Doctor, Doctor!

Yesterday, I went to the doctor. It was probably the best of my medical experiences in France, although there was one major drawback: America bashing! Let me explain.

I made an appointment for 11:30am. I arrived 15 minutes early, armed with a book, ready to wait for a loooooooong time. However, I was seen immediately, and was out even before 11:30! The docteur was a woman, specializing in sports medicine, although she is obviously qualified to do general check-ups. We spoke about my medical history, and then she listened to my heartbeat and breathing, took my blood pressure, and felt my legs. She told me, "Do you play any sports? I didn't think so! We French are very skinny. You, mademoiselle, have to be very careful about your weight. It's not like America here! No eating between meals, you can have 4 a day--that is American, right? In France, we only eat 3. 3 meals a day is best."

But, but . . . ! I wanted to protest, "Just because I'm American doesn't mean that it's in my genes to be obese! And besides, we only eat 3 meals a day." It wasn't the worst I've ever experienced. Living in France has given me an idea of what it is like to be an immigrant in the US, and although it is sometimes disagreeable, it is always enlightening.

Before I left, she wrote me prescriptions. Besides my usual, she asked if I wanted anything else. I was extremely surprised! Why would a doctor ask me if I wanted another prescription? and then I remembered--in France, to get Advil or Tylenol or Aspégic (plain aspirin--Jube's favorite), you have to have a prescription. That is the reason that the French go to the doctor for every little cold--because they need Dimetap! Unfortunately, before I had managed to grasp the reason for the question, I had confusedly mumbled, "Non, merci." Luckily I have enough Advil in stock to keep me for awhile!

UPDATE: No, you don't NEED a prescription to get Tylenol or Advil, you just have to ask the pharmacist and she will give it to you. It's BETTER to have a prescription because then it is reimbursed by the government.

Ho Hum

I'm going to be heading to the doctor's office in half an hour (just a normal checkup, don't worry about me) and as I was waiting, I watched Les Maternelles, a show that is ostensibly for mothers. I like it very much, because there are cute little documentaries of kids at school and "testimonies" (temoignages) from women about all sorts of things. At the end of the show the hostess (whose idol is Oprah, she mentioned today, which is pretty amazing because no one in France knows who Oprah is) announced the following"Calls to Testify:"

Nos seins
Il me trompe. Et alors?

These translate as:

Our Breasts and
He's cheating on me. So what?

Maybe these would be topics in the US, too, but they seemed really funny to me. It reminds me of the "Best Of" news segment I watched at the end of the television season in Montpellier. A "Best Of" the news? Yes! And the best of the best was the following headline:

Invasion de chenilles

Caterpillar Invasion. Not only are they eating all vegetation, worse, they bite!

Monday, Monday

Mondays are the worst days of the week. I know that you've heard this said a million ways (by Garfield, too), but I have a specific reason for it: I leave home at 8:00am and get home at 8:30pm. I begin work in Sophia Antipolis, go back to Nice after lunch, and the go back to Sophia for an evening class. You can check out a map of the area here (it's about 17km one way, between Nice and Antibes). I pay 2€60 in tolls and use up lots of expensive gas, all just to add more stress to my day (and earn a few sous*).

Yesterday was the worst Monday yet. After a three-day weekend, I didn't feel like going back to work. What's more, I started a new morning job "in company," which meant that I had to find the company myself. I managed to arrive at the new company on time, but the building was completely secured. (Sophia Antipolis is the "Silicon Valley" of France, so most of the companies make use of magnetized cards to enter the parking lots, the elevators, and miscellaneous other places.) I pushed the intercom button of my company, and let it ring for about a minute. No one answered, so I pushed the button again. By this time, there were about 3 cars behind me, so I backed up and parked on a dirt pulloff by the road. Muttering in English under my breath, I stomped past the barriers and started to search for the company.

In this particular building complex, there were three or four different companies, and of course there were no signs anywhere pointing me to "mine." I walked all the way up to the parking lot where I should have parked, with no indication of the right direction. When I found the company, I was about five minutes late. I entered the building, but here again the doors were locked against spies, without a secretary on the exterior. I found a door with the company's logo on it with another intercom button. I didn't have high hopes, but I pushed this button, too. I pushed it again and again, each time that it stopped beeping. Finally someone opened the door (in my opinion surprised that I had the stamina to keep annoying them) and asked me to follow them upstairs to the secretary's office. By this time I was 15 minutes late.

They didn't seem to have any clue that an English teacher was coming to give group lessons, but I asked for my students and one of them was at work, so I could teach him. He explained to me (in French) that someone--he implied some disgruntled employee--had put glue in the lock of the secretary's office, so they hadn't been able to enter all day. Indeed, our lesson was interrupted by loud banging and drilling noises from down the hall. When I left, they had managed to open the door and (allegedly) they were ready to open gates and doors for authorized intruders. As I left, I couldn't help thinking about what would have happened if I were a client. I'm already dreading my return next Monday . . .

*I was going to say "bucks," but Euros aren't bucks, are they?

November 11, 2005

Since the weather yesterday was absolutely lovely, Jube and I decided to take advantage of the holiday to go to the Friday market in Ventimiglia/Ventimille, Italy. The market is well-known (notorious, even) in France for its cheap contre-façon--"counterfeit fashion." We left around 10:00am, stopping to get gas before taking the highway. We saw a sign that informed us of "serious traffic jams" ahead, so we exited at Menton. We stopped to take some pictures (one of them seen above), and then headed onward to the border.

Once in Italy, we had to decide which route to take to Ventimiglia--the high road or the low road. We picked the low one because it seemed faster (a tunnel through the mountain instead of driving up and down the mountain). However, halfway through the tunnel, we ground to a halt. It took at least a half an hour to get through the tunnel, and at least 20 more minutes to get into town. When we finally thought we found a parking space, an Italian man appeared out of nowhere and stood in the middle, shouting, "Bettina!" He wouldn't move for us (and we didn't insist very much, both Jube and I being rather nonconfrontational with strangers). So we tried to get back into town, and somehow took a wrong turn and ended up on the high road out of town! We passed a long line of tourists going into the city, and Jube and I had an argument about taking a U-turn and going back into town or not. We ended up back in Menton, where we parked the car and took the train into Ventimiglia. This was a very, very good idea! We paid about 8€00 for our round-trip tickets and didn't have to worry about parking once in the city.

By the time we got to Ventimiglia by train, we were ready to eat since it was about 2:00pm! We covered a lot of ground and finally decided on a relatively cheap pizzeria. Jube had a gorgonzola pizza and I had lasagna and steak. Afterwards, we headed to the market and checked out everything they had for sale. I was particularly searching for earrings and a belt for a wedding I will be attending on New Year's Eve, but found only the earrings. I decided against a fake contre-façon Louis Vuitton bag for two reasons: first, I think that (fake or not) they are really ugly, and second, if you are caught by French customs, you have to pay the price of the original as a fine. (I have to admit that just the idea of breaking the law makes me want to buy a contre-façon wallet or something, though!)



We also bought a bouquet of flowers, because as soon as we got home we left for dinner at Jube's relatives' house. Frances's grandfather was the cousin of Belle-mère's grandfather, and they have somehow kept in contact through the years. We met their son and his girlfriend, and ate an unpretentious French dinner (apéritif, endive salad, lasagna, and store-bought ice cream). We sat down at the table at 8:30pm and got up from it at midnight. The three-and-a-half hours of sitting gave me a stomachache, which didn't disappear until about noon today. Despite that, we had a great holiday, and are glad that we took advantage of the wonderful weather since today it is grey and rainy.

November 11, 1918

November 11th, the stores are closed in France. Everyone is happy to have another holiday to help recover from the longer Toussaint holidays. In America, the Armistice of WWI is nearly forgotten. For my family, it is harder to forget. My grandmother's first memory is of the Armistice celebrations. She has told me many times:

"Of course, I was only 2, almost 3, so I didn't know what they were celebrating, but I remember how happy everyone was, what a wonderful time we all had. I found out later that it was the Armistice."

This weekend, my grandmother is celebrating her 90th birthday. I am very disappointed--of course!--not to be able to go, but I am thinking of her just the same. This post is dedicated to a wonderful woman who still manages to make the entire family burst out laughing with her stories.

I love you, Grandmommy.

Jumping on the Bandwagon

After receiving e-mails and instant messages asking if I am safe and sound after these few weeks of rioting, I figured it was time to let everyone know that yes, I am fine. Both my mother and Belle-maman called us yesterday to tell us that the riots had spread to Nice. We haven't heard anything, no contact with any dangerous rioters. The reason I haven't posted since Sunday is that I started a new, intense work schedule this week--I end around 7:30pm on Mondays and Tuesdays from now on, and when I get home I'm ready for bed. So, there is no reason to worry about us. [Not to completely ignore the problem, here is an interesting editorial about the riots that I largely agree with.]

In other news, Pitchounette, the little cat, has disappeared. When we left two weeks ago for vacation, she was playing around our ankles; when we got back a week ago, she was gone. I am very sad, although probably she just got tired of hanging around our house when there was no one to pet her.

After all of that depressing news, I will leave you with an amusing anecdote. Background: Jube teaches at one of the richest high schools in Nice, Lycee Massena. Lots and lots of the kids are of Italian origin, since Italy is so close. The last test he gave them asked them to analyze an ad from a magazine. It was an ad for sunscreen, and had the objective of the camera looking up into the face of a stereotypically extravagant Mediterranean beach bum (probably Italian--dark hair, hairy chest, deeply tanned . . .), with the caption, "Hellos pretty ladee, I am rubbing your backs with lotion, no?" "Our lotion protects from some sun irritants--but not all." Here is the answer of a 15/16 year old Italian girl (edited):

The picture shows an Italian man, Italian because of his big hair, big hands, and left hand which seems to say "What do you want that is more than simple?" The ad shows the efficacity of the skin lotion because of the comparison between the Italian man with dark skin and the English which would be white. This ad makes me want to buy the lotion and it would be good for students and teachers too.

I'm not sure what grade Jube gave her, but we sure had a good laugh last night!

A Weekend in Nice

After the annoyance of no work/no pay on Wednesday, I showed up on Friday ready to teach. Fortunately both of my students were there, and worked hard for their two hours. What's more, I have about eight new hours of work per week, so I will be a busy bee. Even better, I was paid!! Of course, since I had worked about twenty hours in October, I didn't get paid very much. But it's better than nothing.

On Saturday, Jube and I slept in, and then went into town to deposit my check. Our bank is on Rue Lepante, which also happens to be the music store quartier. So while I was waiting in line to deposit my check (only to be told that I wasn't allowed to do it in person, I had to fill out a form and put it in a drop box), Jube was checking out Guitar Maniac to find a new cable. Why does he need a new cable when he already has at least thirty? I don't know, I didn't ask, and he didn't explain. Afterwards, we hit the shops together, but didn't buy anything.

Last year I gave up eating at fast food restaurants because I read Fast Food Nation and right afterwards watched Super Size Me. I actually managed no keep this resolution for six months, but I weakened one evening and scarfed down some KFC chicken fingers. Since then, I've kept to the resolution of "once a month," and I'm planning to give it up again for New Year's. I hope I can be stronger next time. I wrote all this to tell you that we ate at McDonald's yesterday for lunch.

When we got home, we received phone calls from our respective families. Le Parisien was going to visit us for November 11, which is another holiday (yay!! Armistice, anyone?), but he informed us yesterday that he is not coming. My mother called and advised me on the best way to make a turkey. Finally, le Pacha called just to talk.

After that, Jube and I heated up leftovers for dinner and settled down to watch something on TV since it was raining. . . again! There was absolutely nothing on television that we wanted to see. We had the choice between:

Les 500 choristes ensemble (500 Chorists Sing Contemporary Hits with Stars)
Rugby (France v. Australia)
Le Temps Meurtrier (a TV movie about a murder, I guess)
A Documentary about Versailles (which we would have watched except that it was only an hour long and we had been talking to our families on the phone)
and Charmed

So what did we end up watching? No guesses? Un an et demi de la vie de Metallica . . . la suite (A Year and a Half in the Life of Metallica . . . Part 2). Not only did we watch it, I asked to watch it.

Jube hadn't watched it since his high school years, which meant that he hadn't understood everything (the French subtitles are only there for part of it, and they are very very bad), and of course I had never seen it. I'm starting to feel like I know these guys after two or three viewings of Some Kind of Monster and now this. Who knows what we will see next week--Part 1, perhaps?

Back Home . . .

Today was a hard, hard day for me. After getting home late yesterday afternoon, Jube and I lazed around, eating the food Belle-maman had packed for us, and then went to bed early. Why early? Because I had to work at 9:00 the next day!

I woke up early, trying to relax (I was stressed about the class because I hadn't had much time to prepare), but I only succeeded in drinking a lot of coffee, which didn't help very much. I drove to Sophia Antipolis and arrived early enough to make photocopies--but wait! No one was at work except Laure, my French boss! There were no other English classes like normal. I was immediately worried that Monsieur Hernandez wouldn't show up. But that was good--because if the students don't cancel 24 hours in advance, then I still get paid! Suddenly I was less worried than hopeful.

By the time the clock read 9:30, Karen, my English boss, called M. Hernandez's cell-phone. "No, I called and left a message on Monday. I have to work in Marseille today."

WHAT??

Since no one had been in the office since the Friday before (they were all on vacation for Toussaint--All Saints' Day--which was Tuesday), no one had listened to the messages.

I drove home again with the knowledge that I had wasted an hour's worth of gas and 2.60 in tolls. Not even the prospect of another day off could cheer me up.

The Last Day of Vacation . . .

Last night Jube and I went out with Popo and her man. We met at one of the nicest Irish pubs in Montpellier, Fitzpatrick's, whose sign you can see (if you look closely) in the above picture. We sat and talked for awhile, about vacation, work, visiting, de tout et de rien. We stayed in the pub for about an hour and a half while it rained heavily outside. After the storm had passed, we headed back to the belle-famille's house, where they had been waiting up anxiously for us. Le Pacha called me into his room, and whispered to me, "Je t'adore! I'm glad you got home safely!" Unfortunately, his adoration was not to last long. This morning at 8:30, while Jube and I were trying to enjoy our last opportunity to sleep in, he burst into our room.

"Did you have an accident last night? Your bumper is totally ripped off! What did you do?"

Now, it was bad enough that he woke us up by accusing us of reckless driving. The worst part is that I was sleeping without a shirt on. I swear that this is normal behavior, since the new comforters that Belle-mère bought are extremely hot. I was rather groggy and didn't grasp what was happening, but Jube started screaming at le Pacha about knocking on the door.

Well! That is the way to end family harmony! I got up and got dressed, while Jube checked his car for damage (nothing a serious bricoleur like Beau-père can't fix) and Belle-mère yelled at le Pacha for not knocking. He insisted that he had knocked, which changed the tone of the conversation.

"Well, did they say 'entre'?"

"No, but I knocked!"

"You have to wait until they tell you to come in!"

"BUT I KNOCKED!"

Ater that, le Pacha wouldn't talk to any of us for about two hours, until we started making a lemon meringue pie. "If Gem loved me, she would make another pumpkin pie."

At least he likes my food!

Une Soirée

It seems that Jube has quite an extensive social life in Montpellier. In Nice, I have Oneika and some other anglophones I met through her--and some French, as well--but Jube has no one. He lucked out and is working in a very nice lycée, Lycée Masséna, but all of the other teachers are much older than him. As soon as we arrived in Montpellier, he called up his mendois friends. Popo and her conjoint just bought an apartment, and Jube was invited to help them lug boxes from the old to the new one. Luckily for me (because I am the laziest person in the world, even trying to get out of my own deménagement), I had to go to my bank and close my old account. Le Pacha came with me, so afterwards we got to hang around in Montpellier while Jube worked hard at Popo's apartment.

When we got home to Gallargues le Montueux, we ate a wonderful tartiflette prepared by Belle-mère, and then Jube told me that we were invited to Popo's housewarming that evening--and he had volunteered to bring the dessert. "We'll just pick up a pie from the supermarket," he told me. But I knew (or at least thought I knew) that was a trick. Either we had to bring something from the boulangerie or I had to make dessert. I thought this because every time we had been invited to eat at a friend's house, the dinner was amazing. Recipes were demanded and given with an almost ceremonial precision--"but remember, this chicken comes from the butcher and I ordered it a week in advance so we could have one with less fat" (these people are not 50 years old, I swear!). Our conversation around the table centered on food; food made that night or food eaten earlier, food that was good or food that was inferior. For example, the last time that we ate at Ghee's house, we ate samoussas fait maison. They were baked, not fried, to be less fatty; they had replaced the spicy peppers with almonds; they had big problems with the dough because they had bought it round, not square. Ghee's girlfriend then launched into the meal she had eaten at her grandmother's house the week before, which had been so full of fat that she couldn't move afterwards. Then the conversation changed to cooking utensils; about what you can make with a wok and what you can't.

So of course we couldn't bring a cheap pie from the supermarket! Luckily, I had a plan: I would wow them all with my American ingenuity and make a pumpkin pie! I made it all, from scratch--from a real pumpkin! (Belle-mère made the dough--store-bought dough is allowed, but homemade is always better.) I slaved away and made it, and it was beautiful. Orange, creamy, the crust lightly browned, it smelled just like Thanksgiving.

When we arrived at Popo's, I was surprised not to see the apéritif ready. Everyone was tired and sweaty from having moved, and they were drinking some wine, but out of plastic cups with no munchies. I pulled out the pumpkin pie, and was gratified to hear their compliments (and their anticipation, since none of them had eaten pumpkin pie before). We waited for about half an hour, and the remaining guests, who were bringing the apéritif, showed up. What a surprise! They had a package of hot dogs, to be cut up to make cocktail weiners, some Mexican tortilla chips, and a store-bought Spanish tortilla. We had that finished off in a jiffy, and then two of the boys disappeared to get dinner. Boy did I ever feel dumb when they came back with five pizzas from the corner joint! We sure didn't talk about food at the table, since we were crouched around the coffee table without plates! I started to feel extremely embarrassed about having made a pie, worrying about my outfit, and somehow having believed all of the baloney I had read in such books as A Year in Provence, French or Foe?, or Le Divorce (especially Le Divorce). Did we talk about food? No, except indirectly to ask if the refrigerator was plugged in. Did anyone ask the recipe of the tortilla? Well, since it came out of a package, the answer sure was no!

When we finally ate the pumpkin pie, everyone oohed and ahhed about it, and (yes) asked for the recipe. But I'm never believing another thing I read about French dining habits!

Nîmes: Ville Propre?

This week has been chock-full of vacation moments. On Thursday, the whole family packed into the car and we headed to Nîmes. I'm not sure if I've said this before, but Belle-mère prefers Nîmes to Montpellier. She says that Montpellier is a dirty city. (Jube says that she prefers Nîmes because it is about 10 minutes closer to her house.) The mayor of Nîmes has declared war on sidewalk doggy doo--not by fining dog owners, but by hiring a cleaning crew who comes through every day. Every time we go to Nîmes, Belle-mère mentions how clean the streets are, how you can look at the buildings without worrying about dirtying your shoes, and how you want to look at the buildings because even they are cleaner than Montpellier buildings. This is the usual Nîmes conversation, and Thursday was no exception. We walked around the city, window-shopping and picking up le Pacha's Roi Soleil tickets at the FNAC before heading back to the car. As we rounded the corner of a street, the biggest, wettest, most disgusting doggy diarrhea caught our eyes. It had been stepped in several times, so half of the street was infested at a length of about six feet. We all burst out laughing, and Belle-mère admitted that even in Montpellier she had never seen half of the road covered in caca.

As we were discussing this, walking in single file along the right side of the street, a young man passed us on the left. Obviously the mayor's campaign had worked, because he didn't give the street a second glance. Just as he walked by us, his foot slipped in the mess. By chance we had all been looking in his direction (it was the direction of the poop!), and we all saw his leg fly up. He half fell on the ground, catching himself with one hand. We all burst out laughing, but immediately tried to hide our amusement. He blushed very red, and Belle-mère tried to make him feel more comfortable by telling him to play the lottery (I guess that bad luck in one area means good luck in another). As he hurried away, we let our laughter out. I don't think that any other trip to Nîmes will equal Thursday's!

Ask Mémée . . .

Here in Gallargues le Montueux, a small town outside of Montpellier, everything is going well. Belle-mère is demonstratively happy to see us, while le Pacha and Beau-père are more reserved. I have already introduced le Pacha to the joys of carving a pumpkin--his smile as he pulled out its guts was priceless. Belle-mère laughed as she watched us working on it, telling the others that "The children are amusing themselves." Still, she was the first to go outside and look at the lighted Jack o'Lantern.

We have already visited Jube's grandparents, Pépé and Mémée, who have been experiencing tough times lately. Their beloved cat Clafoutis was run over by a car last week, and Pépé has to have insulin injections every day from a visiting nurse. Mémée is not pleased with these nurses--"They think they sprang from Jupiter's thigh!"--and even less with Pépé's dietary restrictions (no salt, no sugar, low-fat). She feeds him her pie crusts ("it's just the edge!") and "doesn't notice" when he sneaks slices of her salty bread.

Mémée is also the originator of many interesting phrases (like the cuisse de Jupiter I mentioned earlier). She informed us that her priest had told her that the sin of gluttony did not include "the appreciation of good things." It's only when you eat too much and make yourself sick that it is a sin. She then told us that "the fat priests are the best."

Earlier we had been talking about Spanish tortillas. They are traditionally made with potatoes and eggs, have nothing to do with Mexican tortillas and everything to do with French omelettes. Belle-mère wondered aloud why they are called tortillas. Mémée answered matter-of-factly, "Well, they can't call them omeletas, can they?"

Vacation and the Big Lebowski

I am about to go teach five and a half hours of English to business professionals. Jube is already on vacation. That means he's still in bed while I've been awake for about half an hour, making breakfast and lunch for myself, petting the neighbors' cat, and chatting to still-awake friends in the US. Imagine my joy when I checked my email and received NO JUNK MAIL!, just little notes from people I actually know (Jube, BB, and my mom). When I get home this evening, I will pack, and then Jube and I are headed to Montpel' for a week. I'm going to go wild!

I'll leave you with the results of the test Jube sent me in the mail. Feel free to ignore it, because I just need to preserve the proof that I beat him (he got 80%).

The Stranger You scored 100%

You are the omniscient narrator! Your perfect performance is every bit as stupefying as any I've ever seen. You are both a hero and a noble role model for anyone who aspires to a true understanding of this spectacular work of art. But, I'm rambling again... I've done introduced you enough.

My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 96% on Lebowski lore

Link: The Big Lebowski Test written by JoeCoolJoe on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Vanquished!

Not only do I have a job, I have a commute. Every time I work, I drive about half an hour to get there. There is really only one problem with this: the radio in our Ford Ka has some kind of short circuit that causes it to click off every now and then. Usually we can turn it back on, but sometimes it stays off for the duration of the car trip (like when we moved from Montpellier to Nice. . . yeah, three hours with no music).

Anyway, yesterday, as I was driving home, I was lucky enough to be listening to the radio (Europe 2). The host came on and talked about an artificial intelligence program on the internet. "You think of anything and then it asks you twenty questions about the thing. The scary thing is that it really guesses it!" she explained. "You can find it at the website trois w point vaincu point net." ("Vaincu" means something like defeated, vanquished, beaten. Sounds fun!)

It seemed pretty interesting, so when I got home, I typed it www.vaincu.net. Hmmm. . . this address doesn't seem to exist!

"Jube? How do you spell vaincu?" I asked.

"Vaincu? Comme vaincre?" he asked me. "V-a-i-n-c-u."

Hmmm. . . still no luck. I tried www.vaincue.net, although I didn't think that making it feminine would change anything (besides being pretty sexist!). Finally, I turned to google in desperation.

I searched "vaincu intelligence artificielle," but that didn't work. The presenter had mentioned that the program was American, so I tried "artificial intelligence" or something like that. This time, I figured it out.

www.20Q.net

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! "Vingt q!" I told Jube, "like twenty!"

"What, twenty asses (vingt culs)??"

Ha, ha, ha.

Rain, Rain, Go Away . . .

Last night I went to bed at 9:30pm. Although my parents are still in bed by this time, and for most of my childhood it was "Lights out by 9:00!", it's pretty early for me nowadays. But I was tired. Why?

Last Wednesday, I started working. I had Thursday off, but worked on Friday. On Saturday, Jube and I visited Peille and Peillon. When we got home, there was a message on our answering machine inviting us to a party in town. Of course we headed down, and stayed out until about 2:00am. Sunday we woke up late, and did nothing all day except prepare lessons (Jube had about 500 tests to grade for Monday). All in all, a busy weekend.

This week I really began working. The hardest part about teaching English is that I don't know anything about the language. What's a phrasal verb? What's a modal? Harder than the "what" questions are the "why"s: Why do you need to use an auxiliary in a question? Why doesn't "run away" mean the same thing as "run for"? I don't know! But I'm learning.

Today I had two students. One is a captain on a boat--in the winter, he fishes, and in the summer, he takes tourists to view the calanques, which is why he wants to learn English. The other is unemployed. He left his job as a maitre d'hotel six months ago and is improving his English skills to get a new job. I am collecting stories as I go: two Moroccan Ph.D. students who explained Ramadan to me . . . a father who manages his daughter's basketball team . . . a researcher for France Telecom who reads Harry Potter in English "so I know lots of words like 'wand' and 'sword' and 'spell' but not the words I need for business" . . .

But what I wanted to say was that, after having fallen asleep at 9:30, I woke up at 4:00am to hear rain pouring on our roof. It was raining so heavily that I imagined there was a leak. Thankfully this was a complete fantasy. It is still raining now, and it is due to continue tomorrow, as well. If you are having better weather then I am, take the time to enjoy it. I miss the crisp air of the Ohio autumn, the gorgeous turning of the foliage. Here, all we get is rain.

"Peille" de Chats

On Saturday, Jube and I made an afternoon of Peille and Peillon, two mountain towns about half an hour away from Nice. The snap above is a view of Peillon, a spectacularly picturesque "perched village" that is gorgeous from far away. As we were driving up to it, Jube told me, "You have to walk up." I was ready to take a few pictures from afar when he told me it was a joke. We drove up some winding switchback roads (Jube is used to it, the mendois) and parked at the top. The town was not quite as amazing up close. The wood shutters were all very worn and the stone walls crumbling.

However, Jube and I are not cowards, so we plunged into the tiny village streets. They are made of cobblestones when they are not slabs of raw stone formed into steps. This town is steep! We climbed all the way to the top, and didn't meet anyone on the way. We were very surprised not to see any stores; no boulangerie, no restaurant, nothing but a closed-for-the-season inn. On the other hand, we did see lots and lots of cats. Tons of cats! In most French towns, you have to watch your step to miss the dog turds on the ground. In Peillon, they were cat craps! It was amazing. We saw at least 10 cats, who all stared at us while we walked around the city. I think we might have seen 10 people . . . but we might have seen less. It seems like we saw more cats . . .

After Peillon, we headed to Peille. From a distance, Peille is much less impressive than Peillon (I like seeing how many times I can confuse you with the words "Peille" and "Peillon"). Up close, it is lots more agreeable. We saw only two cats, and one dog (a bichon frise!) who barked at us. We saw several stores and passed a baby shower in the town hall. We climbed all over the city. On a good day, you can see the Mediterranean, but we weren't able to see the Baie des Anges, since it was getting dark and cloudy by that time. We also almost froze! The weather was much colder at 600 meters above sea level.

When we got home, our own cat was there to welcome us. Her name is Pitchounette, and she is actually the neighbors' cat. We don't feed her at all, but the siren song of Jube's guitar calls her over.

Menton

Two weeks ago (right after our computer caught its nearly-fatal virus), Jube and I went to Menton. I liked Menton very much. It is a small town near the Italian border about a fifteen minutes' drive from Nice (by highway--half an hour on the free road). We went in the afternoon. Summer was officially over, but it didn't feel like autumn yet. We wandered all over the city, discovering a beautiful centre ville full of stairways. Both of us felt closer to Italy, with colorful buildings and religious icons to be found everywhere. (Of course, neither of us has actually been to Italy, so I suppose it resembles what we imagine Italy to look like.)



In the commercial center of town, I ate some real frozen yogurt sold by an Italian man. It was wonderful! I had it with dark chocolate sauce. We wandered around the city, window shopping and enjoying the end-of-summer rush of locals visiting their favorite cities. We considered hopping over to Italy after we finished our tour of Menton, but since it was late afternoon we decided to head home instead.

When did I last post???

I can't believe how long ago I last posted. I would like to say that lots has happened between then and now, but really not a whole lot has. One very important event took place, though:

I got a job!! Hooray!! I now teach business English to adults for about 10 hours a week. It's not too bad, and I can take vacations whenever I want to! I only started today. I prepared a lesson the way I would have for the students last year, but when I arrived, I discovered something amazing: my new students want to learn! They specifically asked for homework! Of course I didn't have enough prepared because I had underestimated their levels of English and enthusiasm. Next time I will be completely ready, though. I am very very glad to have a job now--and also glad that in about two weeks I'll be on vacation.

We'll be visiting my favorite city in the world, Montpellier. There, I will (finally) close my bank account and spend some freshly-earned money at the Polygone.

Through Oneika, I have been meeting some really nice people in Nice. One of them studied in Montpellier 2 years ago, so we have been having lots of discussions starting with "Remember that guy (that restaurant/that store/that etc.)." She also prefers Montpellier to Nice. Oh yes. I knew I wasn't the only one!

Jube thinks that my constant Montpellier meditations are sabotaging my ability to enjoy Nice. But I know it's not true. Montpellier is just... well... better!

Whenever my family comes to visit, I will ask them to confirm this for me.

Yard Sale

Yesterday Jube and I went to a yard sale. It was more like a church rummage sale, but it was great fun. I bought something that brought be back to my younger years... Sailor Moon graphic novels! It's really funny. I remembered thinking (oh so many years ago!) how I would love to read the original copies of the show I was obsessed with. Then I remembered that the first time I came to France, I wanted to buy new copies of the graphic novels--if only I could speak French! And then yesterday I saw the four novels, and I realized--I do speak French! So today is devoted to the reading of these delightful books. Hooray!

Virus Blues

I've got the blues. My computer is no longer connected to the internet. It is no longer connected to anything! How depressing! I am in the city right now, at an internet café, trying to figure out how to fix my laptop. Unfortunately Jube thinks we will have to reinstall everything, which means losing all of the pictures we were about to burn to CD. Oh well!

In other news, I watched Peur primale yesterday--that is Primal Fear for all you English-speaking folk. The last time I saw it, I was with hot Boston Robyn, and Jube fell asleep. You might be interested to know that he fell asleep this time, too!

Right now I am in a new internet café. The lovely Oneika brought me here, because she has a hook-up with the owner. The proprieter is an old Chinese woman who speaks broken French. She just left to take a package to the post office--"Wait for me here, faites comme chez vous! I will be back soon!"

Even though I like the atmosphere here very much, I hope that I will have my own internet back up soon.

Papers, papers...

I have been dealing with lots of papers recently. It all started last Tuesday, when Jube and I headed to the Prefecture. Why Tuesday? Jube starts work at 11:00am on Tuesdays. Since the last time I was at the Prefecture I waited in line for 2 hours just to ask a question, we decided that the fastest way to get it would be to show up early. The building opens to the public at 9:00am. We arrived at 8:00, and there were already about 15 people in line before us. We were waiting at the gates that encircle the bureaucratic complex. We watched hundreds of employees arrive, not even glancing at the poor suppliants waiting outside. At 8:45, the gates opened automatically. The first few in line sprinted to the next barrier while the rest of us followed (without letting anyone pass us, of course!) more leisurely. We waited the final quarter of an hour pressed up against each other. Finally a security guard unlocked the door to the Prefecture, and everyone rushed inside. The most desperate were, like me, the immigrants. The system is:

Open Hours: 9:00am-2:30pm, no one new accepted inside after 12 noon unless with a letter or ticket. How do you get a ticket? You wait in line until you reach the two workers who look at your documents and approve your passage to level two: Actual Contact with those who create residency permits, etc. BUT, if you arrive without a specific document, then you are banished for the day.

So that's why I actually ran down the hallway to the foreign affairs line with the others, as Jube went to make last-minute photocopies. Luckily I had to wait about 5 minutes, in which period of time Jube was able to finish the copies and meet me back in line. When we finally got to the desk, we miraculously had all of the necessary documents and were issued a number, which was called in about five more minutes. So at 9:15, we were free to go, and I had the receipt that proves I can work in France legally.

I was so pumped from the no-tears approach to French bureaucracy I decided to try my hand at actually finding a job! Jube and I went to the Rectorat on Thursday to see if there were any open assistantship positions. Unfortunately, the head of the program was not there, so we left my precious CV, lettre de motivation, and photocopies of my brand new workin' papers and went back home. I admit to a bit of disappointment at not getting a job immediately. We will call soon and harass the program until they give me a position.

When we got home, I received a huge letter in the mail from the Department of Health of the Department of Alpes-Maritimes. More papers! This was a very depressing one to fill out, since I had to admit to everyone that I was sans emploi (that's right: UNEMPLOYED!). I managed to find all of the numbers and references asked for, and I will relinquish my carte vitale in order to get a new one. We'll see how long it takes.

And that was my week in Papers.

Punnery

Jube: "Gem, did you know that as I improve at the guitar I start preferring different picks?"

Gem: "Hmm? That's interesting."

Jube: "Yeah . . . I'm getting picky! Hahahahahaha!"

The Dream

The other night I had a dream. I was at a soccer match, a match between the French national team and some other country. It must not have been very important or popular, because hardly anyone was in the stands. In fact, at first I thought it was a practice! I somehow was seated right next to the soccer field. There I was, rooting for France*, when what should happen? Coupet**, the goalie, was injured! Since Barthez**, the original goalie, is still suspended for spitting on a referee, there was no backup! What could la France do?

Thank goodness for Zinedine Zidane**! The captain of the team knew exactly how to solve the no-goalie problem: Call on Gem! That’s right. Zizou looked up in the stands and saw the American answer to his prayers. I was rather flustered at first, since the last time I played goalie was as the counselor of a summer camp (I totally blew those 10-year-olds out of the water!), but I was up to the task. I entered the game hesitantly, and managed to save quite a few attempts to score. Since (even in my dreams) I am not a very experienced player, I let three balls escape me. But the rest of the team supported me and we still won!

At the end of the match, Zidane approached me, shook my hand, and congratulated me. He announced over the stadium microphone that I deserved the most praise of all the players since I was very inexperienced. The crowd cheered me and the team lifted me onto their shoulders! As I was carried around the field, I couldn’t help thinking, “Le Pacha will be so jealous! He will be so surprised to see me on television!” And then . . . I woke up.

This was the dream that made me realize just how immersed I am in French culture.

*Thanks to le Pacha I know lots of soccer cheers:
Allez les bleus!
Et un! Et deux! Et trois zéro!
Allez Paillade!

**I remember the days when I didn’t know who they were . . . ahhh, quelle naïveté!

Our New Home

Our new villa is right next to a preschool, a “maternelle.”

“No problem,” I said to Jube, “We’ll just see some cute little kids when we catch the bus.”

“I had to observe a maternelle class last year, Gem,” he told me. “Every time they have recess, they scream for the whole hour!”

Nahhhh, it’s not that bad. I don’t hear them at all. I’m sure they do all scream, but not at the same time—until the school bell rings to summon them back inside.

**Rrriiinnng!**

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!”

Seriously! I thought the Rolling Stones had just arrived onstage or something!

No big deal. There is only one recess in the morning, one at lunch, and two in the afternoon. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Perfume!

I have been smelling lots of perfume lately. It started in Eze when we discovered that there was a Fragonard factory that gave free tours nearby. Of course we had to go! Beau-père was charmed by our guide and bought some men's eau de toilette for himself; le Pacha bought his amoureuse a small tin of "solid" perfume, and belle-mère bought her friends rose-scented eau de toilette and shower gel. The perfume is not made at the factory in Eze, where they specialize in beauty products and soap. It seems that they only employ "jeunes filles," since all the tour guides and workers were pretty young women.



A few days later we headed to Grasse, the biggest perfume-town in France. According to my Hachette guidebook Provence Côte d'Azur, Grasse produces two-thirds of the perfume in France. My Fodor's France 2005 says that even Dior and Chanel produce their famous scents here, but that they do not have tours. Since we couldn't tour these famous factories, Jube and I (without the belle-famille this time) toured trusty Fragonard again. This time I wanted to hear the tour in English, although I had understood perfectly well the Eze tour in French. We waited an extra 15 minutes (which was pretty hard on Jube!), and finally a Fresh Young Thing announced the start of the Engrish ranguage tour. Jube, Gem, a young American couple and two older British women joined her. We discovered that she herself was not a native English speaker--she was Japanese! It was quite fun to hear her cute accent, although the British women couldn't understand everything. We saw some old drawings of perfume makers from the 19th century, and even then Fragonard employed jeunes filles! The women, in their long skirts, tossed flower petals onto rendered pig fat in the drawings (the job used not to be as glamorous as today!). Quite an enjoyable time was had by Gem, while Jube tried hard to understand the guide's accent.

Excursions

Two weeks ago Jube and I explored some nearby towns with his family. We had a good time except that the weather was not very agreeable, rainy and gray. We left in the morning and explored Vieux Nice (sorry I don't have any pictures!). I was amazed at how crowded and touristy it was compared to Montpellier. I imagined that the two towns would be similar, since they are in the South, but they are different in many ways. The stores sold gelato, fresh pasta, and lots and lots of pizza, which made us all realize how close we were to Italy. Montpellier has a medieval center, but Nice (although older, having been founded by the Greeks) seems much more recent, with colorful facades, higher buildings, and painted churches. I'm sure I'll have more time to explore, and take pictures!

The next town we visited was Villefranche sur Mer.



Villefranche is only about five minutes away from Nice, and you get there by following a road with a spectacular view. The small village includes a port, where we saw everything from small fishing dinghies to huge cruise ships. There is a long public beach and a charming centre ville set a bit higher on the mountainous terrain.



After Villefranche, we headed up the mountain to Eze, a "perched village" (village perché). Belle-mère was a bit daunted by the climb in the car, and even more so by the hike on foot once we arrived! The donkeys at the top of the post are found at Eze, and apparently if you have a room at the luxury hotel there, they will carry your bags for you. It is a gorgeous village, and there is certainly a beautiful view, but we didn't see it because we didn't want to pay 4€ for access to the "jardin exotique." When we were there, we saw lots of well-dressed American and French women walking through the narrow streets complaining about their high heels on the cobblestones. When we visited the church we discovered that there was a wedding! Belle-mère was not charmed--"If I knew someone who was getting married here, I wouldn't go! Imagine making your guests climb that mountain!" Then she looked at us and said, "If you two get married there, then I will come." I'm very glad that she changed her opinion for us . . .



Finally we ended up in Monaco. We weren't sure that we could go in, since I had forgotten my passport and Le Pacha had left his national ID in Gallargues, but we figured that they couldn't stop everyone. And it seemed like they didn't stop anyone! Since it was raining by this time, we took a self-guided tour from the car, and then drove back to Nice. Monaco was definitely the least charming of all the towns we visited. Isn't that too bad? An entire country dismissed by Gem as "not very charming." Well, it wasn't! Jube took this picture of a luxury yacht that was parked (anchored?) in the harbor. We saw zero fishing dinghies here!

All in all it was a tiring but very enjoyable day of sightseeing. If you come to visit me, maybe you could enjoy it, too!

They're EVERYWHERE!

Before I talk about the daytrips around Nice, I wanted to share my apartment with you. This is Gem's personalized tour Just For You. I want to emphasize that we have a normal apartment, nothing very special. Until you realize it's like a Where's Waldo book, but with guitars (Où se trouve la gratte?).



First, a picture of the beautiful wardrobe that Jube's family repainted for us. Doesn't it look nice with the Provence-style fabric and vase? What do you think you can find inside this dainty piece of furniture, clothing? Non-perishable food items? (Check out the left side of the picture. Do you see that blurry black shape? It's a "well-hidden" guitar. It might give you a hint as to what's inside.)



That's right. The stereo system, a boxed set of Metallica videos, and (not pictured) Jube's drum machine. Let's move on to our next example...



The computer desk! A little bit messy, I admit, but don't you think there are a few more wires than normal? That's because...



Oh look! Something extra Jube added to the laptop to listen to his guitar! The problem is, now you can't hear anything from the computer unless you wear headphones. Next!



The sofa. You can see, cleverly hidden behind the lamp, the second of Jube's three guitars. But hey, it looks pretty much like a futon. No big deal--right?



Wrong! There is Jube's recording studio. I wanted to set up the furniture in this room a different way, but Jube didn't like it because he didn't have enough room to play the guitar. So we changed it.

Since meeting Jube, I've learned two languages: French and Guitar. I can now hold my own in English conversations that would have bored me to death four years ago. My new vocabulary includes:

Humbucker (NOT a hamburger joint)
Single coil (NOT a kind of snake)
Effects (in a different way than I previously understood the term)
Amp and Pre-amp (which I, also, thought I understood before)
and other more ambiguous terms (neck, (solid) body*, bends, etc.)

I can also name 10 guitar brands, 5 amp brands, and 20 guitar heroes without much hesitation. I know this because Jube actually tested me the other day.

I am a lucky, lucky girl!

*I have to admit here that I made a mistake in my Guitar vocabulary. I wrote "hard body." Jube wisely informed me of this instead of posting a comment disparaging my skills.

Bits and Pieces

Last weekend, the belle-famille came to visit. Jube and I had been living in our apartment for less than a week, so I was surprised when he told me we would “show them around.” I had no idea about what to show them in Nice, besides the Mediterranean and the Promenade des Anglais. Luckily, Jube had a plan. We visited Old Nice, Villefranche sur Mer, and Eze Village on the Thursday before his family arrived, so we would know where to take them. When they arrived, belle-mère and Jube went out to the supermarket to buy food, although she had already made a tajine au poulet et aux abricots secs (not a traditional French meal, something like couscous with chicken and dried apricots). When they got back to the apartment, I discovered that she had bought a complete meal for me to cook for them. Any ideas of what it was?

Hamburgers, with mushrooms and onions. I have completed the fast food industry’s second step in its domination of the French market: families that previously had no desire to eat hamburgers as a real meal are now craving them for dinner! (Well, at least one family now does.)

I will be posting about our sightseeing trips as soon as I have the pictures for them. Right now I'll just leave you with the thought that I am becoming a '50s housewife (Jube says 1850s, in fact). I do not say this to imply that I am actually doing any housework besides cooking dinner and occasionally washing dishes. I mean that I am utterly, totally, completely dependent on Jube for my spending money. Recently I have made him pay for:

a prescription
postage for a letter to the US
a card for one of my relatives

What's more, he leaves me bus fare when he goes to work. I hope that soon I will have my own job!!

I'm baaaaaaaack!

That's right. Sherlock Holmes famously said that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, is the truth. The only conclusion I can gather is that Tele2 have actually provided us with internet in less than three weeks! Last time it took three months! I am very happily tapping away, late at night, no worries about time or money forcing me to make mistakes. All the mistakes I make are now all my own.

Nothing much has been happening around here lately, or so it seems, until I look back on it. Jube and I have done quite a bit of sightseeing, including Antibes, Eze, Fillefranche sur Mer, Monaco, Grasse, and (of course) Nice. I bought a gift for my cousin who is getting married in about a week. Jube found out where he will be teaching--a very nice lycee in the center of town. And I have to write a cover letter to the Rectorat to convince them to let me be an assistant again. Here's hoping! Between then and now, Jube and I have to head to the Prefecture where I will wait in line for two hours only to find out that I forgot a bank statement from December, 2004 and will now be banished from France. Well, probably not banished from France, just from the Prefecture for the day. French bureaucracy is a favorite topic of American expats living in the country, which is why I'll try to avoid talking about it. Let's just say that in Montpellier, they managed to make me cry twice, and I had all of the necessary documents with me both times. No tears yet in Nice... we'll see how it goes.

No time for titles!

Here I am, in Nice, in an internet café, so this will be quick. Jube and I have started to settle in to our apartment. We have been swimming nearly every day, after buying some goggles in town. We have been taking care of administrative stuff (we spent all morning at the Prefecture the other day...) and relaxing. It is really feeling like vacation, finally, which is unfortunate since la rentrée is on Friday, when Jube will have to go back to work and I will have to start really worrying about getting my papers in order. I have been taking lots of pictures, and as soon as we have the internet at our house, I will post some of them. I hope that it will be soon!

Jube's family visited this weekend, and we visited some nearby picturesque villages and one big Principality. We took a free tour of the Fragonard factory at Eze, where I got some perfume (a nice gift). We also ate at an Indian restaurant, which made me very happy, since I adore Indian food. Since Nice is a bigger city than Montpellier, there are lots more "ethnic" restaurants here, and I am getting excited to explore them all. Well, we're off to explore a new oriental supermarket to buy lunch for today.

in weightlessness

After staying for one extra night in Gallargues, we are heading off to Nice tomorrow morning. Today we had a goodbye lunch with Jube's grandparents, and then went to see The War of the Worlds with le Pacha. Afterwards we headed into Montpellier, where I took tons of goodbye photos. We ran into my tutrice from my old job in Lunel--she hasn't heard anything about a new assistant coming this year, and said, "Even if we have a new one, she won't be as good as you!" Isn't that nice?

Anyway, tomorrow we are headed to Nice, Land of No Internet. Hopefully we will get it soon, so I can update this site. Wish me luck!

A Quick Rant before Bed

Hello Everyone!

We made it home safely from Nice. Our "villa" has all of our furniture in it. We are currently back in Gallargues because Jube has to pick up his passport from the mayor's office in Montpellier. We also left a few things here that we need to take back with us.

The reason I am posting right now is not to rant about our day of unloading. It is not to complain about the six hours on the road either. It's not about how at dinner tonight everyone got in a fight because the France Telecom worker who called Belle-maman asked for our new address in Nice. No, it's about something much more important than that.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Or, H2G2: le guide du voyageur galactique. It came out yesterday, August 15, in France. I know that it came out about 4 months ago in the US, that it's apparently "not that good," and that that fact is officially Old News. But I'd love to form my own opinion! After spending years and years obsessed with Douglas Adams, including crying when I found out he was dead, I really want to see this movie. Unfortunately for me, I want to see it in English.

This is evidently impossible in France.

Usually I can find the movies I want to see in English by going to the "artsy" movie theaters (don't you remember them? The ones in the US that show weird French movies like Etre et avoir on hard seats with yellow subtitles--the only English movies they show are Australian or "good" movies like Lost in Translation). The problem with this is that H2G2 is not artsy enough to be shown on hard seats. To see it at all you are forced to go to a big theater chain and sit in huge comfortable chairs and enjoy the air conditioning--and watch it in French.

Ahhhhhhh!!!! The choices we make!

The Decision

It looks like I'm headed to Nice tomorrow. I guilted myself into it with a little bit of help from the belle-famille. Stay tuned for my return (for one night) to Gallargues le Montueux, because afterwards we might have a bit of trouble getting our DSL hookup. Why? Let's just say that the last time we got DSL, we waited two months before we could finally log on. (Jube says I'm too nice--it was more like four months according to him.)

It all has to do with the politics of the telephone here in France. For years and years all telephone service was provided by France Telecom, which even today still has the monopoly on landlines (it runs you 13€99 a month for a dial tone). Then they charge you by the minute to make any telephone call at all, something like 0€03 a minute for local, and running as high as 0€36 to call a cell phone. Recently the phone service was privatized, so you can get much cheaper deals by paying another company to handle your calls--while still paying 13€99 for your telephone line, of course. What does this have to do with DSL? France Telecom has its own DSL service, which is not the cheapest. It is, however, the most convenient. To get DSL at your house, you must have a technician come to your house. This technician is a France Telecom employee, no matter what company you use. Get it? They can make you wait as long as possible. It's not the fault of the company you're using, it's France Telecom's fault. And lots of people give up on the cheaper DSL just to get some internet action at the house. We'll see what happens this time around...

You mean you didn't know we went to Nice last week?

You mean I forgot to mention that we went to Nice again to look for apartments? Hmmm... I think that is because I was traumatized from our first visit. Whenever I thought about going to Nice, I never visualized the city. I knew it was in the South, that lots of people liked it, that it had a reputation for being one of the most beautiful cities in France. When we arrived the first time in Nice, I was very upset. Personally, I think Montpellier is a much more charming city than Nice. Whenever someone new finds out that I am moving to Nice, they ask the fatal question: "Aren't you happy?" This holds true for Americans and French alike. I answer that I prefer Montpellier, and then comes the follow up: "But come on, it's much better than being sent to the North where it rains all the time." But honestly, if Jube had been sent North I wouldn't have had such high expectations.

But this is not the point of my post. The point is that we finally found an apartment in Nice! Not only that, it is a "villa." It reminds me of a vacation condo on a smaller scale. There is a swimming pool, a small private yard, and a parking space. The parking space was the kicker. Even though the apartment was not the cheapest we looked at, it ended up being cheaper because we wouldn't have to rent a space in a garage. The downside is that we are about 15 minutes away from Nice centre, because we're up in the mountains. Nice is a very congested city, bordered as it is by the sea to the south and the mountains to the north. Our "villa" is located on the mountainous western side of the city, so the reason for the 15 minutes is that we have to ascend to ear-popping levels to reach the apartment.

Tomorrow is the move-in day. I have not yet decided whether I will be going or not. There are several important reasons to go, among them:
a) helping Jube and his father find the apartment again
b) choosing how to arrange the apartment, and
c) helping to unload the moving van.

There are also several reasons not to go, among them:
a) I would be completely stressed out (see This Post to find out why)
b) I would be crammed into the small cab of the moving van with Jube and Beau-père for 3 hours, and
c) I would have to help unload the moving van.

I will be sure to keep you updated as to my decision.

Ô, les beaux kikis!

The nieghbors across the street have been on vacation for a week. They, like the belle-famille, have a small pool in their yard. Unlike the belle-famille, the woman sometimes sunbathes topless, which we can see very well from the upstairs rooms. However, as I said, she was out of the area for the past week. A group of youngsters has been using their pool. Now, the neighbors might have given permission to one or two of the preteens to swim in the pool, but we're certain that they don't have permission to climb onto the roof of the house and jump into the pool (which is about four feet deep), or to clamber up the wall around the yard before leaping into the water.

Beau-père and belle-mère were surprised three days ago to see, from the kitchen window, two pairs of buttocks wiggling right at their faces before disappearing behind the wall to the sound of a miniature tidal wave. They were even more surprised the next day to see first the backside--and then the frontside! "Don't the realize that our kitchen window looks right over the pool?" belle-mere asked the family.

Yesterday at lunch the two boys were back to their antics. Beau-père, belle-mère, Jube and I were all eating and talking about the boys in the pool. Belle-mère said, "If they show us their butts today, then I'll ask them to turn around and show us the other side like yesterday." We didn't have to wait for long. One of the boys climbed up the wall, pulled down his swim trunks, and wiggled his buttocks at the kitchen window. Belle-mère opened her mouth to ask him to turn around, when he did it of his own accord. We all started laughing, belle-mère applauded, and Beau-père slipped closer to the window and shouted, "Ô, les beaux kikis!"

The boy leaped immediately into the water to the sound of our laughter, and we didn't see another kiki all day.

Adventures in American Cuisine

The above picture is a snapshot of Belle-mère's kitchen. As you can see, everything is color coordinated. Her appliances are green. The paint is green. The special tiles with French coqs on them have some green feathers. And I'm not saying I don't like it, because I think it's great. It really makes you want to cook--and what's even more important, it makes you want to keep things clean during and after the cooking process!

Today Jube and I wanted to give a little gift to Belle-mère, who was slightly stressed out because she was expecting guests. What better gift is there than a hearty, American lunch? We went to Netto, the discount supermarket "à la française," and bought all of the ingredients to make the most American meal of all: hamburgers and baked beans. Before we left, I described the beans to the family. Here is the conversation (I spoke in French, of course!):

Gem: "They're brown beans in a sweet sauce."
Jube: "Brown? You mean, red."
Gem: "No, I mean brown."
Jube: "You mean péteux?"
Gem: "I guess you could say that... yeah, they're farter beans."

To add some flair to the simple meal, I fried up some onions and mushrooms to put on our hamburgers. The entire family agreed that it was very tasty, although "now we understand why it's easy to be fat in America."

They even liked the farter beans!

Villeneuve les Maguelone

This past week, Jube, le Pacha and I all went to Villeneuve les Maguelone, a small island near Montpellier. It is bordered on one side by the Mediterranean and on the other by les etangs. Jube swears there is a word for “etang” in English, and in fact is used by Edgar Allan Poe in “The Fall of the House of Usher” to describe the terrain upon which the house is located… This may be true, but when I think of that story I think of something scary, and there is absolutely nothing scary about les etangs. They are home to pink flamingoes and are very pretty.

The island of Villeneuve les Maguelone boasts the restored ruins of a medieval cathedral, a small community that grows grapes, makes wine, and takes care of a fishery, and some very nice beaches. The three of us parked the car and then hiked for two miles to see the cathedral. On the way, we passed the beach—and realized that there are, in fact, two beaches. One is the normal Mediterranean beach, with sand, blue water, parents and children. The other is home to “naturists.” We were very surprised to see about three naked couples during our hike, including one woman who ran the length of the beach and back again. Ironically for a naturist, she seemed not to have breasts au naturel. The cathedral was very peaceful, and we took lots of pictures around it. Instead of walking back to the car, we took the petit train, which was free for us since we had paid 4€00 for the parking lot.

On the way home we stopped at Palavas to get some ice cream. France has the best soft serve ice cream ever, called “Italian ice cream.” I had a pistachio and chocolate cone and Jube enjoyed a banana cone. Le Pacha, on the other hand, would not be contented until he found his particular favorite, double chocolat. It’s even more than brand loyalty—he refused three different vendors because they didn’t carry the exact kind he wanted. Luckily on the way home we found one stand that sold the double chocolat, and we drove home with a brown-lipped Pacha.

Le Mariage (Part II)

The last time that you read about the wedding, Gem and Jube had just noticed the wedding party outside of the mayor's office--and neither of them were dressed! We hurried to the free parking lot, with Jube asking Gem to lean forward and hide his head from the guests so they wouldn't know a) that he was still looking for a parking place and b) that he wasn't dressed up. We parked the car, pulled on our clothes really quickly, and then walked to the cathedral. However, the cathedral was practically empty except for two tourists. Jube had thought that they were finished at the Mairie, and would then walk to the cathedral, but he was wrong. We hustled back to the Mairie where we finally found the wedding. A friend's father was conducting the ceremony, which is a rarity in France. Normally it is the mayor, but since the friend's father was a councilman, he could get a special licence. The ceremony was much longer than normal because of this, with lots of references to the bride's parents, the groom's family, and even songs being played. Then they got down to business: "The contract you will be signing states that you will share all of your goods with each other, and when you die will go to your children, according to law number 1180" (this is an approximation, of course!). They both signed the contract, and then everyone applauded and went downstairs to wait outside of the Mairie to take pictures of the couple. Then everyone walked to the cathedral. It was interesting to see the wedding from an outsider's point of view--a whole troupe of well-dressed people walking through the tiny streets of a town, saying hello to shopkeepers and even having tourists take pictures of them. When we arrived at the cathedral, everyone took a seat and waited for the traditional wedding mass to begin. This was much more like an American wedding than the civil part--the bride's father gave her away, the priest spoke about faith, hope, and love... but also different, since the bridal attendants did not have to wear matching clothes, and because no one in the church knew the correct prayers or order of the mass (I think I was the only one, besides the priest!). But it was basically the same as any religious wedding ceremony in a church. Afterwards everyone headed up to the site for the aperitif. This is another difference between an American and a French wedding: there are two sets of guests. Both sets come to the actual wedding ceremony and the aperitif, but only the more privileged guests get to attend the real festivities. Jube had told me about the last wedding he went to--it ended at 5:00am and they had about 15 courses starting at 9:00pm and continuing throughout the night, including a lobster. I knew better than to expect that this time, since we were only invited to the aperitif, but I was still hoping for some traditional French cuisine. Boy was I disappointed! They weren't serving any champagne, and I'm not that into whisky, port, or pastis, so I got to have a beer (from a keg). Since Jube was driving, he didn't drink anything but fruit juice. The little hors d'oeuvres were basically what you could get in the US: mini pigs-in-blankets, little sardines-in-blankets, basically something savory in filo dough. We didn't get any wedding cake, either, just mini eclairs and mini fruit pies. But what was most disappointing was the location. The aperitif took place in the parking lot of a factory, so our view was of big trucks in the background. One of them was kept idling the whole time, perhaps to keep refrigerators running. I'm not sure. Then it was time for Jube and I to head home, three hours back to Gallargues, this time descending the tiny switchback roads. We made it back safely--and Jube assures me that he used to drive faster when he was younger. So I'm really lucky that I met him when he was a little bit older, I guess!

Just to heighten the anticipation...

A conversation from my past week:

Beau-pere: "Yeah, her sister is totally gaga."
Le Parisien: "I thought her mother was gaga."
Belle-maman: "Her mother isn't gaga, just a little bit zinzin, she has Alzheimer's."
Beau-pere: "But her sister really is zinzin, no question about it."

How are you supposed to learn French?

Le Mariage

Last Saturday Jube and I headed to his hometown Mende for the wedding of two of his childhood friends. After our extremely stressful trip to Nice (we yelled at each other quite a lot, got lost, and didn't even find an apartment, which is why the last entry was pretty... brusque), I was very tired and not looking forward to the wedding. Nice and Mende are both about three hours away from Gallargues, so that meant another six hours on the road for me. Added to that was the fact that in Nice, I had (stupidly) only brought a pair of sandals--for three days of hard walking, yes--and they were also what I was planning on wearing for the wedding. On the bright side, I finally had the chance to wear my wonderful orange dress, and to see how a wedding works here in France. Oh, and I also forgot to mention--we also got to use Jube's new car, a Ford Ka. Don't worry if you've never heard of it. It's pretty French for an American car.

So we set off around 10:00, neither of us wearing the actual outfit because we didn't want to crease it before we arrived in Mende. We arrived about 1:30, after having to detour around the small town of Sommieres because of its village festival.

[My own detour: Oh wait, did I forget to mention that, although Nice and Mende are both about 3 hours away from Gallargues, Nice is about twice as far away in kilometers? That's because there are actual highways that go to Nice. Mende is nestled in a valley of the Cevennes, the central (and not very high) mountain range of France. Jube drove at amazingly high speeds throughout the dangerous ascents, grumbling every time he had to slow down (because you can't pass on a switchback road!!) for another car.]

We arrived about 1:30, and searched the small town for a bite to eat. We ended up at a kebab stand and chowed down. Then we switched parking lots for a free one, and happening to pass the mayor's office, we saw the wedding party! We were late!

......Stay tuned for the next installment! Did we make it to the wedding on time? Were the bride and groom angry that my dress was transparent? Did Gem manage to make a fool of herself in French in front of all of Jube's oldest and dearest friends and acquaintences? You'll find out all this and more............