Bisous, Beffroi and Boves

Most things I was worried about in regard to living in France have turned out just fine.

Living in much smaller quarters then we are used to has been mostly good.  We can always hear what the kids are playing, and it's less annoying than we expected.  Except when they end up wrestling and someone, usually A, is yelling "get off, get off!"  In fact, it's kind of fun to eavesdrop.  I love how closely their play reflects what is going on around us.  Right now Amelia is calling for "more bandages" because their stuffed animals were caught in a  lightning storm.   Last week, the "stuffies" were taking SOLs.  (I had just made the kids take a practice test online.)  There are also Stuffie campaigns,  primaries,  peace treaties, and attacks on ISIS.

Our  unheated toilet room (on a different floor from the bedrooms) has also worked just fine. As Scott pointed out, no one wants to linger in there, so there is rarely a line.   The thing I miss most about our house is our patio in the summer and fireplace in the winter.  Meaning being able to have a glass of wine and a conversation away from the kids during the pre-dinner "screentime/martini-time."   We have gone outside a few times but as I may have mentioned before, it ALWAYS rainy and cool here.


Back to expectations: A silly thing I worried about, as we anticipated our move here, was the custom of kissing on the cheek (bisous).  I worried that I wouldn't know whom to kiss, but I  figured that I wouldn't get to know anyone well enough to face this situation.

Reality is much simpler.  You kiss everybody.  Yes, everybody.  At the PTA conversation group, 15 to 20 people of various nationalities meet at someone's home each week.  As each person arrives, he or she goes around the room and greets every single person with 2 quick bisous, one to each side of the face. No issues at all of whom to kiss- even if you haven't met them before.  Simple.

In fact the only awkward times are when I've been with people that you can tell would kiss you hello but they are awkwardly holding back because they know you are American.

What most surprises me is to see co-workers greeting each other with bisous as they change shifts.  I've seen this at the grocery and at the train ticket office.  It kind of makes sense, "Yay I am so excited to get off work I am going to kiss you!"  And they all do it without fail.  Scott says his co-workers don't kiss hello at the lab where he works, but each person greets everyone as they come in. And as they enter the communal lunch room, everyone, without fail, says "bon appétit!"

I had hoped to learn more french than I have.  As I've said, I turn into a quivering bowl of mousse at the idea of answering the door, or calling a repairman, or rsvping by phone.  I usually start with "Je suis desolé, mon francais est mauvais" which works pretty well.  Often the second I say "bonjour" the person will launch into english.  This actually hurts my feelings if I am trying, but if I am brave. or annoyed I will just continue speaking in my mauvais french as they go on in their usually perfect english.

Now of course the other possible reaction, less insulting but with worse consequence is when the person assumes I understand everything they are saying and starts rattling away in french.  For example, last week I went to to the nearby town of Arras and I asked for a ticket to tour a belfry. Most towns in our area of Northern France and Belgium have Belfry, or beffroi, towers with bells that were designed to protect the town.  You can often climb these, when they aren't closed for lunch.  (Bonus points for anyone who remembers why Arras was in the news last year-think american heros.)



Anyway I ended up with a ticket to the belfry, and a tour of "les boves."  While  I understood that I was supposed to go see the belfry and then meet the the guide in 10 minutes, I had no idea what "boves" were, or whether I wanted to see them, let alone tour them.   I hurried up the belfry and snapped a few pictures.

A view from Arras belfry.  

Then I got out my phone and and frantically and unsuccessfully tried to  translate "bove." No luck.   So I headed down and eventually caught up with the group.  As I heard the guide warn everyone to watch their heads,   I learned we were exploring quarries beneath the city, dug out in the 17th-19th centuries and used in the World War I for a hospital and a secret route to the front.

The boves beneath the city of Arras.  Those are not my children!

This is   the beffroi in Douai.  Jolie, n'est-ce pas?

 I plan to head back with Scott and the kids- it was a fascinating tour.