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

I think everyone who works in Silicon Valley eventually hears this:  If you’re not failing sometimes, you’re not trying hard enough.

By that measure, I’m sure trying hard to learn French because I’m failing a LOT:

• I met a woman I thought was my age until she mentioned she had a son attending college in Lyon. I wanted to compliment her and say that she looked very jeune (young), but I mistakenly told her she was jaune (yellow).
• I was talking to a waiter about his shirt and was amused by the story he told us about buying it at a football game in Miami. Afterward I found out he was actually talking about a Madonna concert.
• I spent the day of my birthday telling everyone “Aujourd’hui, j’ai quatorze ans” (Today I am fourteen years old).

I was asked last week what method I’m using to learn French. I do have Rosetta Stone which I use, although not as often as I should. I did look into classes but the ones I found were pretty basic covering the stuff I already know –  alphabet, numbers, and asking for the restroom. I looked for a local tutor when we first got here, but didn’t have any luck.

(Side comment:  L’s Grade 1 class is starting English this year and the first thing they learned was “eyes”, “chin”, “nose” and “I don’t understand.”)

So my method is “Leave the house and talk to whoever doesn’t run away“. It’s actually a pretty good approach as long as JM doesn’t come with me. Don’t get me wrong, the whole bilingual husband thing is incredibly useful and I only love him more every time he answers the phone or figures out the crazy train schedules. But whenever he is there people talk to him instead of me, so I leave him at home when I go to pick up the bread or get the kids from the bus or buy the chocolate, and each time it’s a French lesson.

Next week JM is going to California and I’ll be here with the girls by myself. I’m nervous, but I’ll survive and probably learn more French that week than the rest of the trip so far.

I will confess – I was looking forward to visiting the doctor in France.

Not the being sick part, of course. We are self-employed, over-40, and I have a “pre-existing condition” so we are one of those families that the US healthcare system doesn’t really work for. I was very curious to see how a doctor visit in France would compare.

We got our chance last week. L sprained her ankle so we dug out the list of doctors that we got at Tourist Information (incredibly helpful place!) and found an office near us. JM called to see when we could come. Our first surprise came when THE DOCTOR answered the phone on the first ring – no receptionist, no voice mail.

There are walk-in hours from 9-12 every morning (appointments in the afternoon) so the doctor suggested we drop by. We walked into a tiny but modern building and saw a sign for “Salle de Dr. F (Room of Dr. F)“. We entered a small room that had a few people waiting, some chairs, a few magazines, and nothing else:  No receptionist. No nurse. No sign-in sheet. We sat down and waited like everyone else.

Every 10-15 minutes the doctor would open the door and the next person would go with her. Everyone waiting was very civil and knew exactly where they were in the order. Exactly one person would get up each time the doorknob turned.

The room had a price list posted.  22€ for an adult. Kids were more at 28€. Mileage was additional for house calls. (Yes, this doctor makes house calls!!!)

We waited for just under an hour for our turn. Lots of time to study the other people’s feet and realize that once again I was the only one in the room wearing white running shoes. Nothing else screams “American” quite like those shoes – except maybe a baseball cap.

When it was our turn the doctor firmly shook all our hands and walked us into a large office with a big desk and an examination table. Dr. F took L’s history directly onto the computer, put her on the table and confirmed it was a sprain, then typed up and printed a prescription – no illegible doctor handwriting here!

The visit ended with her giving us a bill for exactly the 28€ posted. She took Visa. We took the prescription to the pharmacy, and spent 8€.

(WARNING: I am about to sound bitter about the American health system. But it’s only because I am bitter.)

A similar visit in California would involve making an appointment for the one slot that the doctor had available that day, then waiting in the outside waiting room for 5-10 minutes. Then there would be a second wait of 10-30 minutes or more in the exam room, where there is nothing to distract the children. We’d be greeted by a receptionist, handed off to a nurse, and then see the doctor and repeat everything we told everyone already. We’d leave having had excellent medical care, but not having a clue what the visit would eventually cost.  (The last part is because of the self-insured thing – we have a high deductible plan to keep our premiums reasonable. It’s not the typical American experience.)

Then we’d go to the pharmacy with our handwritten prescription, where they would ask us what the writing meant and we’d have no idea, so they’d call the doctor’s office to confirm. If we were lucky the phone would be answered and we could go shopping for 15 minutes while they prepared the prescription. If we were unlucky the doctor wouldn’t answer and we’d have to return later in the day. If a generic is available the charge would be $20-30.  If no generic, we hold our breath and  pull out the credit card to wait for a nasty surprise.

Two months later the insurance and the doctor’s office would figure out what we owed, and we’d get a bill that we wouldn’t understand in spite of being highly educated – usually for about $120-180 on top of the $20 co-pay we had paid at the doctor’s office previously.

I did miss the fish tank in the pediatrician’s office in California, and depending on JM to communicate with the doctor is a BIG negative for me – but otherwise I kind of preferred the Provence way.

It’s been COLD in France this past week prise viagra. For a few days it was o.k. to hunker down at home, but the kids were starting to drive me crazy.  JM was sick, so I just needed to disappear with the girls for an hour. We were introduced to the perfect place by a neighbour in our village: Esprit Gourmand, a tea shop in St. Paul Trois Chateaux.

(Side Comment:  There is not even one chateaux (castle) in St. Paul Trois Chateaux.)

A tea shop usually wouldn’t strike me as a place for kids, but not all tea shops are run by the amazing Yves and Loupile.  There are a couple of things that make it great:

• Kid Books: There is a whole shelf of kid books in the back room. L and Z are each allowed to go (one at a time) and get a book to bring to our table. Last time they grabbed a “Where’s Waldo” style Smurf book. Working as a team, we got through the book in about an hour. The perfect break.
• Big Dominoes: Guests are welcome to use the game of huge wooden dominoes – either to play a game, or to set them up and push them over.
• The owners: I simply can’t say enough about the wonderful people who own this place. Not only are they completely patient with my bad french and keep telling me I’m doing fine (which is really all it takes to win my heart in this country!), best of all they genuinely love kids. Every time we visit the tea shop they do something a little special – suggest a book, bring a cookie, gently tease the kids about their umbrellas, or give them one of the little sparkly things they used for Christmas decorations.

Playing Big Dominoes with Yves at Esprit Gourmand

Esprit Gourmand also meets my absolutely #1 requirement for a trip alone with the kids in Provence – easy parking close by!

The Pont du Gard is less than an hour from our village and is a perfect day trip.

When we first arrived we were shocked at the price for parking – 15€!!  But it was actually quite a deal since the price covered access to the entire site for the whole family – including an extensive hands-on kids educational exhibit, a museum about the history of the site, plus miles of trail and of course the absolutely amazing pont itself. It was built in the first century by the Romans as part of an aquaduct to move water 50 miles from a spring in Uzes to Nimes. It took about fifteen years to build and used almost no mortar. The result is still stunningly beautiful thousands of years later. Those Romans were really impressive builders!!!

Z at the Pont du Gard

In the summer you can swim in the river right under the pont itself. For only 25€, you can buy an annual pass that includes the day of your visit, so we were upsold the extra 10€ and definitely plan to go back.

And it gets even better. If the sight of such an amazing Roman architectural feat inspires an urgent need for a penguin postcard – you are all set.

Penguin Postcard at the Pont du Gard?!?

I turned 40 this week.

Before coming to France, I researched French culture. I talked to people who had spent time in France and read as many books as I could including Polly Platt’s seminal book on life in France, French or Foe. One thing was consistent – don’t expect to have a social life. Not that anyone said the French are unfriendly, just that it took them time to warm up and one year simply would not be enough.

Polly Platt obviously NEVER visited our village. The people here couldn’t be more lovely, warm, and welcoming.  And to the whole family – not just to JM whose “cute French-Canadian accent” seems to charm the ladies (who knew?).

(Side comment:  Despite what Polly Platt says, it is OK to use the restroom when you visit a French person’s house!!!)

Even though we’ve only been here for a few months, we knew enough people to have a party to celebrate my 40th birthday. Naturally we have mostly met people who have kids the same age as ours and who speak at least some English – it turns out there are three English teachers in our village and they were all here.

Forty Tea Lights for my Fortieth Birthday

After the charcuterie (pate-style meat) but before the fromage (cheese), the kids summoned the adults to see the Spectacle (show) they had just made up. They had taken our “reuse toy box” and made a family of very clever puppets:  a king, a queen, a princess, a policeman, and a pig.  They even had a program listing the puppeteers and their roles, with a special English edition just for me. All the parents had been assigned seats on a specific color of yoga mat. I was completely charmed.

Garbage Puppets

We’re really enjoying our village and the people. I especially love the kids, who simply do not get that I don’t understand French. So they just talk normally, and I tell them “lentement” (slowly) and “répéter” (repeat) and use charades until we figure it out. The same exchange can be very awkward with an adult, but the kids don’t care and it’s great practice for me.

Not to paint everything in the village as idyllic. As we get to know people better we are seeing more of the disagreements, politics, and personalities. Apparently they’ve been trying to name the streets in our village for two years now but can’t agree on the names even though there are only two streets! And that charming puppet show the kids put together – we never actually saw the final performance because the kids started to bicker.

The one benefit of not speaking French is that I’m completely oblivious to any issues!!!

We are looking forward to traveling around Europe during the many (many, many, many) school holidays.  For the fall break, we decided to explore Provence. There are a lot of amazing things to see just a short drive from where we are staying, so we set off to find them.

These day trips were (mostly) great – but it was always enlightening to hear the kid version of what we had just seen. Some days it was like they had been in a totally different places than JM and I had.

We visited Vaison la Romaine, a town with a bridge built two thousand years ago by the Romans (it withstood a recent flood that wiped out all the modern bridges) and a fabulous Roman amphitheater. But for the girls, the best part was the old Roman toilets “all in a row”.

Adult Pick: 1st Century Bridge at Vaison la Romain

Kid Pick: Roman Toilets at Vaison la Romaine

We visited a beautiful and historic stone overhang thing (not quite a cave) where a famous author used to write  letters.  That night, the kids couldn’t stop talking about the very HUGE mushroom they saw beside the parking lot.

Kid Pick: Cool Mushroom

We went to the Grotte de la Cocalière, a truly amazing cave with incredible stalactites and stalagmites reflected in perfectly still water. The next day they wrote a letter to their cousin in Oregon and it was all about the little train that took us back to the parking lot at the end of the cave walk.

Adult Pick: Stalactites and Stalagmites

Kid Pick: The train at the end of the cave tour

It is nice that when things don’t go as planned, the kids can find something to else to do very easily. We planned to visit a Troglodyte Village in Bollene. The Routard recommended it for children – and how can you not love cavemen houses? But when we got there we found out that it was temporarily closed for safety reasons.  So we wandered around the medieval part of town and the girls found a pile of leaves to jump in and had a fantastic time. (JM liked the 11th-century church behind the leaf pile.)

Kid Pick: Pile of Leaves. Adult Pick: 11th Century Church in Background

More pictures from our fall day-trips in Provence are posted on the Kids and Castles Facebook page.

Growing up in Canada, Remembrance Day was a day for contemplation. Each year the entire country seemed to shut down for a minute of silence on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month.

This year, we are spending Remembrance Day in France, where the end of the war has a much deeper meaning. One in five men living in Provence died during World War I. Every village, no matter how small, has a memorial listing the names of their war dead.

The local custom is to “appel aux morts” (name the dead).  They gather at the war memorial and read out the names of each of those who died during the war in a ceremony. It’s a lovely tradition.

Remembrance Day in the Village

But I really missed the red plastic poppies and hearing Canadian John McCrae’s famous poem “In Flanders Fields”. So I am posting it here.

One of the challenging things about car travel in France is the high distraction factor.  It’s very easy to get side tracked by really cool sites.

Case in point:  Diane and I took a few days off while my parents were taking care of the kids (Merci Maman et Papa!) and we decided to go to Avignon.  After driving for less than half an hour from home, we saw a really cool medieval fortress perched up on a cliff by the highway.

9th Century Mornas Fortress

We simply had to stop and check it out. Our guide was dressed as a medieval soldier and spoke to us in old, medieval French (very cool).  We learned several useful tips on how to build our very own attack-resistant fortress, including:

• Always build the main doors perpendicular to the natural path of travel to ensure attackers can’t get any momentum as they (try to) ram the door
• Since attackers are right-handed, make the approaching path uphill with a right turn so it’s harder for them to swing their swords without hitting the wall (but easier for the defenders)
• Put lots of large nails in wooden doors so it’s hard to break through with an axe

As an engineering geek, now I can’t help notice such building subtleties at other medieval sites.  Neat!

We also learned to speak the language of medieval soldiers and in particular how they described their coat of arms.  For example, the original Provence Coat of Arms is said to be “D’or aux quatre pals de gueules” (Of gold with four pallets of mouths). Note:  Yellow is said as “gold” and red is said as “mouths”.

Provençal Coat of Arms

We ended up staying in Mornas for the night, about 25 minutes away from home.

The next day, our determination to get to Avignon evaporated after driving for about 10 minutes as we got distracted by Orange and its famous Roman Arc de Triomphe, its world heritage Roman Amphitheater, and so on.

We stumbled on so many cool things on our way that we never made it to Avignon.

What’s the moral of the story?  It depends who you are:

1. Drive with your eyes closed. Select a destination (at home, away from distractions), then drive straight there without taking your eyes off the road.  This way, you won’t get off track with really cool distractions.
   OR
2. Planning is for losers. Just hop in the car, drive, and be surprised.  Chances are, you won’t go very far, but you’ll enjoy every minute of it.
   OR
3. Focus on day trips. You’ll end up staying less than half an hour from home, so why pay for a hotel room?  Unless your objective is to prop up the French economy.

I call it “the village cafe“, but it’s actually a multi-commerce (general store). You can buy bread, stamps, and laundry detergent, refill your cell phone, and have a coffee or aperitif.  It’s also a full-service restaurant.  But this is not the “video rental and fresh bait” kind of general store you find in small towns in North America, this restaurant has a real chef and food that is absolutely exquisite.

One of my favorite things about France is that our cafe does plat à emporter (take out) including a really lovely chilled foie gras. You read that right, TAKE OUT FOIE GRAS. Seriously!!!  How awesome is that? Today JM and I had lunch there  and my canard (duck) was superb with a really incredible morel mushroom sauce. Last Friday the pork with chestnut sauce was absolute poetry.

But aside from the amazing food, the cafe is also a great place to experience the village:

• Today there was a notice in the window announcing the birth of a new baby complete with picture and a general invitation to the baby shower – which would be held at the cafe, of course.
• While were were eating, a local farmer showed up at the restaurant carrying a HUGE butternut squash under his arm, vanished into the kitchen, and came out with an enormous pail of food garbage.
• Monsieur le Cowboy, a local character, came in for a drink and stopped by our table to flirt a bit, taking my hand and putting it to his lips, but then kissing his own hand instead at the last minute.
• As we were leaving, the chef came out so of course JM chatted him up. He gave us a taste of his salt-cured duck, which sounded kind of scary to this simple prairie girl, but was excellent.

A totally charming lunch in our wonderful Provencal village cafe.

When we first landed in Provence, it was windy. I knew about the mistral, the wind that causes entire towns to shut down and people to go mad.  So when I was told this baby wind was the famous mistral, I scoffed. Worse, I scoffed on Social Media (@kidsandcastles on Twitter). After all, I grew up in Saskatchewan.  That little wind with a clear blue sky was what we prairie folk refer to as “a beautiful day”.

But I shouldn’t have dismissed the mistral that quickly.  It got much worse.  Here’s our neighbours’ veranda after the last windy day here:

The Mistral Redesigns a Village Veranda

The wind even did some damage to the road signs:

Mistral-Damaged Sign

But the saddest of all, was the fig tree in the backyard. I really don’t like figs as a general rule, but these ones were very good.

Mistral Destroys Yummy Fig Tree

Au revoir yummy fig tree.  You will be missed.