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............

Nice is... Nice

Last Tuesday Jube and I woke up early and headed out to Nice. It only took three hours, so we arrived before noon. We arrived on the Promenade des Anglais, and then took the mini tunnel to the train station. When we headed into town to take a look around, I started crying. Jube couldn't believe that I was upset to be moving to the Riviera! "Come on, Gem," he said, "it could be worse. Don't spit in the soup!" We got some lunch and then it was back in the car to find the first apartment we were checking out. I won't go into details, but the next two days were devoted to looking at apartments, scoping out real estate agencies, looking at more apartments, finding out we were too late to get the one we wanted, looking at parking spots, and looking at even more apartments. We saw just about as many apartments as humanly possible in three days, and we still didn't get one. I did manage to become infatuated with one--a view of the moutains behind Nice, a huge bathtub, beautiful parquet floors--but of course it was too expensive for us, with no parking besides.

On Tuesday night, we ate at "Le Festival des Moules," where we had all-you-can-eat mussels and French fries. Then the night after we ate at "Le Bull" for 6.50 each. Those restaurants were the best part of the trip!! We also took lots and lots of pictures. I included one of la Promenade des Anglais for your viewing pleasure (it's an Italian dog). Next post I'll fill you in on what happened when we got back to Gallargues le Montueux!

The Expedition

I know that everyone's been waiting impatiently to find out where we went on Sunday and now is the moment of discovery. We went to the Sahara!



No, actually, le(s) Parisien(s) and I went horseback riding in Camargue. Camargue is the region in France that has its own cowboys, les gardians, and also their own race of horses. Camargue horses are small and white, although they are born brown. They are small because the bulls they have to round up are also small. Unfortunately we didn't get to attend a roundup, but we got to go on a glorified trail ride around "les etangs" (brackish inland water that comes from the sea and the surrounding canals) and even the seashore! The beach we were near was l'Espiguette, which is also home to "naturistes"--nudists! We didn't see any, although for me just going to the regular beach is halfway to l'Espiguette, with all the naked breasts you can see.

Jube didn't come with us, because horseback riding isn't his thing, and also because he had to stay at home to telephone realty agencies in Nice. Which comes to the reason why I'm posting so early: in half an hour, we'll be leaving for Nice, and visiting lots of apartments. So wish us lots of luck in finding the perfect home for the next year!

Also, my friend BB wants me to share the formula for figuring out the temperature according to a cricket's chirps, if you actually want to try it for yourself instead of thinking, like me, "He's chirping fast--indubitable proof that it is too hot!" You count the number of chirps in 15 seconds and then add 39 to get the temperature in Fahrenheit. Apparently it is accurate to within one degree, although neither BB nor I have actually tried it (and if I had tried it, it would have been the refrigerator, so it would have been accurate to within one tenth of a degree, surely).

The Cricket

The day before we moved out, it was so hot, I couldn’t fall asleep. Jube wouldn’t let me keep the fan on, either. “You Americans just consume so much energy!” he said. I don’t know how much energy I consume, but it was hot!!! I was sweating and I wasn’t even moving. I hate lying in bed and not being able to sleep… so I started counting sheep. But that never works. I started listening to the night sounds around me, and I heard a cricket. “How nice!” I thought, “It’s really summer now!” I started counting the cricket’s chirps. I remembered reading somewhere that a cricket’s chirping frequency is directly related to the temperature, and this cricket was really chirping away. “I knew it was hot in here!” I thought. But after awhile, the cricket started getting on my nerves. It just wouldn’t shut up! And then, suddenly, I had an epiphany and realized that it wasn’t a cricket at all—IT WAS THE REFRIGERATOR! Luckily it switched out of high-energy mode (who says Americans are the only ones who waste energy?) soon after I made the realization and I could fall asleep. Plus I hadn’t talked about the cricket to Jube so he couldn’t make fun of me (although after reading this entry, he might start).

Le Parisien arrived yesterday with his new girlfriend. Much to my (and belle-maman's) dismay, neither of us can detect a lisp! Jube says he can, but he's probably just being contrary. She is very nice, and from Martinique, so she can cook lots of exotic tasty spicy food for us. After they arrived, we went to the beach at La Grande Motte. I swam while Jube waded and les Parisiens tanned. After we got home Jube and I slipped into the pool to get rid of the salty hard feeling you get after swimming (or even just wading!) in the ocean (or the sea). It was wonderful! The evening air was cool, the water was still warm from the sun, and they served us our aperitifs in the water! Just imagine Gem and Jube on the edge of the pool, drinking coconut punch while the oldies talked on the terrace. Yes, a true luxury, drinking in our pool in the South of France!
Then we got out and ate croque-monsieurs that belle-maman had left a bit too long in the oven... but they were still very tasty. Tomorrow Jube, le(s) Parisiens, and I will all be taking a very special trip... but I don't want to give too much away! Hopefully I'll have lots of photos when I come back.

Gift Wrapping

One of the things I like about France is that, no matter what you buy, you can usually get it wrapped up as a gift for no extra charge. But sometimes the results are unexpected… Jube just finished up his year as a stagiaire (a student teacher). He was helped along by his tutor and he wanted to give her a gift. Soooo, we went to the English bookstore in Montpellier, "Book in Bar." It’s a great bookshop, even though the books are slightly overpriced. We found the book he wanted (Paradise, by Tony Morrison), and he paid, asking for it to be wrapped. “Oh, bien sur!” said the shopgirl, and proceeded to wrap while I browsed the store. About five minutes later Jube came to get me with a strange look on his face. When we had left the store and walked around the corner, he started laughing. “Look at the gift!” he said. And this is what we saw:

My mother thinks that it is a cultural difference, since the girl who wrapped it was English, not French. I just think that she had no clue about how to wrap a gift!!

In newer news, le Parisien and his new girlfriend are arriving tomorrow. The whole family is excited to meet her, no less because of her lisp. Le Pacha is cutting short his stay in Narbonne to stay just one night under the same roof with her, and belle-mère has already decided on the menu. She chose an “exotic” American recipe: Eggplant Parmesan. I am amazed that she is taking cooking advice from me!

Jube and I also booked a hotel in Nice for Tuesday and Wednesday of next week. We’ll be checking out all of the apartments we can! No worries: more news about the Lisper to come in the very near future.

And.... ça y est.

We're gone! Farewell my beautiful apartment! Jube and I are living with his parents in the small town of Gallargues le Montueux while we look for apartments in Nice. That's right, Nice. The teachers' union called last week to tell him that he was "attached" to a middle school in the city. So we can finally start looking at apartments! As we were packing up, I found this "special edition" Tour de France version of gummy bears: gummy bicyclists! I took a picture of the package, and I was going to reconstitute one of my Tour pictures, but I got really hungry while we were packing and ate them instead.

All weekend after the Tour de France we cleaned and packed. On Monday, Jube's family came and helped us pack all of our stuff up and put it in a rented moving van. After we moved everything out, we took it to his grandparents' house in nearby Saint Jean de Védas. His aunt gave us some useful appliances (such as a washing machine and a real oven!!), so we moved those out too. So as you can see, I have spent some quality time with Jube's family in the past few days. And we are so grateful to them that we have decided to ignore all of the "You should have packed it like this" and the "Well, I'm not used to moving either, I just do what seems logique!" comments--or laugh at them instead, as Jube recommends.

Tomorrow they are going to Narbonne to drop off "le Pacha," Jube's younger brother. He's spending a week or two with a friend's family. Then on Friday Jube's older brother, "le Parisien," is coming to visit with his new girlfriend, "the Lisper." In fact, we haven't met her yet--le Parisien called to warn us that she has a "slight speech impediment" and not to make fun of her... so of course the entire family has been doing just that ever since. "Hello, my name ith The Lithper," for example... or, "Tha va?"

I had always heard stories about how hard it is to get along with/ live with the in-laws, but I have a great time. I'm just afraid of what they say about me behind my back...

Tour de France

What a busy two days I've had! Yesterday we ate lunch at Jube's parents' house, and then they came to our house for dinner. Then, since it was Bastille Day (otherwise known as "the fourteenth of July"--le quatorze juillet) we went to see the fireworks. I saw the fireworks in Montpellier for the first time two years ago, the summer of 2003, and we couldn't see a thing. There was no wind, so the smoke from the fireworks hung in the air, obscuring the rest of the show. We saw lots of red smoke... green smoke... pink smoke... Unfortunately this seems to be a chronic problem in Montpellier, because yesterday the same thing happened. Disappointed, we walked home, stopping twice to listen to cover bands in the street. (They were covering songs I didn't know. They are allegedly on the radio right now, but I haven't been able to confirm or deny this rumor.)

Today Jube and I watched the Tour de France arrive in Montpellier. Sadly, the route they chose ignored the most beautiful parts of the city, so if you were watching on TV, you didn't see the best! Luckily for us, the route ran close to our apartment, on the Avenue de la Liberté. We biked there (how French! how “Tour de France”y!), so we arrived just in time for the Caravan. That means, just in time for the free stuff that the sponsors of the Tour throw out of their cars about an hour before the cyclists arrive. We were apparently not in the right spot, because we only got one packet of candy, one sun hat, and a pair of plastic inflatable noisemakers. Eh, no big deal! I came for the Tour de France, right? See the great picture I got? You’re lucky—the cyclists go by in about two seconds. I couldn’t identify Lance Armstrong until I saw him on the picture.

After watching the tour, we took the bikes in town. Jube needed to buy a new pair of pants for this wedding we’ll be going to in two weeks, and since it is the time of les soldes, we took advantage. So now there is one more Frenchman with navy blue striped pants. Nice, eh? I also sent an e-mail to the director of international studies in Nice. Who knows? I might be able to earn a Master’s equivalency in one year! Pretty sweet, eh? Or maybe I’d write a huge thesis and just end up not earning anything except for a degree that only works in France. Or maybe I’m too late to sign up anyway! Life is hard when you’re an immigrant...

Dinner Party

Yesterday we had a dinner party. Since I told all of my friends in the US that we are moving to Nice soon, one of them asked me if it was a housewarming party. Well, no, not exactly... more of a “farewell, my beautiful apartment” party. To be honest, I was kind of stressed out about it. Very stressed out about it. I’m not sure why, since Jube was cooking and the apartment was already spotless, but I was. extremely. stressed! Five of Jube’s good friends came over, which was certainly part of the reason. I am always nervous when it comes to groups of people speaking French. Normally, I'm totally fine when I speak French, because it’s (normally) a one-on-one situation: me and the waiter, me and the salesclerk, me and the librarian (you get the picture). But parties are really hard; there are usually at least two conversations going on and if you manage to pay attention to one of them then someone is sure to ask you a question about the other. Last night was a breakthrough for me, though. I understood just about everything everyone said, contributed to the conversation, and managed to feel like a good hostess at the same time! So here’s how it went down:

8:30: Arrival of Jube’s friends (“Sorry we’re late!”—yeah, whatever, all French people arrive about half an hour late).

8:31-35: We kiss everyone three times. That makes 30 kisses, 15 each for Gem and Jube.

8:35-9:15: Aperitif. Kahlúa (“Wow, exotic!”), beer, white wine, Muscat, liqueur de noix de coco, Pastis. Hummous (houmous—“This is great, where did you get it?”), chips, cashews, peanuts, crackers.

9:15-10:30: Main course (“Avertissement: we have no first course, so fill up on the aperitif!”). Rougail saucisse, a dish from the Reunion Island. I’d never heard of it either, Jube’s brother taught us. It’s great. Red wine.

10:30-11:00: Dessert: coconut and chocolate mousse gâteau, bought from the patisserie. Cider.

11:00-12:00: Coffee and chai. And lots of conversation.

And that was how it all went down!

We still haven’t cleaned the dishes yet…

What the Heck??

Going along with the "what I saw on French TV lately" post theme, here's a picture for you:



That's what I saw last night. Prime Time. Can you guess what they're doing?

Well, since you couldn't guess, I'll tell you. Those are French men and women (the blue ones from Pont-Saint-Esprit, the red ones from Chateauneuf du Pape) competing for the glory of their village. They were dressed up in fish costumes, and then ran an obstacle course. Pictured here is the first stop. The floor is rotating. They had to jump and grab a foam fly, then run through a bull ring, then go backwards in an innertube across a swimming pool, then run up a huge flight of stairs, and then slide down a big long slide, all the while keeping ahold of their fly. After each run, one was eliminated. So it was like musical chairs, but with a long obstacle course and with everyone dressed like fish and holding flies, sometimes in their mouths (mouche en bouche). I didn't get a picture of it, but when one finally won, he stood at the top of the slide, jumping up and down, while the crowd cheered. It's the only time I've ever seen anyone so joyful and happy to be forced to perform strenuous physical activity while dressed in a fish costume.

I gots to have my Cat

I love Cat Stevens. My love is so deep, I thought it could survive anything. It survived Jube's mocking (I made him learn a song and was so proud of him he got upset--"you think this is hard? Gosh, I wish you would be so happy when I play really hard stuff"). It survived high school, where no one had heard of Cat and when I made a speech about him everyone was bored for 10 minutes. It even survived a really bad Mandy Moore movie in which they played "Wild World" by some girly band at the end. But yesterday, I thought my love was tarnished forever.

"La Taratata"--a kind of "Top of the Pops" but cooler--featured De Palmas last night. I wasn't really watching since I was reading a book on my bed, but I could enjoy the music without paying much attention. And then suddenly I heard the words "Cat Stevens." "Yes, that's right, De Palmas and Francis Cabrel will be singing a Cat Stevens song tonight!" (of course that was all in French). Wow was I excited! They're two pretty good singers and they are also good artists.

They sat down and played the intro to "My Lady D'Arbanville" on their guitars. And then Francis Cabrel started singing.

"My Lady d'Arrrrbanville, why do you sleep so steel? I'll wake you tomorrow, and you will be my feel, and you will be my feel."

Hmmm... I suppose that metaphorically "steel" works just as well as "still"... but "you will be my feel"? That makes the song dirrrrrrrrty! Luckily for me, De Palmas had obviously listened to the original version before and could reproduce Cat's English.

I must admit, at the beginning, I was nonplused. But now, "you will be my feel" has started to grow on me. It's pretty logical, actually--rhymes with "d'Arbanville" and makes the singer seem like a real weirdo. So, a big Merci, Francis Cabrel for teaching me ever new and exciting ways to enjoy Cat Stevens.*

*Also known as Yusuf Islam, whose next projected single is "A is for Allah."

Les Soldes!!!

As you read in my last post, I am in love with Montpellier. However, there are some things that do not make Montpellier inferior to Paris... rather, they make me aware of the fact that Montpellier is neither the center of France nor the largest city in the country. Two weeks ago les soldes started in Paris (and most of northern France). We in the south had to wait for two. long. weeks. before we could plunge into our own consumer frenzy. Hmm... actually, when I think about it, it's probably a good thing that the sales didn't start until yesterday. The heatwave has lifted, so now we can enjoy the outdoor pedestrian shopping without sweating--and staining the new clothes we are only trying on.

Yesterday Jube and I ventured into Montpellier centre ville to check out the sales. There was a dress I'd had my eye on for about three months--maybe even four! I couldn't buy it at full price. (It was simply too expensive for Gem, who hasn't had a job for three months--maybe even four!) Luckily, since none of the dresses had been sold in that long quarter of a year, they were discounted by 60%, and so I was able to fulfill my dream of owning a transparent orange 100% silk asymmetrical dress and afford a cotton sous-robe to go underneath it. (Sous-robe means “under-dress,” but it sounds way better than “a cotton slip,” doesn’t it?)

I wore the dress to the belle-famille’s house, where Jube’s mother ooh’ed and ahh’ed over how beautiful my dress was. “Oh, it’s too bad that you’re not invited to a wedding this summer!” she said, before realizing that, indeed, Jube and I will be heading to Mende for the aperitif of a wedding in a few weeks. “But, Gem, you can’t wear that dress underneath. You should simply wear a white strapless bra and some underwear!” I expressed my discomfort with wearing a transparent dress with nothing but underwear underneath. “That’s because you’re an American puritan,” she told me. “Well, I suppose you could buy a bustier and wear that instead.” It’s true that I never imagined that my mother-in-law would tell me to buy a bustier so I could show it off under a see-through dress…

Before you start thinking that I am uncomfortable with my body, I should tell you that I have finally decided I am not fat. And I’m glad that I am not as skinny as most of the French women I see around me. In the stores yesterday, they were all screaming and grabbing for the last T1 ([extra] small) or the second-to-last 36 (size 4? Size 6?). I nonchalantly shouldered them aside and chose one of the five remaining T3s or 42s, in any style or color that I wanted.

Ahhhhhhh! Bliss = les soldes!

Summer Plans

I know I haven't posted in more than a week, but it's because my mom was here visiting! Yay for visits! She and my cousin both came, and we've had a great time despite the sweltering weather. We visited the normal places--Montpellier centre ville, Pont du Gard, Avignon, Aigues Mortes, and the best was that we rented a car and drove to Barcelona for two nights! Yay for practicing my Spanish (boo for forgetting so much of it). I won't go on and on, because I think it must be amazingly boring to hear about other people's travels, but I had a great 10 days with my family. I think Jube was a bit overwhelmed by the girliness of the visit, but nothing too stressful.

In other news, he has finished teaching for the year! Now we have some vacation time to spend together. Of course, we will be spending it looking for a new apartment in Nice (or the surrounding area), packing up, moving out, unpacking, etc. Hopefully we will be able to find the time to go to Norway, but somehow I doubt we will be able to take advantage of the super low fares. Sigh.

I'm very sad to think about leaving Montpellier! I want to stay here forever and ever! I love this city, I feel like it's my home. I realized this while ushering my family to "my favorite place, my favorite market, my favorite restaurant... The English assistant at Jube's college this year told him she liked Nice much better than Montpellier. "Nice was much prettier, a nicer city," she said, adding the oh-so-original "Nice is nice." I must admit that I felt the sting of anger after he told me that. "How could anyone think that any other city in the entire world is better than Montpellier??" I thought. I know that Jube told me she liked it better to make me feel better about leaving, but I still feel remnants of jealousy that she got to work closer to him than I did, so the fact that she was dissin' my 'hood pissed me off (hehe).

On a better note, today I bought two books about traveling/working/studying in France to make myself feel better about the move. I hope it works!