Knock knock

As anyone who has ever moved knows, it takes a while to settle in to a new place, and to make friends.   It can be particularly hard if you are only going to be somewhere for a short time.  You can see the light turn off in some folks' eyes when they hear you are leaving in a few months.  But others hang in there and become lifelong friends - thank you Jennifer E and Kathy B!)

Having moved many times as a kid and an adult, I am very aware that you have to really TRY to meet people in a new place.  Nonetheless I have been a complete chicken here because of my poor French and  also because of the cultural differences.  Example, when out jogging or walking in our neighborhood or park no one looks you in the eye or nods or says hello.  If you have kids, or they do, you might glance at each other in a friendly way, but otherwise NO COMMUNICATION.  Imagine you are alone on a tiny path in a nice neighborhood on your way to the market, on market day, and someone is coming from the market with a bag full of veggies, and you don't give each other that "nice day for a walk to the market" nod.   This boggles my mind.  Is it like that in NYC?  My  not-factually-based theory is that it's leftover from WWII when you didn't know who to trust on the streets.  Thoughts?

In stores, it is very different.  Once you step through the door you are greeted in a very friendly personable manner,  (not, thank goodness, "welcome to Mo's!)  you are treated kindly, and bid a bon journée or après midi when you leave.  More on kindness when I get to the A.P.E. (PTA)

Back to the topic of being chicken, I freak out whenever the doorbell rings.  The first time it was a man checking the water gauge. He had to explain to me...admittedly the real problem is that I had to understand..that he needed me to open the garage door with a key and show him the gauge.  That exchange put me off the doorbell (opposite of pavlovian response?).  The next several visitors  (over the 4 months we've been here) were asking if we wanted to have the shrubs trimmed.  After the first guy, I learned to simply say "Ce n'est pas notre maison"  which is very effective.  

After the three tree trimmers, another man came by and said something that sounded to me like "Do you want any potatoes or shallots?"  "Ha," I thought to myself, "that's a funny translation of whatever he really said!"  I told him we did not own the place, and he asked again if we wanted any potatoes or shallots.  He looked very surprised when I said no thanks.  (I had actually just bought both.)  After he left I vowed to say "oui" to the next giver/seller of random veggies.

The next ring was someone collecting for the blind (I just happened to know the word for blind).  He also looked stunned that I said no, but I was in turn appalled that his hand thrusting his credentials towards my face held a lit smokey cigarette.  At least he wasn't collecting for lung cancer.

The most recent visitor turned out to be a neighbor telling me my car window was open. (No, I didn't understand what he wanted, but he led me out to the car and pointed) I managed to shock him by boldly INTRODUCING myself.  (Crazy American!)  Our neighbor to the side, and across the street nod in very friendly manner but we have not met.  I think we might be a little scared of each other's language, or perhaps children.

I finally connected with the school APE (PTA) in February.  First, the VP, a lovely Mom from Canada, took me to the Prefecture to help translate to resolve some visa issues for the kids for a school trip.  She waited in line with me for FOUR HOURS.  I cannot yet tell the tale of what happened there that day, or on subsequent visits, because of my PTSD. (Prefecture Traumatic Stress Disorder) . While we waited she told me about the APE weekly conversation group, and the monthly cultural events.

The conversation group has almost 40 members, about 20 of whom attend on a given week. We meet on Wednesdays, the 1/2 day of school.  The goal is to allow the parents to practice their English or French.  I have been three times and most often  everyone is so nice they try to speak English when I am in a conversation.  Today I tried a little harder, speaking some French while another parent practiced her practically perfect english.  The group is absolutely fascinating.  The hostess today was from Morocco and speaks 4 languages.  These ployglots are from all over France, Europe and the world, and many move countries regularly, so the light stays in their eyes when you explain that while you just got here, you will be leaving soon.

The cultural event last month was a docent led tour of an exhibit at the Modern Art Museum here, with lunch after at the museum.  I loved it.  This week it is a tour of Villa Cavrois,  I'm not even quite sure what it is, but I am sure I will enjoy it!

OK,  I kid you not, I was finishing this up by googling to see if there is a word for fear of doorbells (there is not)  and guess what happened?  Yes, the doorbell rang!  It was the gas man, who spoke English, phew.
.

Ecole Jeannine Manuel parents at lunch after museum tour


r

cheese, bread, wine, beer, dessert

The local cheese here is called maraoilles, one variety of which is named Vieux Lille, and nicknamed "old Stinky."  It tastes  mild, but yummy, but it really does smell.  Amelia, a cheese lover, HATES the smell.   It gets milder when cooked, and you can order dishes with it at restaurants or buy them pre-made at restaurants.  We don't buy it anymore because l'odeur takes over our small house.

We had a welsh maraoilles (my Mom used to call it welsh rarebit) for an appetizer at a restaurant  the other night and it was seriously one of the  best things I've eaten.  My guess is it was cheese, cream and butter...but I didn't have a stomach ache so it couldn't have been, right?

Cheese is very inexpensive, compared to what we are used to the in the states.  You can pretty much buy a slab of most cheese for around 2 euro.  I have sworn that I will keep my beloved husband in roquefort the entire time we are here.  Here is a picture of what we have in the fridge at the moment.  The munster (top right) is very different from the states, here it is a strong soft cheese from Alsace.  Those are peppercorns in the cheese on the top left.

Bread.  Bread.  Bread.  We consume loaves and loaves of it.  Normally I'll pick up a baguette of some sort and possibly some sliced as well at the grocery store.  Around 90 euro-cents for a baguette.  Yesterday I bought some local rolls called faluches, named because they look like  hats  traditionally worn by students.  One site described them as "milk clouds."  Kids loved them but I like a heartier loaf!



When we go out, there are often children's menus with some sort of pasta, or chopped steak. More expensive than kids' menus at home, but better quality, usually.  

Sometimes the kids order off the regular menu.  Here's a picture of a meal (NOT a kids' meal) Amelia ordered, and devoured, despite the egg surprise. (It's smoked salmon and pasta).













Scott and I have had 4 "date nights" out without the kids since we've been here.  It took a while to find a babysitter, but we now employ a lovely young woman from the Northwest U.S. who is living here while studying French. We take the metro into Lille (an eight minute ride) and wander Vieux Lille until it's time for dinner.

Dinners take hours, and are very relaxing, once you get your glass of wine.  No tips, so you know the server doesn't care what you order, or how long you take, pondering questions like these (because of Scott's pescatarianism):

Is Escargot an animal?

When the chef sends out a complimentary first course of sweetbreads, do you dig in?

When you are at a work lunch and accidentally order bone marrow, do you send it back?   When they saw the hunk of bone arrive,  Scott's french colleagues said, "ahh...you are more French than we!"

Scott and I  usually split the "gourmand" dessert, below, which includes a coffee and a taste of several desserts.  Chocolate mousse, creme brulée, some yummy white stuff with fruit and a sorbet.  I forgot to include my tiny cup of coffee in the picture.

Wine, just get to the wine, you are saying?  Below is the rosé aisle of the grocery store.  Bottles start at a little more than 2 euro.  We usually spend 4 or 5 euro a bottle.  Our favorite everyday wine is Bourgogne Aligote,  a grape I had never heard of before.

Beaucoup a choisir!

But our region, Hauts de France (formerly Nord/Pas de Calais and Picardie), is not a wine producer. Lille (established in the 7th century) wasn't even part of France until Louis XIV came along.   When you look at a map, you might think it really belongs in Belgium.   We are the blue dot on the google map below, thank you google.   The black line is the Belgium border.  Friends buy gas and groceries in Belgium, we visit their playgrounds.   Like Belgium, beer is the the local drink here.

Some Lille beers

Like every perfect meal, I'll end with chocolate...

Look at the chocolate euros the Lapin de Paques brought Bobby!

Everyday Life

Like driving, everyday life as an expat is more difficult, but it's consistently interesting.  Here is a peek into the quotidienne.

We have a washer, but no dryer.  We hang it on racks, on lamps, on door knobs, on radiators. As Amelia commented,  the towels feel like toast when they are dry.  I take the sheets and duvet covers to a laundromat since they are too large to hang dry.  

When we first got here I demanded that everyone wear their clothes until they were REALLY dirty.   I gave up on that when I realized I don't want to throw away the 9 years I spent trying to teach the kids to put their clothes in the hamper.

We also don't have a dishwasher,  The kids pitch in more here, drying dishes, sweeping and helping hang clothes.

We cook very simply, as we did in Richmond.  Always a big salad and fish or pasta or omelettes or pre-made quiche.  The store bought entrees like quiche are really yummy here.    Anyway, it took us a while to figure out the french directions on the packages.  They use celsius of course, but also provide instructions for the "Traditional French oven" which has no temperature on the gauge- just numbers 1-7.    Not too hard, right?  Our oven looks like this:

Here is what we figured out:
3:  Very hot
2:   Oops!  3 was too hot last time!
1:  No idea, we haven't used it yet


We have long dinners.  School starts an hour later here, so the kids stay up later.   And lately, it's difficult to even think of dinner because it is so darn BRIGHT out.  The sun set last night at 8:40.

When we arrived in January, the sun was rising at close to 9 a.m. and setting at 5 pm, for a mere 8 hours of daylight.  In February I tricked the kids into starting screen time at sunset, rather than the usual 5:30 PM.  They were very pleased with it until the end of the month.  We compromised by moving it to 6PM which seemed reasonable then but now seems like noon.

Every month we gain about an hour of daylight.  The weather is much less variable.  We had low 50's as the high quite often in January, and now a good day will be in the low 60's.  The average high for April is 54, May is 62 and June is 67.  Which is actually quite pleasant when it's sunny.  (44 days a year of strong sunshine on average :( .)

A little more on the hard part.  My friend Christina, another recent expat, put it perfectly.  She said "You can only do one errand a day" but then she corrected herself  "actually, you can only do less than one errand a day."

We have a bath and a sink upstairs.  Downstairs in our unheated foyer is the toilet and small sink with only cold water.  Our upstairs sink started seriously leaking on March 22nd.  We moved our toothbrushes and Scott's shaving gear downstairs and emailed our landlady. She was in Brussels helping (she is a doctor) so it took her a few days to reply with a recommended plumber.  Then it took me a few days to get up the courage to call the plumber, and when I did, I left him the wrong french phone number.  I called again a few days later when I realized this, and again read from my script on google translate, leaving him the correct french phone number.

Our french phone is cheap,  9 euro cheap, so I am never quite sure if I missed a call, or if someone ever DOES call, how to answer it.  After a few days I asked our landlady to try.  Then we set off for about 10 days of travel. By that time the landlady found another plumber who communicated by email and used google translate, and we had an appointment the next morning.  He had no English but luckily I had learned some basic plumbing vocabulary- sink, faucet and leak!  All fixed in an hour, today, three weeks later.

It is market day so I am heading out with the kids for flowers and veggies and bread.  My Aunt Laurie, who spent many winter months in Germany taught me about treating myself to flowers.

Final photo:  Scott looking for hotels for our next trip while I am doing taxes.  Quotidienne theme and all.

As far as I know, no one has sworn at me, but boy, oh boy, do I get beeped at.

our trusty steed 

 There is a rule called "Priorité à droite" which means that you yield to oncoming traffic from the right,  if he driver on the right is at an unmarked intersection.  So, Richmonders, assume you are zipping down River Road, heading to a nice dinner at Portico.  Each time you hit an intersection, you need to know a) that there is an intersection, and b) if it's marked or not.  If it's not, traffic will pull out in front of you, willy nilly, and either hit you, or beep in a very angry matter if you don't get hit, but failed to yield.  If you are hit by someone coming from the right you will be deemed to be at fault.

Our town has narrow streets, and houses right against the road, so occasionally this rule is helpful, when you can't see around the corner.  We have also had to get used to the long portions of two way streets in our neighborhood where only one car can fit, so one car or the other has to pull over.  I was a chicken at first but now I zip down them like a local. As long as I am behaving properly I have found French drivers to be very courteous.

In fact, I was at the CarreFour (local store) and was carefully backing to the right out of my parking place. as the man behind me and to the left was also carefully backing out to his right.  THUD!  Instantly I realized that 1)I had left my registration and license at home by accident, 2) Scott was in the U.S., and 3) the kids were home alone.  I had no idea what to do, but I knew it would take A LOT of time.

L'homme had leapt out of his car as I was contemplating these sorry facts, so by the time I stepped out he had accessed the damage.   My car was fine and his had a small dent.  He ran from car to car, waving his arms madly, calling out something in french like "It's nothing, no matter."   I was overjoyed so I used my "un peu de francais" to say "thank you thank you I love you!"  Well maybe I didn't say that last part but I felt it.

Other than that, driving our leased peugeot is a pleasure.  It's diesel,  stick-shift, and has bells and whistles that our cars at home (10 and 20 years old) lack, including a GPS who I consider to be one of my closest friends.  She has a lovely british accent and doesn't get as bent out of shape as the google maps narrator.  Google lady will be urging me to make a legal u-turn whenever possible (y'all know how humiliating that is) while my Brit won't say a word until you take the next roundabout and realize the 5th exit IS a u-turn.

I will close this post with a completely unrelated picture from a bathroom in a restaurant in Cannes:


A bientot!