Getting Around Town

This week I want to describe the different modes of transportation here in Aix-en-Provence.  Because they actually say so much about our life here in France.  Let’s start with:

Aix-en-Bus: There are a whole host of public buses here that serve pretty much all areas of the city.  There is a peripherique, a ring road, surrounding the old city, and almost every numbered bus drives around it once during its journey.  Imagine a spider web of buses stemming out from the ring road – that is the visual for the route map.  Aix-en-bus also includes buses that go out to the surrounding towns.

There are three numbered mini-buses that drive through the tangled narrow streets of the old city, each following its own route.  And there are also buses that you can call from certain stops that will take you up into further, less-travelled locations, all with your same bus ticket.  It costs 7 Euro for ten rides, and a yearly pass is obviously a much better buy if you use it daily, as does Ed.  You can transfer buses within the span of an hour,

Finally there are several other bus systems, for which you can buy separate cards, that will take you to all of the other Provencal locations: Marseille, Cassis, Arles, Nimes, etc. 

Les Voitures: There are so many cars in this tiny city it is hard to believe.  Before I came here I saw a pie chart of the number of car users per city and Aix-en-Provence was, if not the highest, up at the top.  So that makes for lots of pollution on the high-traffic roads (i.e. the peripherique, from which we live one block away). I have found that a car is useful to explore some of the slightly off-the-beaten-path destinations for which the buses do not serve.  Like finding the remote ice-cream store in the mountains, or getting into remote areas of the Camargues.  But, for a decision we belly-ached about in the beginning, having no car has been a non-issue.  Yay!

Les Motos:  Because the streets tend to be windy and narrow, lots of people here opt for a motorcycle instead of, or in addition to a car.  The motos squeeze their way through any small opening.  They drive through the pedestrian areas of the old city, because they can.  They follow the traffic rules when it suits them.  And they park pretty much wherever it suits them.  Including right in front of the store you are trying to enter. 

Three-Wheelers: There are these funny little three-wheelers, with their double wheels in the front, that seem to be delivery vehicles.  As in pizza delivery.  There is also a graffiti-clean-up garage on our street that uses one of these as well. 

Street-Cleaners: These are VERY important to the city.  There are trash barrels around, but they do not get used quite as frequently as I am used to.  When kids are given a gouter (snack) after school they will, likely as not, drop the wrapper from their chocolate snack.  (Quick aside, everything is chocolate here.  The kids are even eating a breakfast cereal with chocolate in it.  Dark, not super-sweet, but chocolate none-the-less.)  With the extra litter around, especially here in tourist-town Aix-en-Provence, there must then be extra street-cleaners.  There are two sorts.  There are mini-versions of “Dusty,” the Mighty Machines street-cleaner, that fit through the narrow streets.  And then there are the city workers, vested in bright green, who push their carts throughout the city.  One will frequently find them on break, having a coffee or pastis, but occasionally they will be pushing their cart through the city.  They are equipped with a long hose, a broom and shovel, and a perpetually empty trash bag on the back.  Once a day you will see the hose attached to a hydrant, as the market comes to a close and the cafes and restaurants set up for the afternoon.  All of the market detritus gets washed away to leave a clean and shiny city.  The streets also seem to be washed down on a regular basis, as the never-ending supply of crottes (dog poo) mysteriously diappears. 

Les Livraisons/Camions: The other main vehicle in the old city are the delivery trucks.  They deliver goods at all hours, directly to the store in question.  And the store five stores down.  And another 7 stores down from that.  They drive from drop-off to drop-off and put on their blinking lights.  And get out, unload, exchange pleasantries, etc.  Blocking, meanwhile, any and all other vehicles behind them.  It makes for very interesting walking as you try to squeeze by in the narrow space left between the camion and the buildings.  And interesting listening as the other vehicles wait. And wait. And wait.  Finally the driver hops back in to make the next delivery, at the end of the block. 

Les Diablines: Because Aix-en-Provence is a tourist town, there are these funny little vehicles calles Diablines.  They are electric vehicles and take you to different spots in the old town.  They seem to work on a taxi-cab sort of model in that I think you can determine where you are dropped off.  They hold about three people in each of two rows.  Did I mention that they were electric?  They are extremely quiet, which is very challenging on the crowded narrow streets of the old city.  Especially when you are trying to keep your children from being run over!

Le Tren: I have not seen them recently, but in the summer-time there were these three-car trains that gave a running dialogue of ones visit through the city.  They have not yet made their appearance for the season.

Les Velos: What would any good European city be without bicycles?  There are bicycles here, but not half so many as I would have anticipated in a small town.  But things are so hectic and busy, transportation-wise that I am not surprised that fewer people use bikes.  The surprising thing, to me, is that people really just do not use helmets.  Not even really the kids.  It is very French to me that they would just decide that everyone would know where to be at the exact moment.  Also, the bikes here are not the SUV types that people, at least in our family, use in Canada.  They are very much the ride-out-in-the-country-with-a-basket-on-the-front kind.  Very picturesque.  Very French!

La Promenade: Every day, everywhere, people are walking. People of all ages, all walks of life.  Mostly strolling, but you will occasionally find a person who seems to have an agenda walking a bit faster.  Everything is done on foot here.  And the amazing thing is that although no one seems to really be paying attention to each other, they all are.  Checking out each others’ fashion, looking for someone to kiss, kiss and say the requisite “Bon jour!” to, and amazingly, never bumping into one another.  Never any awkward who-is-walking-where moments.  There is such a heightened awareness of people and personal space that is really interesting and beautiful.  I know I have written before about how much I love being out and about so I won’t belabour the point.  But last night, after supper, Micah and I took a stroll through the old city and listened to a man belt out opera in one of the plazas and watched all of the tourists and city-dwellers sit side-by-side, facing out to the sidewalk in order to people-watch while they ate their suppers.  And just reveled in the act of walking through a beautiful, historic town.  Because you can’t get that driving around the peripherique. 

The Good Doctor

Before moving to France we informed OHIP of our plans to live abroad and purchased the necessary extra insurance.  And we expected the French system to be somewhat different, but still quite adequate.  And we were not let down. 

The doctor here seems to be more available on a short-term notice, i.e. when you are sick, you call for an appointment and he sees you.  We have not had any need for it, but the doctor can even make house calls for a slightly higher fee. 

In the fall, when we were enrolling the boys in activities for the year, a health certificate was required.  We called up a doctor around the corner, on our landlady’s recommendation and were given an appointment for about two hours later.  He asked if the boys were healthy.  Yes.  He listened to their hearts and lungs.  He agreed.  He wrote out three certificates of good health and we were on our way.  Because we have foreign insurance we need to pay each time we visit and then get reimbursed.  Ed has found out what a nightmare that is.  But 23 Euro later we walked out the door armed and ready. 

Our next visit with the good doctor came right after our trip to Barcelona where, unfortunately, most of us got sick with a nasty cold.  Ed, Noah and I went in to be seen – I had called from the road and we had an appointment shortly after we arrived back in town.  This was of the essence, not only because we were sick but also because I was about to travel to the U.S. and had an infected hangnail as well.  For the cold he prescribed various regimens according to our symptoms, and for my finger a whole host of treatments.  A local spray, an ointment, special tape and gauze, and an antibiotic to boot.  And specific instructions to keep it dry at all costs. 

Well, after completing the finger regimen it was still infected.  Being in the U.S. I called my brother-in-law who is also a doctor.  He recommended a sterile soak, using an antibiotic ointment and a new antibiotic.  Thank goodness the finger was better after his regimen!  I am not knocking the French doctor’s advice, just glad that the problem didn’t last any longer. 

After our return from Venice we had, you guessed it, another illness, this time a flu with fevers, aches (no it was not just the sore skiing muscles!) and a nasty mucousy cough and nose.  And, as is my normal course in these situations, I got a sinus infection.  For my first appointment with the doctor I was recommended RhinAdvil, a nasal spray similar to one I was already using, and a cough suppressant.  The infection wasn’t raging at this point, so I gave it a whirl.  One week later I had a raging sinus infection.  After my second appointment with the doctor I walked out with a new nasal spray, a stronger decongestant, an inhalation to use with hot water and a towel.  And an antibiotic, which he only prescribed hesitantly, advising me to wait two days until filling the prescription.  Let’s just say that I have had enough sinus infections and have tried enough remedies to know that at this point in the game only the antibiotic will do the trick, in conjunction with all of my other cleaning and drying out methodologies. 

On a slightly different topic, we have friends here who have a daughter who got appendicitis after about a month of moving here (they are on sabbatical as well).  The daughter was in severe pain, and the Algerian woman who lives in the corner did several interesting remedies to try to help.  She washed the daughter’s hair with a special solution and gave her some cod liver oil.  Needless to say, they took their daughter to the hospital.  She was operated on using laproscopic surgery and recovered without issue.  The mother did say that she was amazed at the lack of hand-washing that occurred, despite the sink in the room.  I have found a similar thing with the good doctor.  He shakes hands with each patient, even kisses those with whom he has a greater familiarity (very French, of course).  It surprised me quite a bit though, given how contagious I imagine a doctor’s office to be. 

All in all I find the French medical system to be not that different from the Canadian or U.S. systems, with a slightly higher reticence to jump in with the big medical guns.  However the care is so much more personable.  Each time I have met with the doctor I have not felt at all rushed.  He has been understanding with my less-than-perfect French (although I have to admit to giving myself a primer on all my symptoms before the first visit) and very patient with all of my questions to make sure that I did not miss some important detail.  All this despite a full waiting room. 

It is good to know that the good doctor really is just that, a good doctor.  And hopefully none of us will need to see him ever again!

Venice in Photos

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Skiing in Aosta, Italy

After our adventures through Venice, we hopped into the car again and drove to Aosta, in the Italian Alps.  Here is what the boys have to say on the trip:

JULIAN:

On our first day, [the funicular] was a little scary because it was super high up but I got used to it because it was a long ride.  You could see a lot of things from the top of the funicular like houses (and snow, I suppose, although the funny thing was there was not a lot of snow in the valley where we stayed). 

When we finished the ride we got off and got in the line for the lift up the first hill.  There was a special pedestrian line for people who were renting skis.  At the top of the lift we looked around for our ski school.  When we found the ski school the person working there told us where to find our rentals and also gave us tickets for our lessons.  Then we went down underneath the ski school to rent our skis.  Even though it wouldn’t seem so, ski renting is a complicated process.  For example, they need your height, your weight, your shoe size, your head circumference, and your age. Once we had had given our measurements and each had a pair of skis, boots, poles (except for Noah) and a helmet we went outside to put our skis on.  Noah went straight off to his lesson and Mama, Micah and I went down the first hill. 

As the day wore on, we tried out a new run, the 15, and got to try out a new lift, called Leissé. The next day, Micah and I had a lesson, and the instructor took us on a new lift called Chamolé and a new run, the 5, which had lots of bumps and big hills/descents. On the last day, Micah and Papa and I went on the Leissé 9-7, a red! It was great!

MICAH:

Well, it all started when I figured out how to not be scared of going fast.  Going fast basically feels like your legs spread out, bent down and your body on a bit of an angle.  I learned how to go faster than just turning back and forth, back and forth.  Going straight down the mountain makes you go like a bullet.  Like an artificial one.  I like going straight down the mountain because turning around makes you lose speed.  Turning is putting pressure on the opposite ski of the way that you want to turn.  Jumping (I tried it a couple of times) is when you go over a bump and you shift your skis up and you go whooooooo – ump! But when I jumped I normally fell. 

One of the wipeouts that I had, I was going on a red, number 7, and I put too much pressure on one and the ski, instead of being flat I tilted it on an angle, and I completely wiped out.  Snow was everywhere on me.  It even got down my coat and into my boots. My two thumbs were bleeding.  It was the worst wipeout in my whole life.  Ever.  But also very fun!

Noah's bonhomme de neige

NOAH:

My teacher was Edilio.  I got a boo-boo when I was with Papa. 

I liked it when I went fast. 

Going up...

...while the kids are in lessons

Coming down...

What a view!

Venice in Words

This week we were off to ... Italy, the land of amore, vino and mounds and mounds of pasta.  The boys have two weeks off for February vacation, so we popped in the car and drove off to Venice. 

A bit more nonchalant than it actually was… Ed had pre-rented the same category of vehicle that we have been using all season long.  It is about 90% mini-van and the rest are regular cars.  Well, for the long trip to Venice, unlike the mini-van that we have been getting all along, we got a sporty Alfa Romeo.  Yup, three boys, shoulder to shoulder.  It worked just fine when we had a movie on.  And when Ed picked up the car on Friday night we realized that it would have to be movies most of the way.  However, those minutes in between the films, and the times in the rest stops were quite the doozies.  At one point Micah even refused to get back into the car.  I can bet that we were one of very few families that has ever had a family meeting in the parking lot of the gas station. 

Many hours later we arrived in Venice.  Because Venice is a city of islands (117 to be exact) there are no roads for cars.  The “roads” are actually the canals and there are boats of every kind.  So we parked at the landing garage, up on the tenth floor, and headed out to find our water bus, line 1, to take us to our hotel. After landing at the proper stop I proceeded to dictate the directions.  Because Venice is so twisty and turny the directions were approximate.  But after a few false turns we found the hotel, only to find out that we would be staying in an affiliated apartment not far from the hotel.  She encouraged us to pay attention so that we could return later on to pay our bill. 

Turning down more alleys than I could count we arrived under a neighbour’s quilts and sheets drying on the line, dripping onto the passageway and the pedestrians below.  The apartment was quite small, but with just enough beds for the five of us.  The kitchen had a little fold-up table that just fit into the length of hall attached.  So Noah ate his breakfasts in the hall, Julian by the sink and Micah by the toaster.  Ed and I, well we hovered like croissant vultures, waiting to scrounge up the remains.  Also, in both Venice and Aosta, the bathrooms were amazingly efficient with space, the Venetian bathroom especially so.  There was a sink, and turning to the right of the sink there was a tiny shower with magnetic sliding doors to maximize the shower’s capacity.  And tucked in, just between the two was the toilet. 

The hotelier had recommended a family-friendly restaurant and, as it was already late, we headed straight over and ordered some wine and some pastas.  The kids ordered milk and were surprised to have it served warm.  The servers were friendly, the service was relatively fast and the food was decent.  Noah was feeling sleepy, so I left early and took him back to bed.  But not without reading the next chapter in Carnival at Candlelight, the Magic Tree House story that takes place in Venice.  It was fun to go to bed after having just recently taken a boat down the Grand Canal, seeing all the buildings lit up with gondolas floating in and out. 

Our first order of business the next morning was to explore.  One of the websites on visiting Venice with children had mentioned keeping a tally of the number of winged lions one saw during the visit.  The winged lion is the symbol of the city of Venice. Micah thought he may have spotted one or two under the cover of darkness from the boat, starting our tally at 3 or 4.  Continuing in the nearby plaza the boys found several more winged lions.  Beginning to wander a bit more, a rain shower came over.  We had our handy-dandy umbrellas ready, but still were glad to find the Vivaldi museum, dedicated to Venice’s famous composer.  There was an exhibition of old musical instruments, and a really cool step-by-step explanation and demonstration of how to make a violin.  Noah got an especially big kick out of the mandolins, which he described as crazy guitars. 

Moving onwards we crossed canals, wandered more alleys until suddenly we popped out onto the Plaza San Marco.  Emptied because of the rain, it was beautiful to be able to see across to the basilica unimpeded by tourists.  After a quick snack we were among the first tourists back in the square.  And yes, we did feed and chase the pigeons.  Micah even got a few to land on his arms and shoulders.  Brave soul.  Noah ran and ran and ran.  And Julian read the map, hunting out our next destination.  After an enormous pizza luncheon, Ed carted the leftovers back to the apartment. Julian had discovered a water bus route that took us to the northern parts of Venice.  Game for anything, we swiped our bus tickets and hopped on. 

Another hint I had seen on the children-in-Venice websites was to notice how many different types of boats there were.  We had already ridden on the water buses, seen the gondolas, but during the trip we added on quite a few more interesting ones: motor boats, laundry boats, delivery boats, construction boats, police boats, ambulance boats, ice cream boats, cruise ships (super-big), party ships, barges.  The list goes on.  Arriving at the northern end of the city at the hospital we started on our way back to our apartment.  Lots of bridges, alleys, turns etc.  And Julian loves his map.  However, Venice does not work so well with a map.  Eventually we were close to home and we all settled in for a bit of a rest.  Dinner was at the same corner restaurant, but the focus of the night was languages.  The server spoke Italian, English, French, Spanish and Romanian.  The gentleman next to us was Russian, but spoke in French.  We had drinks on the house, and a good time was had by all. 

The next morning we were on a mission: the islands of Murano, where they blow glass.  We wandered again until we could catch the ferry boat.  It was a quick 10-minute trip, past the cemetery island, and onto Murano.  Ed had met an artist the night before who was a former glass-blower and she gave us some tips as to where to disembark.  There were beautiful glass sculptures around as public art.  And when we got to the glass-blowing studio the boys were enraptured. 

Hot glass rods going in and out of the 1100 degree oven.  The master sitting, while his apprentices melt the next bits of glass to be attached.  The rods cooled, steaming, so as to be cool enough to handle dexterously.  On this particular day the master was creating buffalos, so we watched as the torso was shaped, legs teased out, shoulders then head attached, tail pieces, leg pieces, etc.  They used several colors of glass.  They attached a rod to one end of the buffalo, then would break it off and attach another rod to work on the other end.  Finally the buffalo was set to cool in a less hot oven. 

Of course the boys all wanted souvenirs, so they each picked out a little sculpted morsel.  Noah calls his “my jewel.” After a more windy way back through the islands of Murano we arrived back at the hospital.  This time we were more sure of our way.  We stopped along the bridge of Rialto, Venice’s largest bridge, and Noah and Micah were especially interested in Carnival masks.  Ed found some shoes, bought some Limoncello for me, and we were done for the day. 

Except for the part where I headed off on a quick trip to see La Fenice, in honour of the mystery I was reading during the trip.  I found the theater without too much difficulty and reveled in its’ grandeur.  And as I turned the corner there was a comic scene.  A gondolier was attempting to maneuver his way through a zig-zag alley.  Normally it would be a tight squeeze, but passable.  However, there was a motorboat moored to the sidewalk, upon which his gondola was now stuck.  The solution: He climbed aboard the motorboat, unmoored it, let out a large amount of slack and refastened the ropes to the mooring.  He then let the motorboat float off to the end of the tether and he slid his gondola by, to the delight of the passengers and onlookers.  I can only imagine what the motorboat owner came to think upon discovering his very loose boat floating not quite as he left it. 

Going to a different restaurant on our last night, we had similar meals in a slightly nicer environment.  The next morning we rose, readied our bags and headed out to the waterbus one last time.  We had a lovely time in Venice and it really fuelled the imagination as to how different life can be.