A Month of Sundays

Conversations with France, Holidays in France

This is a transcript of my most recent conversation with France.

Me:  Bonjour France!

France:  Oui, bonjour.   (France takes a sip of Pastis)

Me:  Guess what?!

France:  Quoi?

Me:  My semester ends the first week of August; I’m so excited.  I’m going to catch up on my workouts at the gym, read lots of books, work on my cooking; its going to be great!

France:  Ah oui?  Very…ambitious.  (France looks suspicious when it says this)

Me:  Yep, in fact, I think I’ll start by going to the gym right now!

France:  No.  I don’t think so.

Me:  Whaaa?  Why not?  MB is out of town for 3 weeks.  He’ll come back and I’ll be buff!

France:  It is so hot.  Do you really want to go?

Me:  Yes, I don’t care that the gym isn’t air-conditioned (actually I do, but that is for another post).

France:  Well, it is August; so I think that I will just close the gym.  (France says this nonchalantly but won’t look me in the eye)

Me:  You can’t do that!  I live here; I have a year membership!

France:  Pfff…not for the next 3 weeks, my little American friend.  (France pulls out a cigarette and lights it)

Me:  Fine, I will just hike in the mountains and take picnics.

France:  I will make it rain.

(I give France a face)

France:  C’est la vie.  (France says this matter-of-factly)

Me:  I don’t think you are using that phrase right, its meant to be a good thing, you know, ‘c’est la vie’!

France:  It is my phrase, huh?  I will use it as I want to use it.  Pfff…

Me:  Fine, I will sit inside with lots of good books from the library.

France:  (France takes a drag of its cigarette and exhales leisurely)  You think so?

Me:  Yes, I will get lots of cheesy romance novels about English speaking foreigners coming to France and falling in love…they will all have happy endings!

France:  (France rolls it’s eyes)  You think the library will be open?

Me:  YES.  I know they have vacation hours; I have checked.

France:  I hate to tell you, but I have closed the library too.

Me:  Seriously?

France:  Très sérieux.

Me:  So, I can’t go to the gym and I can’t go to the library…is the market open?

France:  Sometimes, but I will not disclose all the hours and days ahead of time.  I prefer for you to guess.

Me:  (I sigh loudly)  Well, maybe I will go to the sea!

France:  HA!  (France spits out a mouthful of Pastis)  Enjoy all the tourists!  Enjoy the backed up traffic from Paris to Cassis!  Are you CRE – ZEE (read: crazy)?!

Me:  So how am I supposed to fill up my month?

France:  Just relax, enjoy your life.

Me:  We’ve talked about this.  Remember Sundays?

France:  I know but you have to get over this need to be busy all the time.  (France motions to the waiter to bring another Pastis)

Me:  Okay, so what can I do?

France:  Its August, my friend, you can sit with me and have a drink.

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Sometimes they eat Vegetables in France

French Food, Travel in France

“Mais oui, there are vegetables in the dish; it is a fondue with mushrooms.”

Over the past weekend, MB, my parents and I journeyed through Provence.  A region full of stereotypes about how beautiful it is and how great the food is and what a relaxing atmosphere it has…they are all true.  Through the great efforts of MB, we were able to avoid the inevitable throng of English tourists that take over the south of France in July and August and find smaller, quieter areas.  We had a wine tasting in Chateauneuf du Pape (the only varietal that uses up to 13 different grapes), we drove through Orange and saw one of the best preserved Roman Theaters in the world, we swam in the Mediterranean, we played Petanque (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/P%C3%A9tanque) and drank rosé, we relaxed and enjoyed the unbelievable scenery.  But most importantly, we ate.

Now, most of my time in France has been spent in the Rhone-Alps in winter.  This is a region known for things like cheese fondue, raclette, and tartiflette.  When I order a salad, it is not unusual for it to come dressed with things like poached eggs, foie gras, gesiers (gizzards), magret de canard, and a variety of other fattening and delightful items.  Once, I had a salad in which the salad dressing was literally liquid cheese (it was fabulous).  So, while vegetables always make an appearance, my experience, in France, has been that they perform the back-up vocals for the stars: meat and cheese.  Not so in Provence; in Provence, it is just the opposite. 

On our first afternoon, we were startled to see plates coming out of a kitchen with plain fish, carrot, turnip, snails, and green beans…there was no cheese, there was no meat.  I began to think I had wandered into an alternate universe when, luckily, the huge bowl of aioli arrived at the table and I felt reassured that I was still in France.  But even with this, it was a revelation, the vegetables and the fish were the headliners and the aioli was the subtle accoutrement (okay, not so subtle – it was a spicy, intense, awesome, garlic endorphin rush).  Where was the butter and cream laden sauce?  Where was my meat, wrapped in meat, cooked in meat fat? 

Later that evening we went to a restaurant in Castellet* (http://www.provenceweb.fr/e/var/castellt/castellt.htm) for a 10:30 dinner…only in France can my parents stay up this late.  The waiter comes to the table as we are pouring over the menu and kindly offers some advice:

“You are in Provence; you get the vegetables.  Foie gras ?  No, this is for winter.”

I’m sorry, did I hear that correctly?  Did a Frenchman just tell me not to order the foie gras?  We adhered to his consul and enjoyed a variety of vegetable heavy dishes: vegetables stuffed with sausage, vegetable carpaccio, pesto soup with vegetables, etc.  Granted, afterwards, my parents and MB shared a huge entrecote (big hunk o’ beef), but again, it arrived unencumbered by rich sauces or salty cheeses and instead was presented by itself, beautifully cooked (my Mother salted it and I’m not sure my Father has forgiven her).

So, Provence has broadened my food horizons in France to include more than just meat and cheese.  Now, I will feel less guilty about serving vegetables as a main course at dinner; I will just tell people it is ‘Provencale’.  It is summer, afterall.  Perhaps, I will change my whole cooking style and for the rest of the year MB and I will focus on vegetable heavy meals with low-fat proteins like fish…I mean, except for tonight of course, our neighbor offered to make us a fondue, its not like you can say no, that would just be rude, right?  Anyway, I’m sure they’ll be mushrooms in it.    

*If anyone wants any further information about where we stayed or ate on this trip just let me know and I’ll be happy to provide details.

Which way do we go?

Holidays in France, Travel in France

My parents arrived in France yesterday afternoon.  MB is still in the Philippines so it is my duty to escort them around.  This may not sound like a daunting task but for the past 6 months I have been so dependent on MB that I may not have paid as much attention to things as I should have. 

After arriving at the airport, we had to go and find where the rental car was. 

Mom: So which bus do we take?

Me: I’m not sure, hold on…

I go to look at the differences between the two stops.

Dad: Well, they both say Hertz.

Me: Yeah, but this one has a key on it.  I think that key means that this is where the office is.

A bus pulls up.

Mom: I’m going to ask.

Me: Mom, it’s not that one; that one doesn’t have the key.

My Mother goes up to the French bus driver and asks in Franglish.  He looks thoroughly confused.

Me: It’s this one, I’m sure it’s this one!

I point desperately at the other bus stop.  Oh my god, parents are SO embarrassing!  I’ve become a pre-teen. 

Finally, we board the correct bus, though on the 2 minute drive we endlessly debate whether it is, in fact, the right one. 

Me:  I think this is just going to a parking lot.

Mom: I think so too.  We may have to go back.

Dad: I think we are fine.

Me:  Look, it is all just parking lo–

Dad: See?  There is the office.

He gives the two of us a smug look.  We unload the bags and wheel up to the front desk. 

Mom: Well, do you have the reservations?

Dad: No, I don’t know.  I don’t know what happened to them.

He says this matter-of-factly as though their fate is sealed. 

Mom: Oh my god!

Panic.

Dad: Well, if they don’t have them then we will just have to figure something out.  If we have to rent another car we will rent another car.

Me:  It’s not the 80’s; they will have you in the computer. 

The check-in clerk kindly attempts to smother her laughter during this conversation; she and I exchange a knowing look that says, ‘yes, all families are the same’.  We then get to the car and after spending about 15 minutes trying to figure out how to put the seats down we were on our way.  My parents ‘ooh’d’ and ‘ahh’d’ during the drive, looking at the fields of sunflowers and the mountains in the distance; enjoying the French countryside.  It was peaceful and beautiful…then we hit town.

Dad: So which way is it?

Me: I think you need to go down this street to the right…

Mom: Well, let’s see what the GPS says.

Me: You know I live here, right?

I’m so cool and knowledgeable.

Mom: I know, I just want to check.

Dad: I can’t turn down that street it is one way.

Me: Crap, really? 

Dad: So, what do I need to do?

Me: I don’t know!

Dad: Well, I need to do something!

Me: Turn right!

Dad: Okay, I hope this isn’t the wrong direction.

Me: Maybe you should check the GPS.

My Mother gives me an innocent look that speaks volumes as she picks up the GPS.  ‘Not as dumb as we look, are we?’

Twenty minutes later we are pulled over to the side of the road, attempting to decipher the GPS, the map from the hotel with no street names, and my directional skills (or lackthereof).  After way too much input and three different opinions, we attempt to move out. 

Dad: How do you get this thing in reverse?

Mom: Oh my god, you can’t get it in reverse? 

Me:  What?  You are kidding me.

I climb into the front seat and my Father and I examine the gear shift.

Me: Where is the car manual?

My Mother opens the glove compartment.

Mom: Oh my god, there is no manual.

Me: Good stars!  (my colloquialisms come out when I’m with my family)

My Father keeps attempting to get the car into reverse and the car keeps inching forward.  We are stuck, in an illegal parking space a block from the hotel which is in the opposite direction on a one way street.  If we go forward any more we will ram the car into a poll. 

Mom: I’ll bet that insurance option isn’t looking so bad now.  I’ll push, just put it in neutral.

My Mother, ever the girl scout, jumps out of the car and attempts to push the mini-van sized vehicle backwards with my father and I sitting in it.  Oddly, it doesn’t budge.  I jump out to help, bracing my strappy sandals on the asphalt while we both push.  French bicyclists ride by and look at us curiously; she and I are both laughing out loud.  I can almost hear their internal dialogue, “Americans…they are so ‘strenge’, laughing like ‘leun-a-tiques’ and ‘pooshing’ this car.  Why they do not just put it in reverse?” 

Finally, with no solution in sight, I suggest that someone walk to the hotel and ask for assistance.  My Father is dubious.  My Mother begins to walk towards the hotel; I move back to the gear shift.

Me: It’s so strange; usually you just push down to move it-AH!!!!!!!  Eureka! 

Mom: What?  What happened? 

My Mother jogs back to the car enthusiastically.

Dad: She got it!  See, there is this little ring that you have to push up…

We all get back into the car, euphoric at our triumph.  My Father pulls the car back into position, ready to move out of the parking space.

Dad: Okay…so which way do we need to go?