Notre Amis Espagnoles

Travel is interesting in part because you never know what will come day-to-day.  The boys have made friends with a boy in their class from Madrid named Fernando.  The three of them have done a fair amount of hanging out together (and are, at this moment, out Velib-ing).  Yesterday evening, the boys wanted to get together with him again, so they made plans to meet him and his Dad at the Trocadero (directly across the Seine from the Eiffel Tower) at 7 p.m.  Suzie and I decided to go along to make sure they got there OK, and they also wanted us to meet Fernando's dad.

We timed our journey perfectly, arrived at 7 and found them immediately (no small feat given the fact that like most Metro stations, the Trocadero station has a large number of exits, and I simply guessed right about which was the "main" exit).  His Dad, also named Fernando, is a college professor in Madrid, but was nothing like we expected.  He was much younger than we'd thought, and a very pleasant mix of somewhat shy and yet very friendly.  Also along was a young woman named Bianca, who was very friendly and who spoke English very well, in addition to being bilingual in French and Spanish, owing to the respective nationalities of her parents.  Fernando had been staying with Bianca in Paris before his father arrived; we think (although it was never said and we are not certain of this) that Bianca is the girfriend of Fernando Sr.  In any event, both Fernando Sr. and Bianca were quite charming.

We didn't all quite know what to do, so we walked over to the Eiffel Tower, thinking we might walk up the stairs to the first level, but even the line for that was very long.  So we ambled slowly down the Champ de Mars, where they were setting up for tonight's free concert and fireworks display.  Here we all are (except me, who cleverly manages to stay behind the camera most of the time):

After a time we we decided to get away from the crowds and go sit at a cafe and have drinks, so we walked south and east and finally found a place on the Avenue de Suffren, across from Ecole Militaire. We were served by a very friendly waiter who joked with Andrew about his hesitancy to speak French. (Andrew wanted a peach iced tea, and struggled to communicate that to the waiter, even though it was apparent to everyone else that the waiter understood exactly what he wanted; when the waiter had finished taking everyone else's order, he told Andrew that he had forgotten Andrew's order and needed to have Andrew repeat it, which caused much laughter among the rest of us but left Andrew a little confused.) We sat for a long time and talked about Spain, and Alaska (where Bianca had been a student for a summer), and California, and Paris, and Madrid, and schools, and learning new languages; were almost dive-bombed by a retarded pigeon; and generally had a leisurely, civilized, friendly, warm conversation. It was just perfect, the very thing we had hoped to find in Paris, and it had come about completely by accident.

We eventually left the cafe, as it was getting dark and we all needed to get back home.  We walked to the nearest Metro station and all said goodbye, the end of a very nice evening.

Today is July 14, the big French national holiday, and we watched the coverage of the big parade down the Champs Elysees this morning.  The French do know how to put on a pageant (and surprisingly, they do seem to love their tanks, soldiers, and airplanes).  Tonight we are going to try to return to the area around the Eiffel Tower to watch the "feu d'artifice" (which are supposed to be spectacular) and take in the free concert.  Those that know me know I'm not really a night person, but this may be the only time I'll be able to see such a thing in such a place.

I leave you with another Metro picture, this one taken in the dying light at one of the few above-ground stations.  I don't know why I am so fascinated with the Metro, but I am, probably because I admire its efficiency.

A demain.

Another Luscious Meal at Le Reminet

Suzie decided today to treat the boys (and herself and me, of course) to lunch out today and some very nice restaurant.  We decided to return to a restaurant called Le Reminet, at which, longtime readers of this blog will know from this post, we had eaten during our first trip to Paris.  So after a leisurely morning sleeping in and lounging around the apartment, we took the Metro to Place St. Michel, the nearest stop.  Since we were early, we had a chance to walk around the area, which is directly across the Seine south from Notre Dame.

 

After 15 minutes of strolling, we headed for the restaurant.

It was exactly as we remembered it, small, classy, yet friendly. We all ordered the "menu" and ended up completely satisfied. The first course was Salad Charcutiere, which was similar to German potato salad, with potatoes, onions, cornichon, delicious ham, with some kind of dressing. Excellent. It was served with an endless basket of fresh, soft yet hearty bread. After taking our time savoring our first course, the main course arrived. The boys and I had ordered perch, which was baked and served with rice and a butter sauce. It was perfect -- fresh and perfectly cooked -- and the butter sauce was rich but not overwhelming (the rice had also been mixed with butter, and was oh so good). Suzie had duck, which came with potatoes reminiscent of home fries (but much tastier), and while I am not a duck fan, Suzie said it was excellent. After savoring that for some time, our dessert came -- some kind of strawberry creme, served cold in a small bowl with a cookie on the side and strawberry-filled cake at the bottom of the bowl. Intensely strawberry-ish and rich. Wow. Suzie and I finished the meal off with a cafe creme and an espresso, respectively. The whole experience could not have been better -- the food excellent, the space and the furnishings elegant and comfortable, the owner very kind and understanding of the our bad French.  At the end of the meal, Suzie told him that we'd eaten there 4 years ago, and came again to celebrate our first week in Paris, and he said to come back again such we were Parisians now.  Tres cool.

After the meal, we walked around a little bit more, to the Place St. Michel and the large fountain there.

The rest of the day was not so successful, as Will and I were going to play tennis at the Cite Universitaire nearby, but after getting ready, walking there, and finding the courts, it came to pass that they were all locked, much to Will's disappointment (he is still smarting from being beaten by his old man in Santa Rosa, and wanted revenge).  So after returning to the apartment, I made an on-line reservation for Tuesday afternoon with the Mairie de Paris tennis site for one of the courts down the street near the Porte d'Orleans.  Will's revenge will have to wait.

Finally, my attorney readers will find this story interesting:  There are no parking meters in Paris or its suburbs, but almost all on-street parking is "pay" parking, because in order to park in most spots you have to find the nearest "horodateur" and buy a ticket to put on your dashboard.  Absent the ticket on the dashboard, you are considered to be illegally parked and are given a ticket.  But recently, a young student who had a particular problem with horodateurs (running up a fairly significant number of violations) sought the assistance of a group called "40 Million Drivers" to defend her.  An attorney for that group did some research and found that there was nothing anywhere in any French law that authorized giving someone a parking ticket for failing to display a ticket from an horodateur.  And they convinced a judge that they were right.  The horodateur violations that have been given out forever were not authorized by any law, but rather were, in the words of 40 Million Drivers, "a pure invention of administrators."  Now if we can just do something about those County Center parking tickets....

Vive le Velib!

Andrew and I took advantage today of a marvelous, marvelous service of the City of Paris, called Velib.  This is a system of several hundred stations, located throughout Paris, where you can pick up a bicycle, ride it to a destination, and leave it at another Velib station.  The cost is amazingly low -- only one euro per day.  The only catch is that you must return the bike to another station within 30 minutes, else you are charged an additional one euro per half hour.  So long as you return a bike to a station, you can take another bike from that same station and start up a new 30 minutes.  All the stations are electronically linked, so you can see online how many bikes are available at any station in real time.  Quite groovy.

The bikes themselves are nothing to shake a stick at, bike-wise.  They are big and heavy and sturdy, and have only 3 gears, which frequently do not all work.  But the system is great, as it allows you to bike somewhere and then return your bike and not have to worry about having it stolen.  Or, if you bike across town and decide you don't want to bike back, you can just leave the bike and take the Metro.  All this for just one euro per day.  The other catch for tourists is that you need a bank card with an account in euros in order to get a daily ticket, otherwise you actually have to go to a manned station, plunk down $150, and then get your money refunded at the end of the day.

So Andrew and I biked from the Porte d'Orleans, north up the Rue de la Tombe Issoire (there must be a story there, I'll find it when I have more time), which turns into Rue St. Jacque, and eventually ends up in the St. Germain de Pres area.  There were found another station, returned our bikes, walked around a little, had a small snack, then got bikes again and headed across the Seine to the Ile de la Cite.  Andrew thought it would be cool to bike around Notre Dame, so we did that (it was cool), then we wanted to head west and travel along the Seine.  Unfortunately for us, right now in Paris the President Nicolas Sarkozy is hosting a Mediterranean Summit that includes the Presidents of Syria, Egypt, and Lebanon, and the Prime Ministers of Israel and the Palestinian Authority, and many of the buildings were located close to where we needed to cycle through.  The result was that there were huge numbers of policy, gendarme, soldiers, and barricades, and we were precluded from going where we wanted to go, and had to pretty much head straight west on the south side of the Seine through dense traffic.  As a result, we blew our 30 minute limit (we almost went more than an hour) before we finally found a station to put our bikes into.  By this time we were at the Ecole Militaire down the Champs de Mars from the Eiffel Tower.  We walked a bit, found a Tabac, and bought drinks.  Sitting there, this was the scene:

 

And here's Andrew, looking happy.

By this time, we had biked a good ways and were tired, so we decided to take the Metro back.  On our way to the stop, we were treated to this scene, totally by accident. I never remember the name of this church, but it is the place where Napolean (No. 1) lies.

After that, waiting for the Metro, then home.

Since the Velib tickets are still good, Suzie and I plan to go out for a ride this evening.  What a life.

A Very Satisfying Day in Paris

Even though I am on vacation and tell myself that I should be relaxed and stress-free all the time, it hit me yesterday that the fact is that stress is an integral part of the travel experience, particularly where you are trying to learn a foreign language and integrate into a foreign culture.  Indeed, to an extent the stress and the difficulties are what make the experience interesting.  Nevertheless, the stress seems to have gotten to me the last few days.

For someone like me, who  prides himself on being extremely competent at whatever he does and whose command and use of language is a key part of his life and work, being in a situation in which you cannot even speak the simplest child-like sentences correctly is painfully, painfully humbling and embarrassing.  I hit a particularly low point in my French class Friday morning.  Even though I can comprehend almost everything that is said in class, and even know I know most of the grammar and vocabulary and can read very well, my speaking abilities are pathetic.  My accent is (it seems) a caricature of an English accent in French, and I forget while speaking the most basic phonetic rules of French pronunciation.  It doesn't help that when we go around the class with the students reading or speaking, the teacher always seems to have pronunciation suggestions only after I speak.  So I find myself sitting in class thinking, 'I've got a college degree, and a professional degree, I'm relatively successful in life, and I sound like a complete idiot to everyone else in the room.  As I said, humbling.  I came away from class feeling exhausted and discouraged (although I did receive for my week's efforts a very, very impressive, handsome, and official-looking document certifying that I was, in fact, humbled in class for 15 hours last week).

In addition to feeling like an idiot in public all the time, we have had some difficult times as a family.   As mentioned previously, our apartment has very, very old hardwood floors, laid out in a herringbone pattern, and we have difficult neighbors below, who called us the first day we were hear to complain about the noise we made while walking.  So we have been very anxious about making noise ... not a good situation to be in with a 200 pound, 6 foot 3 inch 15 year old and a very active (albeit smaller) 13 year old.  This plus all of the other stressors of being in a new situation (dealing with the government about our residence card, living in a small apartment, sharing one bathroom, etc.) has resulted in some intra-family conflicts (to put it politely).  The kids often drive us crazy, and we often drive them crazy, and the crazy-feeling sometimes erupts in anger, frustration, and pissiness.  (Although, thankfully, Suzie and I don't seem to be driving each other crazy.)

So coming home from class on Friday, I was feeling discouraged and low.   Yesterday's beautiful sun and warmth had been replaced by coolness and clouds, and it was threatening to rain.  Blah.

But the rest of the day was absolutely perfect, probably the best we've had in Paris.  The boys had bought a basketball and were desperate to shoot hoops, so after lunch we took the tram to Parc Montsouris (about 3/4 miles away) to search for a court.  We got off in front of the entrance to the International City University of Paris:



We entered the park and found the basketball court, an odd, fenced-in thing with a strange soft (yet bouncy) surface and a "net" comprised of strips of leather hanging down (not a bad idea, really, much better than chains and more durable than a regular net).



The only really negative thing about the court was that the hoop itself was double-rimmed and very, very tight, so that it was impossible to ever get a "shooter's roll" -- you pretty much had to swish it to make it.  We fooled around for a while and played a game of horse (Will won) while Suzie walked through the park.

After the park we had planned to do an important chore:  Buy a runner of carpet for the hallway in our apartment, in the hope that the carpet would reduce the sounds of our walking and placate the downstairs neighbors.  We knew of a carpet store close to our house, which turned out to be an enormous warehouse-like space filled with hundreds and hundreds of carpets, throw rugs, types of vinyl and fake-hardwood floors, and other floor-covering related items.  A daunting task, to find what we needed.  Fortunately, we were assisted by an extremely helpful man with whom, although he spoke no English whatsoever, we manage to communicate exactly what we were looking for.  And ... much to our surprise, we found something perfect for our situation at a relatively low cost (our landlord is letting us deduct the cost from our rent).  On the way home, Suzie remarked that in general the service in France is much, much better in our experience than service back home.  The man in the carpet store was a good example; even though we obviously were going to buy the least-expensive thing we could find, and even though given our situations we were obviously not going to be repeat customers, he spent about a half hour with us showing us the various options.  Quite excellent.

We were concerned that because the carpet we bought was the cheapest and thus also the thinnest, it would not work well to dampen the noise, but when we rolled it out down the hallway and walked on it, we were amazed -- there was a very significant reduction in the sound.  This gave us a feeling of pride and accomplishment greatly in excess of what we'd one actually merited.

Suzie and I went shopping then, for burgers and fries, of all things, and were successful at finding everything we needed, including, surprisingly, hamburger buns (which were awful).  We had a little excitement and the checkout stand; the lady there seemed to be in the middle of some sort of breakdown or personal crisis.  She was alternately shouting and speaking quietly to herself, and finally the lady in the next stand came over to try to calm her down or comfort her, which didn't seem to work.  We did our whole transaction without her saying a word to us or, I think, even looking at us.

The burgers were great, except for the buns, the fries were tremendous, Suzie bought rice pudding for dessert and that was yummy, too.  After dinner, we decided to be tourists in Paris for an evening.  So on to the Metro and to the area around the Eiffel Tower.  We walked all around it, mostly on the other side of the river, and took pictures and stood in tourist-like poses, and bought ice cream and got home just as it was getting dark.  It was a great evening -- the air was calm and cool, the sky was dramatic, everyone was calm and happy to be in Paris.  The photos pretty much tell the story, and there are a few more on the Flickr site.



Finally, I thought all might be interested in seeing the outside of our apartment.  Our apartment is the one on the next to the last floor, with the large open window and the two balconies.



Monday is Bastille Day, a national holiday akin to the 4th of July, so everything including the school is closed.  It seems funny to say, but we are very much looking forward to our three day weekend.

A Document from La Republique Francaise

Another day, another afternoon at the Prefecture de Police in the 14th Arrondissement.  We arrived at 1:45 p.m., took a number (184 with 158 being served when we arrived) and waited in the crowded room.  More than a little ripe, the room was, being warm and humid and packed with lots of people whose situations in life seemed not to lend themselves to purchasing deodorant.  Why no one opened the windows was a mystery (I told Suzie it would interfere with the air conditioning).  So we sat down next to an African woman with a cute, happy, chubby baby and waited.  Slowly, one by one, the numbers counted up from 158.  Several times a number came up but no one responded.  Sometimes the business was transacted quickly, sometimes it took a long, long time.  Suzie remarked that whole procedure seemed much more civilized than a trip to the DMV would be, notwithstanding the importance of what the government was handing out there.  Only one time did one person become even slightly agitated; the remainder of the time people were calm and polite, despite the heat.

Eventually our number came up, and were were directed to window "B", where a woman asked us why we were there.  We (Suzie) explained, and she then told us to sit down again and wait until our number came up for one of the stations having a desk and places for the clients to sit.  So we sat down again and waited some more.  Finally number 184 came up again, and we were directed to window 3.

At window 3 was a young woman who was obviously new at her job.  Probably, because of that fact, she was very accommodating, kind, and sweet to us.  She proceeded to ask for all of our documentation -- our birth certificates, the kids' birth certificates, our marriage certificates, our certificate of financial ability, our passports, the lease for our apartment in Paris, the letter from our landlord ... all certified and translated into French, of course ... and, last but certainly not least, the critical gas bill (apparently people who wish to sneak into France illegally do not have gas service).  After examining the documents very, very, very carefully, asking a few questions of her supervisor, and ascertaining that all the documents were, in fact, before her, she commenced inputting all of our information into her computer.  This included the names of our fathers, the maiden names of our mothers, the names of children, our places of birth, and various and sundry numbers, which I'd assumed they would already have since we had given the same documents to the Consulate in San Francisco.  This took longer than it otherwise might have because our young representative was a hunt-and-peck typist.  But we sensed we were reaching the end....

But alas, it was not to be.  We assumed after this visit we would get our carte de sejour -- our residence card -- but the young lady proceeded to ask us which date ... in September ... we would like to travel to the main Prefecture of Paris building at the Ile de la Cite to have an appointment with another representative, to review our papers yet again.  Worse, the computer system wouldn't let her schedule an appointment for me and Suzie at the same time, so we had two different meeting times.  After this meeting, she said, we would have to come back yet again to actually receive our carte de sejour.  I told Suzie that the only reason I could see for this system was to employ more people in the Department of Interior than would otherwise be employed, and that the good news was even if there was some problem, by the time they finally told us "no card" we'd already be back in the States.

We did not come away completely empty-handed, however; they took one of the pictures of each of us that I'd made yesterday and gave us each a very official-looking, properly sealed (with a real old-fashioned  seal that the young lady really put some effort into) document called a "Recepisse de Demande de Carte de Sejour" -- officially showing that we had applied for our carte de sejour and were thus legit in the eyes of the Republique Francaise until futher notice.  We were told to keep this document in our possession.  If we are asked for "our papers," we will whip this puppy out and tell the police to back off (politely and with great deference, of course).

We also asked about the cards the kids were supposed to have to obtain.  Eventually it came out that we only needed cards for them if they planned to travel outside of France other than with me and Suzie.  Why that situation would require the French government to give them a card, when they already have passports, is puzzling, but we didn't really care about that because we bottom line is that we didn't need to get these cards for the kids.

So, with our new official-looking receipt in hand, we decided to celebrate.  It was about 4 by now, and we went to a small cafe on the street abutting our apartment, a cafe that we can see from our apartment.  We sat outside and enjoyed our small advance.  Shortly after we arrived, an elderly man arrived with an immensely fat dog, which we later learned was named "Bulot."  Bulot seemed to be the informal mascot of the cafe and greatly beloved by the cadre of funny, older men who were already at the cafe, who intermittently gave him bread with pate and other goodies from the cafe.  One of the men engaged us in conversation, and we learned that the cafe had a program where every 15 days the proprietor would have an event for which he would prepare food from a different region in France, but not expensive, the man said.  We also learned that the man loved San Francisco, and that Bulot weighed 80 kilos, which converts to 176 pounds, I think, and which we had trouble believing even though he was enormous and constantly being fed.  At one point a car from a driving school pulled up and stopped, and the student was instructed to back up.  The poor student killed the car while trying to put the manual transmission into reverse, resulting in a hugely loud sound, followed by hoots and hollers and "Ayyyeeee, yahhhyeee, yahhhyeee"s from the group of old men at the cafe.  It seemed like this group knew almost everyone who walked by.

We like our little neighborhood and are definitely feeling more settled.  We find it hard to believe we've only been her for 7 days, as it seems much, much longer than that.  My French is getting better quickly; I can actually understand a lot what it on the TV.  C'est bon, la vie....

Incompetent but Ultimately Quasi-Successful

I had another frustrating day today in Paris, although at the end of the day, we'd accomplished quite a bit....

The day began with our trip on the Tram to our language school.  The Tram is much, much nicer than the Metro, because it is modern, air conditioned, and travels above-ground.  Unfortunately it is not quite as fast for most folks, because it has to deal with traffic (although the lights change for it along the way), although for us it is quicker because it is a more direct route.  The stations along the line are modern and clean:



We all had good classes today, and the boys found their way home on the Metro by themselves, which must be fun and give them a great sense of freedom and maturity.  On my way home, I had a funny experience:  I was walking along the street, when a car caught my attention because it seemed enormous, a big blue yacht.  I did a double-take when I realized that it was a car almost identical to Sue Gallagher's, a Miata!  Most of the cars in the city are so small that even a "normal" sized two-seat convertable looks big.

Suzie had made us a wonderful, just-thrown-together lunch -- potato leak soup, salad, scrumcious delicious baguette from the bakery around the corner, soft cheese (like Camembert, but somewhat milder), cold sausage, and tuna.  It is amazing how excellent bread can make a meal seem special.

After that, there was work to do.  According to our visas, we are required to report to the Prefecture de Police in Paris to apply for our carte de sejour (which entitles us to stay in France more than 3 months).  We decided that this afternoon would be that day.  I found the address (fortunately, for residents in the 14th arronddissement, it is in the 14th, relatively close to our apartment), but belatedly realized that we also needed to have four photos of each of us.  For our visas, I had just taken the pictures, cropped them to the proper size, and gotten them printed at Longs, and figured it would be an easy task to do the same here, rather than paying someone to do it.  So I snapped pictures of us all, and put them on a single photo to print off.  The resulting picture I have entitled, "Would you let these people into your country," for obvious reasons:



The next part should have been easy -- transferring the photos onto the compact flash card in my camera, then taking the card to a photo shop and having the prints made.  But as it happened, neither of those steps were easy.  The camera balked at letting me copy the picture onto its flash drive, for some inexplicable reason, since I've done the same thing a number of times before with the same camera.  So after several attempts and more than a little bit of swearing, I gave up, and Suzie agreed to go across the street to the Champion grocery store to look for a CD to copy the pictures on (I thought I'd brought CDs with me, but alas, they hid themselves when we searched for them), which also took some time, and by the time we finally got the pictures onto the CD, we'd spent over an hour on the task.

So off we went to the 14th Arrondissement police station.  I was fairly certain that I would find a photo printing place en route, but this assumption proved painfully wrong.  There were none, that we could see, in the half-mile or so between our apartment and the police station, and when we stopped into the copy place and asked where one was, we were told (inaccurately, as it happened) that the nearest one was over a half hour's walk away.  So now we were at the police station, without one of the things we needed.  The police station is not one of the key stops on the tourist circuit in Paris.



We had to go into the building one-by-one, have our bags searched, walk through a metal detector, then take a ticket with a number on it.  Ahead of us in a fairly small room were probably 50 people; our number was 197, and the number being served was 152.  A friendly American woman informed us that she had also been about 40 numbers behind when she'd come in, and was still waiting two and a half hours later.  She also told us, however, that you didn't have to stay there once you had your number, so long as you were there when your number was called.  Since it appeared that we had some time to kill, we left and walked toward the Montparnasse area.  My job was to find a place to get the pictures printed.  Suzie and the boys found a sporting goods store with a cafe nearby, and I told them I would meet them back there in 30 minutes.

Off I went, in search of a photo place.  I walked to the Gare Montparnasse.  Along the way I looked up each side street, but saw nothing.  I turned north and walked all the way around the Montparnasse tower, a not insignificant distance, make more difficult by the crowds, again looking up each side street.  Finally, desparate and running out of time, I found another copy store and decided to ask the guys inside if they could help.  This was both a good thing and a bad thing.  It was a bad thing because I had to communicate with them without Suzie's excellent assistance with French.  It was a good thing because it forced me to communicate with them instead of relying on Suzie's excellent assistance with French.  So I haltingly tried to explain what I needed.  I was successful after a time, and although they told me they did not print photos, I could go to FNAC and get the pictures printed tout suite.

So off through the crowds again, to FNAC.  About this time my feet, which, you recall, were hurting yesterday, started complaining again, but I fared onward.  FNAC is a wonderful store, a combination of a Best Buy (beaucoup de electroniques) and a Barnes and Noble (beaucoup de livres).  I asked the young woman behind the information booth where I could get a photo printed, and she said at the end of the store, so I marched through and found just what I was looking for, a self-serve photo printing station.  Hooray!

Well, not quite.  There were two machines, one occupied.  I went to the other one and inserted my CD, but was told (I understood the second time) that the machine would not read CDs.  So I had to wait for the other to come free.  This involved waiting for a fairly elderly woman to carefully review 500 pictures of her grandson to determine the precise 15 that were the best and thus deserving of being printed.  All this time I'm thinking, I've been gone 45 minutes, and said I'd be back in 30, and have a 15 minute walk back to Suzie, and haven't yet gotten the pictures.  Grandmere is still selecting the perfect pictures of her young grandson.  I call Suzie, but her cellphone is not in service.  I'm sweating, hot, nervous, uncomfortable.  Arrrggghhh.

Finally the lady is finished.  I put my CD in, call up the picture, try to guess the appropriate size in centimeters to make the small squares the right size for the carte de sejour, validate my choice, and finish the transaction.  Three euros for 6 copies, not bad, and the pictures will be done, the lady says, in 10 minutes.  Things are looking up.  So I kill time around the store for 10 minutes, then return for my pictures.  No, no, says the lady, first you have to pay, then come back and get the pictures.  I look at the packed lines for the cashier.  Oh well, I might as well buy something I've been needing (a mouse for my laptop).  So I do that, then head for the cashier, and realize that I think I've lost the slip saying how much my pictures are.  So I go back to the lady in photo printing department, and tell her I've lost the ticket I need for the cashier, and she says, no, no, its there, pointing to another slip that I still have, which doesn't have the price on it, but does have a bar code, who the hell would know that?  Still, I'm feeling completely incompetent at this point, and am fearing the cashier, although it should be a relatively easy task to hand them the items, pay with my Carte Blue, and leave.  Of course, the first line I get in gets completely stalled when someone with a Saudi Arabian passport tries to pay with an out-of-town check; once I see the checker pick up her phone, I'm out of that line.  Finally, finally, I get through the cashier, get my pictures, and am out again on the crowded streets.

My feet hurt (I said that, but its even more true now) and I'm rushing to get back to Suzie.  Finally I find her and the boys, and we head back to the police station.  By this time it is 3:45.  When we get back inside the building again, we look up at the sign -- they are serving number 212, and our number was 197.  Not good.  But wait.  Miraculously, the entire room, packed before, has cleared.  We take another number, and it's 215, which immediately comes up on the board.  Whoo-eeee, here we go.  We get lucky again -- the woman facing us is young and seems (contrary to the stories you here) to go out of her way to accommodate us.  At the end of the meeting, we've given her every document she needs save one -- the most recent gas bill for our apartment.  Unknown to us, that had been waiting for us in our mailbox, which we'd never checked (but did once we got back).  That oversight will mean another trip to the police station, and another wait, but absent something going haywire, we would get our carte de sejour and avoid illegal alien status.

After that experience, we were much happier.  The boys have made friends with a boy in their class from Spain, and they invited him to see the movie Hancock with them.

;

The movie was playing near where we were, so we decided to have a light early dinner and wait for the movie to start.  They arranged pretty much on their own for their friend to meet them at the theater, which he did, and we bought them tickets and saw them off into the theater.  Again, they'd get back on their own; the theater http://ssshupe.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?action=edit&post=218was on the same Metro line as our apartment, which made it easy.



Suzie and I, childless, came back to our neighborhood and did some shopping,  I bought some stylish, European-looking shoes (for those that remember this post, the total shoe-power is now doubled), we brought some vegetables and fruit at an open air market, and came home, feeling we'd accomplished something.

Even though we've been here less than a week, we are feeling settled, falling into a routine.  I look out my window now at the stylish Hausmannian building next door, look down at the hustle and bustle on the street, and am amazed that we are actually here, that my kids are running around Paris on their own, that they are, in fact, apparently going to let us stay in their country.

Mes Pieds Sont Tres Fatigues!

A little better day today after the experience yesterday, although the French language school still does not seem to comprehend the word "efficiency."  Today no one showed up to teach my class; we all sat there staring at each other for 30 minutes until someone finally showed up, apologized, and started teaching the class with almost no preparation.  As it turned out, she was an excellent teacher, if a little curt sometimes in her critique of the students, and of course there was no continuity between the first class and the second. She focused on pronunciation, which I very much need and which not many teachers do. On the other hand, she also made us do a skit, and I hate doing skits. I am not a skit kind of guy. But it was almost fun given the fact that I was in the liveliest group (two Spaniards and an Italian, which accounts for that, I think).

The other good news is that my younger son Andrew (who was appalled that I posted some not-entirely-flattering, albeit quite funny, descriptions of him yesterday, which he convinced me to later delete, meaning that only those of you who logged on early got the full post) got swapped into a class (Will's class) that was much better suited for him, and he had a fun, exciting day, meeting other kids from around the world.  We had a little excitement on the way back, for Will had gone on to the Metro station ahead of us, then decided to take the Metro home himself, and so was lost for a time, but miraculously appeared out of nowhere while Andrew and I were waiting for the Tram.

Suzie is happy (as am I) because the boxes we shipped arrived today.  They look like King Kong had used them for punching bags, but they didn't split open, and everything seems to be there.  Suzie says we packed way too many clothes, which is probably true, since I haven't even worn everything I brought with me in my suitcase.

Suzie had visited the neighborhood schools yesterday, and was told she had to go to the CASNAV de Paris (the French love acronyms; it stands for the "Centre Académique pour la Scolarisation des Nouveaux Arrivants") to get the kids tested for their French ability, so she took the kids after class today to the CASNAV (all the way across Paris, of course), only to be told (...wait for it...) that testing had finished for the summer that very morning, and that she should come back at the end of August. All was not lost, however, as she got all the forms and such that she needs to get the kids registered for school when the time comes, and presumably the kids' French will be much better then than now.

While she was doing that, I took a long, long walk, from our apartment all the way to the Gare Montparnasse, did a little browsing in the shopping center there, took the Metro to a random stop, and walked back to the apartment. My feet hurt from all the walking, but it felt good to get out and about alone, just me and the city and the variety of people in it.

Just as I got back, Andrew was going out the door to the skate park, and he convinced me to come with him, so my poor sore feet had to do a little more walking, down to a park near the Porte d'Orleans, which is much larger than I thought, and very pretty and well maintained.



I sat most of the time enjoying the green space (funny how quickly I've missed that), but also took some pictures of Andrew doing his tricks. Here are two, one of him hitting a great jump, another of him right before he wiped out:





A group of young boys was hanging out at the stake park, and one of them asked me, "Parlez-vous Francaise?" and when I answered "un peu" he said, in highly accented, halting English, "Your son is very good stakeboard. He will be the next Tony Hawk." To which I replied, "Please, please don't tell him that." On the way out, we passed this same group in another spot, and the same kid said, "Bye Americans!" Even the kids hanging out at the park are friendly.

The boys are watching The Simpsons, overdubbed in French. It is odd to see the characters open their mouths and have French come out.

I'm all done in ... creve, as they say here (from the verb "crever," which means "to burst," so the image is one of a deflated car tire, flat, with nothing left; also, note that I have no way to make accent marks on this keyboard, so you French language purists [you know who you are] will have to bear with me), so this will be a short post. The cool and showery weather seems to have followed us here from Ireland, but tomorrow is supposed to be warm and sunny. Suitable weather, I think, for an afternoon bike ride through Paris.

Perserverance Pays

Up at 6 a.m.  Coffee, cereal, shower.  Wake up the kids.  Nag the kids to get out of bed.  Repeat.  Repeat again.  Reconfirm address of language school and reconfirm mode of transit (the new tram running east-west on the southern edge of Paris).  Nag the kids to get dressed.  Leave at 7:30 with the kids for the Tram.  Get to Tram stop at Porte de Orleans.  Wait.  Get on Tram.  Get off at Porte de Versailles.  Follow the directions from the language school website:  South down the Avenue Ernest Renan, under the Peripherique, right on Rue Oradour-sur-Glane, right at number 12, to 16 Rue E. Jeannin Garreau.  Stop multiple times to ask boys to speed up.  Enter 16 Rue E. Jeannin Garreau.  See empty hotel lobby.  Ask concierge about Accord language school, receive reply 'never heard of it.'  Contemplate possible errors.  Ask concierge if address is 16 Rue E. Jeannin Garreau.  Receive affirmative reply.  Feel somewhat better about mapping abilities.  Notice young woman in jeans with word "Staff" on back of t-shirt.  Ask young woman about Accord language school.  Take suggestion of young woman to go to 12 Rue Oradour-sur-Glane and inquire there.  Walk to 12 Rue Oradour-sur-Glane.  See another empty hotel lobby.  Inquire of concierge about language school.  Receive negative reply.  Sit in soft chair in lobby to contemplate next move.

Call Suzie on cell phone.  Ask Suzie to look for number and address of language school and call back.  Wait with boys in deserted hotel lobby for 10 minutes.  Receive call from unknown woman at language school.  Obtain correct address of language school, 19 Rue Victor Hugo.  Walk another 6 long blocks down Avenue Ernest Renan.  Stop multiple times to tell kids to hurry up.  Stop two times to break up fights among kids.  Turn right on Rue Victor Hugo.  Find Number 19.  See many, many young students.  Walk inside.

To to window marked "Welcome."  Attempt to explain to woman in window that I have not yet registered for classes, but wish to do so.  Receive direction to go down stairs and turn right and go to cafeteria.  Walk down stairs with boys and turn right, and enter cafeteria.  Cafeteria completely empty.  Return to welcome window for further directions.  Same directions given, go down stairs and go all the way to the right.  Return downstairs and go all the way to the right.  Run into wall.  Reverse course and go all the way to the left.  Run into another room.  Enter room with young students and two young instructors.  Explain wish to register.  Receive helpless looks.  Return to welcome window.  Explain there is no one in the cafeteria.  Receive same directions.

Consider possibility that language school not meant to be.  Decide to leave before head explodes.  Walk to main entrance to leave.  Young staff person asks what I need.  Explain I need to register.  Young staff person provides directions to office:  Go outside building, around to the side.  No mention of stairs.  No mention of cafeteria.

Follow directions of young staff person.  Arrive at registration office.  Explain have not registered in advance but wish to do so.  Friendly and efficient person takes boys to evaluation testing room on ground floor and shows me where evaluation testing room for adults is located.  Walk to evaluation testing room.  Enter room.  Twenty-five people taking written evaluation.  Find person apparently in charge, explain that I want to take classes but have not registered.  Given written evauation to complete.  Spend 30 minutes trying to write coherent French.  Complete evauation form.  Ask person apparently in charge what to do next.  Not clear person apparently in charge knows.  Continue to sit.

Instructor comes out of back room and asks me to sit for oral evaluation.  Have painful conversation with instructor.  Return to main room.  Sit some more.  Person apparently in charge begins to engage class in conversation in French.  Asks what has surprised students about Paris.  I say cost of Diet Pepsi.  Person apparently in charge blames weak dollar.

Sit some more while more conversation goes on.  Ask person apparently in charge what I should do with completed written evaluation.  Person apparently in charge does not know.  Person apparently in charge decides to take 10 minute break.  Mentions "cafe."  Decide to stick close to her.  Walk with person apparently in charge to self-serve vending machines.  Wait in line.  Buy cafe creme for 40 cents Euro.  Remark that this is the best coffee deal in France.  Return with person apparently in charge to evaluation room.  Wait more.

Person really in charge eventually enters room.  Separates students by ability.  Mystification at requirement of written evaluation when no one ever look at it.  Decide must let that go.  Hear name called, directed to Room 107 with instructor named Charlene.  In class with 12 other people:  4 from Russia, 1 other from US, 4 from Spain, 1 from Italy, 1 from Germany, 1 from Hong Kong.  Students introduce selves and begin to do exercises.

Noon approaches.  Ask instructor when class is over.  Instructor says 1 p.m.  Ask instructor when childrens' classes are over.  Instructor does not know.  Instructor leaves class to ask.  Instructor returns and says childrens' classes are over at noon.  I ask what I am supposed to do if class goes until 1 p.m.  Instructor does not know.  I decide to leave.  Instructor says that she will not be here tomorrow, and that students must look at lists in morning to see where to go.  I leave confused.

Kids waiting near main entrance.  Older son exuberant, had excellent class, made friends with boy from Spain.  Younger son agitated.  Claims he did not understand a thing.  Claims teacher spoke in Spanish but would not speak in English.  Says language school sucks.  Says this not the way to spend his summer.  Says French is stupid.

Return to registration office to pay for class.  Younger son continuing to complain about incomprehensible Spanish-speaking French teacher.  Growing tired of rant.  Lady behind us with young son says her son said same thing about class.  Registration person gets supervisor from school.  Supervisor says will check, but that classes are taught always in French, no English or other languages.  Does not understand comment about Spanish.

Pay and leave school.  Walk through drizzle to Metro station.  Younger son continues to gripe.  Teacher sucks.  School sucks.  Paris sucks.  Older son says how much he loves class.  Drives younger son wild.  Get on Metro.  Next to us friendly American woman with children in class.  One child is in younger son's class,  but has 4 years of high school French.  Younger son seizes on this.  Says class is too hard.  Says he is misplaced in class because he 'nailed' oral questions.  Says won't do homework.  Says teacher sucks.  Says we are robbing him of summer.  Older son says try to give it one more day.  Drives younger son into seizure.

Arrive at Alesia Metro stop.  Off Metro, walk home.  Younger son ranting on about class.  Up scary elevator.  Tell Suzie to take over with younger son.  Older son loving fact that younger son having problems.  Repeats how great his class was.  Causes younger son's head to explode.  Suzie tells older son not to comment.  Older son ignores direction.  Pandemonium ensues.

Glad to register for language school.  Provides direction and chance to meet people.  Away from children for 3 hours.  Better tomorrow.

The Party

Steve, the boys and I got invited to a party by our neighbor directly above us. I happend to meet a friendly woman on the stairs who asked me if the elevator was working yet, and I was able to deliver the great news that the elevator was no longer "en panne." She was thrilled as it had been out of service for a week and she was having a party the next day. In her excitement, she invited all of us to her party. For starters, I think it is very unusual for the French to invite strangers into their homes, especially foreigners who have just moved in the day before. But, having been invited, even though we were really tired after struggling through the television episode and the cell phone episode, we had to attend. The opportunity was too good to pass up and not attending would have been rude.

The party started at 6:00, and the boys kept saying, "Let's go, let's go." But I held us off until 7:00 so we wouldn't be awkward and arrive too early. It was a good thing, as the party was really just getting going when we arrived. The apartment was beautiful but not in the original condition ours is with all the marvelous moldings, mirrors and fireplaces. It had been recently renovated and was lovely. Being on the top floor and at the corner of the building it had views in all directions.

We stepped into the party and the hostess "Carite" offered us drinks and began to introduce us to the people in the near vicinity as, "The Americans who have just moved in below." People were gracious taking turns talking with us. We were pleased to meet Carite's former Au Pair, who is now a jolly middle aged woman from Dublin. We talked with her at length about Ireland and the troubles. She loves Paris and has lived here for almost 40 years. We met several groups of people and I tried my best to keep up conversation in French. It was a challenge with some people but fortunately the conversation stayed somewhat superficial.The boys were charming and Will made friends with a little girl of about 6 and kept her occupied for quite a while.

Carite's mother is a fascinating woman, originally from somewhere in Eastern Europe who is an attorney and has lived in New York and other interesting places. We had a lovely conversation about New York and Paris and living abroad, etc. Her English was very good, but we spoke in French. This was a great compliment to me as it meant, I think, that my French wasn't so bad that it was painful to listen to.

I was given very helpful advice about schools for the boys from a friend of Carite's who is an English Professor with a focus in Irish Poetry. (I'm sensing a connection between Ireland and Paris). We talked at length about my work and hers, as a University lecturer outside of Paris, her upbringing in England, the US and France. She and Carite are old friends as their grandparents were friends and had country houses north east of Paris before "the war." I'm assuming this must have been WWII. The two couples would bicycle from Paris to their country houses together - taking the men 4 hours and the women 6 hours to get there. Clearly, this is a strong family friendship which carries on to this day. I like hearing these types of stories. It reminds me of the good things about tradition in a society older than our own.

Carite herself is an interesting woman who is both an attorney who works for the legal publishing company Lexis/Nexus and gives cooking classes on the side. As the food she prepared was wonderful, plentiful and beautiful to look at, I may just take sign up for one of her classes. Plus, I really liked her and it would be a way to get to know her a little better.

Having made the rounds at the party and starting to flag a bit from all the excitement of the day, I decided it was time for me to leave. As I was saying goodbye to Carite, Steve reappeared and told me in a serious voice that he needed my help with something. Oh my, that didn't sound good. And next came the elevator incident.

Our Last Day of Vacation

Well, yes, laugh on, laugh on, but the fact is that tomorrow we start our French classes, and have to be at the school at 8:15, which means no more sleeping in, and using our brains, and doing homework.  One of the most wonderful part of this trip has been getting all the sleep I want almost every day.  I've been contemplating the effect on my body of the fact that needs about 9 hours a night (that's what I sleep on average if given no constraints) but gets about 7 hours a night during "real life."  I can tell you that I am a lot more relaxed, even though we've been through a series of fairly stressful events the last three-plus weeks.  Sleep is good.  Not enough sleep is bad.

Today we decided to divide up the boys.  I was going to take them to a science museum in northeast Paris (the Cite des Sciences in the Parc de la Villette) in the afternoon and then Suzie was going to take them in the evening.  So the boys and I set off about noon, taking the Metro from one end of the city to the other (even so, it took less than 40 minutes to get there).  We didn't get to see the grounds (we ran out of time), but one highlight was the view of the Geode (which, on the inside, is a 180 degree movie theater):



The museum was very interesting, situated in a large, spacious, modern building infused with a lot of natural light.  There were exhibits on the evolution of the Citroen (yes, the car), on genetics, an exhibit on the "Story of the Universe" (which was a bit disappointing), and an excellent exhibit on sound and language.  There were also a couple of things that were flat out fun:  An electronically-controlled image of the Mona Lisa that you could cause to lip-synch to words you said into a microphone (it sounds stupid but it was laugh-out-loud funny to see it; an interactive on-line version is here), and a large covered cylinder that held about 15 people, and spun around like a merry-go-round; it was filled with soft rubber balls that curved to the right when you threw them (because of the motion of the cylinder), and when you exited, your body 'naturally' wanted to walk to the left, which was what it had to do inside the rotating cylinder in order to travel "straight ahead."  By the time we got back at 5, we were tired from the go-go-go, and we had a quick dinner, watched some TV (yes, it appears that Suzie was successful in her battle with the Orange Livebox and decoder), then the boys went down the street to skateboard (those cell phones come in handy).  Here are some pictures.

A DRAGON ON OUR CEILING (as mentioned, this apartment has incredible old, detailed ornamental plaster all over and around it; spookier than the dragon are a couple of odd faces, which peer straight down at the corners of the rooms).



SUZIE IN THE KITCHEN:



THE VIEW OUT OUR LIVING ROOM WINDOW, the other direction from the one in this post:



THE VIEW SOUTH DOWN AV. DU GENERAL LECLERC:



And finally, the calls have gone out for pictures of my new Paris haircut, so as much as I loathe pictures of myself, I am closing my eyes and posting this one.



I am going to force Suzie to blog this evening, so stay tuned.

Bad Day in Paris -- Tous les Appareils ne Marchent Pas!

Ugh. Here's what the day consisted of today:

Me vs. the Video Camera: After I made a trip to the FNAC store to buy a cable to hook up the video camera to the computer, the video camera broke. The tape came halfway out of the camera and would not come all the way out or go all the way in. It was stuck. I fiddled with it endlessly and never managed to fix it. Now we have no video camera and have to make a return trip to the large FNAC store and its long lines to return the now-useless cable.

Suzie vs. the Livebox: The TV service here is through the phone line, using a device called a "Livebox" that provides wireless and regular internet, telephone, and TV to the apartment. The internet and phone parts work fine, but the TV hasn't since we arrived. I spent about an hour trying to reset the equipment (including the "decoder" for the TV) but to no avail. Suzie then spent 45 rough minutes on the phone speaking in French about computer tech issues with a very efficient and patient woman at Orange France trying to get the TV to work. It eventually did work, for only for a short while, and then it quit again, then when I reset the decoder again, gave us a screen that said in French, "Please wait, the service is starting up," and which stared at us from the screen for about 45 minutes before I finally turned the TV itself off to free ourselves of its spiteful, mocking message.

All of Us vs. Les Telephones Portables. Suzie wanted to get cell phones for us all, so we've spent a lot of time in stores looking at phones and service plans and calculating which would be the least expensive for what we need. We looked various places and finally were helped by a terrific young man from Algeria named Mohammed, who worked at the Orange Wireless store up the street. Not only did he help us select the right plan by explaining it all, but he was also charming. I had a long conversation with him about his plans to travel to America to improve his English, and his desire to have a career in business. You want people like that to get ahead, and I hope he manages to. Our phones were our one success today.

Will vs. Le Ascenseur. The elevator in our building was, you recall, broken when we arrived, but was then fixed. But after we attended the party at our upstairs neighbors' house this evening, the boys for some inexplicable reason known only to teenage minds decided to take the elevator down from the 6th etage to the 5th etage, and then down further, and somewhere in their voyage they got stuck between the 4th and 3rd floors, unable to get out, encased in this small glass cage like some humanoid specimens on an old Star Trek episode, and semi-panicked at the possibility that they could be in there for some time. We were mortified, as we believed, but don't know for certain, that the boys may have done something to cause the the problem, and the Guardienne of the building received no assurance from the elevator company when she called about how quickly the repair man would come, although as it happened he came within 20 or 30 minutes and managed to fix the elevator, which is now functioning again, no thanks to the Shupe boys.

Suzie had a good time at the party, and I had a fair time, and I hope tomorrow she will blog about it. I'm exhausted and feeling overwhelmed and a little out of control and really, really tired of being around my kids so so much (bad Dad, I know, but don't criticize someone unless you've spent three weeks walking in their shoes in constant, constant contact with their offspring). Hopefully the ambulances and the partygoers will be fewer tonight so that I can get a better night sleep in my bed (which is just a tad, just a tad too short for my long frame).

But we still love Paris. We still find friendly people that humor us through our bad French. (I also ran into a scammer today, fairly transparent and not very convincing -- he dropped a ring on the ground as I was nearing him, then looked down in surprise as I saw it, feigning that we was also seeing it for the first time, and offering to let me keep it for 5 euro, an offer I declined, recognizing that the ring was probably one of 20 he had on him and was worth probably 50 cents Euro, quite a nice mark up. Andrew was suitably impressed that his usally gullible Dad had recognized and avoided the scam.)

Hoping that things work a little better for us tomorrow.

Transitioning to WordPress

I've decided to transition the SSSBlog to WordPress ... the new site can be found at http://ssshupe.wordpress.com/

Our Perfect Weekend in Bellegarde

S’est dommage -- this will be the final blog post from France this year. We are cleaning up the Barrands’ house, we bought our last batch of chocolates and other goodies to take back with us, we got the car washed and vacuumed it, checked the British Airways site for the latest news (today, both of our flights were OK, and it looks like some of the restrictions will be lifted so we can at least take a book on board with us).

We all are very sad to be leaving. We have had a wonderful time here. Much different than our trip to Paris last year, and in some ways better. In particular, Suzie and I both feel that we got a much better idea of what life in France is like this year. We had a number of occasions (the last being our weekend in Lyon, described below) where we spent extended periods of time interacting in French with regular people here, which was not the case in Paris. It also helped that none of the TV channels we receive here are in English, so the boys could not constantly watch American shows. As I mentioned in a previous post, both Suzie and I notice that our French has improved immensely; situations that just to be difficult for us now seem very easy.

Our last weekend here was very special. Suzie’s sister Yvette has a very close friend named Florence who is French. Before we left, Florence gave us the name of a couple who grew up in her small hometown, whom she referred to as her “second family,” and arranged for us to meet. Suzie called last week, and they invited us to come to stay with them. So on Saturday we drove from Le Sappey to Bellgarde, which is located northwest of St. Etienne, close to Lyon, to visit Irene and Bernard and their two children, Morgane and Martin.

It would be hard to describe how hospitable they were to us, or how very delicious the food was that they prepared for us. They work in Lyon, but have a vacation house in Bellgarde, in a farming area in the Loire valley. Their next door neighbor raises chickens, and the house is surrounded by pastures and fields of corn. On Saturday we were first treated to Pate, a light pastry filled with fresh fruit, which apparently is one of Florence’s favorites, the presentation of which was celebrated with a photo:



Afterwards, we went to visit an eleventh century fort in the nearby town of Montrand-les-Bains. It was unfortunately closed, but we were able to walk around the grounds and have splendid views from the outside.



We then went to an ecological preserve in the Loire floodplain. My Water Agency friends will appreciate this – it was located on an old gravel mining site that various environmental groups had purchased and turned into a protected area. It was very beautiful, with many birds, and a very nice interpretive center.



The most interesting experience happened while we walked around the lakes. Bernard seemed to be a fairly avid outdoorsman, and he had brought with him in the car a small wire basket for … holding snails. Escargot being a traditional French dish, he would go and collect snails for eating. So we all participated in a snail hunt, which, from the snails’ point of view, was a bit of a mismatch, I’m afraid.







After hunting snails, Bernard and Irene treated us to escargot that evening. I’m not sure I remember all of the steps you have to go through, but I think the process is this – after catching the snails, you have to leave them alone in a cool place for two weeks, to cleanse their interiors. Then (I think), you have to put them in salt water so that they swell up and pop out of their shells. Then (I think), you boil them in hot water, after which time you can freeze them for eating later.

Bernard already had a batch of snails frozen, and he had taken them out to defrost in the afternoon. He then mixed up, by hand,butter, garlic, parsley, and maybe other ingredients. To bake the snails, you put snails in the bottom of little ceramic snail-cups and then fill the rest of the cups with the butter/garlic concoction.





The snails in their butter and garlic sauce are so rich that you would not think you could eat many of them, but between the eight of us we polished off 138 snails ... which we ate with yet another entrée (first course) of hot sausages and saussison, followed by a dinner of beef and pasta, and cheese for dessert! All of it absolutely incredibly delicious.



That night, I slept as well as I had on the whole trip.

But in the morning, more eating lay ahead. First, a breakfast of fresh fruit, various cheeses, a delicious pastry made with fresh cherries, homemade bread, homemade confiture (preserves), including an incredible apricot and cassis preserve, pate, and coffee. All of it simply wonderful, yet not too heavy (the fruit was all prepared without much sugar, making it very light).



After breakfast, Irene and Bernard were so kind as to drive with us to Lyon, to show us around the city. I had heard that Lyon was not nice, but to me it seemed to be much nicer than Grenoble, and much larger and more bustling. We toured several beautiful cathedrals, walked along and over the Soane River, and then had a huge, delicious late lunch (including a Lyonnaise dish consisting of a type of baked pasta in a lobster cream sauce, unique and wonderful, and the best, most decadent, thick, moist, chocolate cake I’ve ever had) at a restaurant in the old section of Lyon. We walked around a little more (to avoid falling asleep in the car) and then said our goodbyes.



More Lyon pictures here, here, here, and here.
In the short time we were with them, we ended up feeling very comfortable with Irene and Bernard and their kids. (I should add that my son, Will, was somewhat taken with their daughter, who is the same age, who is cute, bright, confident, and utterly without guile).



We feel very fortunate to have met Bernard, Irene, Morgane and Martin, and to have been able to share a few days with them. Thank you, Florence, for giving us that opportunity.





Everyone wish us luck tomorrow traveling home. We hope to see you all soon.

Food Photos

My sister-in-law Yvette has requested some pictures of food we've had. I haven't taken many pictures of food, it seeming odd to me to aim the camera at a plate, but it turns out I do have three, one of a salad plate Suzie got one evening, one of the dark pancake-type thing filled with ham, cheese, and egg, whose name I now forget, and one of two sweets.







Were off this morning to visit some friends of a friend of Yvette (Florence) near Lyon. We may spend the night, so there may be no entries for a couple of days.

For as good as French TV can be at times, Saturday morning is a wasteland. Of the six channels we get, three are cartoons, one is a shopping network, one is a call-in-answer-correctly-and-win-money game, and one is a combination of the last two. Bleh. We have, however, become somewhat hooked on a game show called Cresus, which features, oddly enough, both a host and a huge animated skull/skeleton dressed in a suit and tie that appears on and gives funny commentary from a huge screen behind the contestants. We like the show because the questions are written on the screen, so we actually have a chance at answering them.