Tu-ing me softly

I have one of those faces. When I don't smile, I look mean or unapproachable or cold. People often interpret my lack of smile as aloofness or cockiness. But they usually don't realize that I'm actually a quiet and shy observer. 

Of course I wouldn't expect my kids' teachers to know this about me. And I couldn't expect my kids' teachers to know that this is exacerbated by my "American-ness" ie being a little "too" brusque and a little "too" direct. 

When I went into my daughter's CP class last year, I didn't expect much. But I did expect a thank you from the teacher. Which I NEVER got. Yes, that's right. She never said thank you. I took that as a personal attack on my lessons, even though I got positive feedback from parents and kids alike. OBVIOUSLY, I'm imagined her saying bad things about me and what a snob I was ! 

So this year, I was understandably hesitant when I offered to go into the CE1 class (the teacher is the directrice) . And when she accepted very heartily, I was relieved. Maybe I had done a good job last year?! And when she asked the entire class to say "thank you" after the first lesson, I was touched. And when her inspector attended my second lesson and gave positive feedback, I was gleaming. And I was vindicated. 

Then last Saturday at the school's Christmas party, I was behind the snack bar and last year's teacher came up. She used the informal tu form with me, called me by my first name, and told the woman next to her how delicious my cookies were and had I made any for the bake sale because they wer eoh so delicious. I instantly smelled an ass-kisser. But beyond the self-satisfaction I've gotten with knowing I did a good job at my daughter's school, I'm just totally and thoroughly confused about the whole tu versus vous thing. Every time I think I've understood, I realize that I don't understand anything! And I can't bring myself to tu her because, well, I'm still holding a grudge for one...

But WHY is she tu-ing me all of a sudden? Is it because she realizes my dedication to the school, because she now understands I'm not just some crazy American, does she see me as an equal, does she think she'll gain something from me, or is she just actually a nice person who's smile-less face and shy demeanor are wrongly interpreted as aloof over-confidence? 

I may never know....

A very French rentrée

There were no hearts or butterflies. There were no hugs and kisses. Hell, there weren't even any smiles. At least not on  the school principal's mouth. What there was was a microphone, a school director (ex-wrestling champion, large calves, square shoulders...you get the point) calling the kids' names out one by one - last name first - and a whole lot of little kids with huge backpacks crammed into the tiny blacktop courtyard of the little brick elementary school. And there was also coffee and cake...

The first thing that came into my mind as we stood there, surrounded by friends and other parents whose kids were starting CP (French first grade) was: PSYCH OUT. I turned to my husband and asked why they had to do everything to psycho the kids out, to terrify them?  After we'd watched our little girl go off with her new class  and her huge cartable - no backpacks allowed! - (most of her friends are in the other class), I said something to the effect of how stressful that situation was and it didn't have to be so. I know that the American way is probably too fluffy and cuddly, full of care bears and unicorns, but there is an in-between. But my husband listened and said, yes it is stressful, but it's also a rite of passage. Going to CP is a vital step towards independence for a French child. It's the first time the parents let their kids go off on their own.

It just all reminded me of getting my French driver's licence and how everything was done to psycho you out as if the DMV Gods were whispering  our ears: what doesn't kill you will make you stronger...

I get it. But does it have to be so harsh, so cut and dry, so utterly...French?

So this afternoon, I'll pick up Max from his first day of school (because he started today too and what a shock it'll be to him when he realizes he'll be going there from now on and not back to his dear creche!). Then I'll get Suzanne. We'll go home and she'll do her homework on her desk.

And just like that, my kids are French again.

The 15 year bitch

A couple days ago, someone asked me how long I'd been living in France. I couldn't remember. Has it been 15 years? 16 years? 14 years? I couldn't remember at first, but I also couldn't figure out when I really started living here. Was it during my junior semester abroad or was it when I came here after graduating from college or was it when I moved to Lille? The best I could do was "most of the past 15 years".

And, those 15 years along with my dual citizenship, give me the right to criticize and make the overarching stereotypical statements about French people that are about to follow...

Maybe I'm just having an anti-French moment, but I have been seething with annoyance for the past couple weeks.

First on the list of french annoyances is "c'est pas possible". Why is it that anything outside the norm is not possible? why is it impossible to have mustard instead of mayonnaise on my sandwich? why would the idiot in Giverny not sell me just the hotdog without the bread since I was going to throw the bread out anyway even after I explained it was for my daughter who was on a gluten free diet? Part of it is annoyance at having to adapt to the customer, but some of it is thinking in the customer's place. The sausage girl told me she couldn't sell me the sausage sans bread. why why why I asked. She said, "c'est pour vous...ça fait cher pour une saucisse." Well, if I'm willing to pay for it, then it's my problem...

Second on the list is self-righteousness and lack of respect for others. Standing under a nosmoking sign smoking. Letting your dog poop right under a clean up after your dog sign. Parking in front of someone's garage. Peeing on someone's garage door. All of these examples come from the Frenchman/woman's belief that their personal rights come before the general well being of others. It pisses me off to no end. Lack of respect of rules and lack of respect of other's makes me want to punch people.

Third is snobbiness about the French language. My parents, the kids and I were staying at my favorite hotel in Paris. We decided to eat at the lovely restaurant out in the courtyard garden. We were given English menus which meant less work for me. But when the waitress came over, I ordered une carafe de minervois. she looked at me like I was speaking jibberish. Pardon? she said. So I repeated and she spoke in near perfect English. so I thought, hey, she's not French. But then I heard her speaking French to someone else. so when she came back, I ordered my meal in French figuring maybe she just didn't expect me to speak in French. Once again, she couldn't understand me and gave me a look like I was green and speaking jibberish. The fact was, she just didn't want me to speak french at all. She made it very clear. I felt like slapping her and saying listen girly, my French is damn good, better than your English so don't give me that shit. But I didn't...I just shot bullets out of my eyes.

And lastly, dog crap. What more can I say?

I hope that one day I will always have enough American in me to respect others, to clean up after myself and to clean up after myself and to always respect difference.

French participation theory (or lack there of)

The past week has been a difficult one for this Franco-American expat mommy. And I've been asking myself : is lack of participation cultural?

Storytime last week was truly awesome. Really. The format worked perfectly, the books were well chosen, and we had a good audience. Although I was happy that my American friend J brought some of her friends, and I was equally happy to have my almost cousins there with their 3 bilingual kids for the first time in addition to my faithful English speaking friends, I have to admit that I was really disappointed....why so disappointed when everything went so well? Because there was no one from outside my entourage. "Storytime" was published in the Lille library agenda for the entire city; I sent an email to Suzanne's entire school; the local library has an entire storytime corner packed with English and bilingual books; I talked to people in the park. So where's the audience? I just don't understand how no one from my diverse, multi-cultural, gentrified, bobo* neighborhood wouldn't want to come to a FREE english activity! It just escapes me...My almost cousin told me that it probably just needs time to pick up. In the meantime, I plan on continuing and am already planning next month's reading.

This got me thinking about the school system here and how there is no interaction with the teachers. At university here, the classes are called cours magistral (you see the word magi ie king in there?). And that's exactly what they are. The teacher comes to class, talks, and leaves. There are no questions from students; there are no questions from the teacher; There is no interaction. (PERIOD).

This type of behavior carries into the professional sphere. Yesterday, I was part of a team of people who gave a presentation (admittedly extremely boring) to a French audience. In my profession, it is rare to have a mono-lingual audience; I am used to not only giving presentations in English, but also giving them to a multi-lingual audience. Yesterday, despite saying before, after and during, that they could stop us to ask questions, no one did. Compared to the 2 day marathon seminar I led 2 months ago, this was a shock. Two months ago, there were questions for me, for other participants, interaction...but yesterday, you wondered if the people's brains were even functioning.

To me, all three situations - storytime, the university and presentations - go back to the same thing. And I know this is going to be a huge steroetype, but from what I've seen, many French people are so held back by norms and strict lines of hierarchy, that they don't dare speak up for fear of being different.

So is lack of participation cultural?

* bobo = bohemian bourgeous = kind of like a grungy, crunchy person with money.

Defensive driving à la française

When my high school driver's ed teacher told us about "defensive driving", I thought the worst I would ever face was the typical Jersey driver or maybe a Masshole here or there. But Mr. Whateverhisnamewas could never have prepared even the most defensive Jersey driver - which I'm not - for driving in France.

First, there was the priority to the right. Imagine your typical American T-stop. Now replace that with a interesection with no signs. In France, the person on the right has the priority. So you have to do a quick check of the hands and if you happen to be on the left, you have to let the person on your right go. The reasoning for this - or so I've heard - is twofold: to slow down people on the main road and to allow the cars from the smaller road to actually be able to pull out.

Then there are the round abouts, traffic circles, rotaries. Before coming to France, the only rotary I ever knew was the one outside the prison in Concord, Massachusetts. And that was scary enough. Priority to the right doesn't apply here...Traffic circles are common in France in places where you would find a traffic light in the US. The most famous one is around the Arc de Triomphe in Paris; but here in Lille we have what my driving instructor called le rond point de la mort. Yes, my driving instructor actually called it "the traffic circle of death". Nice. They exist to slow down traffic, or so I've been told, because the French cannot control themselves from breaking rules, speeding, and not respecting other drivers.

Last week, the code de la route changed again. Although I'm happy that bikes may now turn right on red (at certain mayor-approved intersections where signs have been put up), I really wonder about the new pedestrian law. As of last Thursday, pedestrians may now cross the street anywhere if there is no crosswalk within 50m. And if they show signs of wanting to cross anywhere, the drivers have to stop! It was bad enough when no such law existed, but now people can do whatever they want. (And yes, I do see the upside to this which is cars must actually stop for you when you cross a street.)

See this article in French to recap the new law.

It would be really nice if the powers that be could spend their time, I don't know, fighting dog poop or public urination or parking on sidewalks...but if you read into the text, you see that there are actually rules that allow people to park on the sidewalk in certain cases.

I'll never understand this country.

Understanding

I’ve been living in France for 14 years. I’ve been learning French since I was 5. I am a naturalized French citizen. And I consider myself bilingual. Although I’m not bilingual like my daughter is bilingual. As my Australian friend N explained the other day to his son, “you speak French like someone who has always lived in France; I speak French like someone who learned it and has been speaking it for a long time.”

There are so many daily activities – paying bills, rent, dealing with administration, having children! – that I would not even know where to begin with any of this in the US because I’ve only ever experienced them in France.

And in my daily French interactions, I do not need a dictionary. I no longer keep a running list of words to check when I get home. And I definitely don’t stop someone mid-sentence to ask them what such and such means because I usually do understand. Or I think I understand.

This last point in a common point on contention with my husband because, sometimes (often) after a long explanation of something or other, I’ll realize I don’t fully understand everything. He says I should stop him when I don’t understand. But the problem is that I don’t realize I don’t understand until I really don’t understand at which point I’m totally lost.

So when he left a message for the plumber yesterday because our heat and hot water weren’t working, I said to him, “isn’t that really informal?” He said, “is what informal?” So I said, “des enfants en basage?” (which is an expression I’d always heard, especially recently with all the friends having babies and lots of kids to lug around hence des enfants en basage). So he said slowly without liaison between the sounds, “des enfants en bas age…des jeunes enfants”. The light bulb went off. (And I was actually too embarrassed to tell my dear husband what I thought I’d understood it actually meant!) It just proves that there are things you think you understand but don’t and things you understand without ever really understanding no matter how bilingual you are.

Cold blooded cousins?

There are sterotypes for a reason.

"Americans speak loudly". Well, we do.
"Germans wear socks with their sandals." A lot of them do.
"The French always wear scarves"....

I went out running yesterday. It was about 60 degrees (15-16°c) but drizzling very slightly. Most of Lille was out for the dominical walk at the Citadelle, the only "real" park in Lille. Since there was a carnaval (games, ferris wheel, etc) set up, there were more people that usual.

At first, I noticed a kid about Suzanne's age being pushed in a stroller. The kid had on a scarf. I thought, ok, no big deal. I wore one last week when I had a sore throat. Then I saw a family walk by, and another, and another. All their kids were wearing winter hats, scarves and their winter coats with the hoods on over the hat.

As I ran around the park, I noticed at least a half dozen fellow runners wearing woolen hats and gloves...

My conclusion : the French are partially cold blooded.

French birthday party etiquette

I haven't forsaken this blog. I think about it every day. But until a couple days ago, it was logistically impossible for me to write. I usually compose a post in my head on my bike in the morning and then type as soon as I get here. But while I was on leave, my desk was taken over and I've been at a temporary, very visible place in the office since I got back. But, last week, I finally got my desk back so I can now return to my personal projects. Kind of ironic, don't you think?

The French are laden with etiquette, as we know. In my 13 years in France, I have managed to offend just about everyone and their dog. I don't bises right. I don't say bonjour when I walk into stores. I don't use my utensiles the right way.

With Suzanne's first year of school comes great discovery for me. I now have a whole new social realm. Like how to talk to the teacher - first name or last name basis? Can I tutoye other parents I like ? And then there are the birthday parties...

The first time I dropped Suzanne off at a birthday party, I was invited for tea. I thought that was really nice and was happy the parents liked me enough to ask me to stay. The second time, I thought that I didn't really want to stay but felt like I had to because a couple other parents were staying. So I did.

The third time I realized something important. The parents didn't invite me because they particularly liked me (although I hope they don't think I'm some strange American) but because that's what you do. This revelation came to me only by comparison when Suz was invited to her Anglo-American's cousin's birthday where the parents were asked to drop their kids and leave.

Tea/coffee for the parents is apparently almost expected at a kid's birthday party. It is definitely a nice custom, it's very polite, but is it also a way for French parents to keep an eye on their kids and to have parents keep an eye on their own kids?

Whatever the reason, does this mean I have to invite the parents to Suzanne's birthday? Ugh...

école or not école

école=school. Right? Apparently not.

I mean I still haven't gotten all the French educational jargon down. From petite section to CM2 to CP to sixième or terminal, who could understand it without actually having lived it?

So the other day as we were driving past a école in the neighborhood, I asked Jerome in French (something that is rare these days), "so is that suzanne's next école?" (since it's not the one she's in now). He said, no that it was an école like hers now. And I said but it's not a college (middle school); He said no, it's a groupe scolaire (which apparently is a école maternelle et école primaire under the same roof ie elementary school). So I asked where her next école was to which he replied that after her école it's not école anymore. Confused? Me too...

Apparently what they teach you in French class is wrong. école is only the beginning after which point it's not longer école which I thought was the general term for, um, school...

So how do you say school? Or is that just too American of me to try to simplify or even understand? After 12 years of living here, when you think you finally got it, you just don't.

(And have you ever noticed that many of the French words beginning with é have an s at the beginning in English? éponge (sponge), épargner (spare), éparpiller (scatter), école (school)....)

Food for thought

A long long while ago, I wrote about the French babyfood exception. Obviously French babies do not eat like their culinary inferiors in the rest of the world. Yes, they eat mush. Yes, it is often unidentifiable. Yes, it is made by huge multinationals. But, apparently, the unidentifiable mush is actually much more sophisticated than simple carrots and peas (although what I tasted was vile).

And don't think that it stops when the kids leave the nest! Every afternoon since Suzanne started school, I've asked her what she ate for lunch. She usually chooses not to remember so I have to guess by spots on her clothes or clumps in her hair. Or, once in a while, she'll tell me it was purét (her englishization of purée which is mashed taters) or just meat or fish.

So today I finally decided to look at the menu. Earlier in the week, my child ate pasta with brocoli. Today she will be lunching on veal marengo, fresh fruit and cheese soufflé. And tomorrow she will be having seafood paella. This is a long way from the soggy pizza and chocolate milk you see at American school cafeterias (although Monday was steack haché aka hamburger without the bun).

Food for thought... literally.

Being American is...

embarrassing.

empowering.

annoying.

a pain in the ass.

all of the above.

The thing about being American is that many many people think they know everything about your country, think there's nothing interesting about your culture (haha, what culture?!) and that you are probably rich and overconfident.

It's really annoying to be the other kind of American and to hear anti-American slander followed by, "but you're different." And it's really annoying when you really do have something to contribute but no one will let you do it because they think you couldn't possibly have something to say. And it's really annoying that people think American culture doesn't exist or isn't interesting because there are so many Americas and so many cultures.

Blame it on Hollywood and bad American TV.

What brings on this rant you may ask? Why am I ranting when I could be napping and recovering from a string of hellish nights? On Saturday, Jerome went to a meeting at Suzanne's school (while I stayed home and took a bath. In my dreams). Suzanne's teacher talked about putting up a world map and doing activities from all over the world; after each activity, she'd show the kids where it came from. She talked about the Japanese mother; she talked about the Australian father; she didn't mention me although I offered to teach the kids some English songs....

Two weeks ago, I proposed to come and do a Halloween activity but she said, "that's not really part of the French culture." I thought that was a weird response but it is her class and it is her curriculum. She did think it was a good idea for me to come in and teach the kids a song they could sing in front of the whole school and I gladly accepted (Suzanne has voted for "open shut them").

It wasn't until Saturday's meeting that I realized why I was left feeling odd after our conversation since we all know aboriginals and origami are an intrinsic part of French culture. So, Suzanne's teacher seems great but she's unfortunately under the influence of Hollywood. Too bad for her.

PS Mom, I proofread but am too tired to catch all the mistakes.

Random snipets of life

This is a post I started about a month ago...no better time than the present, right?

Since I seem to be in nesting mode, with an amazing amount of energy for someone who sleeps so little, I am finally getting around to it.

Baby boy is due in two weeks from today. I have kindly requested that he wait for 1) my mother's arrival on Tuesday and 2) the appointment i have with a prospective childcare provider on Thursday. His room is finished which makes TWO complete rooms in the house with nothing else to do in them except figuring out storage and buying random bookcases. Yes, the house has been moving along over the past couple months.

We managed to turn this:

De 2007-02 M - chantier

into this which is now Suzanne's room (which is bigger than our own!). Bamboo floors, white walls, green trim (she wanted a green room!)...but getting the floor level was quite a task since there was a 8 cm difference from one end of the room to another. Jerome used a mixture of cement, wood boards and lots and lots of elbow grease to get the floor more or less level. But you can still roll a ball from one end of the room to the other...nothing's perfect, right?

Suzanne is well aware that she'll have to share her reading nook with her brother. She's very amenable...for now.

As for other milestones, Lola has come to live with us. She is no Leon, but she's pretty cool anyway. Poor old Roger seems to appreciate the company and has been teaching her the world with an occasional bitch slap. We were catsitting her brother Charlie for the past

3 weeks; He left yesterday (thank God because he was pretty annoying and kept pooping in the shower), leaving Suzanne with a case of intestinal worms (thank you!) and me just trying not to think about whether I have them or not because I can't take anything (although my morning meal consists of raw garlic and carrots). I pity anyone who lives with more than 2 cats - it was a nightmare....

As for life in France? Well, I have been on official maternity leave since July 1st, and have no complaints. The only issue now is trying to find childcare for my unborn 6 month old son come January 2010 when I have to go back to work. We are on the waiting list for the municipal (and a couple private) crèches. But in typical French fashion, they won't tell us if we have a space or where until a month or so before then. Nice. So I plan on beginning the nanny search. Unfortunately, timing is all wrong for Suzanne's nanny so I have to find someone else. A tough act to follow. We thought we'd found someone but she was too expensive and unwilling to negotiate. By too expensive, I mean 4€/hour. It's laughable by American standards, especially since the CAF (Family service stuff) will help us pay and I know that some people in the US stop working since good childcare can cost the equivalent of an entire salary. But here, the official price range for a state certified, independent childcare provider (we are looking for someone who will have 3 kids and bring them to activities a few times a week which is what Suzanne had) costs somewhere between 2 and 4 euros an hour. Are you laughing yet?

And what does nesting bring? Yesterday it was a German plum cake and 5 loads of laundry. Today, it's fresh bread and a chicken tajine with preserved lemons and purple olives and only 3 loads of laundry so far (and it's just after noon). But somehow, the nesting doesn't help me file the papers that have been sitting on the desk for the past month...

As for me, well...pictures speak louder than words:

De 2009-07 Prés du Hem

The French pee problem

France is not a perfect country. There is unemployment, high taxes, lack of customer service, excessive dog excrement and a severe national urinaton disfunction.

When wandering through any typical French city, you will likely see someone - usually a man - peeing in a corner somewhere. They are discrete, but not so discrete that you don't see them. The discreteness comes from the fact that they don't care and are therefore completely non-chalant about the whole public urination thing.

Since my toddler has stopped wearing diapers, I too have found myself taking part in the repulsive practice of dropping her pants behind a tree or bush or in a random corner of the park. but what's a mom to do in a country without public bathrooms? But there is a difference between a 3 year old little girl who is just learning to "hold it in" and a 35 year old man who you see taking a leak in front of your house...

I love our neighborhood; it's very lively, probably the liveliest in Lille. But lively also has it's downside, like the drunken idiots who wander down my street from the corner bars every Sunday. Our house happens to be closer to "the bad end of the street" and also happens to be the only one with a garage and a facade that's a little set back and provides a nice corner for men to hide while they pee literally into my house! Yes, once said urinator is properly positioned, his urine will not only enter through the joint in my garage door thus creating a puddle right under our bikes, but will also be carried by gravtity through the grates leading to the basement. (do you feel like puking too?).

It gave both me and Jerome such pleasure Sunday night to actually catch someone in the act as we returned home from La Fête de la Musique. The problem is that the guy had no shame. None at all, even though a pregnant woman and a 3 year old were watching him piss on their house. When Jerome slightly nudged him - making him pee all over himself - I began to wonder if this was the proper way to show your child how to deal with beligerent drunks who pee on your stuff. But I guess she's got to learn sooner or later that peeing on people's houses has consequences.

On how much the French love their mothers

I'm tired, have sciatica, move like a beached whale, and feel like my entrails are being flattened. But it's ok because I live in France...

For anyone who has watched Micheal Moore's Sicko, you have a faint (surely biased) idea of the majesty that is the French health care system. What you don't know is that it's even better for expecting and young mothers (and fathers too to a certain extent).

I am 29 weeks pregnant, have had no out of pocket expenses since my 5th month (except the €2,50 I had to pay the lab when I did my glucose test because as Dr. R explains, "if they began reimbursing the glucose they use for the diabetes test, people would start getting perscriptions for their baking goods." Only in France I tell you...) and start my maternity leave today...why? Because my doctor thinks I'm too tired. Yes, I am tired so I get to stop 1 month earlier than my official leave so I can sleep, relax, read, go to the swimming pool and generally take advantage of the last 2 1/2 months of my pregnancy...

For all the bitching and moaning I can do about dog crap, inability of the French to stand in line, rudeness, the benefits I'll have for the next 3 years make up for most of it...

Officially, maternity leave lasts 16 weeks minimum with full pay (upped to 26 weeks for a 3rd child). But most doctors will tack on 2 extra weeks before and an extra month after for breast feeding. For my husband, he gets 3 days off paid leave when the baby's born plus 10 days paid leave sometime in the first 3 months. In addition, parents can opt for complete or partial parental leave and know that not only can their employer not refuse it, but they must hold your job for you at the same salary until your return.

And that's not enough you say? The government also provides a little stipend in the 8th month to help you get some baby supplies and then will help pay for your child care provider until the child's 3rd birthday.

When my mom last visited, I showed her my most recent reimbursement claim from Social Security and she was flabbergasted. The cost of my 6 month ultrasound was about €34 with no out of pocket expense for me. My monthly prenatal visit was €24 and I paid nothing. And when we went to the pharmacy to get my iron supplements and she was amazed to see that there was no copay...EVER!

So I may step in a little more dog crap at the moment because I can't see my feet, but who cares when all I have to do for the next 2 months is take care of myself and clean the occasional dog crap off my shoe?

A word on garbage can theft

The French are thieves. Ok ok, that's a generalization but that's what French people have told me so it must be true.

When I was an au pair, one of the first things my French family told me was never tell anybody about the red Porsche in the garage. When I was living in Paris, my roommate told me to never open the door and let people see inside the apartment. And then, there are the cars. Check every single car parked in any open space in any part of France. You will find nothing in it except maybe an empty bottle of water and some croissant crumbs. The French people learn at a young age that anything visible in the car WILL be stolen, no matter how useless or unimportant. And from the number of broken windshields I see around Lille, I think it's true...

So I shouldn't have been surprised when my garbage can was missing after Saturday morning's trash collection. To be exact, my recycling bin was still in front of the house, but the regular trash can was MIA. So I did what any incensed American would do - I went down the street and checked every single can. But my number 30 can was gone (they all have the house number on them).

We decided to wait until the Wednesday trash collection before we started punching people. When I got home last night, I saw some cans outside. Jerome and Suzanne went inside while I walked across the street. And what should I find in front of number 31? MY garbage can full of their garbage!

Now I'd just like to know WHY they took my can and HOW they really thought they'd get away with it...If it happens again, I may have to tp their house...Mischief Night hasn't come to France yet and I think it should.

Reasons why I enjoy French Christmas

1. The Santa Clauses hanging from people's balcony makes it look like there's a band of red and white cat burglars throughout the city.
2. The Holidays lights - which are never taken down - are finally lit. They say such happy things like "Bienvenue rue des Postes" and "rue Gambetta".
3. On the Friday before Christmas, shops close at 7pm but are exceptionally open on the Sunday from 10am to 5pm.
4. Candied chestnuts. The most divine candied creation that ever existed is only available in December and January. The bakery sells bags of brisures (broken bits) for cheap.
5. Trees! I know last year I talked about how Christmas used to make me feel uncomfortable but this year, we actually have a tree in our house which also serves as Hanukkah bush. It's really very pretty and smells nice.
6. Liebkeuchen - German ginger bread cookies coated in chocolate and sometimes stuffed with apricot jam. They are common in Alsace and at LIDL, the cheap German supermarket.
7. Not having to worry about political correctness to ruin the cheer. Everyone's happy. Everyone gives gifts. Everyone's on vacation. And there's a huge, very tacky ferris wheel in the middle of the main square.
   

Fuming about no smoking.

What makes the stereotypical Frenchie? I'll let you think about this for a minute....

Things that come to mind: poodle, striped shirt, baguette under the arm, glass of wine, cigarette and "I don't give a crap about anyone else".

I'll admit, I was a (heavy) social smoker in my young life but it was all part of the too much alcohol/everyone's doing it thing of my youth. It only took two months of living with my heavy-smoking future-semi-non-smoking husband for me to never want to touch a cigarette again. While I was pregnant, the two things that made me want to hurl were fish and cigarettes.

Since the beginning of 2008, all public spaces including restaurants in France are non-smoking (ha ha like the train stations and airports have been for years but you wouldn't have guessed it, right?). Jérôme (who had secretly taken up smoking again) and I met this with great pleasure because it meant we could actually go out to public places with our toddler and not have to worry about her smelling like a bar when we got home. Now, aren't you imagining how lovely it is to have a glass of wine on a French sidewalk café? Well, it's not. It seems the pestilence that used to fill the inside of cafés has migrated outside.

So when I go to the one and only dog shit free park in Lille and parents are puffing away on the playground and dropping their mégots not only where my kid plays but where THEIR kids play, I am astonished and disgusted and want to take their mégots and shove them somewhere. But what's an American smokophobic to say? I come from the country of extremes...New York sidewalks are so clean* that you could eat off of them (one of the great pleasures of going home is not having to look down all the time but I digress).

I guess this is just that French laissez-faire, personal liberties, self-interest. But I'm French too. What's wrong with me?

*cleanliness is a relative concept

Another year, another Braderie and still no chairs.

Once again this year, I didn't get a chance to do the photo-documentary I was planning on doing for the Braderie. But I've actually realized that you can't catch the Braderie in photos - it's more in the smell and sounds and some fuzzy electrical excitement in the air. And man does this city stink after a weekend of beer, vomit, public urination and mussel eating!

This year was not a total flop though. I once again ran the 10k (having decided a couple weeks ago that the half-marathon was a little too much for a sleep deprived young mother who needs energy on the weekends to do home renovation). Unlike last year when I ran alone to raise money for cancer, this year I latched onto a group called Running 4 Life which is actually sponsored by Decathalon (the big sporting goods store). I'm not exactly sure what they do to support cancer besides provide t-shirts and have 100+ employees run in the Lille race, but it was good to not have to repeat the humiliating charity performances of the past. And for some odd reason, I ran 2 minutes faster than last year and 5 minutes faster than 5 years ago. I was almost as fast as 10 years ago. I'll chalk it up to having gone through difficult labor with Suzanne.

The other important part of the Braderie is of course eating mussels. Jérôme and I actually met while I was cleaning mussels in his mother's house 8 years ago just before I left France forever. So this year, I decided to start the mussel tradition with us and I of course used traditional French ingredients like lemon grass and curry to make the best mussels I've ever had. no really, I don't like to toot my own horn, but these were damn good.

And then there's the Braderie itself which is always exciting until you actually start looking at people's stands and you realize there isn't all that much there besides lots of useless junk. I spent a total of 1 euro on a single piece of clothing for Suzanne. So the elusive bistrot chairs and looza glasses (we had one that we stole from a café in Belgium about 7 years ago and have been looking for more ever since) Jérôme and I have been looking for for the past 5 years will elude us for yet another year (I hope not 'cause we only have 3 chairs at the moment...)

False advertising

I can understand using a half-naked woman to sell yogurt.

I can even almost understand a sexified octopus selling soda.

But this ad perturbs and perplexes me. It says:

Creator of desires

Desire to go shopping?

Are they a strip club? Are they a leather warehouse? No, they sell tiles…

Obviously this ad is not aimed at my audience and I guess if I am thinking about it so much, it is successful, right? But maybe if I were a testosterone driven man who liked DIY and short-shorts, I'd actually likethis ad. But I'm not so I just think it's really kind of gross.

Case in point: I was in the car with my mom who speaks French and is a smart person. I showed her the add and she said, "what's that for?" I said, "tiles." She didn't get it. I hope to be reincarnated as a man in my next life; that way I may understand French advertising a little better.

Olympic(sex)

The Olympics don't sell in France. But sex does (you think I'll get extra hits for this post?).
I turned on the TV when I got home from work last week, hoping to catch a glimpse of Michael Phelps or the 10,000 meters mens final, but instead I got poorly Chinese-style dressed reporters and Guy Carlier, who is definitely not as strapping as Phelps or even Kenenisa Bekele.

In the US, the Olympics are serious business. They interupt the regular primetime schedule so you can watch the world's best atheletes. But in France, the Olympics are transmitted live at 2:15 am and in the late afternoon while most everyone's at work. I've had to content myself with watching table tennis in Arabic on Aljazeera on-line. So working folks like myself don't get to see anything. The first day, I came home from work and turned on the TV at 6pm and got some of the recap (ie French atheletes only). At 8pm, I tried again and got Inspector Derrick, the legendary 1980's German TV detective beloved by all self-respecting French citizen.

Guy Carlier son billet JO [fun] 140808
envoyé par peanutsie

The above report really caught my eye. My mother was bemused and confused; I just thought it was funny. Granted he has a point - it is offensive to turn world class atheletes into sex symbols. But in the US, this would be an instant lible suit against the reporter, the photgrapher, the producer and the TV station (which in this case is State run so against the State), especially for the "gay" scene with Alain Bernard, the 6 foot something French gold-medalist who also happens to be a gendarme...