Ascension

The Holy Ascension occurs exactly 40 days after Easter Sunday. It's the day that Jesus Christ ascends forever into heaven. On this sacred day, he's not the only one floatin'. I'm floating right here, in France.

Every week in May has a holiday in France. Today is the third in a row. First, we have Mayday on May 1st, followed by Victory Day 1945 on May 8th, and today is the Ascension. Next week we've got Pentecost. Just by having a glance at any French calendar, the first thing that strikes you is that there are lots and lots of public holidays here, especially in the Spring time. Basically, in a nutshell, we celebrate the end of every war and every Catholic event, however important or not it may be. This is actually quite ironic, because if you stop any Frenchman and ask him what the holiday refers to or why it's celebrated, he'll give you that big Gallic shrug, roll back his eyes, and let you know one way or another that he doesn't know, nor care, but if anyone ever ever considered removing one, he'd be the first in the street to protest. By the way, as a side note, most French people nowadays are atheists. Look in one of those huge Gothic cathedrals that only exist for American tourists and Art students.

A previous government tried to get rid of Pentecost a few years ago. The logical reason was that millions of dollars are lost in May because no one works, and the country kind of comes to a standstill. Four public holidays in a row are an exaggeration and cause havok. This is particularly true because of the French custom called the "Bridge". This means... well.... I've got the perfect example at hand. The Ascension Holiday is on Thursday. A number of people, if not the majority, take Friday off too, and decide to make it a long weekend. And if... say they saved up some personal days and the next holiday is the following Monday... well, that means a public holiday or two bridged together turns into a 10-day vacation. I know a "civil servant" who by juggling around 6 or 7 personal days, a few sick days, and cheating here and there -- who will ever know? -- managed to get out of the whole month. Mind you, this doesn't include the real 8-week holiday which is coming up in July and August, or the 2-week Easter holiday we just had last month. You get the point, huh? Anyway, that government directive, well, it didn't happen. It turned into an option, then a theoretic possible for practicing Catholics, then everybody and finally became the so-called "Day of Solidarity" where you can work, if you really want, out of a personal desire to make money for the country so it can fund generous social programs. Now that's gone too! And by the way, that goverment fell!

For me, these public Catholic holidays are both a terrific Godsend and a cross to bear, and add quite a bit to my floating in France. Today, for instance, everything is closed except for a few restaurants and some North African kebab shops. The sky has turned grey again, this time apparently from Icelandic volcano ash, and it rains from time to time. So, here I am at home, in my own little world. It's great cause I can do any old thing I want... bad, cause I need structure... and money. But, I've listened to radio, watched tv, surfed internet. What did we do without it? I can listen to NPR, then France Info, Radio Catalunya.... read virtually any online newspaper, and as of yet, I love those internet word reference forums/fora (what is the plural?). I learn so much. Anyday can be a full language class in 5 languages. What could I have become if they had had this when I was 13 and had no exposure to foreign languages. Zilch. One activity rolls into another, one hour into the next, morning into evening. I feel so dizzy from spending so much time cooped up with myself, thinking....



Just before my offical blog writing time, I finished reading the novel, "La Mort Heureuse" (The Happy Death) by the awesome writer Albert Camus. It deals with the crazy life of Patrice, in French Algeria, in the 1950's. In this novel, no one works, they set around drinking pastisse, listening to bands play old French tunes, take excursions in cars, drive 500 miles per hour on small coastal roads, have love affaires, take sun baths on the beach, and above all, complain about the torture of life, the sheer boredom that weighs down their soul, the terrible existentionalism that occurs naturally when one has too much time to do nothing. I guess not much has changed today... Some love Camus for his ability to explain his reality in such beautiful eloquent French. It's true... I read it out loud... Others complain because his Algeria shows no Algerians at all. Yes, living in a bubble is so typically French. Oh la la!

Rontay

Escape from America

I wanted to share with you this interview I had with Julie R. Butler this past winter about my life in France published in the magazine Escape from America. She and her colleagues have done a lot of research of Americans who have moved abroad. There is a lot of invaluable information about the current situation around the world, how to make the move, fit in with the locals and tap into the expat community. They even tell how to buy property and enroll your kids in school. Julie herself is an excellent writer who has documented her own experience in South America and is the author of several insightful guidebooks. Please check them out. They are well worth the read.

Expats Living in France

By Julie R Butler / Jan 12 • Categorized as Living Overseas

As one of the largest countries in Europe, France features a rich and diverse history, culture, and geography. While the French are famously defensive about maintaining their “French identity,” it is not at all singular. Influences range from Ionic Greek in what is today Marseilles; to Celtic rein over ancient Gaul; to Roman conquest of southern France and the eventual spreading of Roman cultural influences throughout the country; to incursions by various Germanic tribes, most notably the Franks, from east of the Rhine; to Celtic Briton settlement of Brittany in the northwest. Figures such as Charlemagne, Joan of Arc, Cardinal Richelieu, The Sun King Louis XIV, and Napoleon Bonaparte stand as icons of a storied French history, and the Eiffel Tower stands out among the world’s most recognizable symbols, representing all of the vibrancy and romance of Paris, the City of Lights.

The geography of France holds as much diversity as the culture does. The posh Riviera in the south, the stark limestone cliffs of Normandy in the north, and the lovely Atlantic beaches of the southwestern coast offer beach-going experiences that seem worlds apart. In the southeast, the Alps and the Massif Central mountain ranges are cut through by the Rhone River Valley. Whereas this river flows west out of Switzerland and then south to the Mediterranean, the Seine, the Loire, and the Garonne Rivers feed the rich agricultural landscapes throughout the rest of France, with the different regions producing the many varieties of wines, cheeses, and other gastronomical wonders that enrich the refined French palate. In the southwest, the Pyrenees divide France from Spain, while the northeast is an economic and cultural crossroads with strong German influences as well as connections with Belgium and Luxembourg.

Metz, Lorraine, Northeastern France

The region of Lorraine is in the northeast, with the city of Metz as its administrative capital. This city’s history dates back 3,000 years. Julius Cesar identified it as Divodurum, the walled fortress that served as the capital of the Celtic tribe known as the Mediomatrici of Gaul. It became a major center of wealth and power under Roman occupation, then of the Frankish Empire, followed by centuries of contention between what we would today call French and German influences.

Today’s Metz remains a major cultural and economic center, not only for Lorraine, but also for the SaarLorLux Euroregion, a transnational cooperative structure that takes advantage of the region’s centralized location, despite national boundaries. An ambitious urban renaissance is currently underway that includes a high-tech park specializing in information technology, an impressive new museum of modern and contemporary art that is a branch of the Pompidou Center in Paris, and high-speed rail connections. Metz is also known as The Green City due to the large amount of green space that has been designed into the city’s history-filled framework.

Rontay is an expat from the United States who has been living in Metz. He offers an interesting perspective of expat life in France with his thoughtful answers to this familiar set of questions about living abroad, and you can read more about his life in France at his blog, Floating in France.

J.R.B. Where did you come from originally?

I’m originally from Cincinnati, Ohio

J.R.B. Why did you choose to live in France?

Since childhood I had always dreamed about Europe, its history, its architecture, its beauty and the way of life here. I was interested pretty much in every country, but especially France, Spain and Italy. This led me to study abroad and take longer and longer trips. When I learned of an opportunity to teach in France for two years, I jumped at the opportunity. It was a dream come true for me, and I ended up staying. I’ve been here for twelve years now.

J.R.B. What do you like about it?

In America I developed an aversion to the rat race culture. I was a bit of a slave to my datebook. I had to think months in advance to book a lunch with a friend. In December I was planning July, and in July December. This is not to mention all the driving around every day. In France we don’t have this lifestyle. We live day to day. Life is more spontaneous. On a beautiful day people make time to have a croissant with coffee at a sidewalk café, take a walk in the park, meet friends, or go to an art exhibition. They take advantage of each moment and have an eye for detail. How to make tonight’s dinner party perfect? What wines to choose? What vegetable goes best with the roast? And never forget the dessert! Or the flowers for the center piece! So many examples come to mind. Savoir-faire is priceless. I’m not sure I could do without it now. It’s become a part of me.

J.R.B. What don’t you like about it?

Well, I think it’s the flipside of what I love about France. It’s a country entrenched in tradition. We live in such a beautiful place, are privileged to art, cuisine, philosophies and ideas centuries old that have withstood even terrible wars, cultural revolutions and social upheavals. By nature, France is resistant, even allergic to change. Being American I have a tendency to want to change things, evolve as a person, see a progression to something different, better, greater or at least step back and look at the big picture. This is all lacking in France. Sometimes I feel like I’m a prisoner of what I love about France. If I were from Los Angeles I might find life here so monotonous. Case in point, spending the day in Paris (two hours away) is exceptional here whereas for Americans it just might be a daily commute! Likewise, the goal of the weekly meeting at work is the meeting itself since everyone knows beforehand no issue will be addressed directly, let alone resolve J.R.B. What has been the most difficult aspect of life in France for you to adjust to?

One word: bureaucracy, a French word after all, translated literally as “busy work at a desk”. I would compare this to the scavenger hunt. It works like this: you are told by X person that for your wish/need to be granted you have to prepare a dossier and to submit it to a committee of experts (all of these French words too!). There are about ten items on the given list to include in your file, yet soon it becomes apparent that each of the items actually constitutes another dossier in itself. They can include affidavits with stamps and signatures that are impossible to come by. And all of that can be to do the most simple of things.

J.R.B. What has surprised you about France?

I suppose this could be an essay on its own. Every day there are marvelous little surprises reminding me how much I love France mixed sometimes with setbacks and crazy little issues that have to be solved yet prove surprisingly daunting. There would certainly be fewer of both in the United States. Or else the concerns would be different. One of the most surprising aspects of my life in France has been a resurgence of my American identity. This is shared among most expats I know. Before coming to France I never deeply identified with America and could certainly never have been confused with a patriot. Nowadays it’s different. I have dual nationality and am as Frenchified as I will ever get. My French is fluent and even French people can be surprised I wasn’t born here. Yet, I feel more American each day. Most of core of who I am is directly related to my origins. I have great pride in being American, and the joy I feel when I go back to Cincinnati is indescribable. Now really that is the biggest surprise of them all.

About the author: Julie R Butler is a traveler, blogger, writer, and editor who has authored several books, self-published as eBooks, including Nine Months In Uruguay and No Stranger To Strange Lands (click here for more info). Julie presently lives in the sunny wine country of Argentina, where she co-edits and writes for Expat Daily News and Expat Daily News Latin America.

Christmas Dinner, Fancy and French

Christmas dinner with friends
La vie est belle. Chapeau to Evelyne, my friend's mother-in-law! Un vrai cordon bleu.

Menu du jour

Aperitif
Goat Cheese
Mussels pizzetta
Garlic gressin
Champagne

First course
Gingerbread Foie Gras on toasts with chestnut sause
Alsatian sweet white wine

Second course
Homemade salmon blinis with onions, capers, and clotted cream with a touch a lemoncino
Moselle white wine

Trou normand

Third course
Breast of capon
Brussels sprouts rolled in serrano ham
Truffles
Bordeaux dry red

Fourth course
Cheese plate: Cantal tome, munster with cumin and moist ewe cheese
White grapes
Roquette Salad
Banette with sweet norman butter

Fifth course
Raspberry chocolate bûche de Noël
Rum balls
Coffee

I voted in France

Today I had another one of those hallmark moments. I voted in the French presidential elections.

How to vote in France:
1) go to the town hall in the city you're living in by December 31 so you can vote in the following year.
2) Take your French identification card.
3) Take two bills that prove you live at your current address.
4) Take your French birth certificate. This document is issued to you on the date you are naturalized, or re-born in France. So April 15, 2011 is my French birthday.

About a week before election day you receive an electoral card and an official summons to come participate in the polling. It tells you the official time to show up and the address you should go to. Mine turned out to be a nursery school not far from my apartment.

As expected, the process is rather complicated. I was actually dreading it since I had no idea how to go about doing it. Once in a while I have these experiences in France where my instincts fail completely. I freeze. For example, arriving somewhere where there is a group of people you don't know. Who should I kiss? How many times? How about handshakes? Can I get by without doing this? What about tu or vous? Do I throw in a Monsieur or a Madame for good measure. It's just a Hail Mary pass.

Thus, I arrived at the school and saw two French soldiers guarding the entrance. I timidly told them I needed to vote, showed them my documents, and they promptly opened the door. One hurdle jumped. I was actually fearing a reation to my very Unfrench name. Anti-immigration sentiment has been on the rise here in the last few weeks, in particular naturalizing and giving the right to vote to foreigners. Although friends assure me the wrath is against poor, dark skinned, muslims I cannot help but feel affected by it. Next, I immediately saw a table with two women. One was checking id's, the other took my electoral card and summons. The first one cracked a joke about my surname. "Oh, my tailor is rich". It had been repeated to me so many times I could hardly manage a smile. This was the first sentence learnt in every Beginning English class for at least thirty years. Ha ha! Anyway, laughter subsiding, the ladies gave me number 136, presumably that number of people who had voted before me. I had gone to the polls very early in the morning to avoid crowds.

Progress was made. I was then ushered into the second room where I was given two small pieces of paper on which one of the candidate's name was written and a motley grey envelope that I thought would disintegrate in my hand. How could paper be thinner? Waiting in line for one of the isolation booths I observed the people around me. Everyone oddly seemed to be quite old. Was it because all the young people were still sleeping off their hangovers from Saturday night frenzies? I entered the booth where all I had to do was close the curtain, take one of the small pieces of paper, stuff it into the envelop and seal it. That's all! I can just imagine how a Frenchman might be baffled by those hole-punching voting machines we use in America, also the varieties of issues, propositions and levies we vote on.

Now it's almost over. Finally, I was motioned into a third area, a large room where an elderly man in a blue suit sat at a table beneath a huge French flag. On his lapel he wore a red and blue pin. I wondered if it was a legion of honor for being a war veteran. He held my identity card and read my name out loud phonetically as if it were as French as Pierre Dupont. "Monsieur, avez-vous fait votre choix pour la France?" (Have you made your choice for France?). I uttered a reverent "oui, monsieur", he opened up a huge ballot box, and I inserted my envelope. Afterwards, he stamped and signed my electoral card and summons. I also had to sign my name on a long scroll by number 136. Voilà. Mission accomplished.

Tonight at promptly 6 pm the officials will open that box, count the votes by tens, make an exact tally, report their results to Paris, and by 8 pm the winner will be announced live on national television. Presumably the left will return to power after twenty years. I must explain that it has been officially prohibited in France to talk about the elections since Friday night. Trying to influence someone's vote in any way is considered a crime. So here there are no robot calls, tv spots, or even flyers. Hence the guards and the absolute silence at the polls. This is very much respected in France too. No one has dared to talk to me about the elections. Only one person asked me to vote for one particular candidate, and he was actually Polish.

So much for the pomp and circumstance in France on election day. Also quite a bit of bureaucracy but that is par for the course.

Copyright 2012 Merquiades

At the mercy of snow

In the USA, or in Ohio, when it snows a small army of people are sent out to plow, shovel, salt, spray, remove snow in any and every way possible. Besides that, the layman too has obligations like getting rid of the snow on the sidewalk or street in front of his/her building, also the stairs, driveways, and whatever else is there and could be dangerous. I recently watched in amazement as secondary roads were completely snow free by rush hour.

In contrast, in France when there is sleet, freezing rain, or snow (be it half an inch or ten feet), the government's solution is to cancel everything. Décision de préfecture. No one leave home! Bus service cancelled, train service cancelled, streets cordoned off! No school! No this! and no that! No, no salting, absolutely no chemical products onto our roads, thoroughfares or sidewalks, that's way too bad for the environment, you know! and by the way, le déneigement also requires a lot physical labour! So why not just sit back and wait for nature to thaw itself out! It will eventually happen! And once in a while they do indeed plow certain streets at irregular intervals, just in case there's some emergency, but that's about it! Snow brings on paralysis. Now, before you think that I protesteth too much, I do readily admit that sometimes this is advantageous to me. Once in a while I do even find myself praying for snow. Twice this year already, I've got to lie in on official snow days and even be paid for it. Yippy! However, the inverse could happen too, being stuck at work, on a highway, at a train station, on a train, anywhere else waiting, begging, pleading for nature to help out and spare me.


Unfortunately for me the third snowstorm occurred on December 16-17, the exact moment when I was to leave for the states. Even worse it snowed in northeastern France (where I live) but not in Paris (where my plane was set to take off at 10:30 AM). So I fretted all day the 16th as I watched the snow fall and heard slowly but surely the decrees of the local government to shut down local buses, trains and shuttles. So how the hell was I to get to the TGV train station 40 minutes away to get my ride to Paris. Every option I thought about, no can do! I couldn't miss my flight because I just could not afford buying another ticket, and yes, finding my way to Paris was my responsibility, not theirs. Paris weather was clear and sunny. I panicked so much I didn't know what to do? Why didn't I get my French driver's license? Why didn't I have a car? a truck? Or a snowmobile?

So I decided the only way was to walk to the busiest area in Metz, by the station and try anyway possible to flag down a cab. Oh Gosh! The only place I could wald was go right down the middle of the street where cars or maybe ploughs had taken away just a wee bit of those 20 centimeters, and no, suitcase wheels do not work in the snow. Walking through the streets of Metz at 4AM with two suitcases and trying to hail cabs that didn't want to be hailed was an adventure I don't want to relive. Fortunately, I found a daring guy, Antoine, who told me he'd take me to the TGV Gare Lorraine (most cab drivers obeyed the order to stay in) on the condition that we not stop and fly straight down the highway as fast as possible. So there we went running red lights and swerving on to all lanes. His noble theory: you don't stop in snow or you'll never start again, and the faster you go the more control you have. I was scared and relieved at the same time to have Antoine behind the wheel. I did the right thing by thinking of going so early. My driver's theory, if right, could not have panned out, with all those slow drivers coming and going, and those accidents that were sure to occur in an hour or two. I would never have made it. Boy, did I have to pay for Antoine though. All in all, it was worth every penny though, even though I am still cursing the government for shutting down the world.

The TGV was on time, but it ran on slow (government decree) until it approached the Paris metropolitain area, where there was no snow. So my flight was definitely on time but I was still arriving late.

Next story, I had registered on line and printed my boarding pass beforehand, good reflex in the event of being late when they tell you to check in 3 hours in advance. So luckily, they were waiting for me! When I got to the airport at 10 (plane left at 10:30), the first guy everyone meets, out of about 10 all together, got on his walkie-talkie and said, "oui, il est là, le Cincinnati", so believe it or not, I got to cut in front of everybody else to check my bag. Next, at the security area where they were making people take everything off, open up all their bags, plus asking them tons of questions, the same thing happened. "Oh, le Cincinnati, pas le temps de faire tout ça, quoi!", passport control was the same story. I went through and walked straight to the plane, got on and then they closed the gate. Scary looking back on it all, but kind of cool too. In the end, my friend, Madame K, is right, they won't leave you behind. Feels nice to know that. I really thought they'd be off in a heartbeat. And the trip to Cincinnati was completely normal, now here I am with 6 inches of snow and bare roads.

Vive la belle France! Every day is an adventure. R.T.

photos de Provence

With the exemption of the beach scene which is in Villeneuve-Loubet near Nice, all the other scenes are in and around Gordes, a small city nestled on top a hill in the Luberon region of Provence, around an hour southeast of Avignon, France. I stayed with a friend of mine J.P. All the people shown here are JP's friends and family who live or spend their summers in Gordes.

This is the typical French way of spending July and August: in villas with swimming pools, sun, fun, family, friends with lots of gourmet food and wine.
Parties every night, of course.

Provence

La Nuit de St. Jean

Here are some photos from La Nuit de St. Jean/ La fête de la musique. On this night I don't sleep. I live in the heart of downtown. The drinks, the music, the laughter, the dancing goes all night long. Might as well partake in the folly. I won't be able to sleep anyway. Here are some photos.
On this night everyone is a musician. I think the mixture of all the different types of music coming from every corner on every street can be heard on the moon. Rontay

Spring floating

If you have been following my blog (probably not) there has been a lot of negativity lately, so much negativity I have even amazed myself. It'll be weird for me to look at these posts years with the so-called wisdom I'll have.
So let me seize on the chance to be positive. Mostly to let you have a glimpse of why I've been floating in this country for so long.

Today was a day that could never happen in the United States. I got up early to go to give class to a private student in Thionville, a nearby town about 40 minutes or so by train from my home. It's a three-hour intensive class, so it's a lot of preparation added on to the early communte. I get there at 9:00am bang, I wait and I soon I receive an unexpected sms from my one (private) student, Brigitte.... no, she won't be coming to class, she has a headache and is taking the day off. Granted she writes this to me 10 minutes after the time the class would have started! So I feel shitty for having wasted all my time, and I was already stuck their because I had an afternoon class, even if I would still be paid for part of the time wasted. \

That is when I bumped into Nat, the other language instructor who says "no prob, just switch with me, just move your afternoon class up a few hours till now, your students are here anyway doing something else, I'll shorten my class with them too, and we can all take the afternoon off". At first, the little American inside of me thought.... no, they have plans for the morning, have projects, need to have lunch sometine, how would we find a room?, how would it work out?, is that possible? there is a little fraud there somehow... nah nah ni, nah nah nah" . But let it be, and so it was.... I ended up taking an open classroom in the school, and made a deal with my students that we'd do about half the time, no one would know about it, and we all could have the afternoon free. And if we had to blame anyone it'd be Brigitte and Nat! But actually so many people had taken the day off anyway that there weren't even any secretaries or assistants around. So this morning was kind of like organized chaos, everything was on auto pilot, you know... photocopy machine works till the first jam then puff, improvised attendance sheets etc. In the end, I made out better than if Brigitte had come, for a lot of reasons as you'll see later.... financially 6 hours of class in 2.5 hours, with 4 of them paid and a whole afternoon free! Floating in France can either bite you hard in France, or you can win big time.

Next, I head out and start walking back to the station. And what do I see? People dressed up like Halloween singing and drinking beer in the street! So I learn of the BAC carnaval tradition! The equivalent of Seniors in High School sporadically decide (whenever they want to) to play hooky (all of them), go party in the street, all with the excuse of protesting the fact they have to take the Baccalaureat, a hard, thorough exam at the end of their studies, to get their high school diploma. In reality they drink a lot of beer, make a mess and condemn the napoleonic tradition. OMG!

Arriving at the station, I find a crowd of disgruntled people waiting for trains. The SNCF train workers have gone on strike again!!!! Again, nobody knows why, no apologies, no info available. My 1PM train ain't coming! It's 12:35, so I thought, here we go again... I dodged one bullet and survived well, just to get hit straight on in the head with another!! But don't dispair.... what did I see? The 10am train, arriving late, going in my direction! No, I didn't have a ticket, but I couldn't miss the opportunity. I had to jump on that train, like my life depended on it! Who knows when the 1pm would have come. And no conductors, means I could actually get away with it. Even if there were, today was my day and there was no way in hell they'd get a dime out of me...

All in all, I actually won again. It makes you feel alive, and strangely productive. I got up on the wrong side of the bed and turned every bad situation into a success story. Yeah, I know it's pure luck, and it's really the same message as before. My life is floating on a cloud, normally a storm cloud but today a beautiful bright fluffy one. Whatever, it feels good, and speaking of clouds, the underlying reason for everything happening today, the real unspoken reason, be it Brigitte's blue flu, the changing of classes from morning to afternoon, my pact with Nat and the students, the Senior carnaval, and the train strike.... if a miraculous thing happened today.... after 9 months, the sun came out in France. Yes, Spring has finally arrived.. It's incredible really! Getting out of my train in Metz, I looked up, and gasped. Oh my God. Now if you live in Florida I guess you cannot appreciate this, but in France this is really unexpected, because the weather is so terrible almost all of the time. So this was as close to being touched by the hand of God that you every possibly humanly imagine. Then you realize what the century old legends of Springtime in Paris and the beauty of France is about. You suddenly see flowers everywhere, geraniums, nacissus, lilies, green trees, think lawns. You hear the sweet sound of river water slowly floating downstream as you slowly saunter over the bridge. You notice the sunshine ricocheting off whitewashed buildings built centuries ago, gone with the winter coats, on with the miniskirts. The artists and wannabe artists are painting outdoors. Everyone seems to be in love with life and each other, walking, holding hands, running, rowing boats gently across the lake, sunbathing on benches everywhere. The French are just enjoying life and laughing (yes even laughing in France, it does exist), and, sipping those tall glasses of rosé wine in outdoor cafes, and of course, you bump into everyone you've ever met, and celebrate together, for of course, but of course, nobody is working, every bogus excuse is good for for being out, about and alive.

Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay, Rontay