I have wonderful memories of enjoying the build-up and celebration of Beaujolais Day while living in France. So much hoopla–both positive and negative. And it was the occasion of making connection with others across the globe.
To reminisce about the excitement then, click on the links in the right column of this page. It was a year to remember!
Dear High School Pal,
Forgive me! The time just flew by…and I have thought often of your daughter’s trip to France. She will have a wonderful time.
The most important advice I would give would be to relax and enjoy her time. Many people in France speak English so if the visitor is polite and respectful not speaking loudly (in an effort to be understood), communication usually goes well. If your daughter could use a few words…like “bonjour, madame” or “bonjour, monsieur” when entering a shop or meeting someone…she will endear herself to most people she
encounters. A heartfelt “merci” when appropriate means a lot.
I found that the DK (Dorling and Kindersley) French Phrase Book was very handy with phrases that might be useful and a pronunciation guide.
By the way, what sort of trip is it? How many will be traveling
together? Will there be French speaking guides along? I assume that
someone has created an itinerary for the group? That would be very
helpful though being flexible is key…things don’t always go the way
you want!
My second piece of advice would be to try to soak up the culture as
much as possible. While it is wonderful to see as much as possible,
it is also wonderful to get a feel for the life there. Tell her to
be sure to go into a boulangerie (bakery) and pâtisserie (pastry
shop) try out as many of the delights from as many different shops as
possible as each one has a different take on the various specialties,
even the omnipresent baguette. Go into a boucherie (butcher) and see
how different the meat looks from the meat counters here. Go into a
pharmacie…they sell mostly prescription drugs and related
products…little like a Walgreens. Go into a fleuriste and see how
the flowers are presented. Go into a supermarché…the food on the
shelves looks similar but different…and notice how many kinds of
cheese and yogurt you can find and how few chips and soda. And also
a marché or outdoor market…so cool, so cool. Go into a traiteur to
see how the prepared foods look deluxe! Go into a fromagerie to see
the variety of cheeses (and smells). Go into a chocolatier to
see…well, guess! Go into a cave to see the incredible diversity of
wines…most from within France.
Again, to endear herself, she can say “bonjour” to the proprietor
when she enters if it is a small shop and “merci, aurevoir” when she
leaves. It’s how it is done there.
And be sure to go into a cafe and just sit, preferably outdoors).
Watch the people who also sit there and those who walk around. Fun!
So each city she visits will have these same kinds of places…all
neighborhoods have the same kinds of stores that replicate the idea
of villages…but they will be different. It’s great.
For her time in the French Riviera, I think if at all possible
getting into Nice would be a wonderful experience. Cannes is a great
town (it has sandy beaches whereas Nice has stones), and it does have
the big auditorium where the Cannes Film Festival is housed with hand
prints of many famous actors through the ages on the bricks outside
and it has a cute street of shops (and an movie theatre that shows
movies in English with French subtitles!), but it is a small town.
Nice is a big city. The Promenade des Anglais is the boardwalk along
the beach (ah! I can see it now in my mind’s eye!), the Vieux Nice or
Old Town with a flower market and winding narrow streets through the
shops, the rue de France which is a fairly touristy but still
fantastic street with no cars. There is also a wonderful museum
featuring the biblical paintings of Marc Chagall along the route up
to Cimiez which has some Roman ruins, a monastery with gardens that
overlook the sea, and the home of Matisse. (I often tell people that
Cimiez is a one-day wonder tour since it includes all of these
features in a very small space…and it is beautiful!!)
Of course, if she goes to Nice, she can visit my old church, Holy
Trinity Anglican church at 11 rue de la Buffa.
Another possibility to get to from Cannes is Vence and St. Paul
Vence. They aren’t far apart and they are excellent examples of
mountain towns. They are used to visitors and there are buses up
there.
I hesitate to give bus and train instructions, thinking that a guide
will know more about how to work these things for the group. I have
just offered some thoughts to consider. I don’t know specifics about
the other cities but would suggest a good guide book! It’s hard to
go wrong!
If she would like phone numbers of an English speaker or two, I can
offer those in Paris and along the Riviera…in Antibes (we lived
there two of the four years) and in Nice (we lived there too).
Tell her to be sure to take a digital camera and take pictures of
EVERYTHING! I love looking at my photos even of the smallest details
like door knobs and park benches. It’s all wonderful.
I hope this helps…please let me know. I’m sorry to have been so
slow getting back to you.
I wish I was going along!
Ciao!!
Anne
What would you tell the daughter of an old high school chum who was about to visit France for the first time?
I seem to be distracted from blueVicar. Rarely does something remind me of France these days, though I think of it seemingly unprompted often…quite often. Saving this site for cross-cultural reflections, then, means I have little to say.
I haven’t given up, though. Think of it as a kind of pause as I wait to be reinvigorated.
Meilleurs voeux!!
Oooohhh….I’m too late…he’s already lost his bunny ears…
My biggest thought of France today was about food and was triggered by my nibbling on some decidedly bland chevre we have in the refrigerator. With that single taste, I realized that my ten day trip will absolutely, positively NOT be a time of dietary moderation.
Over the past months I have missed breads, pastries, cheeses, wines…well, let’s just say French food in general; I will not be curbing my caloric intake during my trip.
When I get home is another story…let’s talk about that then.
What’s your favorite French-specific munchy?
I’m starting to get excited about my upcoming trip. Two weeks from today I will fly back to Nice for a ten day visit. You may recall that I have participated in the planning and conduct of a series called “Transformed by Stories” sponsored by the Convocation of Episcopal Churches in Europe. The third and final session will be held in Nice 30 Jan-1 Feb. How fortunate am I to attend!!
So, I’ll be thinking more about France, how it differs from the USA, and how glad I am to go. I hope as I get ready and get there, I will be able to post here more often. Anyone going to Nice end of January, beginning of February??
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
Today while enjoying our annual pomegranate, it came to me how similar they were to cranberries, at least both are tart and red. And it occurred to me that both present a challenge to the first time eater. For example, I thought that if I did not have previous knowledge of a pomegranate, I might try to eat the white pithy inside and throw away the seeds. Surely I wouldn’t find it very fulfilling!
And cranberries, while full of potential, don’t offer much as a grab-a-handful-and-munch kind of fruit. If you didn’t know that they are better cooked with lots of sugar, the first bite might put you off of them for life. I wonder how many experimenters in lands where cranberries don’t grow have purchased them in our now international markets, gotten them home and been disappointed that they are seemingly inedible? Surely if they go to the trouble to buy them, they do a little research?
They do seem similar to me, though…and I’d never noticed it before. What do you think?
The other day in the grocery store I heard French spoken three times. I was so amazed and thrilled that I inserted myself into each conversation uninvited. It was impossible to resist!
The first was a man who had shown J and me an apartment he had to rent in Boulder when we first arrived back from France. He was carrying on a political discussion with the butcher, a native Frenchman, when I overheard them. My French was horrible…limited vocabulary, terrible accent, atrocious grammar…just like when we lived on the Riviera! But my heart soared with enthusiasm to try so I butted in and started chatting away.
The second conversation was between the same butcher and a lady shopper telling him about her French speaking class. He was very kind and encouraging to her. She later told me that “his accent is perfect!” Yes indeedy; that’s what growing up there will do for you!
An the third, well I engaged the butcher at the meat counter myself initiating the discussion in French about the salmon. As with the other lady, he was kind and patient.
Oh la la…it was a good day à le marché!
Do you ever hear French in unexpected places?
This Is My Song
Lloyd Stone, 1934
melody, Finlandia
This is my song, Oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my sacred shrine.
But other hearts in other lands are beating,
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.
My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
Oh hear my song, oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for their land and for mine.
May truth and freedom come to every nation
May peace abound where strife has raged so long;
That each may seek to love and build together,
A world united, righting every wrong.
A world united in its love for freedom,
Proclaiming peace together in one song.
We sang this song at the Interfaith Service I attended in Boulder last night. I remembered the many times when in France I wondered why the sky was bluer on the Riviera than anywhere else on Earth. But since I’ve returned to the USA I often look up and think that it’s mighty blue here as well.
May there be peace in all the lands. Blessings to one and all as we remember to give thanks for what we have.
Anne
Thanks to the memory jog by my blogging pal, CL, I’m thinking about my first Beaujolais day in Antibes, especially the the last stroll around town…what an international, “it’s a small world” night!
What do you remember?
Happy Halloween to one and all!!
It’s pumpkin season again. This year not only are the orange globes available for home decoration and busy cooks, white pumpkins seem the rage. When I passed the pumpkin patch of the grocery store the other day (a concrete covered area just off of the parking lot strewn with straw), about half of the offerings were stark white. I looked back thinking the glare of the sun was interfering with my perception, but there they were, white pumpkins. They looked ghostly to be sure, sort of creepy, sort of like they forgot their pumpkin suits.
Later that night thumbing through a magazine, I saw that not only were natural white pumpkins being touted as options to jazz up the front of your house but the suggestion was to take white shoe polish to add a missing luster or sheen to your regular old orange fruits. It would serve as kind of patina of ghostliness.
I couldn’t help but wonder what our French friends would say to these new fangled ideas. Those folks weren’t too excited about the idea of pumpkins generally speaking. Oh, pumpkin soup was okay, but forget the idea of anything sweet like pumpkin bread or pumpkin pie. I twice tried to encourage a taste for pumpkin pie among our dinner party crowd. The first time my offering was met with polite condescension; everyone tasted about a teaspoon of the filling and smilingly refused more. The second time I was subjected to open ridicule as if I had chosen to make the dessert pie out of some obvious savory produce like chard or onions. We all knew each other better by then, but I still was shocked by the lack of interest in “new and different” since I consider the French palette much more extensive and diverse than those of Americans.
Pumpkins remind me that the seasonal food options of France make the cycles of the year feel real. For example, it should be just about time for the chestnut festival. Then will come the series of specialties over Christmas and the New Year. The time of the year can be pinpointed by what you find at les marchés, boulangeries, et pâtisseries.
Yesterday I finished Barbara Kingsolver’s, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. (You can read more about the book, its recipes and sources here.) She describes the year she and her family spent trying to eat homegrown foods enhanced by a few local additions. It is inspiring and reminds me much more of the culinary experience of southern France than the Front Range of Colorado.
So I’m wondering if I should send over to the Riviera the decorating tips for Halloween 2008. How would the idea of white pumpkins be received? Maybe pretty well if they aren’t baked into a pie…
What would white pumpkin pie look like?
This week I took K to the mall to see if a local store carried a jacket that she wanted to wear for Halloween. It’s not a mainstream store; it’s full of goth, emo, and a host of extreme attire.
She found what she was looking for and while she wandered the aisles, I examined the jacket. As I stood at the counter admiring the deep purple lining and the finished construction, a sales guy ambled up and stood next me. He was bald except for toot of hair that stuck out from the right side of his head. He had tattoos Continue reading »
Today I attended a Free Writers group and was given the prompt, “Someone you met recently.” Here are my jottings…
K and I decided to go out to the place just to look around. We hadn’t visited there since long before we left for France and it had changed a lot. Everything was new and clean and BIG!! Swarms of people roamed around looking excited and enthusiastic. We joined their ranks and received permission to enter. We walked around inside slowly gazing at the faces. Finally, we decided to get someone to accompany us into one of the small rooms where we sat down on the floor and waited.
I was looking elsewhere when K suddenly jabbed me in the arm, “Mama! Look at him! Isn’t he handsome?” And he was. Medium build, big bright green eyes, black hair that was longish, but not shaggy. He held himself with aplomb. Seeing us, he strolled over in our direction, not too quickly but with purpose. K and I didn’t want to be overly anxious so we waited to see what would happen. As he got closer, I could wait no longer, “Hi, beautiful” I said, holding out my hand to him.
He sniffed my fingers then rubbed his face on my palm walking so that his body passed under my hand. I was thrilled.
He was a gorgeous cat and came home with us that day from the Humane Society. We are all adapting well.
Could we have done this in France?
Conversation overheard outside of American high school classroom:
Before we go in, tell me: Do my eyes look better like this?
Or like this?
Well?
