vendredi 30 janvier 2009
Cultural differences
While we are here, my lovely huge baby boy is turning (just turned, actually) 6 months. So we will be getting his 6-month vaccine here (not yet done), and starting him on solid food (already begun).
Let me just interject, here, that Collioure is a very small and very touristy town. We are glad to be here in the down season, and have been told by residents that this is indeed a good choice. The many shops are all starting to come to life, with renos, painting and cleaning going on everywhere. So we get a glimpse of the varied souvenirs and knick-knacks that will be available on every corner. But as far as regular useful stores, there's a definite dearth. One grocery store that is by no means huge, one very small grocery store, two pharmacies, 3 or 4 boulangeries (but only one consistently open), one boucherie-charcuterie, one very small librairie (that's bookstore to you anglos), one bibliothèque (that's the library). No quincaillerie, no papeterie, no clothing store and definitely no underclothes.
Our grocery store, though, does have wine ranging in price from €1.61 per bottle (that's about CA$2.70) to... well, up. But as for baby food. Well it turns out that all baby food in our well-supplied-with-cheap-wine town has either chocolate, if it's a dessert-type, or meat, if it's savoury. Or other things. The "green beans" jar contains potato starch, corn starch, skim milk solids. And the healthier brand of green beans contains veal.
With our first child, we painstakingly made all our own purées from organic veggies and froze them in little cubes. And we would have the time to do so again... but not the equipment. We did find one jar that is just apples; and one that is just pears. And we did manage to mash our own carrots (and the way he went at the fruit, he probably won't mind if the texture of the carrots isn't quite as velvety).
I have almost given up reading ingredients. The market produce (available twice weekly) is mostly local or from not too far away and tastes amazing. I am not a gourmet cook but I recommend the place to anyone who is. And the packaged desserts and biscuits are divine. Fromage frais, which is a very-high-fat amazing-tasting yogourt, has become a staple in our house. And the above-mentioned eldest son (4 years old) has probably eaten more chocolate in the three weeks we've been here than in his entire life previously. He gets chocolate milk most days at school for snack. And yes, the baby, who is still nursing, is also getting his fair share of aforementioned red wine.
So I am slowly learning to sit back and enjoy. Just going by taste, I think everything I have consumed so far is superior here (with the exception of beer... but who need it with everything else?). So why wreck a good thing by reading labels?
Let me just interject, here, that Collioure is a very small and very touristy town. We are glad to be here in the down season, and have been told by residents that this is indeed a good choice. The many shops are all starting to come to life, with renos, painting and cleaning going on everywhere. So we get a glimpse of the varied souvenirs and knick-knacks that will be available on every corner. But as far as regular useful stores, there's a definite dearth. One grocery store that is by no means huge, one very small grocery store, two pharmacies, 3 or 4 boulangeries (but only one consistently open), one boucherie-charcuterie, one very small librairie (that's bookstore to you anglos), one bibliothèque (that's the library). No quincaillerie, no papeterie, no clothing store and definitely no underclothes.
Our grocery store, though, does have wine ranging in price from €1.61 per bottle (that's about CA$2.70) to... well, up. But as for baby food. Well it turns out that all baby food in our well-supplied-with-cheap-wine town has either chocolate, if it's a dessert-type, or meat, if it's savoury. Or other things. The "green beans" jar contains potato starch, corn starch, skim milk solids. And the healthier brand of green beans contains veal.
With our first child, we painstakingly made all our own purées from organic veggies and froze them in little cubes. And we would have the time to do so again... but not the equipment. We did find one jar that is just apples; and one that is just pears. And we did manage to mash our own carrots (and the way he went at the fruit, he probably won't mind if the texture of the carrots isn't quite as velvety).
I have almost given up reading ingredients. The market produce (available twice weekly) is mostly local or from not too far away and tastes amazing. I am not a gourmet cook but I recommend the place to anyone who is. And the packaged desserts and biscuits are divine. Fromage frais, which is a very-high-fat amazing-tasting yogourt, has become a staple in our house. And the above-mentioned eldest son (4 years old) has probably eaten more chocolate in the three weeks we've been here than in his entire life previously. He gets chocolate milk most days at school for snack. And yes, the baby, who is still nursing, is also getting his fair share of aforementioned red wine.
So I am slowly learning to sit back and enjoy. Just going by taste, I think everything I have consumed so far is superior here (with the exception of beer... but who need it with everything else?). So why wreck a good thing by reading labels?
mardi 27 janvier 2009
Boystown
While Helene and Loic battled the elements Declan and I settled in for a boys night out that would last four days. Helene was so right in guessing that it would involve burgers and hockey. Thursday and Friday Declan attended school so I was allowed lots of free time to sip espresso's by the seaside all morning and then beer in the afternoon. Evenings included skipping stones in the harbour and then back home for, yes, burgers and fries and hockey games on the internet. Now don't think that I'm not allowing my eldest son to drink in French culture. The first morning after hockey and burgers he insisted that we run out to the bakery and get fresh crossiants to dip into our cafe au lait and hot chocolate. He also explained to me that he doesn't speak English anymore. If he wants me to understand anything he will!
Our own storm experience was much less dramatic than Helene's. We lost power but only for a couple of hours and had candles, but no matches. I flagged down a cop and asked if he had any since all the stores were closed due to the power outage; they had none but offered me a fresh bagguette(just kidding). Declan was not keen on the wind. We had walked around town at the beginning of the storm, not really knowing how bad it was. A few flying store signs and flower pots clued us in pretty fast. We went back home, shuttered the windows and took stock of the food. Lots of good eats but only 1 litre of coke and 1 bag of Madeleines..it seemed grim. The sound of the freight train(that would be the wind from our skylight in the bedroom) tapered off around midnight and as most of southern France suffered I watched another hockey game on-line and ate madeleines and drank the last of my coke while Declan snored. The next morning broke sunny and warm and I had my cafe noir at the seaside terrace in a t-shirt while Declan played at throwing stones into the sea. I'm sure the god's will make me pay up sometime or other.
Our own storm experience was much less dramatic than Helene's. We lost power but only for a couple of hours and had candles, but no matches. I flagged down a cop and asked if he had any since all the stores were closed due to the power outage; they had none but offered me a fresh bagguette(just kidding). Declan was not keen on the wind. We had walked around town at the beginning of the storm, not really knowing how bad it was. A few flying store signs and flower pots clued us in pretty fast. We went back home, shuttered the windows and took stock of the food. Lots of good eats but only 1 litre of coke and 1 bag of Madeleines..it seemed grim. The sound of the freight train(that would be the wind from our skylight in the bedroom) tapered off around midnight and as most of southern France suffered I watched another hockey game on-line and ate madeleines and drank the last of my coke while Declan snored. The next morning broke sunny and warm and I had my cafe noir at the seaside terrace in a t-shirt while Declan played at throwing stones into the sea. I'm sure the god's will make me pay up sometime or other.
lundi 26 janvier 2009
the weather
We arrived in Collioure to two days of solid rain and were told that this was exceptional. Some would say it was not a great welcome, but I figured "hey, it can only get better". And it did. Until the 24th.
I don't know how often weather news becomes international, so I have no idea if any of our followers in North America are aware of the storm that hit here. Certainly our European friends and family were all concerned. Here's a link: http://www.ladepeche.fr/. If it doesn't lead to storm pics and info, try putting "la depeche toulouse samedi 24 janvier" in a Google search.
As luck would have it, we had separated our little family. Claude (my mother) and I and Loïc had gone to Toulouse for a three-day, two-night tour. Jeff and Declan stayed in Collioure for a guy's couple of days (hamburgers, much-missed hockey, gum). So mostly I can only write about my experience. We got to Toulouse under grey skies and drizzle on a Thursday around noon. We had lunch on a cafe terrasse equipped with overhead heaters and protective awnings and braced ourselves for an afternoon of wandering around in the rain. It's a lovely city with old narrow curved cobbled streets, fabulous architecture, and much charm, even in the rain. The forecast for the following day was for heavy rain, so we figured we'd wander around in the drizzle and check out some museums and churches during the heavy rain. Loïc alternated between stroller and front carrier. I had left the digital camera with Jeff and took the film camera, so no pics I'm afraid.
Our hotel was a typically French hotel — a large room (i.e. tiny by north american standards — as opposed to a small room, which would be a closet by NA standards) with a double bed. Toilet in a room on its own. Bath, shower, sink and bidet in a separate room. Desk, TV, phone, bare bulbs in the lamp sockets. And, wouldn't you know, a painting of Collioure over our bed! Out the window, a perfect view of St-Sernin basilica (http://pmaude.free.fr/Sernin/Anglais/presentation.htm). The entrance is a tiny door on a side street that looks like it's only meant for employees. You have to go up a flight of stairs to get to the reception, at which point there's an elevator to the upper floors, but it's so small that we just took the stairs. We asked for a second (fold-out) bed which, once in place, left enough floor space for our shoes and bags.
I won't go into the details of what we saw, suffice it to say that it was often stunning and when our mouths weren't hanging open, we had our cameras out. In the mornings, when Loïc woke me, I would get him and me dressed as quietly as possible and head out, leaving Claude to sleep in a little. We strolled the dark streets until we found an open cafe, where we sat with coffee and croissant, a newspaper and a few baby toys.
Friday was, as forecast, a day of heavy rain. As planned, we used the opportunity to visit museums (in old convents and monasteries) and churches. Some of those churches, though, are so cold inside that I worried Loïc might get a chill and we were glad to get back to the warmth of 12 degrees in the rain!
Saturday morning, I read a bit about the impending storm and the high winds forecast and we continued our touring. This was the day we expected a ray of sunshine. Alas, it was not to be. On our way into one museum, there was a large placard (2m high by 1.5m wide?) on a metal stand — the kind that tells of temporary exhibitions and such — that blew over in a sudden gust mere inches from Loïc's and my head (he was in the carrier) as we walked towards it. At the time, it stunned me and not much more. And then came the adrenaline rush with the mind racing with "what ifs" and the irrational fear of what didn't actually happen. Claude, who was a few steps behind us and perhaps saw things more clearly, was extremely shaken. Hours later we were still talking about it with goosebumps.
We still visited the museum, though we didn't nearly the time it deserved before we had to catch our train. We rushed to the train station by taxi, stopping at the hotel to pick up our bags. And weren't we surprised to see two full boards of trains all "supprime" (cancelled). You'd think it would have occurred to us. But as a tourist, you don't pay attention to the news in the same way, and even if you do, it doesn't seem as real, the proof of this being that we had actually seen an uprooted tree that was leaning dangerously into its neighbour's apartment across the street.
And so began stage 2 of our adventure — much shorter but seemed longer. The trains had actually not been running for 24 hours or so. We had already left our hotel, so we looked for one by the train station. The first one was full. The second one had one room left, which we took. Later we saw others with "no vacancy" signs. The next morning, Loïc and I set out unusually early, at 6:30. Went to the train station.
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Went back at 8:00. Same. At 9:00. Same. At 10:00. Same. Sometimes we enquired from someone official, sometimes just from another stranded passenger. We vacated our room, assuming we would actually leave Toulouse that day, and and left our bags for later pick-up. We bought a newspaper and saw pictures of the devastation all over the region. We went for lunch. By this point, a certain lethargy had set in. Nevertheless, after lunch, we went back to the train station, and there were some trains running. Not to Collioure, but some were going part-way. We discussed, and decided that part-way was still worth it. So I stood in line while Claude strolled Loïc. The guy behind the counter took our tickets, wrote something on them and said we could get on the 14:40 to Narbonne (half-way), from where buses were going to Perpignan (close enough to Collioure that we could get home one way or another). OK. Thanks. Then I looked at the time. 14:34. "oh, excuse-me sir, I can't catch that train, I still have to get bags at the hotel" "Next one's at 16:55" I slowly left the ticketing area, feeling discouraged. Then, I'm not sure why, I decided to give it a go. Ran to Claude, told her there was a train in 6 minutes and to keep the baby. I ran like some cliche or other across 3 lanes of "drop-off" traffic, two lanes of street, a bridge over a canal, another 3 lanes of traffic, into the hotel, grabbed our bags, knocked over a metal chair that nearly deafened me when it fell, ran back across same lanes of traffic, put Claude's backpack on her... and couldn't find what platform the train was on. Ran out to the nearest one and breathlessly asked where the train was going. "Paris, I think" came the answer. Looked frantically about and finally saw someone sort-off official-looking, talking to some people. I butted in and asked where the 14:40 to Narbonne was leaving from. "Platform 5." I nearly cried. It was 14:39 — and you can set your watch by French trains. He looked at me, Claude, the baby in the stroller, half-shrugged and said "it's not left yet." We grabbed everything, raced down one flight of stairs, carrying bags and baby in stroller, under a few platforms, up another flight of stairs and there was the train. Never mind that it was so full that people were spilling out the doors. We shoved ourselves our baby-in-stroller and our bags on board, put on our combination tough-but-tired faces, and people gave us seats.
At Narbonne, there was indeed a bus that took us to Perpignan. And in Perpignan, my lovely sister picked us up in a car and drove us the last 50 minutes home. Did I mention we had forgotten to bring a cell phone and so kept having to borrow one? Did I mention that when we first got to Toulouse we had changed the tickets we had so that we would NOT have to change in Narbonne and so that the train would take us all the way to Collioure rather than only to Perpignan?
On the way, we saw some very sad landscapes of trees ripped out, boats half sunk, people re-tiling roofs. But we also met wonderfully helpful people and chatty people sharing their tales of thwarted travel plans.
So now I dare not say that the weather can only improve from here on in. We're thinking of buying some snowsuits for the whole family because, of course, we left ours back home in Canada.
I don't know how often weather news becomes international, so I have no idea if any of our followers in North America are aware of the storm that hit here. Certainly our European friends and family were all concerned. Here's a link: http://www.ladepeche.fr/. If it doesn't lead to storm pics and info, try putting "la depeche toulouse samedi 24 janvier" in a Google search.
As luck would have it, we had separated our little family. Claude (my mother) and I and Loïc had gone to Toulouse for a three-day, two-night tour. Jeff and Declan stayed in Collioure for a guy's couple of days (hamburgers, much-missed hockey, gum). So mostly I can only write about my experience. We got to Toulouse under grey skies and drizzle on a Thursday around noon. We had lunch on a cafe terrasse equipped with overhead heaters and protective awnings and braced ourselves for an afternoon of wandering around in the rain. It's a lovely city with old narrow curved cobbled streets, fabulous architecture, and much charm, even in the rain. The forecast for the following day was for heavy rain, so we figured we'd wander around in the drizzle and check out some museums and churches during the heavy rain. Loïc alternated between stroller and front carrier. I had left the digital camera with Jeff and took the film camera, so no pics I'm afraid.
Our hotel was a typically French hotel — a large room (i.e. tiny by north american standards — as opposed to a small room, which would be a closet by NA standards) with a double bed. Toilet in a room on its own. Bath, shower, sink and bidet in a separate room. Desk, TV, phone, bare bulbs in the lamp sockets. And, wouldn't you know, a painting of Collioure over our bed! Out the window, a perfect view of St-Sernin basilica (http://pmaude.free.fr/Sernin/Anglais/presentation.htm). The entrance is a tiny door on a side street that looks like it's only meant for employees. You have to go up a flight of stairs to get to the reception, at which point there's an elevator to the upper floors, but it's so small that we just took the stairs. We asked for a second (fold-out) bed which, once in place, left enough floor space for our shoes and bags.
I won't go into the details of what we saw, suffice it to say that it was often stunning and when our mouths weren't hanging open, we had our cameras out. In the mornings, when Loïc woke me, I would get him and me dressed as quietly as possible and head out, leaving Claude to sleep in a little. We strolled the dark streets until we found an open cafe, where we sat with coffee and croissant, a newspaper and a few baby toys.
Friday was, as forecast, a day of heavy rain. As planned, we used the opportunity to visit museums (in old convents and monasteries) and churches. Some of those churches, though, are so cold inside that I worried Loïc might get a chill and we were glad to get back to the warmth of 12 degrees in the rain!
Saturday morning, I read a bit about the impending storm and the high winds forecast and we continued our touring. This was the day we expected a ray of sunshine. Alas, it was not to be. On our way into one museum, there was a large placard (2m high by 1.5m wide?) on a metal stand — the kind that tells of temporary exhibitions and such — that blew over in a sudden gust mere inches from Loïc's and my head (he was in the carrier) as we walked towards it. At the time, it stunned me and not much more. And then came the adrenaline rush with the mind racing with "what ifs" and the irrational fear of what didn't actually happen. Claude, who was a few steps behind us and perhaps saw things more clearly, was extremely shaken. Hours later we were still talking about it with goosebumps.
We still visited the museum, though we didn't nearly the time it deserved before we had to catch our train. We rushed to the train station by taxi, stopping at the hotel to pick up our bags. And weren't we surprised to see two full boards of trains all "supprime" (cancelled). You'd think it would have occurred to us. But as a tourist, you don't pay attention to the news in the same way, and even if you do, it doesn't seem as real, the proof of this being that we had actually seen an uprooted tree that was leaning dangerously into its neighbour's apartment across the street.
And so began stage 2 of our adventure — much shorter but seemed longer. The trains had actually not been running for 24 hours or so. We had already left our hotel, so we looked for one by the train station. The first one was full. The second one had one room left, which we took. Later we saw others with "no vacancy" signs. The next morning, Loïc and I set out unusually early, at 6:30. Went to the train station.
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Supprime
Went back at 8:00. Same. At 9:00. Same. At 10:00. Same. Sometimes we enquired from someone official, sometimes just from another stranded passenger. We vacated our room, assuming we would actually leave Toulouse that day, and and left our bags for later pick-up. We bought a newspaper and saw pictures of the devastation all over the region. We went for lunch. By this point, a certain lethargy had set in. Nevertheless, after lunch, we went back to the train station, and there were some trains running. Not to Collioure, but some were going part-way. We discussed, and decided that part-way was still worth it. So I stood in line while Claude strolled Loïc. The guy behind the counter took our tickets, wrote something on them and said we could get on the 14:40 to Narbonne (half-way), from where buses were going to Perpignan (close enough to Collioure that we could get home one way or another). OK. Thanks. Then I looked at the time. 14:34. "oh, excuse-me sir, I can't catch that train, I still have to get bags at the hotel" "Next one's at 16:55" I slowly left the ticketing area, feeling discouraged. Then, I'm not sure why, I decided to give it a go. Ran to Claude, told her there was a train in 6 minutes and to keep the baby. I ran like some cliche or other across 3 lanes of "drop-off" traffic, two lanes of street, a bridge over a canal, another 3 lanes of traffic, into the hotel, grabbed our bags, knocked over a metal chair that nearly deafened me when it fell, ran back across same lanes of traffic, put Claude's backpack on her... and couldn't find what platform the train was on. Ran out to the nearest one and breathlessly asked where the train was going. "Paris, I think" came the answer. Looked frantically about and finally saw someone sort-off official-looking, talking to some people. I butted in and asked where the 14:40 to Narbonne was leaving from. "Platform 5." I nearly cried. It was 14:39 — and you can set your watch by French trains. He looked at me, Claude, the baby in the stroller, half-shrugged and said "it's not left yet." We grabbed everything, raced down one flight of stairs, carrying bags and baby in stroller, under a few platforms, up another flight of stairs and there was the train. Never mind that it was so full that people were spilling out the doors. We shoved ourselves our baby-in-stroller and our bags on board, put on our combination tough-but-tired faces, and people gave us seats.
At Narbonne, there was indeed a bus that took us to Perpignan. And in Perpignan, my lovely sister picked us up in a car and drove us the last 50 minutes home. Did I mention we had forgotten to bring a cell phone and so kept having to borrow one? Did I mention that when we first got to Toulouse we had changed the tickets we had so that we would NOT have to change in Narbonne and so that the train would take us all the way to Collioure rather than only to Perpignan?
On the way, we saw some very sad landscapes of trees ripped out, boats half sunk, people re-tiling roofs. But we also met wonderfully helpful people and chatty people sharing their tales of thwarted travel plans.
So now I dare not say that the weather can only improve from here on in. We're thinking of buying some snowsuits for the whole family because, of course, we left ours back home in Canada.
dimanche 18 janvier 2009
L'école
L'école de Declan est à deux minutes (à pied) de chez nous. Si on pouvait se pencher assez loin, on la verrait du balcon.
Vendredi, il est rentré de l'école (après sa deuxième journée) en annonçant qu'il avait trois amoureuses. L'une d'entre elles lui avait dit qu'il faudrait qu'il en choisisse une parmi les trois, mais lui avait l'air de penser qu'il pourrait les garder toutes.
Sa maitresse, Nathalie, nous a prêté un merveilleux "scrapbook" de classe, dans lequel il y a divers photo, prises lors d'anniversaires d'élèves et d'autres événements, y compris des voyages pris par les enfants avec leur famille. La dernière photo avait été prise vendredi (16 janvier) lors d'une sortie à la bibliothèque, et Declan se trouve dans la photo. Dans une autre photo, les enfants ont rencontré Omar Sharif, qui était à Collioure — je ne sais pas à quelle occasion. Je vais demander à Nathalie si on pourrait amener des photos du Canada pour le scrapbook.
Il est tout prêt à y retourner demain après deux jours avec nous. Nous sommes tous enchantés.
Vendredi, il est rentré de l'école (après sa deuxième journée) en annonçant qu'il avait trois amoureuses. L'une d'entre elles lui avait dit qu'il faudrait qu'il en choisisse une parmi les trois, mais lui avait l'air de penser qu'il pourrait les garder toutes.
Sa maitresse, Nathalie, nous a prêté un merveilleux "scrapbook" de classe, dans lequel il y a divers photo, prises lors d'anniversaires d'élèves et d'autres événements, y compris des voyages pris par les enfants avec leur famille. La dernière photo avait été prise vendredi (16 janvier) lors d'une sortie à la bibliothèque, et Declan se trouve dans la photo. Dans une autre photo, les enfants ont rencontré Omar Sharif, qui était à Collioure — je ne sais pas à quelle occasion. Je vais demander à Nathalie si on pourrait amener des photos du Canada pour le scrapbook.
Il est tout prêt à y retourner demain après deux jours avec nous. Nous sommes tous enchantés.
Banyuls Orange Festival
One of the reasons we are in this particular location is that my sister and her family are in a nearby village (Banyuls-sur-Mer, 9 minutes by train) for six months on a sabbatical leave. In Canada, the two families are an eight hour drive apart at best. So it's great for Declan to be able to see his cousin Finn on a regular basis.
Today, we went to Banyuls for the Fête de l'Orange. Many stands and stalls of jams, wines, juices, baskets and other delights. Play areas for the children. And a gorgeous sunny day to enjoy it all.
Going to the Marche or Being taken at the Market
My Mother-in-law, Claude is visiting with us this week and was anxious to visit the local marche with me, since I do the bulk of the food buying and cooking. This was my second trip to the market and I was determined to do it like a pro since my first visit was very haphazard and somewhat wasteful. Also, having an audience always helps make me perform better. I had planned my menus, made my list and kept an open mind as to what I might use as substitutes depending on what was good fare at the stalls. All went swimmingly well.....and then came the CHEESE LADY.
Last week the CHEESE LADY had charmed me into trying several thousand gouter of cheese made by young sheep. I have no idea how these animals have been trained to do this. Along with having eaten every type of this variaty of cheese known, my son Declan also made an impression by consuming a large quantity of the more mild version, all given freely by the cunning CHEESE LADY. This week I made a return visit to the stall to see this seemingly charming person with Declan in tow, took but 1(one) taste of cheese allowed Declan the same and then cheerily went on my way; cheese WAS NOT on the shopping list. At some point Declan parted company with me, asking to walk with his beloved Niclo. Later he went to look around with his mother(also beloved). Only after joining up with the other adults did it become apparent that Declan and the CHEESE LADY were in cahoots! It seems that Declan made trips with each of the adults to see the sweet hearted purvayor of fromage, either by design or luck. On each trip the CHEESE LADY, recognizing him, filled him with cheese.
Guilt set in.
After two weeks of free cheese I felt compelled to buy something from this lover of cheese and provider to my child. "Oui Madame, a chunk of cheese please, the kind my son adores." "Oh, hand made by young sheep in the mountains, how interesting." said I( my understanding of all the French spoken to me is at least a little suspect. "Not the whole wheel of cheese no, a little smaller; a little smaller still; all right then that size will do nicely." Along strolls Helene, possibly also feeling weighed down by cheese guilt and pipes up "I think I'll get a piece of the older version, more flavour." My sizeable chunk, still unpriced but wrapped, sits on the scale. "no, not the whole wheel, just a piece."says Helene. "smaller still; oh all right then that will be fine." Madame CHEESE LADY smiles sweetly. She finishes her discourse on how young sheep give their lives over to the art of making this delicacy and utters the first French that I completely understand.......37 euro S.V.P.
Being only 10 days into a 4 month trip to this fine country and wanting to prove wrong Helene's prediction that I will be kicked out of the country within the first two weeks, I picked my jaw from the ground and handed over the equivilent of 50$CDN for two hunks of cheese I didn't really want in the first place.
Oh, and how did mum-in-law think I managed myself at the Marche? She didn't say, she was too busy recounting her tale of how much the gift of cheese cost that she just purchased for us since Declan liked it so much and the CHEESE LADY thought her grandson was so adorable.
Last week the CHEESE LADY had charmed me into trying several thousand gouter of cheese made by young sheep. I have no idea how these animals have been trained to do this. Along with having eaten every type of this variaty of cheese known, my son Declan also made an impression by consuming a large quantity of the more mild version, all given freely by the cunning CHEESE LADY. This week I made a return visit to the stall to see this seemingly charming person with Declan in tow, took but 1(one) taste of cheese allowed Declan the same and then cheerily went on my way; cheese WAS NOT on the shopping list. At some point Declan parted company with me, asking to walk with his beloved Niclo. Later he went to look around with his mother(also beloved). Only after joining up with the other adults did it become apparent that Declan and the CHEESE LADY were in cahoots! It seems that Declan made trips with each of the adults to see the sweet hearted purvayor of fromage, either by design or luck. On each trip the CHEESE LADY, recognizing him, filled him with cheese.
Guilt set in.
After two weeks of free cheese I felt compelled to buy something from this lover of cheese and provider to my child. "Oui Madame, a chunk of cheese please, the kind my son adores." "Oh, hand made by young sheep in the mountains, how interesting." said I( my understanding of all the French spoken to me is at least a little suspect. "Not the whole wheel of cheese no, a little smaller; a little smaller still; all right then that size will do nicely." Along strolls Helene, possibly also feeling weighed down by cheese guilt and pipes up "I think I'll get a piece of the older version, more flavour." My sizeable chunk, still unpriced but wrapped, sits on the scale. "no, not the whole wheel, just a piece."says Helene. "smaller still; oh all right then that will be fine." Madame CHEESE LADY smiles sweetly. She finishes her discourse on how young sheep give their lives over to the art of making this delicacy and utters the first French that I completely understand.......37 euro S.V.P.
Being only 10 days into a 4 month trip to this fine country and wanting to prove wrong Helene's prediction that I will be kicked out of the country within the first two weeks, I picked my jaw from the ground and handed over the equivilent of 50$CDN for two hunks of cheese I didn't really want in the first place.
Oh, and how did mum-in-law think I managed myself at the Marche? She didn't say, she was too busy recounting her tale of how much the gift of cheese cost that she just purchased for us since Declan liked it so much and the CHEESE LADY thought her grandson was so adorable.
vendredi 16 janvier 2009
jeudi 15 janvier 2009
School
Yay! School went fine. He barely said goodbye to us before wandering into the classroom to sit down. And then we went for a beer outdoors by the sea... sigh.
mercredi 14 janvier 2009
On a more personal note
Declan starts school tomorrow. It's going to be a big day. I went to school in France on three separate occasions as a child — once when I was about 4, for a year, once when I was about 6, for 3 months, and once when I was about 8, for a year. I hated it each time. When I rationally recall those times, there were friends, there was fun, laughter... but the overall memory is dominated by anxiety.
So how do I bring my son to his first day of school tomorrow cheerfully and unhypocritically? The circumstances are different – different families, different reasons for the trip – but Declan is as shy as I was. Am. Was. Whatever. Or is he? He hid behind me when we visited the class, but has been asking to go ever since. A bout of stomach flu delayed his first day by three days, so there's been even more anticipation time.
We shall see. In the meantime, we went to the beach and dipped our feet in the water. In January!! How glorious!
mardi 13 janvier 2009
The 'hood
These were taken on a 10-minute walk this morning, with Loïc in the carrier. Every time I turned a corner I wanted to take another picture (and I did, but I've pared them down). It really is just stunning at every turn. The colours, shapes, textures... It's no wonder Matisse spent so much time trying to capture it on canvas.
dimanche 11 janvier 2009
Food for thought
Ah, the land of milk and honey. Or should I say wine and meat? Knowing full well that markets are one of my weak areas I girded myself for my first visit to the marche Collioure. Six different types of saussision later I was addicted. Oh and the brebis fromage, aussi. After becoming quite satisfied with all the free tastes of market fare I went on to puchase wild boar, venison, bull, mushroom and veggie dried sausages. The last two were a feeble attempt to add some sort of legume to my shopping spree...I had no idea that veggies and mushroom, when made into sausages could taste and look just like pork! As for the wine experience I can say that I am at the moment infatuated with the area's tipples and may soon fall in love. A litre of something red which tastes pretty good and goes straight to the head for only three and a bit dollars Canadian can only spell trouble. Thank the gods for all the fatty sausages to soak up the alcohol.
Since finding good food, good wine and beautiful surroundings is as easy as falling down on the stone streets here, I'm going off in pursuit of rare fare...good French beer. I know it's out there; I've had it before and I won't stop till I've bagged one.
Since finding good food, good wine and beautiful surroundings is as easy as falling down on the stone streets here, I'm going off in pursuit of rare fare...good French beer. I know it's out there; I've had it before and I won't stop till I've bagged one.
samedi 10 janvier 2009
The journey
«Est-ce qu'on est en France?» was our 4-year-old son Declan's refrain for almost 2 weeks before we actually got here due to the convoluted route we took.
Having rented out our apartment earlier than our own departure, we had to vacate it and find something to do for a week or so, so we trundled off to Waterloo for New Year's Eve celebrations with a long-time friend.
So from our departure from Mile-End in Montreal to our arrival here in Collioure, in the Southwest of France, we were on 5 trains, in two minivans, on one plane, in two airports, 3 train stations, a few taxis... and the whole thing took 11 days. Declan is sure to believe that Collioure is further than the moon for a decade or so.
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