Foot, gym, zoo, & droppin' outta schoo'

Vilanjou. The biggest U-11 uniforms
are a little short(s).

It's official. Jack has a license to kick in France. The soccer league office had rejected his Bellingham doctor's athletics release form, telling us that he'd need to be examined by a French doctor before playing in any games. Site director Sue came to the rescue and and hooked us up with a local doc who was willing to issue the needed stamp based on U.S. doctors' paperwork. But wait, there's more! The league office then decided we'd need to submit proof of residency for Jack. So, digging into our now substantial pile of foundational documents, we compiled exhibits A through D -- another curious chain of "proof" and unspoken assumptions that somehow provides the youth soccer office with a defense against accusations of harboring wayward aliens.

We haven't actually seen the license. All the players' licenses are kept by the coach in an attractive leather pouch which is taken to games. Upon arrival, the ten or so 13-digit license numbers are transcribed onto a game form. The first order of business is to administer the standardized skills testing and record results on each player's row on the form: number of consecutive right-foot juggles, left-foot juggles, and head bounces. The two games so far have been at very nice fields -- one in a rural town, Vilanjou, about a 25-minute drive south, and one across the river in Beaucouzé. How is youth soccer in France different from youth soccer in the United States you ask. Well... let me count some ways. 1) For the most part, parents and families don't go to the games. Most players are dropped off at their home-club field (yes, very nice publicly-supported playing fields spread throughout the land) and crammed into a few cars with coaches and one or two parents who go along. 2) Snack: In France (where as Steve Martin says, "they have a different word for everything.") it's called goûter (goo-tay). The host field provides the goo-tay for all players while the coaches (and parents with nothing better to do when their kids are out of the house) go to the cash-bar and have a beer. 3) In the U.S. you might be surprised to see the coach smoking a cigarette while yelling to his players to stay in position. 4) Back to the facilities -- even at the youth level, each team is provided a locker room. Players just don't jump out of the mini van wearing their uniforms and cleats. After the game, players go clean up, change back into regular clothes, and then partake in the goo-tay. This also allows more time for beer.    Soccer & gymnastics pictures

Last Saturday was also Ella and Ivy's second gymnastics meet with Angers Gymnastique. A lot more teams this time gathered at yet another beautiful sporting facility down the road in Les Ponts-de-Cé. "Anjay Jeem" did great -- taking second place and securing an invitation to the May 28 meet in Laval.

Ella looked good coming off the bars but, because they
don't post scores here in France, we can only assume it was...
Is it true? ... Oh my god it is... A  PERFECT 10!!!

We keep appreciating the short, one hour French gym meets during which the same amount of gymnastics takes place as the seemingly endless affairs back home. The differences are 1) team size is limited to five. In the U.S. it is often over 10 and so the rotations through events creep and creep. 2) Scores are not posted. 3) Awards are given for team score only and only to the top three teams. No self-esteem nonsense here unlike U.S. meets where awards are given for every event, overall individual scores, and team scores -- all down to 11th place. Don't do the math, it will take even longer. It's nuts. 4) While the French gym-meet regimen saves time on gratuitous medal distribution, it takes some of that back with all the bisous ("bee-zoo" -- little kisses). Ella and Ivy were better prepared this time to go with the flow of countless kisses at the medal stand. It's a process. The second place team bisses (mmwah, mmwah) with each of the first place team and then takes its spot on the second level. The third place team then mmwah-mmwahs down the line of all 1st and 2nd place cheeks. Then the old dudes who deliver trophies and medals need to get in on the action and apparently their technique is a little more old-school. Ella and Ivy reported that their medal-hanger had gross wet lips. I'd chime in about the exquisite goo-tay stand at the gym meet but I don't want to sound like a broken record. And if I'm using the phrase broken record, I might be mistaken for an old man with wet lips. Number 9. Number 9. Number 9.

Château de Brissac as seen from Anjou Bus. I'm sure they
built it there to be close to public transit.

Speaking of number 9,  Monday we jumped on line 9 of Anjou Bus (the Angers-centric regional bus system) and headed out to Doué-la-Fontaine, home of Bioparc -- the recently re-named Zoo de Doué-la-Fontaine. They changed the name as part of their 50th anniversary -- 50 years of animals trapped in the large rectangular open pits of a long-abandoned stone quarry. But, ironic juxtaposition of strip-mining and species preservation aside, it was a well-done and oddly picturesque location which seemed to provide some decent space -- at least compared to where a lot of other captive animals live (and even work).
But, Bioparc did offer some notable options that most zoos I've been to would shun. As soon as you walk in, you can buy a bag of popcorn. Pourquoi? French people don't eat popcorn. Well, silly: It's for the animals. Yes, a zoo where you're invited to feed any and all animals who will eat it, popcorn. I think of the National Park campfire talks I've listened to where the rangers would have you feel guilty for accidentally dropping an almond on the ground, thus throwing the whole natural world out of balance. But, I guess a zoo is already so far out of whack it might as well just run with it. Next, we had to take advantage of the very good restaurant that was built right to the edge of the "camp des girafes." If they had wanted to, those giraffes could have shared my fish with curry sauce. But, again, an underlying French tenet seems to bear out: if something is worth doing, it's worth doing with good, thoughtfully presented food.  Bioparc pictures.

In between animals at Bioparc.

Spring in Angers has not been any kind of subtle, incremental shift in temperature and daylight. It's been head-on beautiful. And since we've never been here before, we can be totally confident in assuming it's like this every year. Walking around it's easy to frequently wonder how so much can look so good?  Public parks, pedestrian plazas, lasting infusions of artistry in architecture, public art, and one of my favorite elements, hardscape. Well done stone and brick work is everywhere that people are expected to gather for shopping, eating, bench-sitting, smoking, and kissing. The landscaping itself can seem a little too formal and overdone at times -- like I've always found trees in boxes to be dumb. But lay down the cut stone and mortar (and maybe a bronze nude or two) and voila, you've got yourself an urban womb of rejuvenating calm.  Angers spring pictures

Stumbled upon these folks across the river carved on an evidently less-celebrated half-timber house. The primary figures are labeled with some virtues: friendship (I will keep your skull with me at all times when you die),  liberality (I have a bag of stuff which I'll probably share), magnificence (crowns and capes - wear 'em if ya got 'em) , and illegible snake slayer girl. It's also interesting to note that nipple rings and the extreme standing-eagle yoga pose are nothing new.

In my bloggish opinion, overt artistic and decorative elements need to make a major comeback in the urban environment. It's not a French or European thing as much as it is a post-industrial thing I figure. But as I spend more time here, the question is becoming more: why wouldn't you carve, sculpt, paint, inlay, (etc.) animals, people, flora into and onto your house, school, bank, so on and so on? So much wasted surface. Look out neighbors, we're gonna have a chisel party. Another option is guerilla art which I've also been enjoying a lot of here.  Found art in Angers

School report

Ivy, Jack, & Ella on their last day in the
halls of the old convent--trying to hold
back the tears.

In the run-up to Jack, Ivy, and Ella's two week spring break at Collège La Madeleine, it occurred to us, with seven weeks left in our stay, to reevaluate their options. And, we decided they could drop out. They've had a really great experience at their school, meeting local kids, learning some French, helping classmates who are learning English. But, while it was a good environment for listening to a lot of French,  there were frequent chunks of time when teachers would tell them they'd be better off reading a book or just going to the library for the next hour. Not totally unreasonable given the way we parachuted in in the middle of the school year but not a model worth sticking with till the very end or our visit. They'll still be having French tutoring with Pauline twice a week (maybe more now). Their school friends are already making arrangements to hang out outside of school (which is probably better for language learning). And I'm making a list of incredibly boring field trips that I'm sure will prove to be the best days that ever were.

Bonus conclusion

Poulet roulé

So I'm cooking a chicken for dinner tonight. I remembered seeing some kind of poultry rack under the oven, so I opened the little door and went through the inventory. There was a little wire frame and a skewer down there but where would that go? It looked the same dimension as an oven rack but I didn't see the point if there's no way to spin it. So I put it in anyway and then I saw it. A magic hole where the skewer goes. Our oven has a built in rotisserie. Wooooooooo. That's so awesome! I'm sittin' here bloggin' while the bird is spinnin' to golden perfection. Life's little surprises are so good sometimes.