Fashion is important in France. But color, at least in Angers in winter, is not. Everyone is black. Black coats, black scarves, black shoes, black pants (or dark blue jeans). Our family, sauf moi, got the memo. I am walking around Angers in a red shell like Rudolph the Goretex reindeer. Over the last three days I've taken some comfort in finding red to be the second most popular coat color. On our first trip to le supermarchet, Ivy and I noticed that the guy restocking the duck sausage was also wearing a veste rouge.Wednesday we all attended our first galette. La galette des Rois (as it's referred to in this part of France) is the local variant of the Epiphany king-cake tradition. Site-director Sue invited us to join current and soon-to-leave AHA students for a gallette they were having at her office. The rules were explained to us newbies: Baked into the almond cream somewhere is a proxy-Jesus/king trinket--in our case a tiny Snoopy. The galette is divided and served. Careful eating ensues. Whoever finds Jesus is king for the day.
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Mariessa prepares to leave the Angers AHA program a three-time winner of la fève. Her victory Wednesday, confirmed by Snoopy, comes with a paper crown and a week of even more good luck. WTG, M! |
With no theological consensus on when Epiphany celebrations should end, it seems the private sector has intervened with clarity. For the entire post-Epiphany remainder of January, regional boulangaries fold iconic choking hazards into the mix, bake the galette, and attach a paper crown. Wearing the crown around town is totally acceptable. Asserting that the king rides the bus for free is not.
We got to share a second galette (it's the end of the month so people are packing them in) on the way back from our Friday morning meeting at Ella, Ivy, and Jack's prospective school, College La Madeleine. Madame Thomas, head of 6th and 7th grade, walked us through the options and then walked us around the campus, stopping for brief visits with teachers, administrators, librarians, and very watchful students. The school has fully embraced an EU-community perspective and established itself as a European institution but Americans and other foreign students are welcome. It is Catholic but religion class is elective. And the building used to be a convent but now there seem to be happy people there. One of the happiest was the chef. We passed through the cafeteria as he was putting the finishing touches on the day's lunch line. After watching the likes of Super Size Me and Food, Inc., it almost seemed like a passive aggressive display of dietary superiority. If you were pushing a tray you'd have your green leaf salad, half grapefruits, slab 'o brie, sweet bread...Then the main course: fish, couscous with vegetables, and (to ensure there's no trouble with the authorities) a baguette basket. The wine was out of a box but whudduya want for €3.50?
I should also put in a plug for the school librarian. She was in Alaska last summer and has a book on grizzly bears coming out in September. It's probably in French so be sure to look for it on Ámázön.fr.
As is still often the case, I'm writing this in the middle of the night. The streets below our apartment are pretty much party-central and apparently the folks around here like to chant and sing after a few drinks-- even more when the bars close at 2 AM and they slowly parade... OMG, that's what Jim Morrison was talking about:
Not sure what's up with the cobra and leopard but I'm sure Jim was working through some stuff -- or maybe just pandering, yeah.
Another reason it's hard to sleep is that just below our bedroom window is one of the best boulangaries in town. At 0-dark-thirty I can look down and see the shelves start to fill with Able Baker Pierre's array of confections. This is where I go to get some comfort with my rudimentary French--which is easier because, at the end of it, for having endured such stress, Madame gives me a treat. The exercise goes like this:
"Bonjour."
"Bone jur. Uh (feigning brief, contemplative hesitation) Do pan o' shock-a-lot see vu play (with pathetic pointing)."
"Deux pan au, oui."
(But then I see that there is pan au chocalat maxi. The French, evidently, super size, too!)
"Eh, do maxi" (again with the pointing).
"Deux maxi, oui. Souhaitez-vous un sac?" (holding and pointing to a bag -- she's onto me.)
"No, mare see." (Does my red Goretex coat not signal disdain for plastic except when it's my clothes?)
"Cinq quatre vingt cinq, s'il vous plaît."
Now it's just the Euros talkin' -- almost home.
"Merci. Bon jour. Au revoir." (This is French for, "Next.")
"Mare see." (Minimal but I'm a busy guy).
We got to share a second galette (it's the end of the month so people are packing them in) on the way back from our Friday morning meeting at Ella, Ivy, and Jack's prospective school, College La Madeleine. Madame Thomas, head of 6th and 7th grade, walked us through the options and then walked us around the campus, stopping for brief visits with teachers, administrators, librarians, and very watchful students. The school has fully embraced an EU-community perspective and established itself as a European institution but Americans and other foreign students are welcome. It is Catholic but religion class is elective. And the building used to be a convent but now there seem to be happy people there. One of the happiest was the chef. We passed through the cafeteria as he was putting the finishing touches on the day's lunch line. After watching the likes of Super Size Me and Food, Inc., it almost seemed like a passive aggressive display of dietary superiority. If you were pushing a tray you'd have your green leaf salad, half grapefruits, slab 'o brie, sweet bread...Then the main course: fish, couscous with vegetables, and (to ensure there's no trouble with the authorities) a baguette basket. The wine was out of a box but whudduya want for €3.50?I should also put in a plug for the school librarian. She was in Alaska last summer and has a book on grizzly bears coming out in September. It's probably in French so be sure to look for it on Ámázön.fr.
As is still often the case, I'm writing this in the middle of the night. The streets below our apartment are pretty much party-central and apparently the folks around here like to chant and sing after a few drinks-- even more when the bars close at 2 AM and they slowly parade... OMG, that's what Jim Morrison was talking about:
Another reason it's hard to sleep is that just below our bedroom window is one of the best boulangaries in town. At 0-dark-thirty I can look down and see the shelves start to fill with Able Baker Pierre's array of confections. This is where I go to get some comfort with my rudimentary French--which is easier because, at the end of it, for having endured such stress, Madame gives me a treat. The exercise goes like this:
"Bonjour."
"Bone jur. Uh (feigning brief, contemplative hesitation) Do pan o' shock-a-lot see vu play (with pathetic pointing)."
"Deux pan au, oui."
(But then I see that there is pan au chocalat maxi. The French, evidently, super size, too!)
"Eh, do maxi" (again with the pointing).
"Deux maxi, oui. Souhaitez-vous un sac?" (holding and pointing to a bag -- she's onto me.)
"No, mare see." (Does my red Goretex coat not signal disdain for plastic except when it's my clothes?)
"Cinq quatre vingt cinq, s'il vous plaît."
Now it's just the Euros talkin' -- almost home.
"Merci. Bon jour. Au revoir." (This is French for, "Next.")
"Mare see." (Minimal but I'm a busy guy).
3 comments:
Doggerel of the Week
They’re all in black
But Hugh’s in red.
He cannot sleep
In his new bed.
The noise below
Is quite widespread.
The crowds hang out.
They have not fled.
Hugh leaves to find
Some chocolate bread.
“Mare see,” the busy
Hugh then said.
How nice to have
Some real French bread.
Hugh,
Thanks for posting your impressions! We're enjoying reading your blog. Since we're thinking about doing the teach abroad program next year with our kids, we're all ears!
Dawn
Can't wait to hear what the kids think of school. I'm keeping my eye on the house on my bike ride everyday - all looks good! Hope you get some sleep - did you remember your ear plugs?
Kirsten
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