Our Family’s (2nd) Year in the South of France

The BIG tourist attraction for kids in our region of Provence is the Ferme Aux Crocodiles (Crocodile Farm). We were told about it before we came, picked up brochures and coupons from every tourist information we visited, and had other families tell us about it. It was very high on our list of things to do.

However, since all the brochures emphasized that it is always open  – even on Christmas Day and bank holidays – and it is mostly inside, we’ve been saving the crocodile farm for a rainy day.

Last week it was raining, so we decided to head out first thing Wednesday morning and spend the full day with the 350 crocodiles plus alligators and turtles and other beasties. We managed to leave the house at a reasonable time and about five “Are-we-there-yet?”s later we arrived to find this:

Annual Closure of the Crocodile Farm

Stuff being closed has become a part of our life here in France, so we’ve learned to roll with it. We still hope to see the crocodile farm one day, but in the meantime we visited the perfume factory next door and watched a machine fill little Eiffel Tower shaped bottles with cheap perfume. We also took the opportunity to visit Pierrelatte for the first time, where we discovered this little gem of a sign:

The evidence on the ground gives no indication that the dogs in Pierrelatte understand this sign.

JM brought me some old copies of The Economist when he came back from California. I was fascinated by this article on the future of English as the “world’s second language”. It argues that English will stop being used so commonly, because technology will replace the need for a commonly used global business language:

“English will have no successor because none will be needed. Technology…will fill the need.”

Interesting, but I’m not convinced. The technology is really just not there. Even with the incredible smarts underlying the Google Translate service, the algorithms still don’t understand the context of language. Here are a few examples:

• We were invited to get together with some people in the village, so of course we asked what we could bring. The response was “Non bien sûr vous ne portez rien” which Google translated as “Of course you do not wear anything”. I’m hoping our hostess actually meant that we shouldn’t bring anything.
• A local family invited us for dinner where they would serve a raclette – a Swiss dish that is mostly melted cheese. I put the message into Google Translate just to check that I understood the details, and found out we’d been invited to “participate in a squeegee”.
• We put together some ideas for L’s birthday presents. She really wants a spinning top, called a toupie in French. I did a sanity check on the list before sending it out, and for some reason Google decided L wants a “router” for her birthday.
• Google Translate thinks my belle-mere (mother-in-law) speaks old English, and translated her inquiry “As-tu mangé de l’agneau que tu aimes beaucoup?” as “Hast thou eaten of the lamb that you like?”

All these examples are from just this week, so these are common occurrences, not rare exceptions. Personally, I am not stopping my efforts to learn French anytime soon.

This picture was taken in January in the Drome area of Provence.

Oak Tree with Leaves in January

The leaves of the oak trees turned brown several months ago, and many mistrals have blown since then. But the leaves are STILL ATTACHED!!

We’re living in an area surrounded by villages that date back to antiquity or medieval times. We frequently experience interesting and fun traditions just by walking around.

Earlier in December, we visited Taulignan for its annual Christmas market.  Taulignan is a fortified medieval village that prides itself on beautiful walls with a dozen defensive towers, generally all intact and quite spectacular.

Medieval Christmas in Taulignan

Many people take this event quite seriously, dressing up as knights, princesses, bards, medieval soldiers, priests, medieval farmers and so on.  Some folks even explore the market by riding a horse, just like the good’ol days.

[Editor’s side note:  Watch where you walk!]

But the highlight of our visit was the show of people who dance with fire and then spit it from from their mouths.  It’s really quite impressive.  To this day, I still wonder what they drink to make such a spectacular flame.  Perhaps this is a secret best unknown…

Last year we made a resolution – to live in Europe for a year. But this time we actually did it!

We  are very excited, happy, and proud that we finally took this trip we’ve been dreaming about for years. But it turns out there was a catch. The closest thing we’d ever done to something like this was taking a vacation. But a one-year trip isn’t like a vacation. You can’t pause your life for a full year like you can for a few weeks. Life goes on. It’s easy to imagine that a mere change of location will make life better because you’ll have more time – just like when you’re on vacation.

We worked too hard in Silicon Valley – in France we’d take the time to sip wine and relax. We owned too much stuff which cluttered our lives – in France we’d take only our four allowed suitcases and live a simple existence. We didn’t spend enough time with our kids – in France there is a four-day school week and lots of vacations so of course we’d have more family time. In California we put on weight no matter what changes we made to our diet – but the famous French Paradox would let us slim down while eating a high-fat diet. My dental hygienist sternly lectured me on gum health every time I saw her – in France I would floss my teeth EVERY day!!!

But we’re not on vacation in France, we’re living here. There is the usual stuff that happens anywhere but is more work because it’s not familiar – feeding ourselves, doing homework, washing clothes, fixing broken windshields, and on and on. There is the sabbatical-specific stuff like figuring out our next appointment with immigration to keep our visas (370€ – each!) and learning French. And we want to travel and see this amazing place, which requires planning and time.

For us, there was no “geographic cure” that magically took our existing life and made it better just by changing our physical location. I’m still pretty much a control freak. JM still has back/muscle/etc issues. The kids still won’t eat salad.

We’re very, very glad we came. This has been an amazing experience and we look forward to the second half of the journey. But it’s still real life and we’re still us.

I find it à propos that the guy we buy our firewood from lives in the village of Salles-sous-Bois (Room Under Wood).

The Drome area of Provence takes their nativity scenes very, very seriously. Every church has a beautiful and intricate creche. Our village has a contest among the children for the best creche.

Here is a small part of the creche in the tiny, but very old, church in our village:

If you look closely at the picture, you’ll realize that there is something missing – there is no baby Jesus! When I first saw the creche I thought it was incredibly sad that somebody would take advantage of  a church’s open door to vandalize a nativity scene. But then I realized that he was missing from all of the creches. This is part of the tradition and baby Jesus will appear on Christmas Day.

The figures in these creches are quite spectacular. The attention to detail is stunning.

One of my favorite character groupings is this one with the lavender. Lavender??? Yes, the Provencal creches mix the traditional Mary, Joseph, shepherds, and wisemen and put them side-by-side with scenes from 1800s Provence. Typical figures include farmers, washer women, fishermen, millers, and hunters, and the scenes typically have a stream, a field of lavender, a windmill and much more.  The larger creches are animated with running water, horses that walk around, millers that carry flour back-and-forth and so on. At the creche in the “big” village near us, you can deposit 2 euros to start a complex animation that cycles from morning to sunset. Our girls love it.

This mixing of the biblical nativity scene with 1800s Provence extends throughout the Christmas tradition here. We saw a Pastoral last weekend. It was fun to follow Mary on her donkey to the salle des fetes to see the performance (but had to be careful where we stepped!) The service started with with angels and shepherds singing some traditional carols, but then the miller, the hunter, and various other Provencal characters made an appearance as well, each bringing a gift for the little baby Jesus.

Our girls took a class here in our village to make their own creche. Of course this is our first year so we don’t have the full set yet, but we have a good start on the basics:  Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus, cow, donkey, potatoes, pumpkins, windmill, stream, and even a HUGE CARROT.

Our Creche

JM and his fluent French went back to California this week leaving me alone with my struggling preschool-quality attempts to communicate. It was a week of ups and downs language-wise, but I survived.

Monday:

• Gardener here. We had an exchange of pleasantries which went very nicely – mostly because he didn’t need anything.
• Picked up the bread order at the village cafe. Got (very willingly) upsold to a pain au chocolat for Tuesday’s order.
• I went grocery shopping and didn’t embarrass myself.

So far so good. I can do this.

Tuesday:

• Cold this morning, so drove the girls to the bus. 4-way flasher on for some reason. Can’t figure out how to turn it off.  Isn’t there a huge red button somewhere to press?  Drove around all morning with the hazards flashing before I figured it out. Embarrassing.
• Gardener wants to talk to me today. Something about the olive trees and what he normally does. Really absolutely no idea what he’s talking about (gardening vocabulary not covered yet in Rosetta Stone). No actual communication happens, but assuming it doesn’t matter.
• Contractor is supposed to come by at 11:30 to see about some insulation. Look up the word “weatherstripping” on Google Translate so I can suggest it. Translation given is bise. But bise means kiss!?!? Decide not to mention weatherstripping – just in case.
• Contractor does not show up. He calls at noon and talks a lot and very, very fast. I manage to say in French “I don’t speak much French, please speak slowly” and he said “D’accord” (O.K.) and talks even more, even faster French. I did catch the word heure (hour) so figured it was safe to assume he was rescheduling. I asked him to “repetez l’heure” (repeat the hour). I think I heard 2:00, and aujourd’hui (today). I’ll know in a few hours if I was right.
• 3:00 and contractor is still not here. Bummed that I did not understand. But at 3:10 he calls to reschedule again. This house may never get insulated but I’m getting lots of practice booking appointments in French.
• We have been invited to dinner with a local family who speaks about as much English as I speak French. I was worried it would be awkward and difficult, but didn’t  want to pass up the experience. Turns out I had a great time. We mostly covered the basics that we had the vocabulary for – where we live, the kids, the weather, the school, the food, and so on. Every sentence is an effort to say/understand, so it takes the entire evening to get through what would normally be a 20 minute conversation. But they are quite patient and the food is excellent. We both put our French-English dictionaries on the table to look up the occasional word, mostly vegetable words I don’t know in English either (what is escarole anyway?)

Wednesday:

• Take the girls shopping. As we check out we trip the security alarm, which upsets L so she is absolutely no help when the guard comes over and asks me to take off my jacket. I panic, and completely forget every word of French I ever knew. It’s shaping up to be the beginning of a really, really bad situation, but he just snips off a tag  inside my jacket and we’re done. Easy-peasy.

Thursday:

• Go to the cafe to pick up the bread. Chat a bit in English with a woman from England. After she leaves, an older lady who has been having a coffee makes some comment to the rest of the cafe about not speaking French in France. Normally I would just get my bread and leave, but I get up my courage and say that I can speak French if she prefers, but it’s very difficult for me.  She ends up talking with me in French, and turns out to be quite delightful. Am proud of myself for trying – and very, very relieved that I didn’t inadvertently start a village scandal.

Friday:

• Insulation guy finally comes and brings a buddy.  He does not grasp the concept of speaking slowing and using small words. No matter what I do he just talks with more words and speaks faster. Not going well at all. He is just not understanding me and I am not understanding him. The buddy is no help at all. He keeps saying something with the word “anglais” and then laughing. I finally grab my laptop and open Google Translate and we type notes back and forth. It works, but overall a very discouraging interaction.
• Pick up the kids at the bus. For the first month the other moms who were waiting would say “Bonjour” and then talk to each other while we waited. But one day I asked for them what French kids did for their teachers at Christmas, and now every day we chat a little bit. The 3-4 minutes it takes to wait for the bus lets us cover one topic, and I spend some time each day planning for that short interaction and checking the vocabulary. Today we talk about our plans for Christmas. It’s nice.

It’s Saturday and I have survived!!!  But I will be very happy to see JM on Monday.

Today when I went to the village cafe to pick up the bread, the whole town seemed to be buzzing with the news. Four different people told me about it. Clearly it was a big day for our small village.

There is a nouveau panneau (new sign) in the square by the Mairie (town hall).

Exciting.

Sometimes the kids do something that really just wouldn’t have happened if we had not come to France.

Last night we made spaghetti for dinner. The girls were helping set the table and stir the sauce (why do kids love pots of boiling hot liquid?) and for a brief moment we were having the kind of positive family time you might see in a pasta commercial. The girls asked for a piece of dry spaghetti to play with, which I gave them since they asked so nicely.

So my guard was down when L turned to Z and said, “Let’s go play smoke break” and they confidently put the sticks in their mouths and inhaled.

I’m not one of those smooth, natural, and unflappable mothers who easily rolls with the unexpected. My first reaction is usually to freak out a little bit and assume I’ve damaged the children yet again. This time was: AARRGGHHH!!!  What is this country doing to my children?!?!?

But I am working on being more relaxed and I’m learning to embrace these times as “teachable moments”.

I am also figuring out how to introduce them to all the medieval stuff. History tends to be pretty violent, and there is a LOT of history here. So the kids end up exposed to the kind of violence that was common in medieval times. The otherwise cool knights and fortresses come with all kinds of nasty ways to kill people. Those medieval lords seemed to get quite a kick out of throwing people over a cliff after they conquered a particularly well defended fortress. (Not that there isn’t violence in American – duh – but it’s different.)

Stocks at Mornas Fortress

I think I did an o.k. job explaining how stocks were used for punishment without causing any nightmares. Although I confess that I arranged to slide them quickly past the gibbet before the questions started since I wasn’t ready to handle that.

I am comforted by the fact that we grew up with Bible stories which are really kind of frightening – baby Moses being put in a river full of crocodiles, lions’ dens, fiery furnaces, crucifixion, stoning, and on and on – and we survived.

The most likely scenario is that the kids will be just fine.