Life is good...

This morning, as I came back from a few errands, I was thinking about all of the things that I love about living here, in this apartment.  As I opened the front gate, the mating mourning doves greeted me from the chestnut tree.  The garden is starting to bud again, and the kids are playing more in the courtyard.  The sun shines down just over the roof of the adjoining building, allowing me to sit on the bench, bask in the suns rays, but without the winds cooling embrace, and watch my children. 

Being up on the troisieme etage (that’s the fourth floor to you and me) is no longer a climb – it is just the way into my home.  And when I open the windows to let in a breath of fresh air, more often than not the cathedral, of which I can see the whole tower, is chiming its bells, marking the hour. 

We now have enough basic items in the house to not feel like we are roughing it.  I giggled this morning as I pulled out a chocolate bar to chop up for banana muffins because in the beginning we had no wrapping materials.  I would save the foil from our chocolate bars and re-use them to cover my meal, along with the cups and saucers that doubled as Tupperware.  Now we have enough jam jars to cover that department, and I even bought a few plastic containers to throw beans into freezer. 

And even on a cloudy day like today, there is no need for lights, no need to turn the heat up any higher.  The walls are still bright, and so is my heart.  And so the days go…

911's the Number....

Not that we’ve had lots of need for emergency services, but there have been a few incidents here that are worthy of note.  In France there are specific numbers for the specific departments: 15 for the ambulance, 17 for the police, 18 for the fire.  I was recently informed of a European-wide number, 112, on which the operators will often speak English.  So we have lots of choices in the case of an emergency.

Our family’s first brush with the emergency services came as Ed was running.  He and a friend turned the corner to find two men, violently engaged in a fight, with a crowd semi-assembled around.  Upon asking if anyone had called the police, they were told that this type of thing was better sorted out on its own.  After sharing the story with others they came to realize that it may have been mafia-related, hence the reticence to call the police. 

A similar story happened not to me, but to a fellow student in my French class, a German woman who lived a few towns away and was driving into the city for class.  As she drove down the highway she heard a very loud noise on her driver-side window and blinked as a projectile flew past her face.  It turned out to have been not a bullet, but a bb missile of sorts.  She called the police, who informed her that there was nothing they could, or would, do.  Her window subsequently shattered, and her nerves were a wreck as well. 

During our cold spell the other week, the city was not quite prepared for an extended period of cold.  The water still ran in the main fountain, until it was so frozen over the water could not escape.  And as we walked past the local organic store late one Sunday afternoon, there were torrents of water pouring out from under their delivery gate.  It was clear a pipe had broken, and at that point I didn’t know the specific number for the fire department.  I went back to my landlord, who saved the day by calling in the fire department, saving me the awkward discussion with my limited plumbing vocabulary. 

And finally, this morning, what spurred me to write was that there was a car just around the corner from Noah’s school that had caught on fire.  Flames licking, smoke spewing everywhere, and a crowd seemingly just out of distance from the wreckage.  Someone had called the fire department, but I was too frightened to stay around to watch the event. 

There was a different sort of incident I witnessed the other day where an older man who lives near the older boys’ school was conscious, but with hardly any balance.  He was being escorted back to his home by what looked to be his wife and two parents from the schoolyard who were keeping him upright. 

There seems to be a bit more one-to-one compassion and help bred here, maybe from the simple act of living in a smaller town, or from living a more face-to-face existence of walking and shopping on a daily basis.  Not that the authorities don’t get called in when needed.  But where and when that help is needed seems to be on a slightly different axis than in the U.S. or Canada.  Having multiple numbers to call is intimidating to me, but the fact that my neighbors will come to my aide if needed more than fills that void.  And that goes not just for here in France, and but in Toronto as well! 

A Roman Theatre and a Stark Landscape

We rented a car this last weekend, late Saturday afternoon, so we got to keep it until Monday afternoon.  That meant two road trips, one with kids, one without.  Both were really cool, in very different ways.

We rented a smaller car this time, and brought the computer to show a film.  That meant Ed and I got to chat for the 1 hour plus that we travelled.  Always a bonus, chatting with one’s significant other!  We pulled into the city of Orange just before noon, found parking near the Theatre and set off in search of lunch.  Not so easy in the coldest spell of winter in a tourist city.  After a few stops and starts we finally found a restaurant and settled in for a mid-day meal.  There were omelettes and crepes, so all of us (evem the vegetarians) were easily pleased.  Ed and I shared some wine, the kids each had their favorite drinks and we generally had a merry time.  Dessert crepes and two coffees later we headed out to brave the cold. 

The Theatre of Orange is acclaimed to be the best preserved Roman Theatre in Europe. We bought our tickets, stepped in, and were immediately wow-ed by the huge-ness of it all.  The stage is massive, rising to what looks like the height of the seating.  There are multiple entrances to the stage, statuary displayed and generally a feeling of enormity.  The kids were not too interested in the audio-guides, but quickly found their way to the multi-media presentations behind the seating areas.  The theatre is still used today to stage operas, plays, even rock concerts.  There were three different presentations, the first of a famous opera star speaking with a 3-D image of himself about opera, the second a documentary of rock shows from the 1970’s, and the final a performance demonstrating on-stage and back-stage through 3-D projections.  In the last there was a love scene in which the actress turns the two potential lovers into dogs in a puff of magical smoke.  Let’s just say that each boy was captivated by a different one.  Can you guess who liked which?

After a short meander longer through the upper tiers of the theatre we were all ready to head into warmer venues.  There was a museum across the street in which we spent a very short bit of time, realizing that we were simply ready to turn around and head home.  A nice family day had by all.

The next morning, as soon as we dropped the boys off at their respective schools, Ed and I hopped back into the car.  Today we were heading off to the Camargues, again in the midst of the coldest spell in Europe in at least five years.  The Camargues are a wetlands area, very sparsely populated and very barren-looking.  They are a haven to migrating birds, with the special draw (for non-birders) of flamingoes in their natural habitat.  With the weather as cold as it was we had no idea if we would see anything, but we thought that it would at least be worth exploring to see if the boys would enjoy a hike. 

A few minutes south of the highway you enter the Park.  There is a bit of farmland dotting the road, primarily rice and other low-lying crops.  And soon you come to the first view of the marshes.  They are vast and, with the cold spell, they were frozen.  Ed and I felt as if we were back in Wisconsin.  Ed even threw a few boulders to see if the ice would break.  It did, of course.  However, no wildlife, not even grazing cattle. 

We drove on, stopping and starting at various intervals just to see if those sticks poking out of the water might actually be a heron or some other water bird.  And then we saw them.  Behind a large cluster of reeds, and huddled together in a tight pack, a big group of flamingos.  Probably at least twenty of them.  They were quite far away, but there was no doubt that they were flamingoes.  I could have turned around then, I was so happy to have seen them in the wild.  We watched them for a bit, fluffing their feathers, and huddling closer for warmth. 

Moving on, we stopped off at a trailhead.  There was a small museum/exhibit explaining the wildlife that lived in the Camargues, and some of the reasons for the habitat being so changeable.  We explained to the woman in the accueil that we would be back in a bit to purchase our trail pass for the other set of trails, but that we wanted to get out to see things first.  She just smiled and waved us on.  And then we jumped back outdoors onto the trail. 

It was SO COLD!  I have always been a whimp when it comes to cold, but we were in -6 degree highs in a very blustery, damp marsh.  The flamingoes had it right.  Every time we arrived in an observation shelter we huddled together, barely peeking at the birds huddled on the opposite shore (a sort of buzzard, I think).  The trail traversed four eco-systems: wetland, prairie, woodland, and salt marsh.  In the winter the water is all subterranean, so there is a residue of salt on the ground.  In the prairie we saw the tiniest of birds, fluffed up so large we had to laugh.  And on our last stretch of trail we saw a badger cross the trail and then dive into its den.  As we passed by its tunnels you could see it flick its tail as it dug in deeper. 

We didn’t even bother going back into the accueil.  We hopped right back into our cozy little car, had a snack to tide us over and decided to take the rest of the trip as a driving tour.  We found the other trailhead, waved hello, and drove on.  We drove past the salt flats, where the trucks were actively scooping up loads of fresh salt and trucking them out to the usine.  We then turned down a single-lane road to the beach at the very end, where the Rhone pours into the Mediterranean.  It was so windy that the birds could not take off in flight.  There were several lone flamingoes, which made me worry and several other water birds, including swans, either squatting on the ice, or swimming in the few patches of water that they could find.  There were gusts of feathers flying.  The water to the right of the road (the west) was totally brown with sediment and choppy from all of the wind.  The east side of the road was more protected and so had a clearer consistency and a much smoother look to it.  And when we got to the end, to the so-called beach, there was sheet after sheet of blowing sand.  There even was a camper-trailer that had blown over.  It really looked almost desert-like, and definitely like we had reached the ends of the earth.

Ed commented as we finally started to head back that he had never been in a place that had been more unpredicatable.  Just as we would adjust to a certain terrain, a new eco-system would come into place.  Each one seemed as rough as the last.  I mentioned earlier that there are a few people who live in the Camargues.  They are primarily farmers and ranchers.  On the road we took out there were a number of ranches, a few with cattle actually out and about.  There was a huddle of horses here and there, and a pack of bulls.  As we got closer to the highway there were several sheep farms.  And the only people we saw were the people in their cars or trucks. 

We will definitely go back with the kids, but sooner rather than later.  The Camargues, in addition to being famous for their winds, are also famous for their mosquitoes.  I think we will head there after the February break, so as to catch the still-wintering birds, but not the insects that go along with their environs.  I still have the stark, almost Salvador Dali-like landscapes etched in my brain, as well as a bit of chill still in my bones.  Maybe the two go hand-in-hand.  The Camargues are not a place I will quickly forget. 

A day in life at school

One thing that has been on my mind a bit is a task that we Canadians are working on for the school here.  Apparently at Julian’s and Micah’s school each year the directrice chooses a country and plans out a week’s worth of activities that give a small sense of  what life might be like in that country.  And this year, as one might guess, she has chosen Canada.  There are three Canadian families within the school itself, and we are friends with another Canadian family from the next school over. 

One of the sessions that the directrice has asked us to make sure to include is a portrait of a day at school for a child in that country.  A bit tricky for Canada, as I think it probably makes a big difference whether you are schooled in Toronto or Calgary, in Montreal, or in Nunavut.  But it got me to thinking that there really are a number of differences that now seem almost normal, but were definitely an adjustment in the beginning. 

School here starts at 8:20 and lets out at 4:30.  There is a two hour break in the middle of the day for lunch and most children stay at school for the mid-day cantine.  This is a multi-course meal, with an entrée, plat principal, and a fruit or dessert offered afterwards, along with a produit laitier and of course, bread.  The children are served at their tables.  There are two sittings as only 3 of the 5 classes can fit at one time.  I find it interesting that along with the posted menus are the nutritional contents of each meal, as well as recommendations for what should be served at dinner to complement the already-consumed items.  Let’s just say that, if my children are any example, their nutritional numbers probably differ significantly from the listed values.  Skipping the anchovies, seconds on rice pudding, these all make a difference in nutritional values!

The classrooms function more or less autonomously.  Whereas at our school in Toronto the national anthem is played every morning along with the morning announcements, there are no announcements, no anthem, no public form of address within the school.  Only face-to-face interactions.  As well, there are almost no notes that come home from the school, either from the teacher or the directrice.  Trips are announced, head lice was announced as a side bar to a note on student teachers.  There are definitely no publicity items, sports programs, theatre, etc.  Not even school events to be organized!

The work that the students do is all presented in a different manner as well.  It is a very traditional style with the teacher in the front, the students at desks in rows, and each copying the work down from the board and working individually.  When I asked the boys if they had done ANY work in groups, they each recounted one time when the teacher had asked the students to work together. As well, the classroom teacher is responsible for all of the classroom instruction, including physical education, music, art history, library, etc.  The teachers have set up an exchange so that one teaches all the music another all the art.  But it is still the same five classroom teachers doing the rotations. 

When the children are finished eating their lunches they then have recess.  As at our school in Toronto, there are three recesses.  But few children have a snack.  And there is definitely no playground equipment.  There is a large blacktop and the students are permitted to bring in their own balls.  Marbles are also super popular this year. 

The doors to the school are always locked.  There are 10 minutes to enter before school, and 10 minutes upon the return from lunch for those who eat at home.  Although the French seem to be late for many a rendez-vous, school does not really seem to be one of them.  Along this same theme, there is just about no such thing as a parent volunteer.  So far I have been in the school for the beginning-of-the-year parents meeting and a one-on-one meeting I requested with each boys teacher just to check and see how they were doing.  I have gone on field trips with each boy, but we need to wait outside of the school until the class emerges and then we just sort of fall into line, no assigned groups, etc. 

Walking through the city on a trip is also an experience.  It brings to mind the story of Madeline with “twelve little girls in two straight lines…”  The students are all paired up and even at the grade 5 level many were holding hands with their partner.  They were side by side and about two steps behind the person in front of them.  And if not, there were lots of admonitions to “allon-y” or “avance, avance!”

Talking with a friend the other day she pointed out another major difference.  I haven’t seen the washrooms in the older boys school, and Julian says that they are different.  But in the ecole maternelle there is one large washroom for all of the children.  There are no stalls, just four rows of kid-sized toilets.  Two for sitting, two for standing.  The sitting toilets have no seat, just a rim.  And so, for example, when all the kids used the washroom before the field trip this week, all 50 kids were peeing and whatever together. 

And so it has been a really nice, nostalgic thing for me to receive photos from a few of our favorite teachers in Toronto to help us put together a photo montage of “a day in the life of a student in Toronto, Ontario.”  And it makes me just that wee bit more excited to think that we will be back there in just a few more short months!