purelyfrance

As well as being a fashion statement on and off for decades, it is fair to say the hugely distinguishable beret is always associated with France and being ‘French’.

Why is it so?  The number of berets I have sighted in France in 7 years you could count on one hand. That discounts the beret my brother brings when he comes to stay. He has the misguided belief it lifts the quality of his petanque playing. Admittedly, most of my time has been spent swanning around Provence, the French Riviera and Burgundy, so perhaps I need to head (pardon that pathetic pun) for the Basque region.

 I did buy a beret once, in a specialty hat shop in Cahors, or perhaps it was Sarlat. My memory of the whole transaction is somewhat hazy as I had instantly fallen in love with the female sales assistant.  It could have been the broad warm smile, the big round hazel coloured eyes, the semi-Mediterranean bronzed skin, the subtle hint of her décolletée, or her husky heavily accented english that turned me to jelly. Or it may have been all five!!  I do recall that it was the longest time ever I have spent in a hat shop. Sigh…………………!!

The beret has in reality been a comparative newcomer in French history terms. It did indeed originate in the Pyrenees and up until the 1850’s was rarely seen in the rest of the country. That all changed with Napoleon the Third. He conscripted large numbers of young men from the Pyrenees and eventually the beret became part of the national dress. In recent years the popularity of the beret has declined, there are now around 850,000 berets produced each year with half of those for the military.

In the Basque country they have a saying - “two cabbage leaves stuffed inside your beret will give you protection from the sun”. Perhaps that is where the expression ‘cabbage head’ comes from - je ne sais pas!

A Bientot, Bruce.

Le Bricolage - French D.I.Y.

Every foreigner who has relocated to France has a story to tell about some do-it-yourself project that didn’t quite go to plan.  If we are being honest, many of us have a cupboard  full of how our inexperience (i.e. naivety) has caused us more harm than good.

One of our early such projects was to tile our roof top terrasse located up 6 flights of stairs. Anne’s brother Michael was visiting so it seemed an opportune time. Buying tiles and cement was no problem but sand and gravel required a little more research. We located a quarry, Gambinos, a family operated business located 3 kms outside of our village. Indeed Gambino junior tells us how his father and grandfather worked the quarry before him.

He explains, ‘for them they had to work by hand using a shovel, (la pelle) for me it is easy, I just push this lever he says with a broad grin sitting on his seat in a monstrous front end loader. He knows about Nouvelle Zelande (le Rugby) so that makes us instant friends. Anyway, he has sand to burn and loads up a truck (un camion) for us. With our ‘expert’ eye the load looks insufficient. He raises a more expert eyebrow and tells us it consists of  2 cubic metres. We defer to his superior knowledge.

Meanwhile, outside our house, back in the village we had instigated a cunning plan to ensure when the truck arrives there is actually somewhere to put 2 metres of sand. The village streets are of course narrow, and the small square in front of our home is usually full of parked cars. We had earlier observed a French practice of placing a chair in the street when you want to reserve a space for some reason.  My wife Anne, was gang-pressed into being our chair.

So Anne dutifully stood on the corner protecting the nominated space, telling many people ‘le camion arrive tout de suite’.  Of course the camion did not arrive tout de suite as back at the quarry we were being treated to the Gambino family history and of course we had to discuss le Rugby. After a time our ‘chair’ was becoming impatient, particularly as it started to rain.  But the ‘chair’ could not retreat inside to claim a raincoat in fear of losing the critical space.

The camion did duly arrive and the sand dumped onto the street. So far, so good. The next step, well 60 steps actually was to get the sand to the terrasse. Six hours, 300 buckets of wet sand and a countless number of steps later the sand was sitting on the terrasse. We wondered about the weight and stress on our ancient terrasse, and crossed our fingers.

The next day we proudly surveyed our pile of sand.  A friendly tradesman asked us whereabouts was our ‘Mamouth’ (pronounced mamoot) At that moment our ‘Mamouth’ was nowhere, seeing as we didn’t know it existed let alone what one did with it. Turns out mamouth is a waterproofing material lined with tar which you apply with a blow-torch to seal the terrasse, particularly the join along the walls. Oh~~~!!

And of course you install your mamouth before spreading the sand. So this meant shifting all the sand to one half of the terrasse to apply the indispensable mamouth, and then shifting all the sand back again to the other half of the terrasse. My back still shudders at the thought.

Eventually the job was done and we had a beautifully tiled roof top terrasse. It is amazing how on completion, and following a couple of beers, you can convince yourself that your ’innocence’ made the project so much more fun!!

A Bientot, Bruce.

In the wake of Nicholas Sarkosy’s election triumph the French are being prepared for ‘change’. (personally, I think the electorate message was, ‘we want action’) In reality, the French loosen their hold on traditions very reluctantly, yet at the same time apply flexibility and pragmatism to embrace a contemporary 21^st century lifestyle. I refer to it as the great French paradox, holding on and letting go in unison.   But one tradition that rarely attracts any compromise is remembering and honouring those who died during the First and Second World Wars. Today recognises the end of WW 2 in Europe.

I have just come from attending the ceremony in our commune of Chaudenay (pop. 1000) along with two Australian and two American guests. So the Allies are well represented.  The ceremony is typical of what is replicated right throughout France in every city, town, and village.  We gather in the village square, usually around 50 or 60 people, of all generations and including a small number of veterans, medals proudly displayed on their chests. The mood is friendly but the normal exuberant greetings are muted due to the occasion. Our Mayor comes over to say hello and to welcome our guests.  We fall in behind the local brass band to follow them the short distance to our War Memorial.           

The Mayor then extends a formal invitation to all to move on to our local Salle des Fetes (community hall) to partake in a ‘vin de honneur’. I love that term, rather than guzzling a glass of wine at 10.00 in the morning (not that the French ever guzzle their wine) you feel you are respectfully toasting those who fought for freedom. So glasses are filled, slices of brioche are distributed, healthy conversation ensues. A few ‘locals’ come and talk with us, always interested (curious?) to know where our guests are from. The Mayor comes and makes his excuses, explaining he has to attend another ceremony at the nearby commune of Ebaty. A small occasion in social terms but a ‘grand’ tradition historically and culturally. A tradition that you sense will remain dear to French hearts for generations to come.

A Bientot,

Bruce.

 Why use one word when 3 or 4 will do……………

The French have an international reputation for being expressive and passionate. It is well deserved!!  There is little they love more than a social occasion. And they love to talk, discuss, argue and debate. Which is fine by us, we love to listen, and watch!! 

I well remember one evening we were hosting ‘les aperitifs’ at our home in St Remy. There were only 13 people present but the noise level was right up there on the decibel count. At one point I counted 9 (nine!) different conversations all flowing at the same time. It made me wonder who was listening, or whether that mattered or not!! 

Anyone who has hosted French friends to even the most informal ‘drinks’ session will tell you to prepare your stamina. Once you are through the cheese and cafe stage it is not the time to start winding down the evening. Au contraire!!  That’s when the serious debating and discussion commences with total disregard to the clock. We had a wedding party stay with us last summer, they left at three o’clock in the afternoon, and the bridal party including Mere and Pere arrived home at six the next morning!!

The French are rarely at a loss for words.  On one occasion, we came across a minor accident between two cars.  The lady driver of one car was really giving the male driver of the other car a few choice, warm words. We went about our business running a few errands. 20 minutes later we passed by the same spot again and she still had plenty to say to him!

But within this competence of expression and love of the social occasion lies a value that we admire. It relates to the ‘family unit’ which in France is something that is still strong and revered.  French families tend to eat together at home regularly, and often at restaurants for lunch on Sunday’s. It is very common to see all three generations of the same family seated around the table. And any young children are just as part of the social event as the ‘grown ups’.  We have also noticed how the verbal exchanges and sense of togetherness seem to be the primary focus with the food and wine being the supportive acts.  This differs from some cultures where the food and drink can often take centre stage.   

A further feature is how the young children are introduced to and educated in drinking wine within this family structure. Drinking wine is a responsible business, it is always sipped and is nearly always taken with food. We can’t help but think that this cultural exposure at a young age leads to a more mature attitude to alcohol amongst young adults in France. We have certainly never seen any signs of binge drinking, and we have been in a bar or two around the country!!

And after the results are known later tonight from the first round of the Presidential elections there will no doubt be enough reason for social occasion. It was that great warrior of battles won and lost, Napoleon Bonaparte who is quoted as saying ‘In victory you deserve champagne, in defeat you need it’!!

A Bientot,

Bruce.

This is a story for those of you who love a bargain, who thrive on the adrenalin of competing in shop ‘Sales’ and the satisfaction of ‘winning’ a product at a hugely discounted price. I am a veteran of Selfridge’s winter sales, usually amongst the first 20 to enter the doors but all that was rather sedate compared to this French experience.

I am on the hunt for a new dishwasher (le lave-vaisselle, curiously masculine) for one of our rental Apartments.

First the publicité arrives via la boite a lettres, from Carrefour  hypermarché in Chalon-sur-Saone Sud. And there it is! A dishwasher marked down from 599 euros to 359. Is that a deal or what? Hmmm, better read the fine print. Yes, it looks the goods but there are only 30 of them. This calls for some serious strategic planning. What’s the start date?  Tuesday the 11^th. (fortunately today’s date is only the 4th) What time do the doors open? 0830.

What’s the competition?  Out of 60 million people in France, how many need a new dishwasher?  Chalon-sur-Saone  has a population of 77,498 plus surrounding towns/villages, let’s assume 100,000.  If we say 0.5% of those are hunting for a new dishwasher, it is 500 too many. Better get there early.

0600, Tuesday 11^th. The alarm goes off. Get up, get coffee, have shower. Anne is away in the Netherlands so is being spared all this preparation.

0700, Go through the checklist. Jacket, scarf, gloves, chest protector, elbow guards, running shoes,  cheque book, publicité avec photo of lave-vaiselle, newspaper.

0715. Under cover of darkness, move on out of Chaudenay. Crikey, it looks like the whole Saone et Loire department has been mobilised, les voitures (cars) everywhere.  How many are heading for Chalon Sud?

0750. Arrive Carrefour car park. Terrain looks good, perhaps a dozen cars, one with a trailer.

0752. Get to the Mall front doors. First dilemma, there are two sets of doors on an angle facing each other. About 8 competitors at one set, about 12 at the other. Survey the scene. There is an interior corrugated security shutter about 15 metres away, once that is opened, which set of external doors will the Security guy open first, to his left or to his right. Logic tells you left, but this is France, I choose the right.

0755. Install myself in the second row, centrally, this holds double advantage you don’t get shuffled to the outsides and the doors open from the centre ensuring you are part of the first surge.

 0805. Crowd is building, around 30 in front of each set of doors.  Subtly survey those around me. Some hardened professional bargain hunters. This is going to be a serious assault exercise. A couple directly in front of me in the first row, chatting away in Italian, they like their pasta, should be able to easily sprint around them. Though they do have a chariot, (trolley) so elbow pads may come into use.

0813. Crowd has built to 60-80 at each door. No jostling as yet. But what is this. An aggressive young couple are edging themselves forward on my right trying to out flank my position. I causally remove my newspaper from my back pocket, deliberately open it up wide, while at the same time, I subtlely spread my legs astride, flexing my knee, hip and shoulder to the right. The young couple get the message. Do not invade my space.

0819. The crowd is now around 300-400. And are getting restless. Tensions are rising, nervous looks at watches are increasing. I run through my routine for the tenth time. a) get to the white ware section  b) focus on mind picture of lave-vaisselle  c) ‘tag it’  d) get sales assistant.

0826. A noise erupts behind me, probably some altercation. Don’t be distracted, remain calm, stay focussed. Then I hear someone say, ‘les portes ils ont ouvertes là-bas’. (the doors have been opened over there) What the hell, oh, cat-a bloody-strophe, doors have been opened 50 metres away further down the mall. Just like in Rugby, blimming French never do what you expect them to do.

But we are not deterred, we who were a member of the all conquering Renwick 6^th grade Rugby team, and Marlborough College intermediate athletics champion.  I hurl myself forward, running, sprinting, head held high, eyes like bullets, arms pumping, thighs thrusting, through one gap, side stepping left, side stepping right, through another gap, fend off one chariot, in through the doors, scorching past the children’s merry go round, dodge another chariot, accelerating down past the long line of check out counters to arrive at the entrance to Carrefour hypermarche. I stand in front of another big corrugated but open weave security shutter. And, I am in the front row.

0828. I stop wheezing from my sprint, eyes get back into focus.  15 metres in front of me I can see the lave-vaiselle, its gleaming white front, its bright rouge et jaune sale sticker, so tantalisingly close.  Two Security officers come out, positioning themselves between the shutter and the mob. They tell everyone to retreat one metre. Most do, but then surge forward again as soon as they pass down the line.

0829. The Security guards remain between the animals and the zoo. The security shutter starts to ascend. Conversely a strange quiet descends over the crowd, not a muscle moves.

0830. Its GO!! The 15 metres are covered in 0.01274 seconds. I am first there, I practically put my arms right around it. A Sales assistant looks at me quizzically and suggests I take one of the 30 stickers attached to the side of the appliance (which is how you ‘claim’ it) and to follow him. I did. Mission accomplished!

 When we first went to French lessons in France, we soon learnt the words ’simple’ and ‘logic’ belonged on another planet. We were chock full of confidence, or was that hope?! Ringing in our ears were the comments from all our friends back ‘home’, you will be speaking it fluently in 3 months. Yea, and Elvis is still alive too.

Whenever we asked a question of our tutor, her immediate response was, well il y a trois possibilities. (there are three options)  Well, we said just the most correct option will do, merci.  No, no she would respond, it all depends on who is talking to whom, what is the situation and what is the context. There is the ‘classic’ expression, the ‘academic’ and the ‘familiar’. Oh, we would  say and slink back behind our text books.

It dawned on us that neither our ears nor our mouths were in ‘French’ mode. Listening to one audio tape, I thought the conversation was about someone called Thomas. (Tom-ah) Turns out it was about someone’s stomach.(l’estomac)  I also thought I said ‘le cou’ (neck) but how it sounded was ‘le cul’ (a coarse term for your bottom!)  As for being able to discern the difference between ‘dessus’ and ‘dessous’, forget it, that took a couple of weeks on its own. From another tape we were asked to write down how many times we heard a particular sound. Anne’s total was zero, while I hadn’t realised the tape had even started. Oh dear!!  Our tutor was very patient!!

When you don’t have the pronunciation down pat so many words can sound very similar. Take words like le vent (wind) vente  (sale) vingt (twenty) and le vin (wine).  I was trying to explain to our Tutor about the ratio of sheep to people in New Zealand (for some obscure reason) which at the time was 20:1.  While I thought I was saying ‘vingt’ Chantal heard the word as ‘vente’ which made her believe that all New Zealanders had a quota of sheep to sell!!  I had this vision of all these street stalls scattered across the countryside!!

As we look back on those early days in France it is hard to imagine we were so ignorant, but at the time we were!  No doubt many of the French had a good laugh at our expense but you would never know it. They are very good at restraining themselves when you are strangling their poetic language. They do at least credit you for trying to speak French and once you get to know each other they will often correct you in a helpful manner. I am sure some enterprising person could easily write an entertaining book of ‘faux pas’ statements made by foreigners!!

A Bientot,

Bruce.