I've no excuse. Ok, I've got one, but not a good one. Things have been a little hectic here and not in a good way. I got a little down when we knew we were coming back to Illinois, so I quit writing. Honestly, I started a few, but my heart wasn't in it and I kept finding myself complaining. Since that's not my style, I decided to quit writing until I could get out of the funk. The good news is, I have plenty of stories to tell, so I'll be updating the blog shortly. They just may not be the most timely of stories.
In the meantime, here's a funny tidbit that has nothing to do w/ France. I've been searching online for U.S. cars lately (since we can't bring our VWs w/ us), and I've been forced to send some emails to car salesman. Not a big deal except the last thing they need is encouragement. So, the one particular salesman sends me 3 emails in as many days, after I didn't respond to any he sent another that started like this.
Dear Matt
We must be just missing each other. I was curious if you have to choose where you are in the process would you way that you are in:
Now I've heard of the digital divide when it comes to the older generation using technology (or trying to), but never seen such a prime example. You'll be happy to know I sent him back an email explaining the difference between telephones and the internet. I'm sure he appreciated it.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
THE END IS NEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Two nights ago Lane was up most of the night coughing. In the morning, I offered him an unpopular treatment (with him that is) or we could go to the Doctor for some new medicine. He chose the home treatment, but I had been hoping he'd choose the Dr. I backtracked and said that I didn't want him to be up again all night coughing. He told me, "Dad, I won't be up coughing again. I can see the future". Strangely enough, I went for it. Guess what, he slept fine. We've since been to the Dr., but not for the cough. Seems he was a bit clairvoyant.
This morning, as a joke Dana asked him if he could still see the future. "Yep". So what's going to happen to day Lane? "The world is going to explode!".
I would tell you to get your affairs in order, but Lane doesn't seem all too worried. He even ate all the apple slices I gave him for breakfast. I don't think he'd do that if he knew that today was the end, he'd have been asking for ice cream or something. So, make of it what you will.
Bonne journee!
This morning, as a joke Dana asked him if he could still see the future. "Yep". So what's going to happen to day Lane? "The world is going to explode!".
I would tell you to get your affairs in order, but Lane doesn't seem all too worried. He even ate all the apple slices I gave him for breakfast. I don't think he'd do that if he knew that today was the end, he'd have been asking for ice cream or something. So, make of it what you will.
Bonne journee!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Thomanns in Peoria?
Will you read it? Not quite the same sound to it, but it may have to be our new blog title soon. I'll continue to post, but looks like things may be changing soon. The level of my disappointment is hard to express. Times they are a changin', what can you do?
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
6 months since.....
Here's a list of a few things I haven't done in 6 months that would be high on my "to do" list if I woke up in the U.S. tomorrow.
- Eat hot wings. No BW3s or hooters here. Of course I could fix my own, but I haven't seen wings packaged in bunches here and I also can't find any jalapenos. I occasionally buy a whole chicken for roasting. I thought of cuttting the wings and saving them till I have enough, but I have a freezer the size of a dorm refrigerator.
- Go to a movie. They occasionally show movies in the original version over here, but it's spotty. We had plans to go see the new Bond movie a while back, but it was about 1.5 hours away and we didn't get around to it. And I did not want to see it in French. I don't think "Je m'appelle Bond, James Bond" would cut it.
- Eat a big fat corn fed steak. As a rule, the steaks here are not very big. The sad fact is that they are much more sensible about their protein distribution in a meal. You'll have as much starch and vegetables as you will protein. I've lost weight and I know it's better for me, but I really want a nice red 1 inch thick ribeye.
- Watch a live basketball game. I haven't brought myself to watch a French "professional" team. I saw some European basketball on TV the other day and couldn't hardly watch it. I'd love to go catch a good high school game or one of my brother's college games.
- Speak English to a stranger. I'm a bit gregarious. I like to talk to people just for fun. I've even taken to talking to strangers in French, and I don't mind, it's kinda fun. It's just tiring.
- Go hunting. Lots of outdoor activities here. Hiking, biking, skiing, etc. The list goes on. The French are very inventive at finding things to do outside. I just missed hunting this past season and I'd love to go. Maybe next year I'll get it worked out to go.
- Drink a Dr. Pepper. Ok, I actually had one 2 days ago, but officially I went 6 months w/out one. Oh, it was good. Dana happened to spot them in a specialty store and went nuts. We bought several for about $1.50/can. Now I just need to take one in to McDonald's with a glass of ice. You won't find the Dr. Pepper or the ice there. MickeyDees is not the same with out it.
- Sausage. Plain old breakast sausage or "italian" sausage like we know it. No Bs and Gs (biscuits and gravy), no sausage w/ pancakes, no sausage mushroom pizza. I've tried to find and create substitutes but they're not the same.
- Bacon, while we're on the subject of pork. They don't cure and smoke bacon like we do. They have something similar, but.....you get the idea.
- Tune into a country station. Sure I can do it on the internet or plug my iPod into the car, but I can't tune into a country station while I'm driving down the road. I miss driving down the road and having an old favorite come on. They play quite a bit of American music here, but no Country music.
Ok, I know I've mentioned a lot of food. It's funny, you move to a country with one of the most highly regarded cuisines in the world and you end up missing something like boxed macaroni and cheese. I guess that's why they call it "comfort food". There can never be anything that replaces what we grow up with.
By the sounds of this, you're probably thinking I can't wait to get back. Not so. It sounds odd, but I like missing these things. It makes you realize that you've done something different with your life. That you've broken away from the ordinary, and I like that feeling. I can already tell that this experience will have a profound impact on the rest of my life and the lives of the rest of my family. While you can't all pick up and move to France ( I know how lucky we are for the opportunity), I would encourage all of you to not be afraid to break out of the mold. Do something different. It's the different things that lead to memories, which is what it's all about.
Monday, January 19, 2009
A week to forget
If you've been keeping up, you know we've had lots of funny experiences. The last 7 days or so have been filled with some more, but a different kind of funny. The latest memories have been a little like French wine. It's really hard to enjoy them when they're made, you have to wait a while to truly appreciate them.
It started gradually. My nagging backache started to go from nagging to complaining loudly to screaming in my face. I made an appointement with someone to see if they could help. I say "someone" because I really didn't know if this person was a chiropractor, a physical therapist, or some sort of tribal shaman. My GP gave me a reference, so I went with it. The amount of faith you have to operate with on a daily basis, cannot be described. That feeling of being in control of your world is not one you have often. It certainly takes some getting used to, but it doesn't happen without flirting with a nervous breakdown
The cause of my back pain wasn't certain, but I had some ideas. At the front of the list was a hard fall on the slopes. I go with a "learn from your mistakes" style while skiing. Not sure what I'm going to learn from that one, but it may be that I should think about not skiing anymore.
So I showed up at the witch doctor's door on Tuesday to find that she was actually a physcial therapist. I was hoping for a good 'ole fashioned back cracker but I wasn't going to turn down anyone who was a) liscensed in some sort medical field and b) willing to try and make me feel better. The ability to speak English was not a requirement, which was a good thing, because she didn't.
After mumbling and bumbling I was able to convey what was hurting and why I thought it was like it was, she finally layed her hands on me. 2 seconds after first touching my back she said "Ooh la la, c'est terrible!" No translation necessary. Great. So she pushed and prodded and had me do all sorts of exercises. This gave me time to formulate a question in my head. For sanity's sake, I asked her if she could understand why it was that I was in so much pain. "Bien sur" - Of course. It was good to know I wasn't dreaming it. I left feeling better, things were looking up.
I'd never been to a Physical therapist before, but after talking with my sister I found that my experience the next day was quite normal. The pain I'd been experiencing was mild in comparison to the day after my visit. I could hardly move. Apparently putting things back into place after 4 weeks of negligence is painful.
I went back Friday morning for another visit, hoping that her hands on work would eventually prove to make things better. Problem was that no sooner than I left her office, I started to feel progressively worse as the afternoon wore on. It wasn't until I noticed my fever that I realized maybe something else was to blame.
The French call it "La Grippe", which may sound more romantic than calling it the "flu". Trust me it doesn't matter what you call it, it's awful no matter which continent you inhabit. The only difference for me this time was that the aches normally associated with such a malady were magnified due to my already aggrivated back. I also had all the other joys associated. I barely slept Friday night and slept only about 10 minutes on Saturday night. By Sunday I was a bit, well, let's call it "off".
Humorist Dave Barry once said, “Never under any circumstances take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night”. Now I hadn't been taking laxatives, but intestinally speaking, things wouldn't have changed much if I had been. After 2 nights with almost no sleep and a comfort level that didn't seem conducive to getting any on night #3, I was really considering a sleep aid for the evening. I had a decision to make. To Mr. Barry's dismay, I rolled the dice.
I'm proud to tell you that I slept like a stump with no "surprises". My good wife, checked on me periodically during the night. She was concerned since I normally don't sleep like I'm in a coma and because she was aware of my tempt of fate. She admitted to me that she would "sniff" when she checked on me. I asked her if she would have woken me if she'd smelled something. She didn't have an answer.
I'm still not 100% recovered from "la grippe", but since Monday I've been much much better, which is good because I had to deal with the other card that had been dealt us on Sunday afternoon.
Although not wanting to burden me further, Dana came to me on Sunday and said sheepishly, "Ummm, we don't have any hot water". After investigating, we found that our propane tank was just a tank, in that it actually no longer held any propane.
That we should have checked the level, was obvious, but we did have a reason for being oblivious. Our friendly, but apparently inefficient, agent from the relocation company had told us that we had a contract with a gas company that would track, monitor, and fill our tank as needed. We only needed to stay warm, take hot showers, and pay the bill. I had no reason to doubt this as I had the same deal in back in the Red White and Blue. It turns out she was as wrong about the part where they monitor the tank as she was about the part where we even had a contract. The gas supplier had never even heard of me.
Occasionally, I'll do business with someone who speaks some English and they are always willing to use/practice it. Problem is that my French is usually better than their English, which means that their English probably shouldn't be used to conduct business. Such was the case with the woman from the gas company.
Here's what I was able to determine before we hit a snag. I wasn't a registered customer. To recieve a full fill up, I needed to be a registered customer. I could become registered via mail correspondence, meaning it would take at least 5 days or so before I could even order any gas. Not good. But, I was in luck. They will do a set amount delivery to "unregistered" customers. Here's where we encountered our first linguistic hurdle. An amount of propane would be delivered for "4 thousand Euros". As a Euro is worth more than a dollar, I almost swallowed my tongue. It seemed my choices were A) get really ripped off or B) wait who-knows-how-long for heat and hot showeres.
I'd had enough so I switched to French. I started asking how much it would normally be, what my other options were, etc. Suddenly, she muttered "oops". In French "cent" means "hundred"and "mil" means "thousand". She had switched the two making a just a slight 10 fold error. My "unregistered" fill up would cost me 400 Euros and would fill my tank to roughly 22%. I breathed a sigh of relief. I told her I'd take that option and fill out the paper work to become registered.
I then had the audacity to ask when I could expect the delivery. "Oh, anytime between tomorrow and (wait for it)the next seven days". Then she added "We also recommend that you call for a refill when you hit 20%". Are you able to see how funny this is?
Sometime in the next week I will quit using a one room fireplace to heat my entire house and I will quit taking "cup showers" with water heated on an (thank goodness) electric stove, because I will have recieved my shot of propane. At about the same time my paperwork will go through and I will recieve the coveted registration. Meaning that I will be able to call for another fill up of propane at about the same time that the truck from the last fill up is pulling out of the driveway.
Ahhhh, France.
It started gradually. My nagging backache started to go from nagging to complaining loudly to screaming in my face. I made an appointement with someone to see if they could help. I say "someone" because I really didn't know if this person was a chiropractor, a physical therapist, or some sort of tribal shaman. My GP gave me a reference, so I went with it. The amount of faith you have to operate with on a daily basis, cannot be described. That feeling of being in control of your world is not one you have often. It certainly takes some getting used to, but it doesn't happen without flirting with a nervous breakdown
The cause of my back pain wasn't certain, but I had some ideas. At the front of the list was a hard fall on the slopes. I go with a "learn from your mistakes" style while skiing. Not sure what I'm going to learn from that one, but it may be that I should think about not skiing anymore.
So I showed up at the witch doctor's door on Tuesday to find that she was actually a physcial therapist. I was hoping for a good 'ole fashioned back cracker but I wasn't going to turn down anyone who was a) liscensed in some sort medical field and b) willing to try and make me feel better. The ability to speak English was not a requirement, which was a good thing, because she didn't.
After mumbling and bumbling I was able to convey what was hurting and why I thought it was like it was, she finally layed her hands on me. 2 seconds after first touching my back she said "Ooh la la, c'est terrible!" No translation necessary. Great. So she pushed and prodded and had me do all sorts of exercises. This gave me time to formulate a question in my head. For sanity's sake, I asked her if she could understand why it was that I was in so much pain. "Bien sur" - Of course. It was good to know I wasn't dreaming it. I left feeling better, things were looking up.
I'd never been to a Physical therapist before, but after talking with my sister I found that my experience the next day was quite normal. The pain I'd been experiencing was mild in comparison to the day after my visit. I could hardly move. Apparently putting things back into place after 4 weeks of negligence is painful.
I went back Friday morning for another visit, hoping that her hands on work would eventually prove to make things better. Problem was that no sooner than I left her office, I started to feel progressively worse as the afternoon wore on. It wasn't until I noticed my fever that I realized maybe something else was to blame.
The French call it "La Grippe", which may sound more romantic than calling it the "flu". Trust me it doesn't matter what you call it, it's awful no matter which continent you inhabit. The only difference for me this time was that the aches normally associated with such a malady were magnified due to my already aggrivated back. I also had all the other joys associated. I barely slept Friday night and slept only about 10 minutes on Saturday night. By Sunday I was a bit, well, let's call it "off".
Humorist Dave Barry once said, “Never under any circumstances take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night”. Now I hadn't been taking laxatives, but intestinally speaking, things wouldn't have changed much if I had been. After 2 nights with almost no sleep and a comfort level that didn't seem conducive to getting any on night #3, I was really considering a sleep aid for the evening. I had a decision to make. To Mr. Barry's dismay, I rolled the dice.
I'm proud to tell you that I slept like a stump with no "surprises". My good wife, checked on me periodically during the night. She was concerned since I normally don't sleep like I'm in a coma and because she was aware of my tempt of fate. She admitted to me that she would "sniff" when she checked on me. I asked her if she would have woken me if she'd smelled something. She didn't have an answer.
I'm still not 100% recovered from "la grippe", but since Monday I've been much much better, which is good because I had to deal with the other card that had been dealt us on Sunday afternoon.
Although not wanting to burden me further, Dana came to me on Sunday and said sheepishly, "Ummm, we don't have any hot water". After investigating, we found that our propane tank was just a tank, in that it actually no longer held any propane.
That we should have checked the level, was obvious, but we did have a reason for being oblivious. Our friendly, but apparently inefficient, agent from the relocation company had told us that we had a contract with a gas company that would track, monitor, and fill our tank as needed. We only needed to stay warm, take hot showers, and pay the bill. I had no reason to doubt this as I had the same deal in back in the Red White and Blue. It turns out she was as wrong about the part where they monitor the tank as she was about the part where we even had a contract. The gas supplier had never even heard of me.
Occasionally, I'll do business with someone who speaks some English and they are always willing to use/practice it. Problem is that my French is usually better than their English, which means that their English probably shouldn't be used to conduct business. Such was the case with the woman from the gas company.
Here's what I was able to determine before we hit a snag. I wasn't a registered customer. To recieve a full fill up, I needed to be a registered customer. I could become registered via mail correspondence, meaning it would take at least 5 days or so before I could even order any gas. Not good. But, I was in luck. They will do a set amount delivery to "unregistered" customers. Here's where we encountered our first linguistic hurdle. An amount of propane would be delivered for "4 thousand Euros". As a Euro is worth more than a dollar, I almost swallowed my tongue. It seemed my choices were A) get really ripped off or B) wait who-knows-how-long for heat and hot showeres.
I'd had enough so I switched to French. I started asking how much it would normally be, what my other options were, etc. Suddenly, she muttered "oops". In French "cent" means "hundred"and "mil" means "thousand". She had switched the two making a just a slight 10 fold error. My "unregistered" fill up would cost me 400 Euros and would fill my tank to roughly 22%. I breathed a sigh of relief. I told her I'd take that option and fill out the paper work to become registered.
I then had the audacity to ask when I could expect the delivery. "Oh, anytime between tomorrow and (wait for it)the next seven days". Then she added "We also recommend that you call for a refill when you hit 20%". Are you able to see how funny this is?
Sometime in the next week I will quit using a one room fireplace to heat my entire house and I will quit taking "cup showers" with water heated on an (thank goodness) electric stove, because I will have recieved my shot of propane. At about the same time my paperwork will go through and I will recieve the coveted registration. Meaning that I will be able to call for another fill up of propane at about the same time that the truck from the last fill up is pulling out of the driveway.
Ahhhh, France.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Bonne Annee!
(I want to start with an apology to my in-laws, Bob and Cheryl, or as the French say with tongue firmly in cheek, mes beau parents (my beautiful parents). I failed to mention, and this goes for future guests, that when you stay in our guest room you become potential subjects in the stories for our blog. )
If my blog fuel from the past 3 weeks were a pile of dirty laundry, we'd have nothing left to wear. Unfortunately, it's not, meaning that I don't have something motivating me to deplete the pile. As it is, it just keeps piling up. I have more stories from the Christmas vacation than I could ever hope to tell in one blog entry. So, instead I'll tell as many as I can over the next few days.
If my blog fuel from the past 3 weeks were a pile of dirty laundry, we'd have nothing left to wear. Unfortunately, it's not, meaning that I don't have something motivating me to deplete the pile. As it is, it just keeps piling up. I have more stories from the Christmas vacation than I could ever hope to tell in one blog entry. So, instead I'll tell as many as I can over the next few days.
10th Anniversary
Much to my surprise, Dana has been able to stay married to me for 10 years now. Our anniversary was on the 19th of December, and I wanted to do something special. I had joked for a while that I would be sure to take her to a French restaurant for the special occasion, which, considering where we live, could have been McDonalds. Instead I decided that the two of us would spend the day on the slopes. We would begin by taking a lesson together and then spend the day skiing and hanging out at the ski lodge. It was sure to be memorable if not romantic.
I don't mind saying that we were amazing. A local artist was so impressed that he created for us his interpretation of the day.
Ok, a bit of an exaggeration. But it looks much better than the truth: Dana searching for her skis and poles after smacking her head on the ice and me yelling at our instructor for being vague and lazy. I'm quite certain that learning to ski would have been much easier in our pre-30 something days. Eventually, we got the hang of it and enjoyed ourselves, but it took some work. What didn't take work was lunch, we're experienced veterans in that category. Hot chocolate and delicious mountain food full of cheesy calories goes good anytime, but is perfect after a morning of careening down a mountain in a mixture of vertical and horizontal positions. The bottom line is that we certainly had a memorable anniversary and we have even been back once since. Maybe we'll have it figured out by our 20th anniversary.
Christmas goodies.
Like any good culture, the French mark popular holidays with food. There are a couple of Christmas traditions worth mentioning. First, for Christmas and the days preceeding, there are the buche de noel or Yule log. It is a traditional log shaped cake. Absolutely delicious and worth the high prices paid for the hand made versions.
The second tradition may not be as delicious, but is certainly more interesting. It is the Gallete des Rois or Cake of Kings. It is odd that a country with substantially less Christian influence than the U.S.A would have a religious tradition that is non existent back home. It is a cake or pastry meant to commemorate the 3 kings visit of baby Jesus. It is even somewhat chronologically correct in that the you eat the treat after Christmas, which is probably when the kings arrived rather than on the same evening, which is often suggested by the ubiquitous nativity scene.
Despite the strong presence of Christianity in the U.S.A, this tradition could never be adopted there. Not for religious reasons but for litigious ones. The cake comes with a gift (remember that's what the 3 kings were about) baked into it. The person who finds the prize gets to wear a paper crown that comes with the pastry. The toy is usually a ceramic rendition of a king or some other character and it is roughly the same size and shape as your tracheal opening. In America a parent would have their children taken away by DCFS for letting their children play with a toy of this size and in France it's baked into this tasty treat that kids will devour with gusto.
I don't know that much about the presence of lawyers in France, but it must be considerably less. They've either never let them get such a foothold or they've followed through with that joke about 10,000 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean being a good start. Either way, its refreshing, that they call an idiot an idiot and don't let someone sue for not expecting coffee to be hot.
Eating out
In lieu of a vacation over Christmas we decided to visit various locations within a 2 hour radius of our home. This translates, happily, into many meals eaten at various restaurants. This list of new things tried by ourselves and Dana's folks is long and delicious. The oddest of all was a delicacy that I have mentioned previously. Tripe, or cow's stomach. Other's tasted it, but, obviously, I was the one who ordered it. It was battered and fried with garlic and parsley. It tasted like garlic and parsley with a slightly chewy and crispy texture. The tripe itself had bascially no taste. It was neither delicious or disgusting. I'm guessing that it became a delicacy of Lyon, France simply because it would be unique. Nobody else would bother to make a big deal about it, so it becomes your "thing".
No offense to my in-laws, but any slight chance that Dana and I have of not appearing to be non-natives disappeared when they were along for lunch. It takes a little time to even be able to say "Bonjour" without it being a dead give away. If you just come to visit, chances are you won't get it down. Dana and I can just now say it without being dead give aways. Now, it's not a big deal, everyone is friendly regardless. However, we did experience some problems that I had been warned of in the guidebooks.
The French are big on "menus". You pay one price for a 3 course meal, but you get to select among different entrees, plates, and deserts. A great idea and it normally works well. The problem is that 3 different times our desserts were added on top of the menu price that was supposed to include the dessert. I have become an expert at the french version of the following phrase "Doesn't the menu price include dessert?". It always resulted in a surprised look, an apology and an adjusted bill. Again, this never happened close to home, only in "touristy" locations. I'm not ready to stop going out to eat, but it was frustrating nonetheless.
Roman Ruins
Nothing too funny here, just amazing. We live 2-3 hours North of the region of Provence. The city of Nimes if full of Roman ruins. While they have less ruins than Rome, they are actually in better shape. Not too surprising when you consider that Rome has been burned and sacked plenty of times in the last 2 millineums. The southern French portion of Gaul has been quiet by comparison.
The first, and most impressive, that we saw was the Pont du Gard. It's an ancient Roman aqueduct. As I read a plaque at the site Audrey asked me,"How old is it daddy?" I was even surprised when I replied "Well, they started building it 20 years after Jesus was crucified."
50,000 ton of stone and no cement. It's amazing. I won't bore you with more details but here's a link.
The other amazing "ruin" is the ampitheater. The word "ruin" isn't really correct because it's still used today. It's half the size of the Roman Colliseum, but in much much better shape. Back in the day, 24,000 could cram into it to watch gladiator battles. Now it is used during the spring and summer for bullfighting. (Remember, it's only about 3 hours from the border of Spain).
Again, here's a link. I plan on going back for some of the bull games.
Well, that's enough for now. I'll try to do some more in the next day or two.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
YEAH - VISITORS!
My mom and dad arrived today! How great it is to see them and have them here. They will be staying with us until January 8th. It will be so nice to be with some family during the holidays.
We did a great job of keeping it a secret from the kids. They were completely shocked when they were standing there with us today at school to pick them up. As you all know, Lane is not quiet - but he was speachless for probably 10 minutes, in complete shock to see nan and pop.
Merry Christmas!
Dana
We did a great job of keeping it a secret from the kids. They were completely shocked when they were standing there with us today at school to pick them up. As you all know, Lane is not quiet - but he was speachless for probably 10 minutes, in complete shock to see nan and pop.
Merry Christmas!
Dana
Friday, December 12, 2008
Finally!
Finally! It stopped snowing some time last night. I don't know the finally tally, but it's closer to 2 ft than I'd like. The good news is that even though the drivers aren't really prepared for this type of snow, the street and road workers are. It gets cleared faster and better than it ever did back home. There seems to be a greater concentration of plows and trucks, which is very nice. The only problem is whether or not you can get out of your driveway. Back home in Illinois we had about 400 feet of it, here about 20 ft. It was a welcome change the past few days.
Our British friends however, have a driveway similar to our old one. They didn't leave the house for two days and when I talked to him this morning, he claimed to still have 75 yards of driveway left to clear. So after dropping off the kids at school I headed over with my run-of-the mill snow shovel. After about 5 or 6 shovel fulls I noticed my English friend was staring at me in disbelief. "Bloody hell" he muttered. For a second or two I was feeling cocky. I thought he was impressed with the speed at which I could relocate some snow. Then he followed it with this, "That's an amazing shovel". It was then I noticed that he was holding a glorified garden spade. It would never have occurred to me that someone had never seen a snow shovel in action.
He's lived in the UK, Australia, and California and in none of these locations had he ever had to deal with more than the random inch or two of snow. Thus, he had never had use for or even seen a snow shovel. I couldn't help feeling a little like Tom Sawyer when I said, "Oh, it's great. Give it a try". He handed it back 5 minutes later, I think the novelty wore off quickly.
An hour later we were having a coffee at his kitchen table when he remarked that he now had a free day to do whatever he liked. Seems he had taken the day off to get his driveway cleared.
I couldn't make this stuff up.
Our British friends however, have a driveway similar to our old one. They didn't leave the house for two days and when I talked to him this morning, he claimed to still have 75 yards of driveway left to clear. So after dropping off the kids at school I headed over with my run-of-the mill snow shovel. After about 5 or 6 shovel fulls I noticed my English friend was staring at me in disbelief. "Bloody hell" he muttered. For a second or two I was feeling cocky. I thought he was impressed with the speed at which I could relocate some snow. Then he followed it with this, "That's an amazing shovel". It was then I noticed that he was holding a glorified garden spade. It would never have occurred to me that someone had never seen a snow shovel in action.
He's lived in the UK, Australia, and California and in none of these locations had he ever had to deal with more than the random inch or two of snow. Thus, he had never had use for or even seen a snow shovel. I couldn't help feeling a little like Tom Sawyer when I said, "Oh, it's great. Give it a try". He handed it back 5 minutes later, I think the novelty wore off quickly.
An hour later we were having a coffee at his kitchen table when he remarked that he now had a free day to do whatever he liked. Seems he had taken the day off to get his driveway cleared.
I couldn't make this stuff up.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Still going.
40 some hours and 20 some inches after it started here's what we have.
And it's still snowing. If this keeps up I'm not sure I'll be able to open the window and take the same picture tomorrow.
They say it's been a decade since they've had a snowstorm like this. Hope so, I like the snow, I want to learn to ski, but this is ridiculous. On the bright side I learned how to put on snow chains. At first I thought it was silly, I've driven on and in snow all my life. One big difference, that snow wasn't on a mountain. A little extra traction is welcome when just to the side of the road is a cliff rather than a ditch.
I'll be sure to post when it finally stops snowing.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Tidbits on the 10th.
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
The thing about weather is that it's always changing. You know that saying, "Don't like the weather in Illinois? Stick around, it'll change". I'm pretty sure that they say this or a version of it almost everywhere, outside of possible San Diego. Point is I should have rephrased my question in the last blog to, "Did it snow much here?" . Regardless of what it used to do, the answer to that question in the present form is quickly becoming a "yes". I snapped this picture first light this morning. That was about 8 hours and 5 inches ago. Light fluffy snow has been falling straight down for the last 17 hours. I've been told this is abnormal, and I believe it. If it snowed this much every year, I'd think everyone would have a decent set of tires.
Dana headed to work this morning and again was treated to a commute that took 3x as long, but at least she made it this time. The rest of the day was pretty much ruined, no french lessons, no ballet, no market. At least we didn't have school to worry about.
Finally, legal
We finally recieved our French driver's licenses last Friday. I'd been told we were legit with our Illinois driver's licenses, but I was happy not to have to test that theory.
So I really felt good about it. Like I belonged, a fellow French motorist. Then not a day later I had a motorcyclist flip me the bird for staying in the left lane too long. Guess I was getting too full of myself. But seriously, the left lane is not a laughing matter. In the U.S. it's theory, in France it's a practice. No one stays in the left lane unless passing and no one will pass you on the right. That is no one except an idiot like me. And when I stayed in the left lane too long while trying to locate where I was trying to go, the motorcyclist behind me decided to ride my tail and then flip me off rather than just pass me on the right. Now that's some good driver training.
Speaking of driver training, here's the interesting thing about obtaining the licenses. France only recognizes them from certain States. Coming from Illinois, we only had to fill out a few forms and wait; however, had I been from North Dakota or something, I would have had to undergo a rigourous written and driving test. Maybe, they give a course in how not to be on the recieving end of obscene gestures.
The truffle omellete
Delicious, not unbelievable. Worth more than a Denny's Denver Omellet, but not 5 times as much. Not dissapointing, not overly memorable.
Language Selection
Most of you probably know that almost every DVD you own can be played in multiple language versions and with several different subtitles, but you never use it. On occasion I employ these as learning methods. As I have a propensity for memorizing movie lines, I decided that this would be a possible way to enhance my French abilities. While this certainly turned out to be true, I also made a startling discovery. I've always heard that jokes, and to a certain extent, humor doesn't translate across languages. Well, that may be true, but in my estimation, the translators don't even try.
Here's an example from one of my favorite movies National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. I'll give you each version of one line translated literally into English. Keep in mind that that the French spoken version and the French subtitles are not even the same.
English spoken: Yeah, got the daughter in the clinic gettin' cured off the Wild Turkey.
a classic line by Cousin Eddie. Well delivered and conveys the redneck quality of the unwanted house guests.
French spoken: Yes, my daughter is in a clinic because of her habit of the bottle.
Not too bad, still funny. Doesn't convey the cheap, hillbilly nature of her addiction, but then with good wine so cheap, who in France would be a drunk on cheap whiskey?
French Subtitles: My daughter is in the hospital because of her eczema.
What? Can you blame a Frenchman for questioning the American sense of humor after reading that? How is an unprovoked skin ailment the same as someone who drinks too much? What thought process went into this translation? Was it possibly an error? This one keeps me up at night.
I may have to stop watching French versions for a while.
The thing about weather is that it's always changing. You know that saying, "Don't like the weather in Illinois? Stick around, it'll change". I'm pretty sure that they say this or a version of it almost everywhere, outside of possible San Diego. Point is I should have rephrased my question in the last blog to, "Did it snow much here?" . Regardless of what it used to do, the answer to that question in the present form is quickly becoming a "yes". I snapped this picture first light this morning. That was about 8 hours and 5 inches ago. Light fluffy snow has been falling straight down for the last 17 hours. I've been told this is abnormal, and I believe it. If it snowed this much every year, I'd think everyone would have a decent set of tires.Dana headed to work this morning and again was treated to a commute that took 3x as long, but at least she made it this time. The rest of the day was pretty much ruined, no french lessons, no ballet, no market. At least we didn't have school to worry about.
Finally, legal
We finally recieved our French driver's licenses last Friday. I'd been told we were legit with our Illinois driver's licenses, but I was happy not to have to test that theory.
So I really felt good about it. Like I belonged, a fellow French motorist. Then not a day later I had a motorcyclist flip me the bird for staying in the left lane too long. Guess I was getting too full of myself. But seriously, the left lane is not a laughing matter. In the U.S. it's theory, in France it's a practice. No one stays in the left lane unless passing and no one will pass you on the right. That is no one except an idiot like me. And when I stayed in the left lane too long while trying to locate where I was trying to go, the motorcyclist behind me decided to ride my tail and then flip me off rather than just pass me on the right. Now that's some good driver training.
Speaking of driver training, here's the interesting thing about obtaining the licenses. France only recognizes them from certain States. Coming from Illinois, we only had to fill out a few forms and wait; however, had I been from North Dakota or something, I would have had to undergo a rigourous written and driving test. Maybe, they give a course in how not to be on the recieving end of obscene gestures.
The truffle omellete
Delicious, not unbelievable. Worth more than a Denny's Denver Omellet, but not 5 times as much. Not dissapointing, not overly memorable.
Language Selection
Most of you probably know that almost every DVD you own can be played in multiple language versions and with several different subtitles, but you never use it. On occasion I employ these as learning methods. As I have a propensity for memorizing movie lines, I decided that this would be a possible way to enhance my French abilities. While this certainly turned out to be true, I also made a startling discovery. I've always heard that jokes, and to a certain extent, humor doesn't translate across languages. Well, that may be true, but in my estimation, the translators don't even try.
Here's an example from one of my favorite movies National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. I'll give you each version of one line translated literally into English. Keep in mind that that the French spoken version and the French subtitles are not even the same.
English spoken: Yeah, got the daughter in the clinic gettin' cured off the Wild Turkey.
a classic line by Cousin Eddie. Well delivered and conveys the redneck quality of the unwanted house guests.
French spoken: Yes, my daughter is in a clinic because of her habit of the bottle.
Not too bad, still funny. Doesn't convey the cheap, hillbilly nature of her addiction, but then with good wine so cheap, who in France would be a drunk on cheap whiskey?
French Subtitles: My daughter is in the hospital because of her eczema.
What? Can you blame a Frenchman for questioning the American sense of humor after reading that? How is an unprovoked skin ailment the same as someone who drinks too much? What thought process went into this translation? Was it possibly an error? This one keeps me up at night.
I may have to stop watching French versions for a while.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Christmas is coming the snails are getting fat.
Ok, that's not fair. I don't pretend to know the traditional meal for Christmas day in France. Actually, the goose, or at least his liver, are probably closer to the truth. However, I have started to learn a little about the Christmas culture here in France and ohhh is it some great blog fuel.
The Marche de Noel is a French tradition that we absolutely love. Markets, in general, are a part of everday life. I've come to depend on them as a major source of our produce, cheese, meat, and fish. We make purchases at one market or another at least twice a week. So, we were exicted to hear about these christmas markets, and we were not dissapointed. Large cities like Lyon or Grenoble have Christmas markets that occur every day for over a month leading up to Christmas. Small villages, like our quaint little version, make it a grand one day affair. We couldn't wait to go this past Saturday.
The noise was the first thing we noticed. Silence or something very close to it normally dominates the place in St. Martin D'uriage. After having to park a good distance from the action, the noise led the way like a homing beacon. Music, laughter, and shouting, lots of shouting. The biggest culprits were the women selling hot drinks to their cold, damp patrons. These women were more than just boisterous saleswomen, they were also apparently part of the Quality Control department. Vin Chaud (hot wine mulled with spices) is the hot drink of choice for the winter market go-er, and these women wanted to make sure thirsty customers knew the product was safe to drink.
Another man shouted to his friend across the street, "Soup aux choux!". It means cabbage soup. I'd heard about it and this man was apparently ready for some. My fellow Nobelites and close friends know of the famous chowder. It was a very similar situation, thick vegetable soup cooked over fire, sold in bulk, and titled in such a way as to not tell the entire story of the dish. In this case, cabbage soup was probably chosen, because even in France it sells better than Pigs Feet Soup. Hooves and knuckles rested in 5 gallon buckets just below the sales counter, waiting for their turn to be the broth for the next batch of "cabbage" soup. Now, I don't know if we are becoming more French or if we'd have liked it anyway, but, later that night, the four of us wolfed down our large container, trotters and all.
A floppy hatted, apron wearing cheese man as rotund as the Gruyere wheels he was selling entertained us for the better part of 20 minutes. He looked like a character straight out of the opening scene of Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Just the slightest interest in his cheese with our strange accents had his full attention. The French love nothing more than educating we gastronomical morons. It's not done to be arrogant, mind you, but they have great food, they know it, and the love to share and discuss it. Some 20 some cheese samples heavier, but 30 dollars lighter we finally peeled ourselves away that stench I've come to love.
Ornaments, nick nacks, and the usual were also part of our bounty. Nothing too grand, save one.
This jar of eggs cost me about 30 bucks. Actually the eggs were nothing special, but rather the mysterious black lump at the bottom of the jar. That my friends, is a truffle. Not the chocolate finger treat, but the fungus native to France. The vender had larger truffles for sale without the eggs but I opted for this concoction for 3 reasons. 1) it looks cool 2) As I'm a beginner with truffles, I plan to try the simplest recipe, the truffle omelette. Supposedly these eggs soak up the truffle flavor and then can be used as the perfect vessel shaved up bits of these little treasures. and 3) The truffles in this jar are tiny, meaning they have less mass, meaning they cost less, meaning I can afford them. At 500 Euros/kilo, I figured I'd start small. I'll let you know if it was worth it.
I've spoken quite a bit about the wine culture here. It's simply part of the lifestyle. When you go to a restaurant, almost everyone has wine. Whether it's moderation or developed tolerance, I'm not sure, but in the U.S. I encounter less alcohol and more drunks. In fact, since we've been here I can't recall seeing anyone that appeared to be intoxicated, that was until Saturday. After leaving the market we had to drive right through town, which was essentially through the middle of the market. Our friendly vin chaud saleswoman had obviously continued sampling the goods. As we inched our way through town, we saw her shouting in the middle of the street, steaming cups in hand. She had apparently decided that her target market extended to passing motorists. I respectfully declined. Seulement en France.
A green Christmas? Most of you know that Europe is much "greener" than the U.S. Recycling, energy conservation and other such methods are a way of life here, not just a novelty to make you feel good about yourself. We opted to take part in one such custom at our local IKEA. We went on Sunday (open only due to a Christmas time exception) to purchase our Christmas tree. It cost 20 Euros, but if you return it after the season, you get 19 Euros back in store credit. In turn, they turn the trees to mulch and sell it. Actually a great idea. The only down side is that the trees are alread wrapped up and can't be selected on asthetic criteria. You can judge the height, but that's it. It's an early Christmas surprise. Ours? It's crooked, lopsided, extremely thin, and absolutely beautiful.
That's about it for now, but I'm sure I'll have even more to write about as we near closer to the 25th. A bientot!
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Does it snow much here?
Does it snow much here?
Being a science teacher I've always felt that a good demonstration will tell someone much more than just words. We recieved that demonstration on Friday. So regardless of what anyone tells me, in my opinion, the answer to this question is a resounding "NO". Let me explain.
Very fine wet flakes greeted me as I looked out the window on this Friday morning. The kind that you just know will result in perfect "snowball" snow. Since both of our vehicles were recently equipped with snow tires, I didn't give it a second thought. I could still see a lot of grass poking through the white stuff, certainly not enough to impede my daily schedule.
Dana left early that morning, around 6:30. I called her an hour later to get a road report even though I wasn't at all worried. It's about a 30 km drive into work that takes her around 25 minutes or so. On this morning, one hour of "driving" had yielded her only about 6 or 7 km in distance. I quickly realized we had a problem, although the problem wasn't necessarily the snow, but those driving on it.
I took one turn out of our drive and was immediately greeted by my first of many French lessons through my driver's side window. I was told that the route was blocked due to an accident. Luckily I've jogged on almost every road in a 8 km radius around my house (searching, unsucessfully for a flat road); so, I knew a back route. As I started up the hill, I got to witness first hand just how poorly their normal tires work on snow. They don't. The driver asked me to help give his a push, which I did. Unfortunately, when I stopped pushing he stopped moving. Thankfully, he decided that he wasn't going to ask me to push him the remaining kilometer up the hill. We went around and he used gravity to go backwards.
The next conversation I had informed me that I couldn't use my first attempt at a back route. I asked her about another route and she replied "troup dangereuse". I decided to take my chances. It was slow going, but I made it to the main route without a slip.
Then, again I was told not to take my intended route, which is one of the largest roads in the area. I asked if the route was actually closed and was told "no", but was also told something about it being slick and dangerous. Since I had not yet slipped once on the less than 2 inches of snow, I decided again to risk it. Parked haphazardly along the route were no less than 30 vehicles. People were everywhere talking, smoking and holding their palms up in frustration. The kids and I? We drove right through at about 20 mph.
I was in North Carolina once when they recieved about 8 inches of snow. The place was shut down and drivers were all over the road. I was reminded of this while driving around on this morning. No one seemed to have a clue how to drive in the stuff. Also, several had obviously opted not to buy snow tires. The bottom line is that I feel confident that snowfall is rarely too plentiful at our level of the mountain.
Had it not been for the other drivers I would have made it to school in only 5 minutes longer than usual. As it was, I the 5 minute drive took 45 minutes. Being so concerned with getting to school, it never occured to me that the teachers and other parents were the folks that I had been laughing at along the roads all morning. After parking we immediately saw kids walking the wrong direction for the morning commute. They were shouting with glee "No School!". Regardless of the troubles we had making it, it never crossed my mind that less than 2 inches of snow would result in a day off of school.
The trouble now was that I didn't really care to run the gauntlet back home. So we headed to a friend's house to play in the snow and have some hot chocolate. Luckily for me the husband was home, so I had someone other than the ubiquitous mom to talk to. Unluckily for him, he was home because he and his Renault had gone careening down his 1/4 mile long 45 degree angle driveway earlier that morning. It's hard to head to work when your car is imbedded in a guard rail at the bottom of the hill. He's been in France for three years, I guess the custom of waiting to put on the snow tires has worn off on him.
Meanwhile, Dana never did make it to work. She spent the morning at a different friend's house have coffee and tea. It was a great morning for the family to sit by the fire and have a hot drink, even if we did it at different places.
The good news is, the "catastrophe" was short lived. The temperature here doesn't stay below freezing for long and the plows did a good job. By early afternoon everything was clear and all was back to normal. I actually headed to Barcelona with some friends later in the day, but that's another story.
Being a science teacher I've always felt that a good demonstration will tell someone much more than just words. We recieved that demonstration on Friday. So regardless of what anyone tells me, in my opinion, the answer to this question is a resounding "NO". Let me explain.
Very fine wet flakes greeted me as I looked out the window on this Friday morning. The kind that you just know will result in perfect "snowball" snow. Since both of our vehicles were recently equipped with snow tires, I didn't give it a second thought. I could still see a lot of grass poking through the white stuff, certainly not enough to impede my daily schedule.
Dana left early that morning, around 6:30. I called her an hour later to get a road report even though I wasn't at all worried. It's about a 30 km drive into work that takes her around 25 minutes or so. On this morning, one hour of "driving" had yielded her only about 6 or 7 km in distance. I quickly realized we had a problem, although the problem wasn't necessarily the snow, but those driving on it.
I took one turn out of our drive and was immediately greeted by my first of many French lessons through my driver's side window. I was told that the route was blocked due to an accident. Luckily I've jogged on almost every road in a 8 km radius around my house (searching, unsucessfully for a flat road); so, I knew a back route. As I started up the hill, I got to witness first hand just how poorly their normal tires work on snow. They don't. The driver asked me to help give his a push, which I did. Unfortunately, when I stopped pushing he stopped moving. Thankfully, he decided that he wasn't going to ask me to push him the remaining kilometer up the hill. We went around and he used gravity to go backwards.
The next conversation I had informed me that I couldn't use my first attempt at a back route. I asked her about another route and she replied "troup dangereuse". I decided to take my chances. It was slow going, but I made it to the main route without a slip.
Then, again I was told not to take my intended route, which is one of the largest roads in the area. I asked if the route was actually closed and was told "no", but was also told something about it being slick and dangerous. Since I had not yet slipped once on the less than 2 inches of snow, I decided again to risk it. Parked haphazardly along the route were no less than 30 vehicles. People were everywhere talking, smoking and holding their palms up in frustration. The kids and I? We drove right through at about 20 mph.
I was in North Carolina once when they recieved about 8 inches of snow. The place was shut down and drivers were all over the road. I was reminded of this while driving around on this morning. No one seemed to have a clue how to drive in the stuff. Also, several had obviously opted not to buy snow tires. The bottom line is that I feel confident that snowfall is rarely too plentiful at our level of the mountain.
Had it not been for the other drivers I would have made it to school in only 5 minutes longer than usual. As it was, I the 5 minute drive took 45 minutes. Being so concerned with getting to school, it never occured to me that the teachers and other parents were the folks that I had been laughing at along the roads all morning. After parking we immediately saw kids walking the wrong direction for the morning commute. They were shouting with glee "No School!". Regardless of the troubles we had making it, it never crossed my mind that less than 2 inches of snow would result in a day off of school.
The trouble now was that I didn't really care to run the gauntlet back home. So we headed to a friend's house to play in the snow and have some hot chocolate. Luckily for me the husband was home, so I had someone other than the ubiquitous mom to talk to. Unluckily for him, he was home because he and his Renault had gone careening down his 1/4 mile long 45 degree angle driveway earlier that morning. It's hard to head to work when your car is imbedded in a guard rail at the bottom of the hill. He's been in France for three years, I guess the custom of waiting to put on the snow tires has worn off on him.
Meanwhile, Dana never did make it to work. She spent the morning at a different friend's house have coffee and tea. It was a great morning for the family to sit by the fire and have a hot drink, even if we did it at different places.
The good news is, the "catastrophe" was short lived. The temperature here doesn't stay below freezing for long and the plows did a good job. By early afternoon everything was clear and all was back to normal. I actually headed to Barcelona with some friends later in the day, but that's another story.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Happy Birtday Aunt Aly
Happy Birthday and Happy Thanksgiving. I sure do miss those dual birthday/thanksgiving parties.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
An eventful weekend
Where to start. I knew we had a full weekend plan, but I had no idea it would turn out as fun and as eventful as it did.
Thursday
Yes, I know that, unless you're in college, Thursday is not part of the weekend. But I had to include it for a few reasons. First and foremost was because Thursday was my birthday. But it was also something very big in France. It was also the release date of the Beaujolais Nouveau. This is, without a doubt, one of the most successful marketing campaigns that I have ever witnessed. Forget Christmas, forget "Sweetest Day". This is pure genius. On the third Thursday of every November. The first wine made from the grapes of 2008 is released. You've heard expressions about "aging like fine wine". Well what does that say about wine that they let sit in the bottle for about 3 weeks before they pop the cork? Take the not so good stuff, ferment it long enough to make it alcoholic and then make a huge deal about being the first to taste this years vintage. This is the genius of this plan. If they didn't sell it in this manner they probably wouldn't sell it at all; because, after the good stuff is ready, which is just as cheap, no one would buy the other.
The good side for me was one huge birthday party. It felt good to know that virtually all of France was having a glass in my honor. (my version anyway)
It was also a good day because Dana took the afternoon off. We had an excellent lunch featuring some local standards similar to eating fondue. Good stuff for the colder weather. Then we hung out a little at the mall, which reminds me..... French people are tiny. Not necessarily short, but thin and tiny. The clothes, obviously, are made to fit these people. Had you asked me, I would have assumed this to be true, but I hadn't given it much thought. Then I tried to buy a shirt. The tag said, among other things, EU - XXL USA -XXL. Great, I thought. XXL here is the same as XXL at home. Negative on that. The sleeves fit fine and the length was acceptable. It was the "saran wrap" effect on the torso that I doubted would be considered fashionable. I'll be shopping for shirts online or when I return home. Nobody wants the other. Trust me.
Friday
The forecast for the evening was snow. Not a lot, not a big deal, except that I didn't have the tires for it. You see, they handle things differently over here. It doesn't snow enough in France for everyone to have all season tires all the time. If you want to drive in the snow you have to buy "special" tires and have them put on in the late fall. Not a huge deal except that they don't give these away. Quite expensive actually.
Luckily, my "car" guy called me at noon and said our tires were in if I wanted to get them put on before the snow tonight. Great, except that we, the kids and I, weren't free until 4:30 and had a party to go to in the evening (more later). But better than a fiery crash of the side of the mountain, so we said we'd be there for the "15 minute" job.
I was glad to find out that French mechanics keep time the same as American mechanics. 2 hours is a long time to occupy two small children in a tiny mechanic's office. Luckily for us French parties, even those with kids, don't start until 8:00. We made it home just in time to change and head to school, the location of our party, our Beaujolais Nouveau party.
Wait for it. That's right. A party, at the school, to try out the new aforementioned wine. It was also a fundraiser for their equivalent of the PTA, and it was great. But now matter how simple and benign it was, Dana and couldn't get past the wine at a school function part. Just a different culture. You'll be happy to know that even the French don't let the kids drink the wine, at least not at school.
While at the party Dana and I sat in the "anglophone" section; however, I actually spent almost as much time conversing in French. One conversation in particular was quite humorous. I met a gentleman that had recently moved his family to the Grenoble area from Paris. After it came out that I stayed with the kids while Dana worked he gave a very big "Ah-ha". Seems his wife had been giving him quite a hard time about him working too much lately. She had cited me as the "great" father that was always there to drop off the kids and pick them. I guess that it had never occurred to her that she had never seen my wife. He couldn't wait to set the record straight. He even asked me twice if he could go tell her right away. Although I was enjoying practing my French, I hated to disappoint him.
Saturday
A very normal day on the inside. Outside, it started snowing. Snow here is a different concept than back home. Apparently, we live very near the "snow line". When it snows, it most often snows above us and not below us. This was the exact case today. Most of our view is at our level and up, so we were a bit concerned about driving into town. Later that morning when we finally bundled up and headed out, we only had to drive a 1/4 mile down hill before we were almost completely out of it. It'll take some getting used to,but I think I like the idea. Snow that you can see and enjoy without having to drive through. In fact, I'm liking the weather more and more every day. Whithin the last week, temperatures back home have started to be colder than what they are here. Then sometime in late spring, it'll switch back.
Then in the evening Dana and I headed ot our favorite restaurant while a sitter came to stay at the house with the kids. I'm not sure who was more excited, Dana and I or the kids.
The name of the place is L'Auguste. Here's why we like it. It's classic French. It's not too expensive. It's delicious. It's unpretentious. And if you ever visit us and want to have a nice meal. The owner will speak English if you like.
Sunday
Started like every other Sunday. We headed to church and then to the market. It's great to be able to head to the market and pick up a great Sunday dinner. Really gotten used to the rotisserie chicken or duck along with some potatoes. We usually also pick up some fruit, cheese, and bread. I'm already putting markets first on the list of "things we will miss" when we head back to the States.
Then the afternoon. Ever seen one of those funny movies where someone goes to a tiny burg in Europe? Specifically the ones where they have a shot of the hero in his car unable to move because they are surrounded by sheep? It looks exactly like that and just as funny in real life. Remember the sheep living across the valley? Well the farmers had them on the move Sunday eveing. A couple hundred sheep moving down the middle of the road flanked by sheep dogs is quite a site, as is the condition of the road afterwards.
Thursday
Yes, I know that, unless you're in college, Thursday is not part of the weekend. But I had to include it for a few reasons. First and foremost was because Thursday was my birthday. But it was also something very big in France. It was also the release date of the Beaujolais Nouveau. This is, without a doubt, one of the most successful marketing campaigns that I have ever witnessed. Forget Christmas, forget "Sweetest Day". This is pure genius. On the third Thursday of every November. The first wine made from the grapes of 2008 is released. You've heard expressions about "aging like fine wine". Well what does that say about wine that they let sit in the bottle for about 3 weeks before they pop the cork? Take the not so good stuff, ferment it long enough to make it alcoholic and then make a huge deal about being the first to taste this years vintage. This is the genius of this plan. If they didn't sell it in this manner they probably wouldn't sell it at all; because, after the good stuff is ready, which is just as cheap, no one would buy the other.
The good side for me was one huge birthday party. It felt good to know that virtually all of France was having a glass in my honor. (my version anyway)
It was also a good day because Dana took the afternoon off. We had an excellent lunch featuring some local standards similar to eating fondue. Good stuff for the colder weather. Then we hung out a little at the mall, which reminds me..... French people are tiny. Not necessarily short, but thin and tiny. The clothes, obviously, are made to fit these people. Had you asked me, I would have assumed this to be true, but I hadn't given it much thought. Then I tried to buy a shirt. The tag said, among other things, EU - XXL USA -XXL. Great, I thought. XXL here is the same as XXL at home. Negative on that. The sleeves fit fine and the length was acceptable. It was the "saran wrap" effect on the torso that I doubted would be considered fashionable. I'll be shopping for shirts online or when I return home. Nobody wants the other. Trust me.
Friday
The forecast for the evening was snow. Not a lot, not a big deal, except that I didn't have the tires for it. You see, they handle things differently over here. It doesn't snow enough in France for everyone to have all season tires all the time. If you want to drive in the snow you have to buy "special" tires and have them put on in the late fall. Not a huge deal except that they don't give these away. Quite expensive actually.
Luckily, my "car" guy called me at noon and said our tires were in if I wanted to get them put on before the snow tonight. Great, except that we, the kids and I, weren't free until 4:30 and had a party to go to in the evening (more later). But better than a fiery crash of the side of the mountain, so we said we'd be there for the "15 minute" job.
I was glad to find out that French mechanics keep time the same as American mechanics. 2 hours is a long time to occupy two small children in a tiny mechanic's office. Luckily for us French parties, even those with kids, don't start until 8:00. We made it home just in time to change and head to school, the location of our party, our Beaujolais Nouveau party.
Wait for it. That's right. A party, at the school, to try out the new aforementioned wine. It was also a fundraiser for their equivalent of the PTA, and it was great. But now matter how simple and benign it was, Dana and couldn't get past the wine at a school function part. Just a different culture. You'll be happy to know that even the French don't let the kids drink the wine, at least not at school.
While at the party Dana and I sat in the "anglophone" section; however, I actually spent almost as much time conversing in French. One conversation in particular was quite humorous. I met a gentleman that had recently moved his family to the Grenoble area from Paris. After it came out that I stayed with the kids while Dana worked he gave a very big "Ah-ha". Seems his wife had been giving him quite a hard time about him working too much lately. She had cited me as the "great" father that was always there to drop off the kids and pick them. I guess that it had never occurred to her that she had never seen my wife. He couldn't wait to set the record straight. He even asked me twice if he could go tell her right away. Although I was enjoying practing my French, I hated to disappoint him.
Saturday
A very normal day on the inside. Outside, it started snowing. Snow here is a different concept than back home. Apparently, we live very near the "snow line". When it snows, it most often snows above us and not below us. This was the exact case today. Most of our view is at our level and up, so we were a bit concerned about driving into town. Later that morning when we finally bundled up and headed out, we only had to drive a 1/4 mile down hill before we were almost completely out of it. It'll take some getting used to,but I think I like the idea. Snow that you can see and enjoy without having to drive through. In fact, I'm liking the weather more and more every day. Whithin the last week, temperatures back home have started to be colder than what they are here. Then sometime in late spring, it'll switch back.
Then in the evening Dana and I headed ot our favorite restaurant while a sitter came to stay at the house with the kids. I'm not sure who was more excited, Dana and I or the kids.
The name of the place is L'Auguste. Here's why we like it. It's classic French. It's not too expensive. It's delicious. It's unpretentious. And if you ever visit us and want to have a nice meal. The owner will speak English if you like.
Sunday
Started like every other Sunday. We headed to church and then to the market. It's great to be able to head to the market and pick up a great Sunday dinner. Really gotten used to the rotisserie chicken or duck along with some potatoes. We usually also pick up some fruit, cheese, and bread. I'm already putting markets first on the list of "things we will miss" when we head back to the States.
Then the afternoon. Ever seen one of those funny movies where someone goes to a tiny burg in Europe? Specifically the ones where they have a shot of the hero in his car unable to move because they are surrounded by sheep? It looks exactly like that and just as funny in real life. Remember the sheep living across the valley? Well the farmers had them on the move Sunday eveing. A couple hundred sheep moving down the middle of the road flanked by sheep dogs is quite a site, as is the condition of the road afterwards.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Order up. (Caution: therapy blog)
When I go to Krekel's I order a double cheeseburger with ketchup, mustard, and onions and a buttersotch shake. I even say it just like that, "Give me a double cheeseburger with ketchup, mustard, and onions and a butterscotch shake". See I told you. Even if my arteries don't, I forget how many times I've been to Krekel's. And like any customer with a regular order at their favorite grease pit, I've been unfaithful; however, it is those instances that I can count and remember. I once ordered a triple cheeseburger, succumbing to the truly American "bigger is better" mantra, and I once ordered a pork tenderloin based on a recommendation. Those who know Krekel's know that I did not walk away dissapointed from these two cholesterol laden changes-of-pace; however, had my double cheeseburger later confronted me about the deviation I could have truthfully claimed, "but I was thinking about you the whole time". You see, anytime we bore of the norm and stray from it, we will eventually miss that comfort even if what we strayed for is just as good. Happens every time.
I mention Krekel's not because I would right now,trade a kidney for my aforementioned "usual", but because this popped into my mind as the best way to describe how I am feeling about our current situation. France tastes like that giant pork tenderloin on a tiny bun slathered with miracle whip or that overly meaty triple cheeseburger. With one bite I'm doing my best Rachel Ray tasting moan and with the next I'm mad at myself for not sticking with the tried and true double. It's the same here. One minute I'm in absolute shock as I drink coffee and watch the sunrise over the Alps, then I step outside and the cool crisp air reminds me of fall and all the things I love about this season.
The hardest question we are asked by friends and family is also the simplest and most common, "So, how do you like France?". This question is difficult because it intended to be answered in one short sentence or possible even a paragrh, and theoretically, it could be. The problem is that there is more too it than a person can realize at first glance. "Yes", we love France, but "Yes" we miss home. It seems that for every positive about the move, there is an equal and opposite negative.
For instance. The Good: Our kids are learing a second language and culture which could in turn have a very positive impact on them and their future. The Bad: They had to leave friends and family to gain this experience and we know that in a few years they will have to leave another group of new friends. Long term, will the pros outweigh the cons? One can only guess
Another one: The Good: Dana and I get to experience a new culture in a way that only those who live in it can. A truly unique experience. The Bad: We get to wake up every morning and know that something as simple as driving to the store and buying a gallon of milk will conclude in a stressful, day-altering ordeal.
And one more just for me: The Good: I get to hike in the mountains, I will learn to ski, and I may take up serious mountain biking (not just riding a "mountain" bike around Illinois). The Bad: As I sit here in bed awake on what just became my birthday, I know exactly what I would be doing if I were home. I'd have my backpack meticulously prepared for the last day of bowhunting before shotgun season, one of my favorite days of the year. And on my birthday to boot.
So, as I write this, I just took the bite of tenderloin that made me question why I didn't order the double. I'm really doing some questioning. Stick with what you know and you'll always be happy even if you are ignorant. That's what the voices are saying right now; however, rest assured that I have no doubts that I'll soon flip flop back. It could be something big, like my upcoming weekend trip to Barcelona or even something small, like finding a new delicious and only slightly stinky cheese on my next trip to the market. As soon as tomorrow, I'll have reason to be thrilled again. The problem is that I know I'll swing back the other way eventually. I guess what I'm trying to articulate, albeit poorly, is that it's tough. It's tough to keep being the same somewhat sane person you've always been while enduring this fun yet difficult experience. It's tough feeling like your emotions are attached to a yo-yo that just crossed paths with one of the Smothers Brothers on crack. So, if you happen to chat with one of us and we seem down, just call back the next day and it'll all be better.
Footnote:
Sorry for the somewhat serious blog, but as I mentioned before, this is my therapy. Don't read if you don't want to, but it's now 1:33 am and I feel much better than I did an hour ago. Good night.
I mention Krekel's not because I would right now,trade a kidney for my aforementioned "usual", but because this popped into my mind as the best way to describe how I am feeling about our current situation. France tastes like that giant pork tenderloin on a tiny bun slathered with miracle whip or that overly meaty triple cheeseburger. With one bite I'm doing my best Rachel Ray tasting moan and with the next I'm mad at myself for not sticking with the tried and true double. It's the same here. One minute I'm in absolute shock as I drink coffee and watch the sunrise over the Alps, then I step outside and the cool crisp air reminds me of fall and all the things I love about this season.
The hardest question we are asked by friends and family is also the simplest and most common, "So, how do you like France?". This question is difficult because it intended to be answered in one short sentence or possible even a paragrh, and theoretically, it could be. The problem is that there is more too it than a person can realize at first glance. "Yes", we love France, but "Yes" we miss home. It seems that for every positive about the move, there is an equal and opposite negative.
For instance. The Good: Our kids are learing a second language and culture which could in turn have a very positive impact on them and their future. The Bad: They had to leave friends and family to gain this experience and we know that in a few years they will have to leave another group of new friends. Long term, will the pros outweigh the cons? One can only guess
Another one: The Good: Dana and I get to experience a new culture in a way that only those who live in it can. A truly unique experience. The Bad: We get to wake up every morning and know that something as simple as driving to the store and buying a gallon of milk will conclude in a stressful, day-altering ordeal.
And one more just for me: The Good: I get to hike in the mountains, I will learn to ski, and I may take up serious mountain biking (not just riding a "mountain" bike around Illinois). The Bad: As I sit here in bed awake on what just became my birthday, I know exactly what I would be doing if I were home. I'd have my backpack meticulously prepared for the last day of bowhunting before shotgun season, one of my favorite days of the year. And on my birthday to boot.
So, as I write this, I just took the bite of tenderloin that made me question why I didn't order the double. I'm really doing some questioning. Stick with what you know and you'll always be happy even if you are ignorant. That's what the voices are saying right now; however, rest assured that I have no doubts that I'll soon flip flop back. It could be something big, like my upcoming weekend trip to Barcelona or even something small, like finding a new delicious and only slightly stinky cheese on my next trip to the market. As soon as tomorrow, I'll have reason to be thrilled again. The problem is that I know I'll swing back the other way eventually. I guess what I'm trying to articulate, albeit poorly, is that it's tough. It's tough to keep being the same somewhat sane person you've always been while enduring this fun yet difficult experience. It's tough feeling like your emotions are attached to a yo-yo that just crossed paths with one of the Smothers Brothers on crack. So, if you happen to chat with one of us and we seem down, just call back the next day and it'll all be better.
Footnote:
Sorry for the somewhat serious blog, but as I mentioned before, this is my therapy. Don't read if you don't want to, but it's now 1:33 am and I feel much better than I did an hour ago. Good night.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Are you a follower?
Please notice that I added a gadget on the right tool bar. If you like to read our blog, become a "follower". You can leave your name or be anonymous, doesn't matter, but I like knowing that someone is reading this stuff.
Also, I updated the website w/ some new pics, so give it a look.
Peace, out!
Also, I updated the website w/ some new pics, so give it a look.
Peace, out!
Nothing better to do
You know that feeling you have after you've been sick and you're starting to get a little better. You don't feel good enough to get up and do anything, but are tired of sitting around doing nothing. That's me right now. So, I decided I'd write a blog about some stories that I'd forgotten to tell.
The Chaperone
Since, I don't have a job. (That still sounds weird) I try to help out when and where I can. This included accompanying Audrey's class to their weekly swimming trip during the first quarter. On Tuesday afternoons, the first and second grade classes would go to the pool at a nearby University. They actually separate the kids into four proficiency levels where the kids work to reach the next level. It's actually refreshing to see physical education taken a little more seriously. This interest shows in the adults, almost every adult I've met is regularly involved in some sort of physical activity.
Back to me being the chaperone. My understanding was that my job was to simply usher the boys through the dressing room as quickly as possible. Trying to get 6 and 7 year olds to do anything quickly is never easy, but it's even more difficult when you can't speak their language. I knew "Allez" and "Vite". Go and quick. It worked for a while until they realize that I couldn't really speak the language. I'm pretty sure one of them was a real smart @&& and I don't think I want to know what he was saying.
Then there was the little boy who looked at it as a chance to try out his English. He would try random words that didn't make much sense, but it was cute, so I'd try to talk to him some. Then as we were getting off the bus on a Tuesday afternoon, he looked at me, grinned, and said, "Yesterday is Thursday". I tried not to laugh too hard.
The Halloween Party
This actually occured several weeks back. The schools are on a two week break over Halloween which means that most of the Americans take the opportunity to travel. From what I understand it's probably the biggest shindig of the year. At close to 100 people, I'm sure that it is.
It is of course a costume party for kids and adults alike, if you like. Originally, I planned to throw on my Urlacher jersey and call it a night. Then, about a week before the party the woman hosting, who to say the least is meticulous in her planning, asked if I'd be willing to help out. She wanted me to dress up as some sort of monster and create a game where I "scare" the kids. I agreed, since, again I don't have a job, I try to help out when and wherever. One thing led to another and I decided to dress as the Incredible Hulk. I figured it was easy enough and all the kids would like it.
Unfortunately, this meant I had to locate body paint. I asked around and was pointed to a party store. I looked around for a few minutes, hoping to locate it on my own. No such luck, I was going to have to ask. I'd looked up the words for body paint earlier, but that was only part of it. Determining that I wanted green body paint was easy enough, but then she asked me how much I needed. Having never covered my body in green paint, I didn't know the answer. So, I asked for help. She asked me what I wanted it for or what I wanted to be. When I replied "Le Hulk Incroyable" her amusement was clear. Apparently she had never advised a 6'4 man on covering his body with paint either, so she had to enlist the help of her manager. Before suggesting two full containers he also expressed his amusement. So two tubes of green paint, some black face paint, a wig, and several Euros later I headed out.
Using an old shirt and pants and Dana's help. Here was the end result.
The Chaperone
Since, I don't have a job. (That still sounds weird) I try to help out when and where I can. This included accompanying Audrey's class to their weekly swimming trip during the first quarter. On Tuesday afternoons, the first and second grade classes would go to the pool at a nearby University. They actually separate the kids into four proficiency levels where the kids work to reach the next level. It's actually refreshing to see physical education taken a little more seriously. This interest shows in the adults, almost every adult I've met is regularly involved in some sort of physical activity.
Back to me being the chaperone. My understanding was that my job was to simply usher the boys through the dressing room as quickly as possible. Trying to get 6 and 7 year olds to do anything quickly is never easy, but it's even more difficult when you can't speak their language. I knew "Allez" and "Vite". Go and quick. It worked for a while until they realize that I couldn't really speak the language. I'm pretty sure one of them was a real smart @&& and I don't think I want to know what he was saying.
Then there was the little boy who looked at it as a chance to try out his English. He would try random words that didn't make much sense, but it was cute, so I'd try to talk to him some. Then as we were getting off the bus on a Tuesday afternoon, he looked at me, grinned, and said, "Yesterday is Thursday". I tried not to laugh too hard.
The Halloween Party
This actually occured several weeks back. The schools are on a two week break over Halloween which means that most of the Americans take the opportunity to travel. From what I understand it's probably the biggest shindig of the year. At close to 100 people, I'm sure that it is.
It is of course a costume party for kids and adults alike, if you like. Originally, I planned to throw on my Urlacher jersey and call it a night. Then, about a week before the party the woman hosting, who to say the least is meticulous in her planning, asked if I'd be willing to help out. She wanted me to dress up as some sort of monster and create a game where I "scare" the kids. I agreed, since, again I don't have a job, I try to help out when and wherever. One thing led to another and I decided to dress as the Incredible Hulk. I figured it was easy enough and all the kids would like it.
Unfortunately, this meant I had to locate body paint. I asked around and was pointed to a party store. I looked around for a few minutes, hoping to locate it on my own. No such luck, I was going to have to ask. I'd looked up the words for body paint earlier, but that was only part of it. Determining that I wanted green body paint was easy enough, but then she asked me how much I needed. Having never covered my body in green paint, I didn't know the answer. So, I asked for help. She asked me what I wanted it for or what I wanted to be. When I replied "Le Hulk Incroyable" her amusement was clear. Apparently she had never advised a 6'4 man on covering his body with paint either, so she had to enlist the help of her manager. Before suggesting two full containers he also expressed his amusement. So two tubes of green paint, some black face paint, a wig, and several Euros later I headed out.
Using an old shirt and pants and Dana's help. Here was the end result.
Now I'd forgotten that the plan was to park at the local parking lot and walk a couple hundred yards through town to the party house. At first, I was a little embarassed, then I thought, "Who could I possibly run into that I know?". The answer: Madame Mirabelle, Audrey's teacher. To her credit, she didn't seem too shocked and simply asked if we were going to a Halloween party. I sure hope so.
Now, as it turned out the hostess had enough planned that my "game" and costume weren't needed at all. Which means that I was simply the guy who takes Halloween way too seriously. What you must also remember is that this was my first time meeting roughly 50% of the guests. I have met several of these folks since and needed to re-introduce myself. Just a great first impression, don't you think?
The hills are alive.....
Upon returning from Normandy we could hear strange and constant bell ringing when we stepped outside. The next morning we finally saw the source of the mysterious noise. Sheep and goats covered the opposite slope. Probably a couple hundred of them. Apparently it is their winter pasture.
Actually they make for some good entertainment. Sometimes we watch the guard dogs that stay with and protect the sheep at all times. They did not appreciate the kids, myself, and Kensie getting close enough for some good pictures. All six of the large dogs quickly oreintated to our position and barked convincingly. It's also quite funny when it rains. The bell ringing becomes less often but is broken intermittently by more erratic bell ringing as the sheep shake off the rain.
But my favorite is to watch in the morning when the shepherd arrives. The guard dogs immediately "take five" and hed for a sunny spot and a nap. The border collies take over and immediately start to cram all the animals into a spot much smaller than you would think possible. I don't know what the shepherds do every day, but I've grown fond of watching them every morning over coffee.
Lyon
We finally made it to Lyon yesterday. It's only about an hour away but we just hadn't yet managed to make it there yet. Lyon is considered the "gastronomic capital" of France, making it either extremely delicious or pretentious, or both. Our first stop was a market along the river. Now we've been to several French markets and all of them together might equal everything we saw at this one. I simply cannot describe it. It had to be a quarter of a mile long filled with nothing but food, fresh oysters, veggies, jams, fruits, meats, nuts, mushrooms of every kind.
Unfortunately, we weren't there to shop for groceries, but we did buy some things to snack on. Our next destination was a bouchon. Buchons are a type of cafe specific to Lyon. They serve the cuisine that has made famous (or infamous, depending on your taste). Some of the local delicacies are tripe (cow stomach), andouillette (sausage of pig intestines), and pike quennelles (basically puffy fish meatloaf). Foolishly, I thought we would have to search to find a bouchon. In reality, we discovered why Lyon is the gastrnomic capital. The sheer number of these bouchons in old Lyon is amazing, and they all serve the three aforementioned dishes along with, to Dana's relief, some other less offensive dishes.
We finally closed our eyes and picked a bouchon. It was like I imagined it would be; a small cafe with red and white tiled floors, one waitress and a chef. As I have written before, it has been my goal to try local delicacies whenever possible, meaning that I basically was going to choose between the three cow stomach, pig intestines or puffy fish meatloaf. Being my first time in Lyon, I went with the safest of the three, the quenelle. Actually it was very good, next time I think I'll try the tripe.
I'm sure it goes without saying that Dana did not partake in any of these. She enjoys french cuisine quite a lot, as long as its made with relatively familiar ingredients.
The only problem is that this was yesterday, and it was upon return that I started feeling sick. So, that means it may be a while before I feel like returning to Lyon for some traditional bouchon fare.
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