Welcome To France:
Among the things you need to know here – people do not like to tell you their name nor occupation. And, as mentioned previously, French folks don’t talk about money.
So, we went to the Anglo group dinner on Friday evening. Marlene sat with a Brit male and an American man who lived in Atlanta until four years ago. He’s a Dartmouth grad, former journalist and attorney, and has lived in the south of France for the last four years. His main point is that he likes it here because he likes the French priority of taking care of the common first and foremost. It’s the overriding theme here, which accounts for SOME impressive public services and a seemingly lack of poor people (Americans might call it socialism with a bad connotation, while the French proudly call it socialism). I sat with a Scottish woman who’s been here 34 years, an English woman and a middle-aged Frenchman who had lived in the U.S. for 14-years and was at the dinner with his wife from Texas. I learned from him that at your place of work in France you are expected to go out with your fellow employees for lunch, that the lunch will be at least two hours and there is absolutely no talk about work. I learned from the English woman that parents with English-speaking children in private school here fear that their kids will end up with an American accent. Could there be a worse fate?
Turning to food, we had the duck leg (more appropriately described as “Confite of Duck Thigh”). It was my first taste of duck (I’ve led a sheltered life and had what I considered better options until Friday evening). Dark, dark meat and pretty tasty. When I was asked what I found different about France I mentioned the food. That led to a most interesting conversation. The Scottish woman point-blank expressed her disbelief that Americans could be so into sandwiches. She wanted to know what the magic was? I tried to discuss the Rueben sandwich and tuna fish salad and egg salad sandwiches, and I might just as well have been talking to a wall. The conversation turned to the French never eating dinner prior to 7:30 pm and I was informed that when we get to Spain we’ll find that the Spanish never start dinner before 9:00 pm and it often ends at midnight. The Frenchmen, who had lived in the U.S. (apparently without kids), couldn’t believe that we try to eat dinner prior to the kids doing their homework, which doesn’t work when dinner is at 8:00 pm. Lots of cultural differences.
Went to Gap last night for Keaka’s hockey game. Took two photos in front of the hotel this morning, looking up the street towards “centre ville” and the mountains. Interesting looking at their main street and you have 50% for vehicles (on the right) and 50% for pedestrians/bikes (on the left). We were staying on the south end of Gap, with the old town (the center) about five minutes away. Gap is the beginning of the French Alps. By the way, the hotel was relatively new, but the rooms were very European (SMALL). The rooms (we needed two) were just slightly larger than a room on a cruise ship. Obviously, most Europeans live in quite small quarters, thus their expectations when travelling are not very high (at least that’s our theory).
On the way home today we stopped in Sisteron. For those of you who may have been wondering, Sisteron is exactly halfway between Marseilles and Grenoble. Sisteron was first settled 4,000 years ago. High above the town (on a river with lots of hills) is the ancient Citadelle (French spelling), which you can see very top right in one photo. The Nazi’s held political prisoners in the Citadelle in World War II and the Citadelle was bombed by the Allies in 1944. Today, the city has less than 10,000 residents. Great beauty, which hopefully you can see from the photos.
Yes, we’re still regulars at McDonalds, especially on Sundays. The other day I heard a Frenchmen order a double cheeseburger. I’m always learning, so I was interested to hear the pronunciation of “double”, French style. It is “doob’-lay”, as in Doobie Brothers.
In closing, stores and many restaurants are closed in France on Sunday (with rare exceptions). Most notably, the streets seem empty. It looks like the United States on Christmas Day and New Years Day. Where are all the people? I got the answer at the Friday dinner. French families get together every Sunday, meeting at Grandma’s house or at their Aunt’s house. Sunday is family time and it means a big meal that lasts 3-to-5 hours. It’s a noon-to-5 pm event. Again, that is every Sunday. Could American families survive so much time together?
The Wilsons
