filled his tank and several gas cans earlier this week. As we walk, scooter, or bus everywhere in town, this hasn't been a concern for us.

But, the train schedules, now this is an immediate concern to us. Again more interest and disbelief from Grace that a strike doesn't only mean days off of school and teenagers playing with green bins, but something that could affect, and even cancel, our school holiday plans! We have train tickets to Switzerland for tomorrow evening, and Barry just read that the same train this evening is cancelled according to a strike schedule. Not sure what this means for tomorrow's schedule, but we may very well have to be flexible with our holiday plans, as I am sure will many French families. We will see what tomorrow and the next few days hold in store.

Another new french phrase for me: "à suivre" or as we say in English: "to be continued".....

La boîte de nuit

New pillow: check.

New mattress from Jimmy: check.

No longer 35 degrees in our apartment during the nights: check.

4 year old daughter no longer waking up bi-nightly to tell us she hates school: check.

Barry and Ginger now having great, restful sleeps. Yeah, not so much.

In our home back in Canada the nights are usually very quiet. Apart from the odd dog barking or coyote howling, or the random drug house explosion, or the infrequent car skidding of the road on icy mornings, waking up because of outside noise is uncommon. I have never lived in a city and so the night time sounds of people walking by, cars starting, garage doors opening, are still all things to which I am trying to get accustomed. I think that it is not so difficult for Barry, perhaps because he is not as light of a sleeper, and perhaps from his years of living in downtown Vancouver. For me, I’ve resorted to using ear plugs every night, and it worked for me.

Until the music started.

And not even real music at that. A thumping, repetitive bass with an irregular rhythm: thump, thump, thump, quiet for 20 seconds, thump, thump, thump, thump, quiet for 10 seconds. And it gets going well after midnight, 2 a.m. until 4 a.m. is a good rule of thumb. I’ve tried the 3 pronged course of defence: a) ear plugs b) duvet over my ear c)electric fan on full blast, even though quite chilly in our small bedroom these nights. Still, thump, thump, thump, 23 second pause etc.

And, not even Barry can remain sleeping through it. A few nights ago as we lay awake trying to figure out where the music came from, why it started so late, why it is only on some nights, and why no French people were phoning to make noise complaints, Barry said “I feel like this music is controlling my heart beat”. “Exactly”, I replied. It really makes us a little crazy.

So, Saturday night at 1:13 a.m., after several nights of lying awake obsessing about this heart controlling beat, Barry sat up, told me he was going on “a reconaissance”, pulled on his leg and shorts and headed out into the night.

He followed the noise outside of the city walls, across the highway, next to the police headquarters, to, voila!, a large white building housing, “une boîte”, a night club - opened Thursday to Sunday night from 11:00p.m. until 6:00 a.m.

Mission accomplished, mystery solved.

Now, if this was me, as soon as I had the answer, I would have headed back to report my findings. But, even in the early hours, with his pajama tops on, Barry couldn’t pass on the opportunity to visit and maybe make a new friend. So, he approached 2 guys in their nightclub gear who were busy chatting up 3 young ladies, and said “Hey, c’est une boîte de nuit?” One fellow turned, smiled, and did a little dancing motion while answering “Oui, oui, un discothèque”. Barry was encouraged. So, he started to explain, all in his tired, middle of the night French, how there was a great mystery, he sleeps and then he doesn’t sleep, something about his heartbeat, and then the friend making ended pretty soon after. I guess even friendly, young frenchmen excited to share the news about “un disco” can become weary of a rambling, sleep deprived, pajama wearing, étranger.

Barry returned home and downloaded half a dozen white noise applications on our i-touch while listening to the Canuck’s game until 5:00 a.m., while the thump thump continued. I’m not convinced that the white noise applications will be the solution, as our cheap, Castorama fan is abnormally loud, and we hear the bass over it. But maybe, if we use the new speakers we bought...

At the very least, it won’t be as cold.

Grace and Lily About Town

Yesterday, Grace and Lily wanted to take you to some of their favourite spots in Avignon.

Enjoy the tour!

Tuesday thoughts from a Guest Blogger

Well it has been a couple of weeks since I brought forth my perspective on our time here so here goes.

Life without a car: It has been exactly 25 years since I haven't had my own vehicle. This hasn't been as hard as one would imagine with the location of our apartment. We have documented our convenient location and a car is definitely not necessary. There is the odd time that we have ventured out to the suburbs of Avignon to bear witness to the driving culture that we have left at home. Our Saturday afternoon trip to France's newest (and largest!) IKEA was one such excursion. Finding a taxi to bring home our Swedish treasures was no easy task.

Another Saturday trip found us 10 km from the center of town searching for the circus. As it was Saturday the bus didn't go to our destination which made for a 15 minute walk. We arrived at the circus tents only to find that the only way in was through the car entrance on the far side of the field (think huge drive in theatre with the entrance as far away from you as possible). We were in luck though as a locked gate had been bent to allow one to sneak in from our position. Through the opening slipped Grace, Lily, and Ginger. They were quickly followed by a father and son. It was then my turn. With various directions from Ginger (you need to go a little lower, bend that way etc.), I tried to force my way through the gate while mulling over the prospect of becoming part of the circus. "The one-legged guy stuck in the gate" act was not that appealing to me and I decided not to force it but instead take the long way around. I guess I have been enjoying french bread a little too much.

The circus was a bit old school with the girls enjoying the dancing tigers and balancing elephants.

Lost in Translation: I always like to get a haircut to feel comfortable in a new environment. I had my first french haircut about two weeks ago. I made sure that I was asking for my hair to be cut and not my horse but it did not go exactly to plan. I described how I wanted the sides cut short leaving most of the length on the top. Pas de problem! In life I have discovered that you really do get what you pay for as my 10 euro cut involved a #3 razor and my head. Instead of a nicely coiffed hairdo, I left the coiffeurs with the same cut he had no doubt performed around 20 times that day. Not a full buzz cut but certainly an Avignon special. 10 years ago this would have been quite the traumatic event for me with little chance of recovery but I have decided that looking like my brother Paul is not such a bad thing.

Life as a student: Transitioning from teacher to student has been pretty seamless and I do enjoy the life of a student. We have more homework than is ideal but it is definitely manageable. There is the odd time that I do question why I have given up the front of the class for a seat as a student. Yesterday was certainly one of those days. I have always prided myself on being laid back and overall a pretty calm, relaxed individual. Truth be told I have a bit of a temper that rears its ugly head every so often. We were sitting in the computer lab working away at some on-line worksheets. I was fine with the first couple but then ran into a snag with the third one. The snag was that the exercise was one that involved a grammatical rule that I didn't remember being taught thus far. When I asked the teacher if we had done it before, she replied "I don't know if you have done it before". She then proceeded to explain it in a fashion that didn't really work for me. No problem I thought, I'll just skip to the next one and learn the rule at home. It quickly became a problem for me as I was unable to skip to the next assignment. When I pointed this out to the teacher all I got from her was "that's strange". I was becoming quite frustrated and released an exasperated sigh. She then asked me if I knew the french expression for "sigh". I think that she could tell by the look on my face that I was searching for a different expression. After a couple of more attempts, I packed up my books, pushed in my keyboard and with my 17 classmates all looking at me I grunted something about doing the work chez moi and high tailed it out of class. It was certainly not one of my more mature moments but good for a laugh upon reflection.

Connections: It really is amazing how connected I feel to the people at home. Your emails and comments on line bring real joy to my day. Even though we are halfway around the world we still feel part of the community that we have left for the year. Thank you all for your best wishes and thoughts that you send our way. We appreciate it more than you can know.

S'miles and Scooters

For me, one of the most tiring elements of living in a foreign country is the constant underlying feeling that you are somewhere where you don’t really belong. Even without map in hand and camera hanging across your chest, you can’t help but feel different. The realization that you are no more than a long term tourist lingers in your head like a low-grade headache; not enough to keep you home for the day, but just enough to make you feel not 100% yourself. I can’t help but feel that people can tell by looking at me that I’m a long way from home, and that I’m not thinking in French like they are.

But on the more positive side, it doesn’t take much to make you feel just that little more at home and a little more relaxed. We have begun to get a few “bonjours” on our daily 3 minute walks to drop off and pick up the girls at school. The lady who owns the bakery less than a minute away now knows which type of bread we like and reaches for it as I walk in the door, and then smiles at the girls if they are with me, or asks about my “petites” if they are not. Being married to the most outgoing man in the world has helped. Thanks to Barry, the owners of a restaurant and cafe at the end of our street now shake our hands and smile warmly whenever we walk by, or stop for a coffee. The lady at the Casino (our nearest grocery store) cash asked if I wanted to join as a frequent shopper. I filled out a form with our Avignon street address and was handed my very own Casino “carte fidelite” allowing me to collect, not miles, but “s’miles”. So, just like hundreds of other real French people, Casino “s’miles” tags hang off of our keychains. And, the professors and other students at university are friendly and supportive in both Barry’s and my classes.

The transition for the girls is ongoing, but they too have had little experiences that have helped them feel more comfortable. Grace’s class was given a 3 stanza poem to memorize. Although Grace’s teacher said not to worry if it was too difficult for her, she memorized it all and got up in front of the class to take her turn reciting it. After she completed it successfully, the whole class spontaneously broke out in applause: she smiled for hours afterwards and her confidence has been stronger ever since. (I wanted to hug each and everyone of those children for the short but meaningful show of support!) Lily was thrilled this week when one of her little classmates greeted her the real French way - with a kiss on the left cheek, right cheek, and back to the left cheek.

Barry and I also helped the girls feel a little more like French children this weekend; we bought them scooters. This caused Grace to dramatically announce, “This is my greatest day in France”.

So tonight I'm feeling thankful for the small acts of kindness we have been shown, and for the 2 little pink scooters that are lying down by our door. S'miles, for sure!

Orange

We didn't subject Lily to any more modern art this week-end, but we did make her look at a really old wall. As you can see from Lily and Grace's short video above, we visited the only preserved Roman theatre wall in Europe (there are 2 others: one in Syria and the other in Turkey). It's located in Orange, a short train ride from Avignon. As is the "Arc de Triomphe" we visited, built to commemorate the Roman's victory over the Gauls in about 25 B.C. Both extremely impressive. It's hard to believe that they are still standing after so many hundreds of years. Naturally, using it as our base to play "Red Light, Green Light" was what impressed the under 10 crowd in our group.

Although 3 weeks ago I couldn't have imagined feeling cool here, Fall seems to be arriving in Provence. We got our first real feel of the Mistral winds that we have been reading and hearing about, and the beautiful blue skies they bring, during our visit to Orange. The word is that these winds that blow 50 to 90 km per hour for one third of the year are what drove Van Gogh to madness. I wonder what he would have thought about the months of grey and wet back home?

Allez! Allez!

Allez! Allez!

On Tuesday Lily had her first field trip. As Ginger has documented, Lily is still a little unsure about school so her teacher asked me to accompany the class. I jumped at the opportunity as travelling to the Children’s Festival with Grace’s kindergarten class last year was a real highlight for me. I was interested in watching Lily interact with her classmates, and in addition, I was very excited for the cultural experience that Lily and I would share. My day started with instructions in English from Lily’s teacher and I assured her that she had a professional on hand and there was no need to worry. My role was to be a traffic cop and with my crutches in hand my wingspan effectively blocked the narrow laneways. The sortie began with a 30 minute walk from one side of Avignon to the other. Shouts of “Allez! Allez!” rang out through the streets as the lead pair was pulled and the rest of the group was encouraged to catch up. “Vous marchez comme escargot” was the principal’s addition to the continual screams of “Allez Allez”. We arrived at the train station where the 25 students boarded the local TER for the 25 minute trip.

Upon arrival in Arles, a further 20 minute walk greeted our group of hardened pietons. Our first workshop took place at a historic building whose prior function had been to serve as the pumping station for the city of Arles. This involved a thirty minute architectural tour of the surrounding neighborhood. The group of 4 and 5 year olds were exposed to five key architectural features of the local church. Lily’s favourite part of the day was being introduced to the french word “gargoyle”. The gargoyles served as elaborate downpipes for the church’s eavestroughs with water pouring out of the gargoyles’ mouths during a rainstorm. In my class today, my professor informed me that the french expose their sutdents to a variety of architectural features and that all french 8 year olds are able to distinguish the differences between Roman and Gothic arches. I certainly witnessed this early introduction to architecture.

After lunch we walked 25 minutes through Arles to see the yearly photographic exposition. We went to two exhibits, one by the American modern artist Liz Deschenes and the second by a Japanese photographer, Kazuo Shinohara. The first exhibit consisted of four paintings: one black canvas, one white canvas and two canvases that reflected as a mirror. I particulary enjoyed the investigation of what our group of students saw in the white canvas (I was thinking along the lines of Calgary in December). The directrice, (principal) was particularly animated as she discussed the endless possibilities that one could see in the blank canvas in front of us. It was at this point that Lily leaned over to me and quietly whispered in my ear, “This is the most boring daycamp ever”. Certainly Lily has never been prepped at our dinner table on the appreciation of the abstract art form!

The photo exhibit provided for less abstract viewing, as there were about 30 photos of street scenes from around the world. The assignment for the class was to find similarities within the photos. After that, they were to choose their favorite photo and give it a name. Lily’s teacher came up to her and asked her in English what the name of her picture should be and after shrugging her shoulders three times in response to the same question she finally came up with “France” for a title. Well done Lily!!

We then left the expostion with a 30 minute walk ahead of us to catch a train that departed in 25 minutes. With panicked looks on the leaders faces, the shouts of “Allez! Allez! “were transformed to “Cours! Cours!”. We indeed arrived in time to catch our train, and on the train ride home the little girl sitting beside me said “Je vais bien dormir ce soir”, (“I will sleep well tonight”.) Arriving back to Avignon, the pace was much slower and relaxed as we returned to the school.

It was encouraging to see Lily interacting with her classmates as her behaviour thus far has had us concerned about what the days are like for her. Spending the day with her and her class has provided me with real insights into what she is going through. Firstly, her classmates are very interested in the Canadian girl that is in their midst, so making friends will not be a problem in the long term. Each time students were paired up, a new classmate would rush over to hold Lily’s hand. Lily’s frustration stems from her inability to converse with her classmates. I must say that once again my french confidence plummeted as I struggled to interact with Lily’s classmates. Each day she is utilizing new words so we know that this will improve. Secondly, Lily’s teacher is so kind and caring towards her. I now am competely certain that Lily is in good hands. During one exploration, Lily’s teacher sat Lily on her lap and translated the entire discussion for her. Lastly, Lily is tired! It is a crazy long day for her and no wonder she is struggling right now. She starts at 8:30 and school lasts until 4:30. Sure she comes home for lunch but she has 6 hours of French every day. I complain to Ginger about my long Wednesday schedule that consists of only 4 and half hours of classes in the afternoon and leaves my head spinning.

Needless to say I am very proud of my big little girl.