Author: Tom Berry

The farmer’s protest in France these last two weeks was rather disruptive because they targeted the autoroutes. What began pretty much in the southwest spread throughout the country, even to Paris to make their emphatic points to the gouvernement.

Protests are an interesting thing in France. Even though many are inconvenienced, the population respects the fact that the protesters need to be supported as they fight for their rights. The pressure on the government increases as the population watches to see what will happen. The citizen is king.

We have a new prime minister in France appointed just a few weeks ago, Gabriel Attal. He is only 34 years old and the youngest PM in history. He is (obviously) a favorite of President Emmanuel Macron who has fallen in popularity in the last few years. So the appointment of Gabriel Attal is perceived to have two reasons: new blood with a strong personality and big ideas, and maybe even being groomed to become the next president. Macron got in at a young age. Why not Attal?

The farmer’s strike is Attal’s first big challenge. He did the perfunctory visits to speak with farmers and hear them out. He also made a trip to Brussels because the farmer’s complaints relate to mandates coming out of the EU Parliament. In a way, France’s hands are tied. The good news is that Attal’s efforts have had some success. But not soon enough.

I drove up to Paris last Thursday for a concert at the Philharmonie de Paris. The Orchestre des Champs Élysées performed Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony and the Brahms Requiem which I was very excited to hear for the first time.

Because of the roadblocks, gps guided me along back roads. What ordinarily takes seven hours took roughly 12 hours. But it was a spectacular drive even though I was up and out the door by 4 AM. As one friend put it, I was making lemonade out of the lemons. I didn’t really mind because I saw parts of France I had not seen before. It was just one more adventure.

It was interesting driving over the Montagne Noire with all its switchbacks in the middle of the night. The fog didn’t help and I was extra cautious because while the temperature was just above freezing at this elevation, there was still potential for icy roads. By daybreak four hours later, I was in the Cantal Department of the Auvergne region. The roads were still winding but the views were magnificent – especially the spa village of Chaudes-Aigues. I made a note to come back one day maybe for “the cure.” Pictured below are views of the Truyère River a few kilometres north of Chaudes-Aigues. The sun was just rising so I pulled off to a viewpoint to take it all in. I’m glad I did.

Finally reaching Paris, I parked in the suburb of Sceaux to avoid the chaos and went directly to the home of some good friends who were my neighbors in Jersey City. They now live in Paris with their two young daughters of nearly 4 & 6 years. Our time was brief because the hour was late, but dinner was excellent and it was great to catch up.

I have developed a document that I send to friends who are heading to Paris. It includes a number of recommendations including how to navigate into the city from the airport. (Beware of the pick-pocketers!) My bottom-line advice is to make Paris your own. Yes, there are a few places one should absolutely see like the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Élysées and Sainte-Chapelle. Otherwise, do what you want. Take a random walk. Pursue your interests. You never know what you may discover. Despite the fact that I have been to Paris many times (more than I can count but at least 50), I took my own advice and Friday turned out to one of those days where I had some wonderful discoveries.

I didn’t set my alarm to wake up because Thursday had been a long day. I had a lunch reservation at Robert et Louise, a highly recommended restaurant in the Marais, but the morning was free. It was around 9 AM when lying in bed I told myself that it would be a huge waste if I didn’t do something. So I decided to visit the Musée de Cluny, the 15th century Parisian seat of the Cluny monks and now a medieval museum across from the Sorbonne. I noticed it when I was here in December 2022 and had added it to my list of places to see.

The hotel was close to the Philharmonie de Paris concert hall, and fortunately the Métro 7 line gave me a direct shot to Châtelet, a major connecting point and the station closest to the Musée de Cluny. Châtelet, on the other hand, is a maze of underground tunnels which sometimes requires a good deal of walking simply to exit. So I got off at the stop before, the Pont Neuf to see what I might discover.

The Pont Neuf is the westernmost bridge crossing the Seine connecting the Right Bank to the Left via Île de la Cité. I took a photo of one of my favorite places, Place Dauphine as I walked by, but didn’t stop for the lack of time.

Place Dauphine, Île de la Cité

I msde my way to the Boulevard Saint-Germain passing the Restaurant Procope, a historic restaurant that is also on my list and founded in 1686. I also discovered the Université René Descartes and the Sorbonne’s medical school before arriving at the Musée de Cluny. You never know what you will find.

Restaurant Procope

The Musée de Cluny is touted as the foremost medieval museum in the world. It’s not huge so doesn’t take long to see. Filled with statuary, stained glass and carved altars, it provides a great picture for this era.

Musée de Cluny

Cour d’honneur, Musée de Cluny

After visiting the museum, I made my way to lunch passing another historic church on the Left Bank, Saint-Séverin and then the Hôtel de Ville (the Paris city hall) with signs proudly positioned on the front of the building happily announcing that this is the year of the Paris Olympics.

Église Saint-Severin

The nave of Église Saint-Severin

Église Saint-Severin

As I continued my walk towards the Marais, I passed the Rue des Mauvais Garçons (the Street of Bad Boys). This has always amused me. It’s only a short block long, but is so-named as historically it was notorious for its “lawless 13th century residents.”

Lunch was disappointing for several reasons but I decided I will reserve judgment until I give them another opportunity. My notes included “escargots and steak.” I had the escargots but they were rubbery, overcooked and with little of that butter, garlic and parsley mixture that gives them so much flavor. For my main course I opted for a chicken dish expecting something delicious with a sauce. It was fine but nothing special and no sauce. I should have had a steak. I saw the chef preparing stacks of steaks as I was led to my table and they looked good. But I didn’t want to feel full all day especially since I also had a dinner reservation. The jury is out.

I had a few hours free so I consulted my Paris list and decided to go to G Detou which is a culinary supply shop. Its name is a play off the French expression “J’ai tous” (“I have everything”) and it is mostly true though they surprisingly didn’t have herbes de Provence which I use on nearly a daily basis. There were assorted mustards, preserved fruits, spices, coffee, chocolate, extracts and rare flavorings and things like xantham gum and agar that most people never use but are critical to chefs.

I picked up a few things and asked where one could find culinary equipment (les appareils culinaires). Early on in Carcassonne I discovered a bakery supply house that sold to the public. But when I went in December, they were closed and remain closed. G Detou referred me to A. Simon, a well-equipped store right around the corner. Like in New York City where shops of similar ilk are clustered together (eg, diamond dealers, flower suppliers etc), it seems Paris follows suit. As I left A Simon, I discovered four more shops all supplying goods to the professional and amateur chef. It felt like I discovered gold because everything I had been looking for was available. Needless to say, I returned home with more than my backpack.

Leaving the shops, I walked along Rue Montmartre toward the Metro. It ended at Place Carée with Les Halles off the left and Église Saint-Eustache on the right. Built between 1532-1632, Saint-Eustache is one of Paris’s most impressive churches. I’ve been before, but took the opportunity to see it again.

Église Saint-Eustache

The nave of Église Saint-Eustache

The 147 rank pipe organ of Église Saint-Eustache, one of the largest in France

The organ console

Laden with my purchases I headed back to the hotel to drop them off and have a rest before the concert. It was good to take a nap.

It was a quick 15-minute walk to the Philharmonie de Paris for the concert. I had made a pre-concert dinner reservation at their new restaurant, L’Envol, on the sixth floor of the complex. It was simple, creative and delicious.

Philharmonie de Paris

Restaurant L’Envol, Philharmonie de Paris

They make it easy for concertgoers to move from the restaurant to the concert hall with an express elevator taking one to the appropriate level after scanning the ticket.

I moved into place and got ready for the concert. The architecture is dramatic and the acoustics from my perspective, perfect.

The concert began with Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony then moved into the Brahms Requiem. It was thrilling from start to finish. I am so glad I went.

The next morning I was up and out of the hotel by 7:30 AM. I had to take the Metro to Gare du Nord, then the RER train to Sceaux where I had parked my car. It worked well as I was then only about 25 minutes to Costco Paris – my primary reason for driving.

I feel like a kid in a candy shop going to Costco. Dunkin’ Donuts has recently launched their products in Paris and they have become very popular. Costco is obviously riding the band wagon as they had them for sale though they seem pretty pricey: 13 euros for a dozen donuts?

Another new item now available is bagels. I’ve never seen them before in France. But for the die-hard lover of bagels, they can now be found at Costco! Notice that they limit the sale of two packages at the price of 5.99 euros. They must be popular.

From Costco it was close to a 7-hour drive home. I stopped off at a rest area to nap for an hour as all this driving and activity had taken it out of me. I’m not sorry I went. I had a ball and stocked up on a lot of things including culinary supplies and the usual household items. I will, however, seriously consider the length of stay should there be another blockage of the autoroutes. 1600 kms in a matter of three days is a lot!

On a final note, today marks 5 years since I arrived in France to live. I landed on February 6 2019 from Atlanta with my cat and friend, Randy, who came along to help me settle in. These five years have flown by even with the COVID pandemic beginning in the second year. It took a while to feel at home as there are obviously many adjustments. But I have found my niche in teaching beginning French to anglophones. Soon I will have access to the newly-restored historic pipe organ in our village church. I have made many friends and hosted many dinners. Life is good and the quality of life is unmatched.

In the last year I’ve come to realize how beautifully French society works. La politesse (politeness in society) remains impressive. My neighbors have been welcoming and kind. Even last night one of my neighbors dropped by to give me a plate of crèpes she had made in honour of Chandeleur, February 2. I’m guessing she had planned to bring them over that day, but I was in Paris. But she didn’t pass on the opportunity to share. They were delicious.

French society continues to operate based on the slogan from the French Revolution of Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité (Liberty, Equality, Brotherhood). One is expected to participate in society and contribute to the overall good. My neighbors, the village and the organization with which I am affiliated for the French classes all promote a lot of activities. It is sometimes overwhelming because there is so much going on. At the same time, it builds community and good will.

As an example, our mayor hosted a gathering early in January to provide a summary of all that had been accomplished in 2023 and what plans there are for 2024. The gathering also recognized newcomers to the village and was promoted as an opportunity to wish your neighbors “Bonne année.” There must have been over 300 people present, including families with children. It was heartening to see this level of participation. I also realized as I went around afterwards to greet those I know, that I have made a number of friends and acquaintances in the village.

My village of Montréal is gaining a reputation as a pretty nice place to live given the quality of life, the improvements and the social life it offers. We’re a short 10 km west of Carcassonne, so it’s very commutable and yet in the heart of the countryside surrounded by vineyards and fields of soy, colza, sunflowers and wheat. I enjoyed the trip to Paris but I was delighted to return home. The tranquility and natural beauty, la joie de vivre feed my soul.

I first fell in love with France when I opened my French textbook as a freshman in high school. The photo heading the first lesson was of the Arc de Triomphe. I was sold. And I couldn’t wait to see it in person. 

On August 15, 1970, a year out of high school, I boarded an Air France 747 from JFK to Paris with my girlfriend and her sister on a 15-day “If this is Tuesday, it must be Belgium” tour of Europe that began and ended in Paris. The 747 was brand new to the aviation world and being able to fly one was frosting on the cake. So here we are 53 years later, on this day in 1970, August 16, I landed in Paris for the first time. I could barely contain my excitement. Even now, I feel like I am living a dream to be in this beautiful and magical country. The excitement continues.

On that first trip, we stayed at the Claridge Hotel right on the Champs Elysées. Everything about Paris was perfect and, when the time came, I didn’t want to leave. But I didn’t know how to stay. Besides I was in college and had to get my degree. I could dream, but a life in France at that time was impossible. I wanted it so bad I could taste it. The hunger never left.

It was five years later when I returned, this time for business. Between degrees (and in reality trying to figure what my next step was), I was working for an incentive travel company. This trip I was directing a tour that included Paris, Madrid and Palma de Mallorca. 

I returned to France as much as possible for work or pleasure. When I moved to New Jersey, it was easy and cheap to jump across the big pond for long weekends which I did at least twice a year. I’d vacation in France whenever I could and eventually started bringing family and friends to share my love for this country. Over the years, I made close to 50 trips. It was in my blood and I was in love with all things French. 

Yesterday I finished Julia Child’s autobiography entitled My Life in France, co-authored with her great-nephew, Alex Prud’homme. From start to finish I was enraptured. Like me, Julia Child was a die-hard Francophile. She found something to love in every aspect of the country. Its magic went to the depths of her soul and she could never get enough of it. In time, she and her husband Paul decided to have their own place and built a small home in Provence, just north of Cannes near Grasse. It was their refuge and they came to refresh and regroup as a break from their busy professional lives. 

Along the way, of course, Julia Child established herself as a leading culinary educator. Her books are iconic. Her television series in association with WGBH in Boston are legend. Upon completing the book yesterday, on what would have been her 111^th birthday, I was sad. I was sad because she is someone I would have loved to know but will never have that opportunity. Like me, she was driven to learn. She had a wicked sense of humor and didn’t put up with much. She knew what she wanted and she went for it. Her husband was a willing ally and they had a marvelous, fun-filled life together. Hers was a life well-lived experiencing the depths of France as few rarely do. I know we would have gotten along; we had much in common. I love humor and can imagine tongue-in-cheek bantering with her.

Most people visiting France come only to Paris because it is all they know. What’s not to love about Paris? It is truly one of the most beautiful cities in the world where culture and cuisine marry with history and tradition.

I spent years getting to know Paris but was finally motivated to stretch the limits, get out of my safety zone and explore other regions. It is France’s most famous city, but there is so much more to explore in La France Profonde.

The term La France Profonde implies the heart and soul of France which exist outside of Paris, deep in the heart of the country wherever that may be.

Paris is Mecca for many. Young people throughout France get their degrees and/or professional training then look for career opportunity and excitement in Paris if not abroad. To land a job and have a life in Paris is considered great success. Then there are others, more complacent, who choose the idyllic life of paysans (peasants). So too for us who retire….

At different times in life, one has different needs. The young often enjoy and need the energy of the big city. I understand that and loved the 15 years I lived in metropolitan New York City. I especially enjoyed the latter five years in Jersey City where views from the 34^th floor of the high-rise apartment building in which I lived included New York Harbor, the Statue of Liberty, Battery Park and downtown Manhattan – only 2 minutes away by train to the World Trade Center. It was fun. It was exhilarating. After 15 years, it was enough.

I moved to Atlanta for five more years to aid my youngest sister and had the experience of another booming American city. I grew up in and around Detroit, experienced Baltimore for a short time, and spent two years living in Seattle. All good. But it was the experience of rural and small-town living in Kalamazoo, Michigan (10 years) and western New Jersey in Hunterdon County (10 years) where, in the latter, I lived amidst wildlife on five wooded acres developing a taste for a less hectic life, one surrounded by peace, quiet and nature. 

In July 1986, less than six months from completing an MBA along with two friends, I did a circle tour of Paris to see the great cathedrals. From Paris we rented a car and explored Amiens, Rouen, Reims, Metz, Strasbourg, Bourges, Dijon and Chartres. We also made a stop at the grave of my Uncle Tom who had been in the 101^st Airborne and captured during the Battle of the Bulge in Bastogne, Belgium. He died in a German POW camp and was interred at the American cemetery in St. Avold, not far from Sauerbrucken on the German border. 

In 2000 I explored the Loire Valley with my family as reported before. It was a three-week adventure for 14 of us: Paris, the Loire, Dordogne ending up in Bordeaux. We were there to celebrate my mother’s 75^th  birthday, the 50^th birthday of my sister-in-law and myself, and the 16^th birthday of my niece. It couldn’t have been more fun.

With that trip as a template, I led two other groups of friends to the Loire Valley. In 2003, I visited Lyon attending the Bocuse d’Or competition as well as touring the associated market as I contemplated an import business to resell select French items. 

In addition to numerous visits to Paris, my work took me to Nice and Monte Carlo. Other trips included house-hunting ventures that took me all over western, central and southwest France. 

Over the course of roughly 15 years, I explored France to determine where I wanted to live and what it was I wanted in a house. I used a spreadsheet to refine my criteria so that when the time came, I knew exactly what I wanted (ideally 3 bedrooms minimum, each with private bath), light (vs. dark rooms), privacy, good weather, a gas stove, and a good working kitchen.  

As far as regions are concerned, I was drawn to the west and the southwest. The north and east were too cold with harsh winters, rain and depressing darkness. I couldn’t imagine a retirement without sunshine. I wanted a milder climate away from the cold and snow. But I also wanted tranquility (i.e., no crowds) so that ruled out the Côte d’Azur and Provence.

Exploring the country outside of Paris was exciting simply because I was contemplating where I might one day settle.

I have friends who live in the Gers, southwest of Toulouse. I found a home there 15 years ago in a small village called Mont d’Astarac. Had I moved faster, I would have moved to France much sooner. But someone put in a successful bid before I did, so I lost it.

It would have been a nice life in Mont d’Astarac with its views of the Pyrénées topped by a 15^th century toll tower at the edge of the property and a small church of the same vintage across the road.

The house was a maison de maître and would have required full restoration, but the price was right and I had a vision of what could be. In particular I was drawn to the dining room with its grand and fully functional fireplace and tall windows looking towards the mountains. In the end, it would have been quite a different house though still with three bedrooms. Given my love for food and entertaining over dinner, it would have worked beautifully. 

The next house was in the center of France in Ars, not far from Aubusson in the Creuse department. This region is less popular due to its elevation, colder winters and lack of great industry other than farming. Yet it is equally beautiful and similar to where I now live with rolling hills. That house was more than I needed with five bedrooms, but I envisioned a chambre d’hote at that time (France’s version of a B&B with breakfast and dinner upon request). It had outbuildings that could be developed into gites, a swimming pool, a greenhouse, fruit trees, etc. It even came with a tractor. The kitchen had two stoves, one wood-burning. It was all stone, typical for the region as this is from where the stonemasons who built the great cathedrals had come. I found this house in 2008 but with the downturn in the stock market and its impact on sales of homes (particularly in New Jersey), it wasn’t time. It took nearly two years to sell my house. Still, it was fun exploring La France Profonde.

It took 10 more years for my dream to manifest itself distracted by family and business issues. But the time finally came and I serendipitously found my home via Facebook’s Properties for Sale in France. It all came together pretty quickly. Within less than five months I was a homeowner in France. With the long-term visa in hand, I made the move and the rest is history.

Upon arrival it was fun discovering all that surrounded me. I was (and remain) captivated by the history of the country and the region. In my village there is evidence of prehistoric inhabitants. The Romans settled here as well and the foundations of two villas remain. The Cathars, considered heretics by the Roman Catholic Church because they didn’t think priests, churches or its hierarchy were essential, were plentiful. In fact my village was one of their strongholds. Their demise is the story of the Inquisition. Then there was the War of Religions between Protestants and Catholics and the Black Prince. 

More recently there are stories about the French Resistance working to remove the Nazis. There were no battles in the south during World War II, but the acts of sabotage were everywhere attacking trains and munitions. Being less than 80 years ago, we are not that far removed from this sad era. 

France is many places and many things. I have often said that there is no part of France that is unattractive; every region has its own beauty. Where I live in the western Languedoc there are occasional strong winds, mild winters, and hot summers. The rolling hills, the foothills of the Pyrénées, with their fields of sunflowers, colza (in the family of canola oil), soy and wheat, reflect the aridity and lack the lushness of central France in places like the Loire Valley, the Dordogne, or the Perigord. But it has its own special beauty that makes it unique – especially with the views of the mountains a mere 60 miles away and the Montagne Noire behind us, the southwest corner of France’s Massif Central.

When one travels outside of Paris, a different topography and unique beauty abounds depending upon direction. Adding to the physical beauty are the remnants of the past: castles and manor houses, charming villages some of which are designated as Les Plus Beaux Villages – The Most Beautiful Villages. Others are designated as Villages fleuris (flower villages) adorned with trained rose vines, geraniums planters on bridges or balconies, and other colorful specimens. Nearby Camon is an example.

Many villages look rustic and worn-down; most buildings and homes need paint. The majority of these homes date back 200-500 years and therefore take on a certain patina. Their stucco requires constant maintenance. They often look tired. Yet, walk inside these homes and one can be amazed. No two are alike. The decor may be wild and erratic or elegant beyond belief. External appearances can be deceiving.

I recently had the pleasure of dinner at the home of a couple from Paris I met in June. About 18 months ago they purchased an old château dating back to the 15^th century in a neighboring village. It hadn’t been lived in for 100 years aside from the Nazis who occupied it for three years during World War II. They are in the process of what they expect to be a 5-year renovation. 

One half of the château has been restored to provide them with a new kitchen, dining area, a small sitting room and a bedroom with bath – all with ceilings 4 meters (about 10 ft.) high. 

The huge main salon which is beyond the central entrance has a ceiling of double that. With its gorgeous configured plaster painted white and Wedgewood blue, adorned with classical Greek and Roman sculptures perched on the side walls, it makes for a very elegant space. I would guess the dimensions of the room are roughly 40 feet deep and 30 feet wide. They aren’t clear yet how to use this room so I suggested a huge oriental carpet in light blue matching the Wedgewood color, along with a grand piano, some candelabra, maybe a few chairs or sofas. Who knows? Inspiration will come. Regardless, it will be a showcase once done.

I had met the couple at a dinner party and they invited me to another dinner at their home. They also invited a former Shakespearean theater actor from England, and a celebrated radio journalist who works in Paris three days a week and broadcasts from home nearby Thursdays and Fridays. Her husband also joined us. He was a correspondent in Washington DC for a French television channel and he continues to work as a journalist. It made for very interesting conversation. You never know who you are going to meet.  

I have a neighbor up the street who has a house that is an amalgam of two. As a result, its floor plan is erratic as walls have been broken down to merge the two houses. The rustic kitchen has a working fireplace elevated to waist-level and complements the existing stove when preparing big meals. The dining room is bigger than my house. My neighbor painted its beams with bright colors and gold filigree in the medieval style. Off the dining room is a garden with a potting house. This house of seven bedrooms has many secrets to be discovered – none of which are apparent from the outside. There are surprises everywhere like this all over France.

La France Profonde is more than topography. It is the life that is enacted on a daily basis be it at work, school, or social events. It includes the local marchés (markets) where one can pick up seasonal fruit, vegetables, meats and cheeses, all locally produced. It also includes cultural events that bind a community, bringing villagers out to socialize and be entertained. 

In early June, my village hosted its annual “Bandas” festival with brass bands from all over the country coming to perform and compete. 

Every year on June 21 (because it is the longest day of the year and gets dark later), many communities throughout France celebrate their local musical talent. It is called Fête de la Musique. In my village there were two different groups who staged performances this year. Tables and chairs were set up, drink and food available for purchase. Some villagers participated in folk dancing to traditional tunes. It was a hot night but fun nonetheless. 

I was compelled to go to Montréal’s Fête de la Musique by one of my neighbors who had told me the day prior “On ne se voit pas.” I had to think a minute because the reflexive “se” referring to one’s self can be tricky. Translated it meant “We don’t see each other.” She was right. I hadn’t seen her since being invited to her home for a New Year’s get-together January 3 where I gave her COVID. So, still with some guilt about infecting her, I went.

In late June, another village group sponsored a “ciné-concert” – piano accompaniment to silent films. The pianist was the organist from Église Saint-Eustache in Paris. He was amazing. I expected ragtime, but he played in the style of Ravel reflecting incredible improvisational talent. I had my neighbors and some friends over for drinks and hors d’oeuvres beforehand to fulfill some social obligations and be more, shall we say, “visible”? 

Early in July I went to the Festival de Carcassonne to see the Ballet Béjart de Lausanne (Switzerland) in the Jean Deschamps amphitheater within the walls of the medieval La Cité in Carcassonne. If you haven’t seen their sensual rendition of Ravel’s Bolero, it is well worth watching.

Late July we had our biannual international dance festival, the first since 2019 due to the pandemic. I enjoyed the last one so much and was really looking forward to it. The highlight of the entire weekend was the semi-professional troupe from Drummondville, Quebec. Their choreography didn’t go unnoticed. 

Last week we had our annual organ festival in the church. I again invited my neighbors for aperos (drinks & hors d’oeuvres) beforehand. When I knocked on her door to extend an invitation, my neighbor Anne Marie gave me a bag of 70 plums she had just picked from her garden. I didn’t have time to use them that day, but two days later I made two tartes: one for her and one for me. I took it over (still warm). In appreciation, she gave me a jar of plum jam she had just made (still warm) plus a large jar of plums in eau de vie (alcohol). This kind of sharing amongst neighbors and friends is common. Whenever one hosts an apero, you can count on gifts of food and wine. Everyone loves to contribute. It is indicative of life in La France Profonde.

These are the things that bring us together.

Community is important in France and residents are expected to contribute to community life in some fashion. Is this possible in Paris? Sure, but it is different when you live in a small village. Participation builds familiarity and bonds are strengthened. It’s a part of being French.

I love it because while I enjoy the tranquility and solitude I have built into my home and life, we all need people at some point. These activities provide many opportunities to get out and mingle.  

In late June, the headlines told the sad story of a 17 year-old boy killed by police outside of Paris. There are two sides to every story and what hasn’t been played up is that this boy was well-known to police. This doesn’t justify his killing. The reaction was violence in the streets for over a week.

Where I live is safe, being rural. There was some riot activity in Toulouse an hour away, but the manifestations were mostly in the north of France and Marseilles. The riots speak to another side of La France Profonde where, despite remoteness from the wheels that churn in Paris, the people have a voice and are not afraid to raise it. They were empowered by the French Revolution and that mentality persists even today. This is the voice of La France Profonde reminding bureaucrats in Paris that they must answer to all citizens.

A recent New York Times article pointed to a problem sadly prevalent in the US: police brutality. I’ve never considered France racist, at least not in the sense of prejudice against Black people. But racism does exist, largely directed towards the Muslim community and particularly those from North Africa – especially those from Algeria. The French police have similarly been cited as overly aggressive. No place is perfect and there is work to be done. My fear is that France is moving too far to the right. In fact the radio journalist said that if there was to be an election today, Marine Le Pen would win. God help us on both sides of the Atlantic.  

La France Profonde is many things. It is the sheer physical beauty of the entire country outside of Paris. It is the heart and soul of daily living in whatever form that takes, the farming, the work, the pleasure drives. It is community engaging with friends and neighbors. It is neighbors sharing the bounty from their gardens. It is the voice of all France making its demands. It sings to the tunes of the past, reminding us of the cycle of life over the centuries. It is the soul of France showing its best.  

It’s been six months since I last blogged and I apologize. I have never put myself on a schedule and have written as I am so moved. I came across this quote this week and it helps to explain that life just got in the way.

It’s not nothing…but creative writing does not allow for distraction.

December was off to a busy start with the visit of a friend from Atlanta. It was his first trip to Europe and his excitement was great. I invited him to begin his trip in the south, flying first to Toulouse. Then after a brief visit here, we would take the train together to Paris where I would give him my 5-penny tour. I hadn’t been to Paris in a while so I was up for it.

His flight was delayed so his evening arrival prevented us from seeing Toulouse. The reality became a tour the next day of Carcassonne’s La Cité (the medieval city of Carcassonne). It is visually impressive, so it made for a great start. 

The day flew by so there wasn’t a lot of time to visit vineyards as I had hoped. But we did make a stop at one favorite, Château Auzias and nearby Pennautier whose mansion has been called “The Versailles of the South.”

The next day we took a TGV train to Paris arriving into the Gare de Lyon famous for its restaurant, Le Train Bleu. I had read about it but never had the chance to visit. So I took my friend for a drink. It was fun and a nice way to toast his first visit to Paris. 

We made our way to the hotel in the Marais and spent the next few days touring. I put him on a tour bus so he could have an overview. I made sure he saw La Conciergerie and Sainte-Chapelle followed by a delicious dinner in Place Dauphine at one of my favorite restaurants. Our last evening we went to Montmartre for dinner to see the view, Sacre Coeur and Place du Tertre with dinner at La Mère Catherine – another favorite. 

While he was on the tour bus, I took the opportunity to visit several places that I’ve never had the opportunity to see. It’s pretty astounding when I think about it, but I attribute it to priorities as well as not having knowledge of their existence and importance. 

The first stop was the Pantheon which came into recent awareness with the symbolic interment of Josephine Baker (her actual remains will stay in a cemetery in Monaco). In addition, I visited Église Saint-Étienne, the Sorbonne, and the Cluny Museum which I just happened upon. 

The Pantheon is a very impressive building and the former church of Saint Geneviéve, patron saint of Paris. In the late 19^th century it was converted into a mausoleum for highly esteemed French citizens like Voltaire, Marie Curie, Dumas, Victor Hugo, Braille, etc. I’m glad I went.

The Église Saint-Étienne sits behind the Pantheon and is equally impressive with beautiful stained glass and intriguing interior architecture. 

In November 2019 as I was flying to Paris to consummate the sale of my new home, I happened to sit next to a woman who was a professor at the Sorbonne. It raised my awareness and she offered to give me a tour. Sadly, we never met for that tour and she has since moved to New York City. As it is in the same neighborhood as the Pantheon, I stopped to see its interior courtyard. Closed to the public, I talked my way in and relished the historic intellectual energy its imposing walls contain. 

Leaving the Sorbonne, I happened upon the Musée de Cluny. The museum actually incorporates two historic structures: the ancient Roman baths and the Paris mansion of the Abbey of Cluny creating a museum of the Middle Ages. I didn’t have time to go in but it’s on my list to see on a future visit. 

Being the Christmas season, I wanted to the see the display in the rotunda of the Galeries Lafayette. It was worth it. 

I departed Paris Sunday morning to return in time for my classes Monday. My friend stayed another day and made the most of it, now having some familiarity and confidence to get around on his own. 

Christmas was spent with friends here in Montréal. They are a mixed American/Norwegian & British couple with four sons, all pursuing their careers in different ways between London, Berlin and Brussels. I always enjoy their company. 

As I had no plans, they took me to dinner for my birthday which falls between Christmas and New Year’s. We have recently discovered a gastronomic restaurant: Chez David in Castelnaudary, less than a half-hour’s drive north and infamous as the home of the cassoulet. The chef is talented and, with 12 people at the table including assorted girlfriends and houseguests, it made for a great celebration.

New Year’s Eve I went to a delightful party of mixed French and anglos and contracted COVID – my first bout and hopefully my last. 

Since then I have probably sat down four or five times to start a blog post only to be interrupted by something in terms of household maintenance, my classes, or visitors. Now that COVID seems to be behind us, everyone wants to come to France.  It’s all good, but it does take up time and energy.

My classes keep me busy. I have three French classes and had some beginners join us in January so that meant laying the foundation for understanding the language while, at the same time, try to move those already in the group forward. It was challenging.

Up until recently, I never really appreciated the term “The Golden Years.” I simply pictured a couple of smiling, well-groomed senior citizens playing golf and living a life of leisure. I didn’t have a gut feel for the sentiment being conveyed. But these last few months have been reflective. For me, it is having the time and luxury to do as I wish without the constraints of work and serious responsibility while having good health and stability. These years are a gift. Retirement doesn’t necessarily mean slowing down and I am proof. 

Life has always been an adventure and I’ve always sought new opportunities to experience it: Carpe diem! I suppose that explains why I have pursued the study of so many different things. I like to learn and grow. Reading is another passion. 

I am an avid reader on many topics. Fortunately my anglo friends here are good about sharing their books so we keep one another stimulated with the latest or classics that are worth the time. At the same time I’ve been comfortable enough with my language skills to pick up books in French. Here are a few.

The first is entitled Quand Vous Serez en France (When You Are in France) written by the British government for their soliders coming to France during World War II. It details French perceptions of the war, the Germans and Allied involvement as well as cultural mores and faux pas to avoid. It was translated into French for the French people as it is a curious assessment of themselves and their culture and I suspect curious enough that they wanted to know what the Brits thought of them. It’s well done and inspirational – I suppose its ulterior intent for the solders. 

The other is Les Cathares 700 Ans Plus Tard, L’Ésotérisme Cathare et son Message Pour Aujourd’hui (The Cathars 700 Years Later, Cathar Esotericism and Its Message For Today). The Cathars were an interesting lot, considered heretics largely because they didn’t feel a need for priests, churches or the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church. St. Dominic’s futile attempt to negotiate with them in my village of Montréal in 1207 on behalf of Pope Innocent III led to the Inquisition in which they were eventually eradicated. The introduction to this book is interesting because it states they may have been on to something. 

Another book I picked up on this topic is Catharisme et Chrétienté (Catharism and Christianity) which I am looking forward to reading to get another perspective.

Perhaps the most controversial of the lot is Et si tout n’était que mensonge? (What If It’s All A Lie?). In the late 19^th century, a priest in the village of Rennes-le-Château, 32 km south of my village, came into untold and unexplained wealth. There has been much speculation as to its origins, the most plausible being either discovery of buried jewels from a deceased aristocrat or discovery of the treasures of the Knights Templar which have never been found. 

Related to this village and even more fascinating is the story of The Three Marys landing by boat in France following the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. An even bolder allegation is that Christ himself didn’t die on the cross, but was sedated by Egyptian physicians, whisked out of Israel on this same boat with the three Marys, then settling in Rennes-le-Château. As one archaeologist wrote, we’ll never know the truth unless Jesus wrote, likely in seclusion because of the strong Roman presence here at the time, and his writings are one day discovered in a cave…. Wild stuff, but intriguing nonetheless. 

This latter book attempts to sift through available information to draw conclusions. It is likely more fantasy than anything else, but I am sure it will be an interesting read. 

My stack of books to read is very tall…. My source for books in English has been Bookdepository.com which shipped for free from England to France. But it was acquired by Amazon and shut down in April. I had a wish list of some 13 books so decided to order them all before it became impossible. Add to that other accumulated books languishing for a read, I have 22 books in my stack. 

My current focus of attention is on Charles Dickens David Copperfield because of the new Pulitzer Prize winner Demon Copperhead which is a retake on the story based in West Virginia. Not ever having read David Copperfield, I decided to pick them both up and am starting with Dickens’ story first. I am enjoying it, but struck by the formality of that age. 

I love to read. And that includes the news, analyses, history, and anything to do with France. One of the blogs I follow is Southern Fried French by Lynn McBride. Originally from Charleston, South Carolina, Lynn and her husband have lived in Burgundy, France for over 20 years. I am leading a group of friends on a tour of Burgundy late September and early October and hope to meet her. Her blog of May 18, 2023 was entitled Should You, Could You, Move to France?

Lynn asked for readers’ thoughts on the topic so I offered mine. Being the first to comment, I spelled it out – both the good and the bad. Not that there’s anything really bad about moving to France. It’s all good. It’s just missing family and friends that is the one thing I find the most difficult. 

It’s a hot topic. Last November, I saw this post quoting Bloomberg on the Facebook page of the group Americans Living in France.

Then this week a friend sent me this article written by a Nigerian woman who moved from New York City to Paris in 2011. Her summary of the French perspective is probably one of the best things I’ve ever read on the topic of joie de vivre. It’s worth a read.

As this author notes, life is very good in France. I’ve come to the conclusion that one should have their career in the US to generate the funds, then move for retirement to France for the quality of life IF you can handle the distance from your loved ones. 

I was just back in Atlanta three weeks ago to marry my niece. It was a quick trip – just four days there. Every time I return I feel the letdown, immediately missing the family and friends I have just visited. The last few visits have been tempered by the realization that I love where I live and I love the life I have created here.

It was five years ago this month that I decided to buy my house. I am adjusting. I am making friends but also realize I need to get out more to socialize. Staying home despite the variety of stimulating intellectual pursuits is not always a good thing.

My desk is positioned at the rear window overlooking my terrasse, the rolling hills and the Pyrénées Mountains about 60 miles away. The view is soothing and nurtures my inner being. I have said often my village is perfect for retirement. Life is simple here. It’s quiet. Natural beauty abounds and my French neighbors have been not only welcoming, but warm and supportive. These are my golden years and I intend to make the most of them. 

Fall is my favorite season. This year it was especially welcomed as we kissed summer and its record-breaking heat goodbye. 

September brought unusual humidity so despite my efforts to contain energy usage (given the war in Ukraine and the French government’s request for all residents to cut back in preparation for a cold winter), I was forced on a few days to turn on the air conditioning. Some days were just too intolerable.

Last week I went for the walk I love so much in the vineyards just outside the village. A storm was expected and the clouds were beautiful. Fortunately the storm didn’t materialize here. But I enjoyed the distant drama.

This week has been pleasant. Yesterday we had sunshine and temperatures in the low 70s (around 21 C). I opened the windows and smelled the fresh fragrance of my laundry drying in the sun. (Have I ever told you about how wonderfully aromatic French laundry detergents can be?)

I’m pretty much caught up on my “To Do” list and so was enjoying a relaxed day before I had my online French class later in the afternoon. Between the weather, the views and an overall sense of satisfaction, I was reminded of how good life is here in retirement. 

It was four years this week that I purchased my home.  Following the signing, I spent a few delightful weeks settling in, then headed back to the US to finish what had to be done in preparation for the move. I arrived in February 2019 and the rest is history.

Living in France has some downsides, especially if one is new and wanting to experience it all. The biggest for me is the food. It’s wonderful. It’s adventurous. And there’s lots to sample at nearly every turn. But it’s easy to overdo. One problem switching countries, however, is that there are products one is used to using on a daily basis that may be hard to find or you just can’t get. 

It’s been four years and we are all seeing inflation, but my impression is that for the most part, food costs are pretty comparable. An exception would be seasonally imported items like cranberries. The cranberries I purchased last week are 3.50 euros for 200 grams. Compared to the US, I know these are very expensive.

One of the things I miss is corned beef. It just doesn’t exist (as far as I can tell) though I recently found six slices of pastrami at the local épicerie for 4 euros. It was good, but not as flavorful and very thin.

What we don’t lack for, as you can imagine, is cheese. Former President Charles de Gaulle has been quoted as saying “How can you rule a country that has a different cheese for every day of the year?” Here are two photos of the cheese department at one of the local supermarchés. And as if it wasn’t big enough, there are three more aisles completely dedicated to other packaged cheeses.

And, no surprise, there is an abundance of paté.

While Facebook has its issues, there are several groups that have been very helpful in making the move and settling in. Once here, these groups have continued to be great resources of information and experience. As David Lebovitz reported, there are some uniquenesses and we have to learn the alternatives. One of the Facebook groups that has been particularly helpful is called Cooking in France and a great “go-to” when I’m trying to figure out where to find an ingredient or its substitute, a cut of meat, etc. 

Examples of items hard-to-find, if not impossible, include peanut butter, aluminum-free baking powder, corn syrup, mango chutney, corn bread mix, mini-marshmallows, dried onion flakes, pepperoni, and other seasonings. 

When I return to the US, my shopping list includes a variety of things that may not be available or their prices here are significantly higher. These include pine nuts, black peppercorns, stevia, pecans, chocolate chips, raisins, bacon crumbles, smoked almonds, graham crackers, maraschino cherries and even baking soda (not that it isn’t available, but for cooking purposes, it comes in small quantities and is far more expensive).

Costco France (with two locations now near Paris, not convenient but a stopover when I drive up) offers some of their branded items like aluminum foil, plastic wrap and spices. So I pick up these items at least once a year – especially crunchy peanut butter! It’s pricey at 9.99 euros for the large, 40 oz. jar, but I consider it a small indulgence and a real treat. Besides loving the crunch, I find it is particularly useful on a low-carb diet to energize first thing in the morning.

As a mecca for the art of baking, the everyday shopper in France has the option of several types of flour depending upon the need. It has been interesting to learn about them. David Lebovitz covers that topic in the blog post referenced earlier. 

Not long after moving to France, I discovered a boulangerie supply house in Carcassonne, just 12 km away called FOBOPA, an abbreviation for Fournitures Boulangeries Patisseries. They not only serve the trade, but are open to the public and make available a whole array of equipment and supplies including chocolate, a powder to make creme patissière, tart pans, cake rings, paper baking containers, etc. It has been a real goldmine. 

I’ve come to find some pretty good French substitutes for things like chicken bouillon. There was an American product I loved called Better than Bouillon. It was a flavorful paste and came in a large jar that was perfect when called for. It isn’t available here and heavy to transport so I’m happy to say I’ve found an excellent substitute. It’s called Fond du Volaille. In fact, the manufacturer has a variety of similar products with flavors including beef, chicken, pot au feu, veal, etc.  Coming in a powder, they not only flavor, but thicken. Another flavor gives a roasted chicken taste. I’ve not tried it but will have to soon. 

I’ve also discovered KUB seasoning which provides a vegetable base for almost any recipe. Sometimes I’ll take a cube of that or a tablespoon of the Fond du Volaille and make a broth. Both are tasty on a cold day.

Another challenge can be finding things in the store. They aren’t always where you might expect them. For example, in the US I was accustomed to finding all things related to baking in one aisle. Not here. The seasonings are separated from the salts. Flour, baking powder and baking soda are usually elsewhere. Add-ons like chocolate chips and reasons could be anywhere.

One delight has been to discover the butter from Bretagne and Normandy. I have become a huge fan of the demi-sel (half-salt) for everything but baking for which I use the doux (sweet) formulation. They’re not inexpensive at around 5 euros for 500 grams (about a pound). But It’s worth it. I don’t remember who said it, but I agree that “You can never have enough butter.” It adds not only rich flavor to gravies, sauces and plain vegetables, but also acts as a thickening agent. When I cook, I am generous with the butter and always have back-ups in the freezer in case I run out. On my low-carb diet it has absolutely no impact on my cholesterol.

Another adjustment for an American is the flavor of steaks. The entrecôte steaks I have ordered in restaurants just don’t have the richness of flavor we seem to have in the US. There are several explanations. One is the soil that affects the grain that then affects those who eat the grain: beef cattle. This also has an effect on the taste of dairy byproducts: e.g., butter and cheeses. You win some, you lose some.

Another reason for the different taste is aging of the meat. Beef in the US is hung to obtain flavor. Not so in France where the meat is far fresher. I don’t know why there is this difference in approach, but the French seem to be happy with what they have. I commented on this just last week and was told that the French don’t necessarily like American steaks when they travel to the US for the same reason. I had friends visiting from Paris a couple of years ago and we barbequed côtes de boeuf obtained from a reputable butcher in our neighboring village of Bram. These steaks were the closest I’ve had to the flavor of American steaks. They were awesome! I need to do more exploring, but restaurant steaks are usually disappointing.

Food aside, it has been fun discovering alternatives to products like Soft Scrub. I found that in one called Cif. It’s virtually the same thing and does the trick. 

In the US we have Mr. Clean. The French word for something that is clean is propre. So here, the product with the same image is called Mr. Propre. Amusing!

Non-food items I like to purchase in the US also include things like Ziploc bags because they are much sturdier, turkey roasting bags, duct tape (horrendously expensive by comparison), vitamins, and some personal care products like facial scrub. 

Over-the-counter products for personal health tend to be much more expensive in France. Because pharmaceutical products and their prices are highly regulated, I assume it is the manufacturer’s way of making profit since on the prescribed products, they cannot. So it is products like these that, after price comparisons, I opt to buy when I can in the US. An example is hydrogen peroxide. The supermarket in Atlanta offered 16 oz. for $0.97. Here, a small 250 ml bottle (half the amount and called Eau Oxygénée) costs around 3 euros. With the euro and dollar nearly being at parity at the moment, it is roughly three times the price in France. Another example is witch hazel. A small bottle here cost 16 euros at the local pharmacy!

Another staple that might call for adjustment is toilet paper. If you’ve experienced France, you know it is of different quality in looser and smaller packages and rolls just don’t last as long. Fortunately Costco imports their branded paper and it’s worth picking up when visiting Costco Paris. I have an agreement with my friends Gayle & Bernard as they too are Costco fans. Whenever one of us goes to Costo, we pick up TP for both of us. Fortunately they are in Paris with some frequency for their research, so we manage. This past summer they had some research in Spain so made a stop at the Bilbao Costco which is only four hours away (vs. seven hours to Paris). So we all benefited. 

Aside from scarcity of familiar products, another downside for someone moving to France is the desire and temptation to try everything. As I have a sweet tooth and love baking, sampling was initially an imperative. And with that came weight gain to the highest level I have ever attained. The good news is that I have been diligent in dieting for the past year and have lost 17 kg (37 lbs). I’m at a weight I’ve not seen in probably 40 years. It feels good. Having reached my goal, I can now occasionally have something I wouldn’t ordinarily eat. Last night, for example, stimulated by an Italian movie whose central theme was food, I made fettucini carbonara with garlic, parmesan and olive oil. It was blissful. And surprisingly, it didn’t seem to affect my weight as I made it to the scale this morning. Yay!!

We are also fortunate to have an abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables. Rosemary grows on the main thoroughfare of my village. If I need some, I just go pick it. A bay tree is around the corner. Similarly, I just grab a few leaves when I need them.

My neighbor has a fig tree that hangs over my deck. She has invited me to help myself. I used some recently for an appetizer stuffing fresh figs with goat cheese and a splash of honey. I’ve frozen more figs to make a tart in the future. I freeze a lot of things when I don’t have an occasion to use them and definitely can’t make these kinds of things for myself or else I’d be back to the diet in a big hurry.

I have two small kumquat trees that have done exceptionally well this year. They must have loved the heat. Their flowers are amazing with rich perfumes that are noticeable just walking past them. Soon I’ll have some fresh kumquats that will end up in something. Two years ago I made marmalade. But I’ll stick them in the freezer until I need to make a dessert. Maybe they’ll end up in a tart. I have an amazing tangerine tart recipe for which I think they’d be a fine substitute.

We also have lots of almond trees in the region and one can pick fresh almonds roadside if so inclined. I’ve picked a few on my hikes for the fun of it, but otherwise just buy them locally and in bulk at Costco.

Over the years I have accumulated a vast library of recipes. As soon as computers became available, I began to digitalize my collection. Still, I have a number of cookbooks that I cherish mostly for inspiration as well as souvenirs of some great meals under great chefs. There are also method books which serve as texts from both the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, NY and the French Culinary Institute in New York City which is sadly no longer. I took courses at both institutions and these books have been useful in many ways. Jacques Pepin was one of the founders of the French Culinary Institute and I had the pleasure of meeting him at a fundraiser in Manhattan. An autographed copy of his book, New Complete Techniques was given to me as a gift. A great memory. 

Another souvenir book is from 1884, one of the hallmark restaurants of Chef Francis Mallman in Mendoza, Argentina. On my first trip there, I arrived at 8 PM (early by Argentinan standards). The only other diners at that point included a small group of Norwegians. My waiter told me Chef Mallman happened to be there that night so I asked him if he could tell the Chef I’d like to meet him. Since it was early, he wasn’t busy so I invited him to order a bottle of wine he thought suitable for the dinner I had ordered and share it with me. We talked for over an hour. It was thrilling. 

I went back to Mendoza with my godson after he graduated from law school. He bought me an autographed copy of Mallman’s Seven Fires – Grilling the Argentine Way. Another memory I treasure.

I am a fan of David Lebovitz and had the chance to meet him at a book-signing at Barnes & Noble on Park Avenue in NYC when I was still living in Jersey City. There I picked up his new book Ready for Dessert – My Best Recipes which he graciously signed for me. David lives in Paris with his partner and has a delightful blog to which, if you’re a foodie, you might want to subscribe. 

The last of my autographed “souvenir” books is Home Cooking with Jean George. I had one of the best meals of my life at his Columbus Circle restaurant in NYC with two students from the University of Michigan whom I had met at a Michigan alumni event in Manhattan. We became friends and, falling in love with NYC, they returned often staying in my apartment. The 18-course tasting menu was their thanks though I picked up the cost of the wine pairings (equal to the cost of the meal – it was that expensive). Jean George also graced our table and we were delighted to meet him. Unforgettable. 

Who could call themself a chef if they didn’t have something from Julia Child? I have her bible Mastering the Art of French Cooking as well as a later book My Life in France. I also have the English translation of what is considered the homemaker’s bible of French cooking by Ginette Mathiot entitled I Know How To Cook. 

My first ever French cookbook was published in 1959 by Joseph Donon: The Classic French Cuisine. I learned how to make profiteroles from this book over 40 years ago. 

The second French cookbook I purchased was Patricia Wells’ At Home in Provence. If you aren’t familiar with her, look her up. She is an American who made her way to France years ago. This particular cookbook has helped me make preserved lemons but also gave me the best tart recipe I’ve ever had: Apricot Honey-Almond Tart. Its crust is amazing and the rest is unbelievable. It gets raves whenever I make it though I often substitute canned peaches so I can make it year-round. One of the significant parts of this recipe is almond extract in both the crust and the cream that is poured over the fruit. It provides a very rich flavor such that I double the recommended amount and am never disappointed. 

I have two cookbooks from City Tavern in Philadelphia which provides a great dining experience taking one back to Revolutionary times. The wait staff are dressed in colonial attire and the menu authentic to the era. The City Tavern Cookbook has two outstanding recipes that I’ve used often: Thomas Jefferson’s Sweet Potato Biscuits and Chicken Madeira. 

The second book is the City Tavern Baking & Dessert cookbook but I haven’t dug into it yet. 

The Guardian did a story on cookbooks. Do people really use them or do they hang on to them for the sheer pleasure of their company? For me, it’s both. But I’m reminded even as I write that I need to revisit these books as they are culinary adventures and there is much yet to be learned and enjoyed. I’ll add that to my list of things to do…. 

Next week I’m cooking Thanksgiving dinner for several French neighbors and my friends Gayle and Bernard. I’ve ordered the turkeys. The cranberries are in the freezer. I picked up some Jiffy Cornbread mix on my last visit to the US so will forego Thomas Jefferson’s Sweet Potato Biscuits this year. But I will cook the City Tavern’s recipe for turnips, parsnips and mashed potatoes, combined in equal amounts and flavored with chicken broth, onion, cream, nutmeg and, of course, some good French butter. 

As an appetizer I’m serving shrimp briefly baked over butter and lemon slices and seasoned with a Cajun mixture that we’ll have with the local champagne, blanquette. There will be my mother’s famed recipes for creamed carrots and stuffing made with pork and hamburger which she learned from my paternal French-Canadian grandmother as well as parboiled green beans with butter and slivered almonds. I’ll also make another Michigan favorite: sweet potatoes with pineapple slices, cinnamon and walnuts finished with mini-marshmallows.

Gayle will make a pumpkin pie and I’ll make a pecan pie flavored with bourbon. It will be a first-time event for my French neighbors experiencing an American Thanksgiving. It was promised two years ago, but COVID changed our plans. 

We’re fortunate to have just outside my village the Domaine Le Fort whose 2020 Cuvée Blanche was named #1 chardonnay in the world this past March. Their 2019 Domaine Le Fort Rouge aged in oak barrels has been included in the 2023 Hachette Guide. As the 2020 Cuvée Blanche is long gone given small production, we’ll have the 2021 vintage instead.

Happy Thanksgiving, bonne cuisine et bon appétit!

This is supposed to be a blog about living in France. But I would be remiss if I didn’t honor my mother with a few words for it is she who was the reason for my love affair with this beautiful country. She died September 19 at the age of 97. 

My mother, Catherine, was born in Windsor, Ontario in August, 1925. She was adopted but we learned two years ago through DNA analysis that her adoptive father was in fact her natural father. When I told her this, she said “I always knew it.” And she did. His love for her was unquestioned and they were very close. 

My mother lost her father from bladder cancer when she was 11 years old. He was 47. The wound was always there and she missed him her entire life.

They had immigrated from Canada to Detroit when she was eight years old. Her first language was French because that is what her maternal grandparents spoke. But she lost her fluency once she came to the US. 

I remember 1990 when I took my parents to Europe to visit my dad’s brother’s grave in the American Cemetery in St. Avold, France. On the way from Charles De Gaulle Airport to our hotel in Paris, I told the taxi driver about my mother being French Canadian and this, France, was our heritage. She said she understood the conversation, but she wouldn’t speak.

My mother’s family came from Pain Court and Chatham, Ontario 60 miles north of Windsor. French is the principal language to this day in the schools of Pain Court. Few are aware of the French communities extant in southwestern Ontario for several centuries. 

People often ask me why I became enamored by the French language. I tell them that I would hear my grandmother speaking to my mother in French when I was a little boy. I told myself that I needed to learn this language. I thought it was cool to be able to converse “in code” so to speak. The desire stayed with me so, as soon as it was possible, I began to study French. That happened in my freshman year of high school and continued through college. Fortunately over the years there were trips and work that enabled me to associate with people who spoke French. It wasn’t until 1986, when a trip to France organized around the major cathedrals encircling Paris became a turning point for me. French became real and my ability to communicate was transformed from struggling, to having a certain degree of actual capability. It was exhausting, but it pushed me. I even began leaving the French-English pocket dictionary at home. 

As I reported before, in the year 2000 I brought my family to France using my many frequent flyer miles and hotel points to celebrate my mother‘s 75th birthday, my 50th birthday and that of my sister-in-law as well as the 16th birthday of my niece. We spent three weeks between Paris, the Loire Valley and the Dordogne region ending up in Bordeaux. I told my mother then that maybe for her 80th birthday I would have my own house here. It would take another 18 years before that became a reality.

She married my dad at the age of 22 and subsequently had six children. Their life was not easy as my father dealt with peripheral vascular disease, Berger’s Disease, subsequent bilateral amputations and alcoholism. Yet, my mother was strong and stood by his side. Because of my father, I worked in addiction medicine and I am happy to say that through an intervention, my father had 15 years of sobriety before he died. It changed everything. But it was my mother who held things together.

After my father died in 1998, I paid special attention to my mother trying to fill the role my father had played in terms of special remembrances on her birthday and Christmas. It was my father’s tradition to always buy my mother perfume and dusting powder for Christmas. I continued in his place.

Before my father died, my siblings collectively chipped in to send our parents on trips to Ireland, Hawaii and Alaska for special anniversaries. Later, I did what I could for my mother to ensure she was comfortable and enjoyed every day.

I learned from my mother constantly. She always had a kind word. She was never erratic, unstable, judgmental or condemning. I loved how, rather than telling you that you might be wrong, she would ask “Have you ever thought about this…?” Her approach was instructional and supportive. 

I can recall being in the 7^th grade and the teacher and football coach at our Catholic grade school told my mother I needed to play football. I was 6’2” by the time I was 12, so this coach (and, two years later, another in high school), expected me to be athletic. But football wasn’t for me. I tried, but hated it. His comment was “You will be sorry.” There was hidden meaning, but my mother stood up for me just like she did when I was in the 5^th grade and the teacher told her she wanted to advance me a grade. “He’s read every book in the library and he needs a greater challenge.” My mother said no, telling this teacher that while my intellect may have been ready, socially I was not. Mother knew best. 

Because she was not an American citizen until the age of 21, she was ultimately denied admission to nursing school in Detroit even though she had been previously accepted. The year was 1943 and the US was drawn into World War II. Once the school discovered she was Canadian, they rescinded her place. Her physician in Windsor who had known her all her young life offered her a place in Canada. But if my mother would have left, she would have given up the opportunity to become a US citizen, so she turned it down. I know she would have been a great nurse. She had an innate and nonsensical wisdom. 

My mother was a proud and humble woman, sometimes lacking confidence. Nursing would have built her confidence. I like to think that in time she saw through all of this and realized what she brought to the table.

She gave us the gift of her extended family scattered between Michigan and Ontario. Summers would draw us together around a bonfire on a family farm in Algonac, Michigan singing “Alouette” into the wee hours of the morning. Then there were the excursions to visit her cousin, Violet Cartier, whose very large family of 21 children in Wyoming, Ontario had French as their first language. Their life was difficult, but my parents did all they could to help them. There were great lessons in their compassion.

After her father died, she became especially close to her Uncle Fred, my grandmother’s brother, who took her under his wing and brought her home every weekend to be with his family. She came to know and grew close to these cousins and especially Fred, Pauline and Lois. Fred would become a Trappist monk. Lois, a Dominican nun. I cannot overstate the impact these two in particular would have on our lives, mine especially. They were awesome loving individuals I miss to this day.

My parents moved to Florida in 1974 and I made it a point to visit them every Christmas and my mother’s birthday since. I missed only one Christmas and that was in protest of my father’s alcoholism. Otherwise, I was there.

Every time I saw my mother in recent years, I knew it might be the last. I tried to make every moment count. So I am filled with good memories of happy times. My only regret is that she never had a chance to see my home in France. 

I am also consoled by the fact that she is reunited with my father, her father, my sister and my brother. Having dealt with Alzheimer’s in the last few years, my mother has been gone for a while. She is now at rest and no longer suffering. That gives me peace. 

RIP, Mom. You did what you could and you kept us together. We will always be grateful for your strength and fortitude. You were a shining example throughout your life for us your children, your grandchildren and great grandchildren, your nieces and nephews, and great nieces and nephews who have remembered you as such with kind words about ”Grandma” and “Aunt Catherine.” Your quiet and unassuming dignity and regal bearing were noticed, admirable and characteristic of the fine person you were. 

I am particularly grateful for you having given us our French heritage. It has for me been a lifelong adventure of discovery. Not just the language, but the culture, the cuisine, and the history. While your father’s family emigrated from France in 1660, I tell people here in France that I have made the return: “J’ai fait la retour.” Who knew we would come full circle?

It has been a busy summer. I had a trip back to the US to first celebrate my mother’s 97^th birthday in Florida. From there I went to see family and friends in Atlanta. It was hectic and fun and particularly wonderful to have my friends Randy & Jerry fly to Atlanta from Grand Rapids, Michigan to share the weekend. Friends are priceless.

This year and last I had a reaction to these visits. Returning to France last year was particularly difficult. For the first time in my life I wasn’t very excited about boarding the flight to Paris. I had had such a good time that I was already missing my family and friends. Leaving them behind reinforced how alone I am in France. This year was a little easier, but I’ve still had a reaction in the past few weeks and found the need to spend time alone and think it all through. I am where I want to be; there is no question. I have concluded that I simply need to increase my social network and feel more connected than I currently do. It’s a Catch-22 in the sense that I value and enjoy my private time. But I suppose it’s a question of finding balance.

My friend Scott in Atlanta lived for three years in Denmark. We talked about this and he said “Once you’ve established yourself in another country, you will always feel torn between the two.” It makes sense. Then I found this.

So there is a price to making such a move, especially when single. Not only was it audacieux (audacious) as observed by one of my French teachers early on, there is a certain amount of conflict that ultimately presents itself. I hope to understand this better as time passes and resolve it so that the negative energy dissipates. A move to France (or anywhere away from one’s roots) is often romanticized and idolized. But this brings home a different reality.

I came across this article that is mostly an advertisement for Cigna Insurance, but it makes these points.

It doesn’t help that the legal saga with regard to my house continues and that there have been demands from my Toulouse-based attorney. It seems we’re getting close to a decision from the Tribunal. Stay tuned. It is more than a bit anxiety-provoking. 

One of my neighbors had houseguests from Toulouse this past weekend, including an architect who generously offered to come and take a look at the situation. He had some interesting observations and, after nearly two hours together, I offered him a bottle of wine as a token of my appreciation. Long story short, I was invited for aperos (drinks & snacks) that led into dinner. I was there until 1 AM. But it was fun!

I’m not often with a group of French people like this. They’re all professionals and have been friends for years. It showed. Throughout the evening there was jovial bantering and quick humor that I found very amusing. After dinner, the music was cranked up, the table pushed aside and everyone started dancing each taking a turn at selecting their favorite rock band. Who cared that it was midnight and the windows were wide open! I needed this night out despite the late hour. And I decided once again that I need to expand my social circle, get out more, and have fun.

While I was away, my friend Zandra from Philadelphia returned to housesit and enjoy France. This was her fourth visit here and the second time to take the reins of the house and manage my cat. She has made a lot of friends including my neighbors, so she was pretty busy. We had a few days together after I got back and before her return to the US so we first made a trip to Alet-les-Bains about 30 km south. It is a small and quaint village with monastic ruins dating to the eighth century. It was a hot day, so we didn’t linger. 

On Saturday, we went to the rather famous marché in Ravel in the Tarn, about halfway to Toulouse. It was impressive and the crowd thick. It’s nice to see the end of the pandemic. 

These markets are enjoyable for many reasons. First, it’s an opportunity to get out and have some fun. It also serves the purpose of stocking up the pantry. Occasionally, I discover something new and in Revel, this was the case.

There are many regional dishes. The cassoulet is one hailing from Castelnaudary, just north of me. At the Revel market, however, I discovered a pastry called a Poumpet. It looked like a strudel. But when I asked, I was told it was a mixture of lemon infused into the batter (but without curd). Loving most things with lemon because of the subtle flavor, I bought one and was glad I did. It is now on my list of things to learn to make. And it will definitely draw me back to Revel again one day soon.

The next week we had our first organ concert in three years due to COVID. I briefly mentioned the 2019 concert in this post. As of June, I now sit on the Conseil d’Administration (advisory board) for the Association des Amis de l’Orgue et de la Collégiale de Montréal d’Aude (AOCMA for short). Philippe Lefebvre, one of the head organists at Notre Dame in Paris lives on a farm just outside the village and chairs the organization. Each year he provides a concert. Because the church’s historic organ is out for restoration until the end of 2023, he brings in a 15-rank organ he uses to tour. It’s pretty impressive.

The church was packed and the concert invigorating. I look forward to the day when the organ is back so I can play it.

This past weekend we enjoyed Feria de Carcassonne with live bands and food in the city center. The event was free to the public so I checked it out after meeting friends at The Tasting Room, a wine bar just off Place Carnot. It’s owned by Hadrian who hails from Brooklyn. He’s spent much of his life outside of the US, first spending many years in Italy. He set up shop here about a year ago along with his brother who makes pizza to accompany the wine. It’s a nice place, very casual, and attracts many anglophones. I don’t go often but when I do, I inevitably meet up with people I know. It’s fun on a Friday night to celebrate the end of the week – much like what I did in Atlanta at Campagnolo where I came to know a great group of friends.  Here’s a photo of us reconvening in Atlanta. I was thrilled to see them. 

This weekend we have another festival: Taste of Minervois. The Minervois is one of the wine regions just northeast of Carcassonne. One of my favorites from this region is Chateau St. Jacques d’Albas, but there are many more and this festival will permit their discovery. So I’ve organized a group of friends to go Saturday evening. I am looking forward to it.

When my friends Daniel and Patrick were here in June, we made a stop one afternoon at a supermarché in Castelnaudary to pick up a few things. Daniel purchased a bottle of Gerard Bertrand’s Fitou Reserve 2019. We didn’t have time to open it while he was here, so he left it behind. I finally had the chance to give it a try two weeks ago.  It was fantastic! I went to a branch of the supermarché in Carcassonne and couldn’t find it. But last week I was in Limoux and dropped by the supermarché there to find they had it in stock. So now I have two cases sitting in my cave. It is a real find and worth pursuing if you are a lover of strong red wine.

Gerard Bertrand  is a former professional rugby player from Narbonne and now owns 16 domaines in the Languedoc-Rousillon inheriting a family business but expanding it dramatically under his tenure with some award-winning wines. 

I had heard of the Fitou region but didn’t know their wines until Daniel’s discovery. There is much to explore and one of the beauties of living in the region. I did a count today and my cave has 116 bottles (all of which are red except for 5 bottles) plus three magnums that I just keep for the occasional dinner or as a gift when I go to someone’s house. I rarely drink at home. Given a family history of alcoholism, it isn’t a practice I want to take up. So they languish in my cave awaiting an occasion. I will probably never run out of wine! Yet when I find a good one, I like to stock up.

It has been hot. Several weeks ago we reached 43 C/106 F and most days it has been in the 90s (35 C or higher). This week it finally broke and we even got some much needed rain. Water rationing is not yet mandated, but we are on an orange alert with watering of plants limited to three days per week and the washing of cars at home prohibited. Overall, we’ve been encouraged to cut back in all ways possible. So that means shorter showers, running the dishwasher (which actually does save water), and just generally being conscious of usage.

Between the thick walls of this 600 year-old house, shutters, blinds and drapes fitted with material to deflect the heat, I’ve managed pretty well turning on the AC only when it gets above 95 F (35 C). It appears the worst is over as we head into September. 

Due to the war in Ukraine, you have no doubt read of the potential gas shortage as Russia stops the gas pipeline into Europe. Only 30% of gas in France comes from Russia and the government is working hard to plan for winter. The news a few days ago is that the desired level of gas on reserve for winter is near 100%. But there is no predicting how severe the weather will be. The government announced that businesses will be mostly affected by rationing should it come to that. But once again, they’ve asked the population to do what they can to preserve and economize. Last week President Macron said that we “will have to suffer a bit.” Surprisingly, there wasn’t much reaction to that statement. Hardship is nothing new to the people of Europe. Though the World Wars I & II are distant memories, those memories remain fresh based on stories from the elders if not personal experience.  

Summer is coming to a close. We’re into la rentrée. School started September 1 throughout the country and most people have returned to work. Les vacances are over. 

As summer comes to an end, so do its many activities. With la rentrée, the community pool in my village closed this week.

Speaking of pools, the New York Times this week published an article depicting how some people in France have not reported to their mairie the addition of new swimming pools. This obviously affects property values and, to the government, taxes. So the government is utilizing drones to scan and identify the evaders.

It isn’t just the French. I have observed many Brits who try to skirt the system and laws on a variety of issues, including reporting their major home improvements. I suppose it’s human and happens everywhere. But for some reason it seems to be more apparent here. Some will soon be in for a surprise.

This raises another topic: blanket statements.

While Zandra was here she was curious about a number of topics including who can work in France if they don’t have a work visa even if the work is in the US (tricky, except for artists), who can invest in the stock market in France (as non-citizens we cannot), how to manage banking and investment accounts in the US, etc. She had received a number of opinions some of which were conflicting. 

There are an estimated 150,000 Americans living in France and it seems every one of us is anxious to share our opinions. We’re excited about living here and want to share the joy. But anecdotal experience doesn’t make for fact with every individual’s situation being unique. And some are not playing by the rules, that is: the law. They may even have received bad counsel. 

There are multiple Facebook groups that formed for Americans living in France and I’ve left several of them because they felt very self-centered, even competitive and sometimes boastful to say nothing of having bad information. And it isn’t just Facebook. I picked up a book assessing the French written by a Brit which was so off-balance I threw it away. So be aware: everyone has an opinion, but not everyone is right. It’s just their experience.

If it ever comes to the point of having to make this move, do your homework. I have found some Facebook groups are very helpful and well-informed. Examples are Applying for a French CDS (Carte de Sejour),  Strictly Fiscal France, Strictly Legal France and another on how to secure a French driver’s license (no easy task!). The CDS and driver’s license groups were particularly helpful to me in the process of securing both. Otherwise, be cautious.

Aside from students returning to the classroom, as of September 1 the entire population is beneficiary to a 0.25 centime rebate at the gas pump until the end of October when it reduces to 0.10 centimes per liter. We’ve been averaging over US$7 per gallon. But with the rebate, the cost to fill my tank was the equivalent of US$5.77 per gallon – the best I’ve seen in years. While the rebate is temporary, it is sympathetic to those who must return to work after les vacances and where driving is no longer a choice, but a necessity. I’m glad I waited to fill my tank until September 1!

My French classes will resume late September though I’m putting off the more advanced class until Monday, October 3. It turns out I have a reunion to attend in Detroit on Saturday, September 24. I will fly in Friday and return Sunday night. It is absolutely crazy to be making this trip for such a short amount of time, but as it is an important occasion (50^thAnniversary, in fact, of the Mercy College of Detroit Physician Assistant Program, now part of University of Detroit Mercy; I was in the fifth class: Class of ‘78). The founding director turned 96 in July and will be there. I can’t wait! But the French classes will have to. 

Bon retour! 

Retirement is great. One (finally!) is no longer accountable to anyone. Aside from normal tasks, there is no longer any great burden or responsibility. Since retiring at the end of 2018, I have relished my freedom. The move was consuming and stressful in terms of buying the house, selling off items that I either wouldn’t need or couldn’t place in my new home, arranging for the move including transporting and immigrating with my cat – my biggest stress since she was feral and easily alarmed; I just didn’t know how she was going to cope and how we were going to manage the flights. But we did it. 

It took about eight months for me to recover just in terms of the fatigue. There were days where I slept well into the afternoon. Eventually I put myself on a schedule which proved itself to be very helpful. So it’s usually bedtime by 11 PM with an alarm set for 8:30 AM which I sometimes honor and sometimes just turn over and ignore. Being retired, I can do what I want.

This part of France is known for its light. It is the reason that many artists were and are attracted to the region. Think Picasso, Van Gogh and Matisse. Typical of most men my age, I often don’t sleep through the night and will awake usually 5-6 hours after retiring. Then it is sometimes difficult to return to sleep. But at this time of the year, I enjoy seeing the sunrise. 

The sky goes from a dark blue to gray and then the rising sun turns the fields of wheat to gold soon casting a warm orange-red light as the sun once again presents itself. It is a joy to behold as I lay in my bed looking out the window. 

I’ve often wished I had my camera handy to catch these moments of magical color. This morning, awakening at 5:30, I decided to grab my phone and snap the sunrise. It was worth it. This is the view looking south to the Pyrenées with the rolling foothills in the foreground. The wheat is being harvested leaving behind beautiful fields of golden hay. It is an impressive time of year. 

The sunflowers are also in full bloom and will continue to entertain us until the end of August. 

But the big news at the moment is the heat. It has been incessant for over a week and there is no end in sight as the predictions remain for high temperatures for the next 10 days. 

It is summer after all but today’s news is that the record for the average high temperature in France may be broken on Monday.

June was a mix of hot and cool weather and the view to the mountains, if not cloud-covered, was hazy. But July has been different, with clearer views and the heat unrelenting. Today the temperature actually reached a high of 101 F/38 C. Two days ago it registered at 104 F/40 C.  This is rare here.

How do we manage? 

One of the first things I did upon moving was to install air conditioning. Given the war in Ukraine, we’ve been asked to cut back on our gas and electric utilization so for a few days, I tested the European approach to managing the heat.

Because some of the nights were cool (down to 60 F/16 C), I was able to open the windows late in the evening allowing the house to cool down. In the morning, I closed the windows, drapes and shutters to keep the heat out and the cool air in. Surprisingly, it worked well until the daytime temps got above 95 F/34 C. It was just too hot and too stuffy. When it did work, however, the internal temperature maintained at 77 F (25 C). My 600 year-old home’s thick walls insulate well. 

If I have been working outside and feeling the heat, a nice cool shower before retiring freshens me up and I sleep like a baby. Some people don’t dry after their shower, but wrap themselves up in their sheets to moisten and cool them. The sheets dry long after they have comfortably fallen asleep. I learned this from my French colleagues in Paris years ago. They called it “French air conditioning.”  

Similarly, I came across this yesterday – recommending freezing pillow cases to cool down during this heat wave.

June was otherwise a busy month. Patrick, a high-school classmate arrived early in the month to house-sit for my friends Gayle & Bernard as they crossed the pond to visit family in the US and Canada for nearly four weeks. Pat stayed with me one night as he transitioned to their house on their day of departure. We lined him up with a rental car from one of the local supermarchés, E LeClerc, for 5 euros/day plus 0.20 centimes per kilometer. It was a better deal than anything else we could find, so he grabbed it. 

Pat kept himself busy working off a long list we had created of things to see and do including some randonnées (hikes) organized by Acceuils des Villes Francaises (AVF), the organization through which I have my French classes. He met a lot of people and made some good friends who at one point suggested he should consider moving here. The jury is out but as I told him, it all depends upon how he feels once back in the US where he can be objective. How did it feel? Does he miss it here? Then, in this whole process of evaluation, come again and try it again. And again if necessary. These aren’t quick decisions nor should they be. Eventually the heart and the mind know. 

About a week later, Daniel, a former colleague from both Kalamazoo and New Jersey arrived from Botswana where he has lived for the past eight years working with the Peace Corps and later, with an NGO in communications. He likes it there. Given COVID, this was the first opportunity Daniel had to visit. It was great. 

Given my class schedule, Pat & Daniel hung out and did some touring together and I joined them when possible. They hit it off and our time together was easy and fun. I have to say, the times we spent together were among the best times I have had here. Pat and I did a lot of reminiscing of our days at Detroit Catholic Central between our classmates, teachers and the priests. We even brought out the yearbooks to review names and faces. We made for an amiable trio enjoying the sites, the cuisine and the wine. I hope the future will allow the three of us to convene again. 

One of our joint tours first took us to Montolieu (“The Village of Books”), with mostly used books in both English and French, Saissac with its 11^th century castle ruins high up in the Montagne Noire, and the Abbey of Saint-Papoul, one of the prettiest monasteries around. 

We got to Montolieu around lunchtime but first stopped at one of the largest bookstores. I have been reading about the French Resistance during World War II and came across a small book of only 79 pages written for British soldiers about to depart for France: Quand Vous Serez en France (When You Are in France) originally published in 1944. This version was a translation into French and published in 1974. But I thought it would be an interesting read (and good practice reading in French) so picked it up. Among its opening lines was this: 

“S’il vous arrive de croire que la première jolie francaise que vous sourit se propose de danser le french cancan ou de vous inviter dans son lit, vous risquez de vous attirer de gros ennuis et vous compromettrez les relations franco-britanniques.”

“If you happen to believe that the first pretty French girl you smile at is proposing to dance the French cancan or invite you to her bed, you risk getting yourself into big trouble and you will jeopardize Franco-British relations.”

It is a book sensitive to the illustrious history of this great nation, perceptions of its citizens given the debacle at Dunkerque in 1940, the deprivation and suffering they were enduring under the Nazi occupation, and how to successfully navigate as guest defenders. I have skimmed it and felt the pride of the French. I can’t wait to read it more carefully. 

My neighbor, Dennis, subsequently lent me a copy of a newly published book by Kate Vigurs, PhD, who, as it turns out, had been one of his students back in Harrogate, England. Entitled Mission France, it is a brilliant, comprehensive and well-researched book documenting the stories of 39 women commissioned by the British government as agents in support of the French Resistance. It is well worth the read.

I have just completed another book of this genre entitled War Dog by Damien Lewis. It is the story of a Czech airman trained under the French Foreign Legion who, shot down in “No man’s land” between the French and German lines, discovers a 4-week old German Shepherd, obviously abandoned. They bond and the dog becomes a remarkably intelligent ally in the battle against the Nazis, even accompanying the airmen on their battle missions. I enjoyed it. 

I’ve also somewhat serendipitously picked up a copy of Histoire de la Resistance: la Battaille du Silence (History of the Resistance: the Battle of Silence) published underground in 1944 and authored under the alias Vercors, which refers to a region in France south of Grenoble. The author was identified post-war as Jean Brulier whose goal was to inspire hope amongst the French in these dark times. Thousands of copies were printed underground, hand assembled and stitched together by women volunteers taking great risk – all of them – then distributed by hand nationwide for the French to read. 

After perusing the bookstore, we had a wonderful lunch at La Rencontre, an adjacent outdoor café, so good that I vowed to return which I did this week with Chantal. It was as good the second time around. I’ll be back for sure. 

From Montolieu, we headed to Saissac via beautiful winding roads high up the Montagne Noire overlooking the valley below and the Pyrenées in the distance. Pat & Daniel toured the 11th century ruins and museum while I caught up on yet one more book I’ve been reading about World War II, a novel: The Chateau of Illusions by Guy Hibbert. I have this book on Kindle so it’s easy to pull up when out and about and I clamor for something to occupy my time. It’s a light read but so far, so good.  

Next, we took the winding road near the top of the Montagne Noire towards the Abbey of Saint-Papoule. It is one of the larger monasteries and the church is still functional though there are no longer any monks. Rumor had it that it was actually for sale, but when I asked the staff person selling admission tickets the status of that, she denied it saying that the Abbey was the property of the village and it was definitively not for sale. Or was she trying to conceal their ambition?

On a beautiful Saturday, Pat, Dan & I went to the Truffe et Terroir open market in nearby Roullens. I had gone a few years ago and found it interesting with black truffles for sale, wine tasting etc. This year was more subdued, but we enjoyed a few wines and nibbles. Following, we came back to my home where I made a dinner including chicken picatta and cherry clafouti for dessert, as the black cherries are abundantly in season. Dinner at home with good wine, good food and good friends. Does life get any better?

In May, there had been a meeting of the commune’s organ association. We have a reputable pipe organ in our historic church that is currently under restoration. Philippe Lefebvre, one of three organistes titulaires of Notre Dame in Paris and who lives outside of the village, heads the association. It was the first meeting in several years given the pandemic. Fortunately my neighbor Martine alerted me to the meeting so we went together. Long story short, there was a request for people to join the advisory board (Conseil d’Administration). Several women knew I had been an organist and nominated me. I protested but when I discussed my primary reason for hesitating being my ability to effectively communicate one woman said “Et alors?” (“And so?”) with a big smile on her face. It was amusing and perhaps a subtle vote of confidence .  

After this meeting, one of the attendees, upon learning I was an organist, asked me if I would play for some of the church services. I told her that I was retired and enjoying my freedom so that I didn’t want any commitments. I finally relented and said maybe, once in a while. Mais pas souvent! (But not often!) It goes back to the responsibility thing. I worked long and hard enough so that now I jealously protect my time and my privacy. I enjoy reading, writing and teaching. That is plenty for the moment. 

I don’t yet consider myself completely fluent in French and hence my hesitation being on the Conseil d’Administration is my ability to be able to not only comprehend the fine detail, but effectively communicate my position should I be asked for an opinion. With a little trepidation, I went to my first meeting June 14 which was held in the Salle du Conseil of the mairie (town hall). 

The Vice President of the organization speaks good English so following the meeting, I took my notes and asked him to tell me if I accurately captured the meeting’s topics. It turns out I did. So my aural comprehension was good. I missed a few details, the result of multiple conversations taking place simultaneously. But I was encouraged. And it is good exposure as the French expect residents to somehow contribute to the well-being of the community.  

Later that week, I took Pat and Daniel on my favorite walk in the vineyards. They were not disappointed. However we nearly got caught in a massive storm….

The end of June brought to close my three French classes for this academic year. We’ll reconvene at the end of September. I’m pleased with the progress we have made in each but happy to have a break. It’s a lot of work preparing every week. 

I asked my friend Jim who is in the first class if he would mind hosting a garden party for all three classes to come together and celebrate the end of the year. He graciously agreed and we held it on Monday, June 28. I invited the AVF leadership to show them how many people we are and how we have supported their organization. Jim has an 18^th century home just north of my village overlooking both the Pyrenées and the Montagne Noire that he and his partner have beautifully renovated. It sits on about eight hectares (nearly 20 acres) and has gorgeous gardens. The weather wasn’t the best, but our potluck turned out to be a lot of fun anyway. 

The combined classes gave me a subscription to PARIS MATCH in appreciation for my efforts this past year. The first copy arrived yesterday. I’ll be up on all the trends and gossip in France before long! 

Patrick, Daniel and I kept busy but the day after the garden party we said goodbye to Daniel.

One of my most favorite vineyards is the first I came to know in 2013 on a visit here with friends: Chateau Saint-Jacques d’Albas. It is about 20 minutes northeast of Carcassonne and based in a renovated medieval priory. It boasts an 11th-century chapel with a Visigoth grave behind it. It’s a great place to visit and their wines are exceptional. Their top-of-the-line wines are called La Chapelle. While I’m usually a fan of red wines, I have discovered that some of the white wines here are incredible in their complexity (including the award-winning wines of the local domaine Domaine Le Fort).

I hadn’t been to Chateau Saint-Jacques d’Albas in a while given the pandemic, but it is very much worth seeing. So Pat and I drove out and tasted the current vintages. They did not disappoint. The La Chapelle white is a Viognier which is absolutely incredible. All I can think of when I taste these rich, full-bodied white wines is “liquid gold” and that they are. Fortunately for US residents, the wines of Chateau Saint-Jacques d’Albas are imported to the US. Sadly, those of Domaine Le Fort are not.

Patrick is a talented guitarist and plays and sings at Celtic pubs in Detroit and Windsor, Ontario. He brought his guitar with him and entertained us at the garden party and open-mic night at the Celt Pub in Carcassonne. A number of my friends came to cheer him on.

Fortunately Pat was up first so the night wasn’t too long for early the next day he and I were on our way to Mirepoix for the weekly market.

The market was the biggest I have seen it in my three and a half years here. I think we’re all celebrating the end of the COVID pandemic. Given that nearly 80% of the population (children and adults) are vaccinated in France, we’re seeing little uptick in terms of COVID infections and the precautions have all but been removed. So the crowds were big and the stalls extensive. 

Taking a break from the market, I showed Pat the Cathedral de Saint Maurice with its wide nave.

After a slow but very good lunch in the courtyard of a nice restaurant in Mirepoix, we had a rendezvous with a man referred to me who sells accordians. I have decided I’d like to learn the instrument and delve into the local world of folk music. We had a seminar on diatonic vs. chromatic instruments and buttons vs. keyboard. Given my keyboard background, I was assured that that would be my best bet. However, I’ve been told that once the buttons are learned, it is actually easier to play an all-button accordéon. The French brand Maugein Frères is most famous and authentic. I played several and settled on one that might work. But the jury is still out. 

Pat departed the next day for Paris to catch his flight back to the US. His train took him first to Narbonne where he was to connect with a high-speed train to Lyon. It’s a pretty easy trip provided the trains are on time. His Carcassonne connection was not so he was forced to overnight in Narbonne and rebook for the following morning. He was very fortunate to secure a seat on a train, not only because it was last minute, but because there was a nationwide rail strike. Fortunately there were a few trains still running. 

Speaking of trains, in the news this week was an update on fast trains linking London to the continent. This map shows intended expansion of service to Amsterdam, several locations in Germany, Bordeaux, Marseilles and the Haute-Savoie.

We have one daily TGV (Train Grand Vitesse) that makes its way from Lyon to Toulouse with stops in Valence, Nîmes, Montpelier, Narbonne and Carcassonne. What I’d love to see one day, however, is a direct TGV train from Toulouse to Paris. The tracks haven’t been built and that is the problem. There is to be expansion of fast-speed tracks from Bordeaux to Toulouse which would make a difference, but even that is being held up by a protest for some unknown reason by the mayor of Bordeaux. 

The ride from Paris to Bordeaux on a TGV is only two hours. But because the tracks cannot accommodate the TGV between Bordeaux and Toulouse, the trip between the two cities is another 2 hours. Then the local train to either Bram (my closest station) or Carcassonne is another hour. Were we to have a direct train from Toulouse to Paris, the trip could take, like Bordeaux, a maximum of two hours. One can always hope but it will likely be decades before that comes to be.

One more news story pertinent to France is the shortage of mustard. It has been impossible to buy mustard for about two months now. The blame is cast on crop failures in Canada and Ukraine: Canada due to weather and Ukraine due to the war. There was a story on this in today’s New York Times. So mustard is on my shopping list when I return to the US.

Last year at this time the Tour de France came through the village. (See here and here ). This year, they still come to Carcassonne, but will travel southwest to Limoux en route to Foix. They arrive Sunday, July 17, have the day off Monday, then depart Tuesday, July 19. Let’s hope they endure the heat as la canicule (heat wave) overtakes the country.

Yesterday France celebrated La Fête Nationale, known to Americans as Bastille Day (but never called that here). Because it occurred on a Thursday, it has made for a nice long weekend. We had fireworks in Montréal the evening prior and I was able to watch them from home. 

During the summer months, we have Les jeudis en Malpère (Thursdays in the Malpère) where each Thursday evening several vineyards open for wine-tasting, entertainment and food. The first year I was here I made the rounds and got to know quite a few of the local domaines. I quickly filled my cave and I’m still tapping into it. Given that I have been aggressively on a low-carb diet for nearly a year, wine and spirits haven’t been in the picture.  So I doubt I’ll get to any of the events this year, but you never know. 

Just this week I came across this article from CNN. Based on the photo, I fully expected it be about La Rochelle and the Charente-Maritime, but it wasn’t. It was about my department, the Aude. It has been said before that this part of France is a well-kept secret. Maybe, maybe not. But for me, it is preferable as I enjoy the quiet and absence of crowds and traffic. 

In just two more weeks I will be traveling across the pond to Florida for my mother’s 97^th birthday celebration. From there I’ll head to Atlanta to visit with my youngest sister and her family. Friends Randy & Jerry are flying down from Grand Rapids, MIchigan to join us. I am looking forward to the fun. The summer is full but my heart and home are here in France. I know I will be anxious to return.  

Five years ago, a good friend from Michigan gave me a copy of the book Many Lives, Many Masters by Brian Weiss, MD. Some might find it strange because it is about reincarnation.

Brian Weiss was the Chairman of the Department of Psychiatry at the University of Miami when a young woman, a medical technologist at the University’s hospital, was referred by her boyfriend, a pediatrician and a friend and colleague of Dr. Weiss. This woman had increasing anxiety to the point she was self-isolating. Her boyfriend encouraged her to seek professional advice and after a time, she did.

Dr. Weiss couldn’t identify any valid reasons for her anxiety. Her life was good and so was her career. So he finally decided to utilize hypnosis to see what he might discover. He was blown away to find that she had been reincarnated and the cause of death was the source of some of her anxiety. Long story short, in the process of several years, he discovered she had had more than 80 different reincarnations, the cause of death from each one contributing to her collective anxiety. Processing each of these, she gradually became well and functional once again.

During one of the sessions, the so-called “masters” spoke to Dr. Weiss through the patient telling him that they wanted him to know about this and that he should enlighten others. Dr. Weiss writes that he risked his professional reputation and integrity by publicly speaking and publishing the book about this. But he had spoken with other therapists including the dean of a medical school, who said they had also seen this phenomenon but felt it was too “out there” to openly discuss.

The “masters”- themselves higher level beings – told Dr. Weiss that the purpose of each lifetime is to learn some big lesson. Once learned, one moves on and processes with the masters in a state of limbo between lifetimes, then comes back for the next lesson carrying with him or her the wisdom of the past. Hence we recognize some people as “old souls.” In fact I was told some years ago I was “an old soul” by another friend who was from India where reincarnation is widely appreciated and said “You’ve been around a few times.” I didn’t know how to take her statement at the time, but I think I understand better now in this context.

Anyway, for me the book was sufficiently convincing with stories that gave strong credibility to this woman’s past lives, that I am a believer in the possibility. The book is definitely worth a read if you’re interested in the topic. Dr. Weiss has gone on to not only write other books on reincarnation, but creating training sessions for therapists.

I had a chance to meet up with my friend who gave me the book in Michigan in June 2018, two months before she died. She was 77 and knew the end was near given pulmonary issues and being reduced to breathing with oxygen tanks at her side. She had a wicked sense of humor and so when we sat down to visit, I said, “OK… See you in the next life!” We had a good laugh and then I asked her ”But, seriously, tell me, what do you think your life lesson was in this lifetime?” Her reply was immediate. “I have no doubt. It was remorse.”

My friend had had a sad life first losing her husband in the Vietnam War, then three of her four children. She realized she had made some mistakes along the way and held all this close with guilt and shame. In reality, she was one of the kindest people I have encountered, But we are always hard on ourselves and this was her perception.

Since, I’ve asked myself what is it that I must learn in this lifetime? Recently, I’ve had some illuminating thoughts on the topic.

Moving to France was huge. It was the fulfillment of a long-held dream. Most everyone who has known me for any length of time knows that. As exciting as it was and as happy as I am with the decision, the whole process was stressful. I’ve adjusted and believe strongly that I would not have made a different decision.

I have been co-teaching the first French class I started in January 2020 with a native French woman. We’ve gotten to the point where we need native input to strengthen our conversational skills. She recently handed me a copy of Peter Mayle’s book A Year in Provence in French: Une année en Provence. She thought it would be good for me to re-read it in its French version and she was right. It has been easy enough and in even the very first few pages, my heart was reignited with the romance that Peter Mayle found living here. It’s true. France steals one’s heart. Easily. I suppose that is why the country remains one of the top tourist destinations in the world. There isn’t a part of France that doesn’t have its own beauty. Add to it the culture, the history, the language, the cuisine, and the mix is magical. Even the people and la politesse about which I’ve described before – that politeness in society where every man, woman and child is respected with polite gestures upon meeting and departing – there is the realization that this is living at its best. Honestly, I can’t imagine better anywhere else.

While reading the book has been relatively easy, there were enough new verbs and vocabulary that I gave her copy back and bought my own to mark it up. Learning French requires a lot of work – and patience.

Last night my friends Gayle & Bernard had a neighborhood Fête des Amis for their numerous neighbors. They live on a cul-de-sac and usually tables are set up right on the street. It’s a potluck and everyone convenes for an evening of convivial conversation, good food and drink. Chantal and I were invited and it was glorious. The weather was spectacular. But I was reminded of la politesse as neighbors came and went. The perfunctory Bonjour was a constant and so was the Au revoir. Some of the neighbors didn’t know one another so when that was the case, the newcomer introduced themselves and related where they lived. This is how to build community and it was wonderful to be a part of the Fête. We enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Once again, the French do it right.

Thus la politesse, among so many other things, continues to reinforce my decision for a new life in France and I am grateful.

At the same time, at events like these when there are multiple conversations that challenge one’s hearing, the language sometimes becomes incomprehensible. And frustrating. So what is my life lesson? What is it that I need to learn?

I’ve often said that there is always something to learn. It doesn’t matter how old one is. In the process of human observation, new conclusions can always be drawn. Being here and having to undertake renovation projects chez moi has taught me some lessons. What I’ve concluded is what I need to learn is patience.

Things don’t work the way they do in the US. It is far more difficult to get a driver’s license. For me, that process took nearly two years. Upon moving to France, it was first a question of setting up a bank account, then the utilities, buying a car, getting auto and homeowner’s insurance, then validating the initial visa with a medical and language evaluation in Montpelier and setting up health care in the French system. Each task at times felt like an insurmountable obstacle. Not that I am complaining because I believe bureaucratic tasks are actually well-organized in France. It was more the lack of familiarity that made things seem overly difficult.

I still need to renew the visa annually. And each time it requires submitting nearly a dozen different documents that prove stability living here (having a place to live, health insurance, and sufficient minimum financial assets). It all requires patience.

Within a year of moving to France, I had a leak in my roof. But I also detected that what was supposed to be humidity in the studio below my terrasse, was in fact several leaks from my deck. Sadly, I’ve had to pursue legal action and hopefully there will be resolution soon. I can’t say much more about that now because to do so could defame the defense, and defamation is a serious issue in France. But for this process, I’ve had to get estimates for repair and renovation of the terrasse and the studio. This is where I have decidedly learned patience.

I’ve had six different contractors (called entrepreneurs) come to my home to give me estimates (un devis). One gave what has been perceived as an inflated price and, when asked by the court to defend the estimate, he refused. Three others refused the work as it is too difficult. Several never officially got back to me. As time went on, it became evident they didn’t want the work. Sadly, this is what happens more than I would prefer. The communication from professionals is often lacking. To save embarrassment perhaps, this is the French way.

I’m still waiting on two more estimates. The problem is that the expert appointed by the court (an architect) submitted his final report late April. He criticized the inflated devis and redlined a number of items to the point where it is 35% of the original total. If the court accepts the reduced devis, I will be responsible for the balance. Hence my desire to secure additional estimates that will defend the higher costs. I’m still waiting and time is precious.

In my career as a physician assistant (PA), I worked in the field of addiction medicine. I was driven to it because of my father’s alcoholism. As a PA student, I had a rotation at Brighton Hospital in Brighton, Michigan, one of the first treatment centers in the US. It was a gift as I learned so much about the disease of alcoholism to say nothing about myself and my own behaviors growing up with what has been identified as having broad impact on family members and others whose life interact with the alcoholic or chemically-dependent individual. I ended up working at Brighton Hospital for a few years then later at Henry Ford Hospital Maplegrove in West Bloomfield, Michigan. Simultaneously and even later once I moved to New Jersey, I participated in Al-Anon (for family members and others) and learned many useful things, including how to take life as it comes.

Some of the best slogans of AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) and Al-Anon are “One day at a time” or “Let go and let God.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said these slogans to myself recently. While the entrepreneurs have been slow on delivery of their devis, I’ve had to let go and be patient – even though a decision from the court is imminent. There is only so much I can control. The rest is up to the Universe.

I’ve recently learned patience in one other way.

Last summer I first had a trip to Nice then Italy with my friend Jennifer to celebrate her birthday. Shortly thereafter I had my annual visit back to the US to celebrate my mother’s 96th birthday and see family in Florida and Atlanta. When I saw the photos, I wasn’t happy. Living in France where the food is so good – especially the pastries – and where I learned to make bread during the pandemic, didn’t do good things for my waistline. In fact, I weighed in the heaviest I have ever been. So it was time to do something about it.

Beginning last August, I started on the low-carb diet recommended by my physician in Atlanta. He himself had lost 114 lbs on this diet and one year I went in to see him and didn’t recognize him as he had lost so much weight. Once I committed to the diet, it didn’t take too long to shed the pounds. And the proof of its value was confirmed by my cholesterol, triglyceride and blood sugar levels that improved dramatically. Fats aren’t the issue. Sugar is. The research comes out of Duke University’s Bariatric Medicine program and my experience was consistent. Moving to France, however, there were too many temptations initially. Thankfully the photos from last summer made me realize I needed to do things differently. So upon my return from the US, I dug back into the low-carb regime and became rather obsessive about it to the point where I’ve had very few dinner parties so that I can maintain the rather strict regime.

There were social occasions where I broke the diet. Then came the holidays. So I cheated once in a while, but immediately stepped back into the regime of low-carbs. As a result, there have been ups and down as I weigh myself daily to keep myself on track. Rather than discouraging me, these weigh-ins are motivating. Yet one more lesson in patience as well as being kind to myself.

The good news is that two days ago I reached my goal. I’ve lost 34 pounds (15 kg) but have decided 5 more pounds are probably necessary. Given my body frame, I have a healthy BMI, but I still see room for improvement. Five more pounds should do it.

I have been building a digital library of French words for my classes. They are excellent visuals for teaching. I came across this:

“Patience isn’t the capacity of waiting, but the capacity to maintain a positive attitude while you are waiting.”

I am reminded that the lesson in patience for me extends to learning the French language – along with humility as there is always something to learn, especially with the grammar.

One of the things I have enjoyed the most are the walks in the surrounding vineyards with absolutely breathtaking views of the foothills, the various seasonal crops, and the Pyrenées themselves in the distance.

Last November I was walking my neighbors’ dog Jack, a high-energy Jack Russell Terrier, when I thought I had twisted my knee. Thinking it was a strain, I eventually consulted with my physician. He didn’t perceive any instability and after time, it became apparent I have Chondromalacia patella which is inflammation of the posterior aspect of the kneecap. Treatment includes anti-inflammatory medications and rest. I didn’t want long-term medications, so I opted for the rest. Six months later, it is much better though still not 100%. I can’t wait to get back to walking amongst the vineyards. Patience.

I’m not alone. Living in this part of the world, I have come to appreciate differently the farmers and winegrowers who are constantly forced to endure and have patience when it comes to their crops despite changes in the weather given global warming and with it, hail and low and high temperatures affecting their crops.

Patience. I’ve been forced to be patient waiting for renovation estimates. I’m learning patience as I continue to build proficiency in French. My knee is getting better and maybe I can start walking again before long. It took 10 months to reach my targeted weight. Except for the devis, the news is good. Here’s hoping the new devis are forthcoming, the work is soon completed, and I will once again have room enough to house family and friends desiring to visit.

Vive la France!

Since my first year here, I have been a member of the Toulouse chapter of the association France États-Unis. It was founded in 1945 as an apolitical organization, private and independent under the auspices of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the American Embassy to promote a better understanding between the French and Americans. We meet monthly for drinks and conversation at the Crown Plaza Hotel near Place Capitol in Toulouse. It’s always a nice social outing, the pandemic notwithstanding.

The Toulouse chapter of France États-Unis sponsors social outings throughout the year like July 4th, Fête National (known to most Americans – but not the French – as Bastille Day), and Thanksgiving dinner. It also sponsors two partial scholarships for French students planning to study in the US. It is a good organization to support.

Occasionally there are requests for volunteer presentations in various settings. I like being an ambassador and volunteer when I see them arise. The first experience was a visit to the University of Toulouse in December, 2021 where I was interviewed by English language students taking a class to become professional translators in formal settings. It was great fun.

Last month France États-Unis received another request to speak to a combined group of two English language classes at a collège (middle-school) in Quint-Fonsegrives just outside of Toulouse on March 17. The occasion was English Week with a number of activities slated. I volunteered and was invited.

My primary contact from the collège invited me to attend a concert that was to precede my presentation. A chorus of maybe 30 kids from the second-level class sang four different popular songs: Hey Jude, Don’t Worry, Be Happy; Louis Armstrong’s beautiful hit A Wonderful World and Oh, Happy Day. The songs brought back nice memories and I became quite moved. In fact, in the process I actually felt a rare pang of homesickness (J’avais le mal du pays).

Following the short concert, there was a change of classes as the third-level class students came into the activity room. As the chorus gathered their things to leave, I told them that I am American, that I had enjoyed their music, and that it had made me a little homesick. Feeling the emotion, the little girl standing next to me (maybe 9 or 10 years old) reached up to console me by patting my arm. I was touched.

Because of strict privacy laws in France protecting the rights of individuals, it is not possible to show the photo I took of the chorus. But trust me, they were cute and the concert heartwarming.

When it came time to actually write the presentation, I had a hard time coming up with what I wanted to say. I didn’t want to entangle the kids in the current political chaos. I therefore put out a request via Facebook to family and friends to get some ideas.

Digesting all this input, I spent two weeks building the presentation deciding to include most of the suggested topics. When I did a dry run, I found I could complete the presentation in about 30 minutes. I was told to speak for 45 minutes leaving some time for questions, so I felt pretty confident that it would be fine as there are always stops and starts.

I first defined What is an American? If you’ve ever had this discussion with someone from Brazil or literally any other country in the Western Hemisphere, you know that they consider themselves American too (South Americans, Central Americans, etc.). So I pointed that out, but concluded that US citizens are often simply called Americans.

I told them that the US is the third most populous country after China and India. Our most populous states are California (39 million) and Texas (29 million) with the economy of California being the 5th largest in the world.

Then I talked about E pluribus unum and how we are comprised of many immigrant nationalities and that my own mother is a Canadian immigrant. We also discussed race and how Asians and Hispanics are the fastest-growing segments, while the White segment is the slowest. Hence our internal strife and the emergence of controversial white supremacy.

The US is also a nation of multiple languages with English and Spanish being predominant. Yet I made the point that one needs to know English to succeed professionally.

I described my Michigan roots and the Great Lakes. (Did you know the Great Lakes comprise 21% of all freshwater lakes in the world?).

I also explained the origin of the name Detroit (from the French de troit translated meaning of the narrows indicating the narrow Detroit River between Lake Erie and Lake St. Clair feeding into Lake Huron). I have since discovered that the word détroit is a noun meaning a strait.

Then I answered the question as to why I am in France explaining first my French-Canadian roots, then my mother’s paternal ancestry dating back three centuries to Champagne, Touraine and Burgundy. Jokingly I said J’ai fait le retour (I made the return) which is effectively true.

I told them about my lifelong fascination with the language that grew into a love for the country and its history. And the more I came to France be it for work or pleasure, the more I wanted to simply live here. Eventually travel to France just wasn’t enough.

Of course, these being middle-school children, I didn’t get into the deeper reasons for why I love France. Politically I favor the socialist mentality. I like that people are well-provided for, that there are safety nets in society so that people can maintain their lives with a semblance of dignity. I like the humility of the French and the fact that they are far less ostentatious (moins ostentatoire). People don’t parade their wealth and possessions. That is also true for housing and cars. Their wardrobes are chic, but simple and not excessive. Quality, not quantity is pervasive. There is respect for all people regardless of income, status or neighborhood. Living in France removes a lot of social pressure to conform.

I showed pictures to the collègiens of my family’s trip to France in 2000 celebrating my mother’s 75th birthday explaining to them how I wanted to open up the minds of my nieces and nephews to a world larger than they had seen, and to a culture from which they had not-so-distant ties.

I spoke of how Detroit and the state of Michigan still depict their French heritage with names like Kercheval (a street in Detroit), Bois Blanc Island, Sault Sainte-Marie, L’Anse Creuse and Marquette.

Then I tried to show them the vastness of the US with its multiple regions, its 423 national parks, the photos of some of the places I have lived (Seattle with Mount Rainier looming on a clear day and Jersey City with its proximity to Manhattan) and a list (with accompanying photos) of my favorite US cities: Honolulu, Seattle, New York, Chicago, Boston & Cape Cod, Washington DC, Philadelphia, New Orleans & Miami.

I told them how Americans have a great fondness and affection if not romance for France in terms of its food, wine, culture, fashion, films, history and language. And how the Alliance Francaise plays a big role globally in promoting French language education and the French culture.

Then we discussed some of the cultural differences as they were quite curious about this particular topic.

Families in the US are often separated by long distances due to job relocation and personal preference.

Families in the US often don’t eat together because of varying schedules, extracurricular commitments and, for the parents, long working hours. And we eat dinner much earlier in the US compared to France.

When food is served in the US, it is often all brought to the table at the same time as opposed to France where courses are usually served one at a time. Meals often take much longer in France due to this practice as well as a slower pace where savoring every item and moment is de rigeur.

The American consumption of food is less healthy with junk food (mal bouffe) and super-sized portions being prominent in many diets. Americans eat less bread presumably because American loaf-style bread just doesn’t compare to a fresh baguette.

Americans love beef in all forms: hamburgers and steaks. I spoke about Delmonico’s Restaurant in New York City and their Delmonico steak. Cuts of beef in France are different and not aged as they are in the US. Hence I find that steaks are not as tasty here. I pine for a good steak when I return to the US for a visit. But I’m happy to report that a desire for hamburgers in France is on the rise though I have yet to find the perfect American-style burger.

And of course, we Americans have an addiction to sugar. Not that the French don’t like sweets, but our birthday cakes are far more extravagant and the oft-heard comment is that they are “trop de sucre” (too sugary). The French are also moderate in their intake. So while the temptations are there, the French are very strict about quantity and frequency in consuming these kinds of foods.

Another example of American extravagance was provided in terms of the infamous Sunday brunch. For we Americans, it is a food bonanza. For a French person, there is surprise at the excess.

I illustrated a Thanksgiving dinner menu and how, aside from the requisite turkey, stuffing, cranberries and sweet potatoes, we have not one, but usually several desserts in the form of pumpkin, pecan and/or mincemeat pies.

When it comes to holidays, there are big differences.

The US has 11 official holidays: New Year’s Day, Martin Luther King Day, Presidents Day, Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Columbus Day/Indigenous American Day, Veterans Day, Thanksgiving Day, and Christmas Day.

France has 12 official holidays: New Year’s Day, Easter Sunday, Easter Monday, Labor Day (May 1), Victory in Europe (May 8), Ascension Day, Whit Monday, Fête National, Assumption, All Saints, Armistice Day (November 11 and the equivalent of our Veterans Day), and Christmas Day.

The first big difference is for students in that they enjoy les vacances scolaires several times through the school year (Fall, Winter & Spring), each two weeks long in addition to a Christmas break, also of two weeks duration. The summer vacation is similar to the US being about 8 weeks long. But it doesn’t begin until late June/early July with a return to school early September.

The second major difference is for the employed. French worker benefit from five weeks vacation from the very start of employment!

Shopping in France is quite different compared to the US. Aside from strip malls, malls do not exist in France.

Most smaller stores and businesses close for lunch for usually 90 minutes to two hours or more. Examples are our local butcher which closes at 1 PM but doesn’t re-open until 4 PM, and the local épicerie which closes from 12:30-3:30 PM. Finally, everything closes at 7:30 PM. There are no stores open 24 hours/day aside from a rare pharmacy.

Some local businesses (usually épiceries and boulangeries) will be open Sunday mornings but will close by 12:30 or 1 PM. They may also take a full or half-day off during the week. I learned very quickly when to do my shopping because I forgot that my local épicerie which provides locally sourced eggs, is closed on Wednesday and Sunday afternoons.

Customer service in France is somewhat infamous. In the US, we have the mottos “Service with a smile” and “The customer is always right.” Not so in France. There is a distinct attitudinal difference and la politesse is très important. If manners aren’t played out appropriately, one can be assured of bad service. And the eagerness to serve (l’ardeur) just doesn’t exist like it does in the US.

Which brings us to the work ethic.

In France, people work fairly rigid hours whereas in the US, long hours are often the rule. The French standard is a 35-hour work week compared to the US standard of 40 hours/week. The French don’t live to work. Rather, they truly work to live. And they are healthier for it. They value their extended lunch hours and vacation time and protect them vigorously.

With regard to customer service, I gave the example of trying to get estimates for work done at my home. The first big challenge is finding a reputable professional. The next challenge is getting the contractor to come and take a look. Then, it may take weeks to receive an estimate – if ever. I’ve had many contractors show up and never get back to me because, for some reason, they decided they didn’t want to do the work. But they never let me know…. Frustrating!

Education in the US is far more liberal. Students are not limited to areas of study and can change their minds as often as they like whereas in France, based on assessed aptitude and multiple exams, students are targeted at a relatively early point as to whether they will be on professional or technical career paths and even in which discipline. Once that path is established, it can be very difficult to change in France. And their performance on the standardized exams will determine the schools they may attend with the best schools in France obviously admitting only the highest achieving students. I was recently told that this is changing somewhat, but there is still less flexibility.

The good news in France is that higher education is largely paid for by the government. The bad news in the US is that it isn’t. I showed, using my alma mater of the University of Michigan as an example, the current cost of a degree in euros for residents and non-residents:

I actually ran out of time at this point and didn’t have a chance to comment on the gun culture that exists in the US. I told the teachers they could finish my presentation as they wished in another class. But what I wanted to say was that sadly, there are some who believe having a gun is necessary. That America is in transition and has lost credibility in recent years as the beacon of democracy (le phare de la démocratie). It is hard to say how it will evolve, but democracy is being threatened by fascism and authoritarianism.

Based on a question I was asked in the few minutes remaining, I summarized my overall impressions by saying that both countries are interesting. Both countries are beautiful. No country is perfect, but administratively France seems to be better organized and functions well. Examples are how one is able to pay taxes and handle many administrative issues – even driver’s licenses – online.

I also told them that I love my country but I love France too. And, as I do say frequently, I told them how much I love la politesse that exists in France. Manners count and how the French play that out is always impressive – even down to the smallest of children who are trained from an early age.

l also love the natural beauty of France and I love the history that surrounds us. In my retirement, France is providing a stimulating environment in which to explore the past and the present.

What is the bottom line?  (Pour moi, quelle est la ligne de fond?) 

For me, it is this: The beauty of the Pyrenées to which I arise every mountain, the simplicity and tranquility of village life with lovely neighbors who suffer through and help me with my French, and the intellectual stimulation make life perfect. May the adventure continue.

As I recently posted, we are enjoying a two-week hiatus from classes. The French do it right. These regularly scheduled vacations are organized by region so that the entire student population isn’t on vacation all at the same time. These past two weeks have been assigned to Occitanie, a region mostly in the south central part of the country.

Officially it is called Vacances d’hiver or Winter Vacation and began February 19. It ends March 7. Families often use this for a ski holiday and fortunately this year there is lots of snow in the Alps as well as the Pyrénées, most of the latter being in our region.

Given that skiing is a part of my past history but still feeling the need to do something, I decided that I would take short trips to places I hadn’t yet been but have longed to see.

First, was a visit to Nîmes.

Nîmes has been described as “the most Roman city outside of Italy” and for good reason with its Roman ruins. Because of this it is also sometimes called the French Rome.

Being two hours away (and with the pandemic lockdowns), it hasn’t been possible up to now to make the trip to Nîmes. But having a clear calendar for these two weeks, it was a great first choice as our freedom to move about in France returns.

I booked a train out of Carcassonne to make the trip less stressful and more enjoyable. Trains in France are relatively inexpensive and even first-class is often only a few euros more for increased comfort and a reserved seat. Parking at the Carcassonne Gare is also easy and possible to book online. I can drive there in about 20 minutes, park my car, and walk onto the train.

The train departed at 9:30 AM last Thursday morning and by 11:20 AM I was in Nîmes.

Walking out of the train station I was impressed to see a long pedestrian boulevard called the Esplanade Charles de Gaulle with beautifully tended trees and plantings extending towards the Pradier Fountain dating from 1845. The esplanade is evidently quite new and I commend the city for its planning and maintenance. So many French towns appear dirty and shabby, but not this one. They have obviously taken great care to make the city welcoming and attractive. In fact, on the way back to the train station to return home the next day, I saw a man driving a van marked with the name and seal of the city so I stopped him and told him how beautiful, clean and attractive I found the city. It was not a lie. “C’est impressionant.” (It’s impressive.”) He was pleased and I was happy to be able to share my appreciation because it really does stand out.

Reaching the fountain, a glance to the left revealed the Roman arena which dates back to 70 AD built during the reign of the Emperor Augustus. It was thrilling to see. Over the centuries it has been used for a variety of purposes, including housing. Napoleon took it back, however, and had it restored to its original glory. Today it is used for concerts and even bullfights. It’s not as large as the Coliseum in Rome, but it is big enough and is reportedly the best preserved in the world seating 24,000.

After spending about an hour walking around the interior of the arena with an audio guide, I moved on to the Musée de la Romanité right across the street. The museum is a stark contrast architecturally as it is of ultra-modern design. Designed by Brazilian architect Elizabeth de Portzamparc, it is a beautiful building telling the story of Nîmes from the Gallic (pre-Roman) times through the medieval ages and well worth the visit. A complete tour with audio guide costs 12 euros and takes about 90 minutes.

I finally stopped for lunch following my tour of the museum then headed up Boulevard Victor Hugo to the Maison Carrée, one of the best preserved Roman temples in the world dating from the first century AD. Its design inspired the Église Madeleine in Paris as well as the Virginia State Capitol, thanks to Thomas Jefferson who visited the city as Ambassador to France in 1787.

Leaving the Maison Carrée, I headed back to the hotel walking through the medieval quarter, charming and also beautifully maintained with inviting narrow streets waiting to be explored.

Aside from its Roman ruins, Nîmes is also famous as the home of denim (“de Nîmes”) dating back 300 years though there is some academic debate as there were variations from Genoa, Italy and England.

If you are up for a visit to Nîmes, it might be fun to plan a visit during La Semaine Romaine where there are re-enactments of gladiator games, etc. This year’s festivities are slated for May 2-8. And, should you have a car and the time, visit the Pont du Gard, the ancient aqueduct that provided water for Nîmes.

As I was only gone overnight, I left out extra food and a dish of ice that would melt to water for the cat. Despite the short time away (less than 30 hours), my cat let me know with her crying that I was missed. I felt guilty. And this influenced my decision for what I was going to do this week.

I was a bit up in the air regarding my next excursion, but gave some thought to a visit to Spain. While I have been to Barcelona more than a few times, I haven’t been to Spain at all since I arrived here to live here three years ago. I have also wanted to see the Costa Brava and Girona, a medium-sized city halfway to Barcelona. Lloret de Mar is a rather popular beach resort about 30 km from Girona. So I thought a fun second trip would be to visit both with an overnight at the beach. There is an outlet center not far from the French frontier called Gran Jonquera, so I thought adding a stop there would be interesting to see what they have on the way home. Rumor has it that liquor is substantially cheaper in Spain. And I’ve had a very difficult time finding my favorite scotch in France: Dewar’s White Label – that is, until last week.

I was shopping at the InterMarché in Carcassonne for the first time last week and finally found a bottle of Dewar’s. However, its price is extraordinary. I can get a bottle on my return trips from the US at the duty-free shop for around US$20. Here it was 30 euros. Online there are bargains out of Spain, but adding the shipping costs makes it more expensive.

Long story short, I was having tea with Chantal last weekend and proposed we drive to Spain to see if I could find my scotch and have lunch somewhere en route or…. But there would be no overnight trip. Barcelona, Girona and Lloret de Mar will have to wait. She was interested so we set out yesterday.

Our first stop was Port-Vendres on the Mediterranean, not far from the Spanish frontier. Historically, Port-Vendres was important even to the Romans due to its deep harbor. During WW II, it was similarly an important base for the Nazis. Today, it serves cruise ships and freighters.

It was a pleasant enough day though overcast. Regardless, we made our way and found a restaurant on the harbor where we sat outside to enjoy the sun peaking in and out of the clouds.

Les Moules Marinière (mussels) were delicious. For dessert we both had a Tarte aux Pommes which I found a bit bland.

From Pont-Vendres, we traveled another 30 minutes on back roads to Le Perthus at the French/Spanish border. Le Perthus is in fact the border: one side of the street is France and the other, Spain.

On the Spanish side are countless stores selling food, alcohol, cigarettes, leather goods, cosmetics, etc, all at discounted prices.

We went into the largest supermarket which had a huge assortment of liquor, but no Dewar’s. Chantal made her way to the tabac and found cigarettes discounted by about 60%. In the end, I found a new wallet which I was needing, so the visit wasn’t in vain for either of us.

The Spanish frontier is only 90 minutes from home via the motor route, so it was a quick drive back. En route, I noted a monument but had no idea what it was until I read an article in today’s New York Times. There is always something to discover.

Les Vacances d’hiver will soon be over and on Monday it will be back to the books. It’s been a nice break from the three classes I have giving me time to relax and read some pretty wonderful books. But that is another story.