Le Quotidien

Here in Aix the sky remains clear and blue and the sun continues to shine every day.  But the temperature is dropping daily, the sun is low in the sky by 3.30 pm, and some days the Mistral blows and blows.  The ground is covered with leaves, and very soon the trees will be completely bare.  Inside is a constant warm and comfortable temperature, with furnace fired central heating and super-efficient double-glazing.  But there is a reason for all those puffer jackets, thick scarves and gloves they sell in the market.

It has been a few days since I have sat down to write. I spent the weekend with my friend Sylvie, who drove 4 1/2 hours to visit me from Agen in the south west of France between Bordeaux and Toulouse.  I will tell you what we did, but it is also time to reflect a little on how I am getting on here.  Le weekend first.

Sylvie arrived late on Friday night, and I had been fretting about where she would park.  No worry.  With typical French insouciance Sylvie found the one empty park in the street a little up the road from me, and proceeded to ignore the parking limitation and fee for the entire weekend.  The car never moved for the duration, and fortunately no one came and towed it away or ticketed it.  No doubt if it was me I would have been towed within 5 minutes.

My car is very snugly housed in a garage at the back of my apartment block, and generally I prefer that it stays there.  But it is a brand new car with SatNav and all mod cons, so I happily handed it over to Sylvie to drive for our weekend adventures.  Her friend Christine, who lives 15 minutes out of town at Les Milles, joined us and we set out to explore Le Luberon.  This is the region of Provence made famous by the Peter Mayle books, and it is, for want of a better term, mountainous.

Except that they are not really mountains.  Rather big limestone formations that rise above the plains below, and provide the anchor for some spectacular villages anchored into the top of what are really huge rock formations.  Take a look at the view below from one of those villages, Gordes.

We had lunch in Loumarin, checked out the quaint shops, then drove the pretty winding roads of the region through the most breath-taking villages, ending up in Gordes for late afternoon hot chocolate. The only problem for me was that I had given over the passenger seat to Christine in recognition of her special guest status.  Because she does not speak English it seemed unfair to separate her from Sylvie.  But I suffer from motion sickness, so I did not appreciate the drive as much as I might have.  However, I did enjoy each and every one of our stops.

The trip home was interesting.  It gets dark early, and there are no direct routes through Le Luberon, so we were totally reliant on the SatNav.  Now the lady on the SatNav is remarkably tolerant and patient, as well as being unerringly accurate no matter what is happening on the road.  She will even tell you how to negotiate the supermarket and airport carparks.  That is how good she is.  BUT, the driver is only human and not error proof.  We do not always listen closely enough, and our brains do not always compute when there are multiple stimuli.

Which is to say, I have made a few mistakes.  So did my friend Martin when he drove, having declared himself an experienced European driver.  When you go wrong, the SatNav lady goes quiet for a moment or two, takes a big breath, recalculates, and then gently directs you back to where you were supposed to be in the first place.  But I assumed my French friends would be immune to error.  Not so.  They sat together arguing over the instructions, disbelieving the advice, and took as many wrong turns as anyone else.  Furthermore, when we got off the autoroute in Aix, Christine decided her local knowledge trumped that of the SatNav lady.  As a result we took a route to my place at least three times as long as the way I normally go when I stick strictly to instructions.  All good fun, but a long day.

On Sunday we went to Marseille to visit another of Sylvie’s friends, Natalie.  I was excited, because it meant going to the home of an actual French person, which I had yet to do on this trip – or indeed since I first met Sylvie in Agen on my trip to France 15 years ago.  You may know Marseille has a mixed reputation.  Sylvie used to live there and loves the city.  But even so, she made sure our hand bags were safely in the front with us, and not sitting on the back seat in danger of being snatched.  I had spent a rather troubled New Years Eve there six years ago, so I have mixed feelings about the place.  Certainly parts of the inner city and suburbs are unattractive, and there is an air of seediness about the place.

However the Vieux Port and the Corniche are magnificent, and Sylvie took me to some coastal suburbs that were absolutely gorgeous. There are also many modern public buildings of considerable architectural stature, not to mention a massive new football stadium that inspired the plot of the tv series ‘Marseille’, starring Gerard Depardieu as the only slightly corrupt Mayor.  I had not realised how close to reality the plot was until I was reminded of the programme when Natalie’s boyfriend got very hot under the collar talking about the unnecessary cost of the new stadium.  But before we went to lunch we took a turn along the magnificent Corniche – the Tamaki Drive of Marseille if you like.

In the above photo you can see some of the many rocky islands in the harbour, and the Chateau d’If, where the Count of Montecristo was imprisoned in the book by Alexandre Dumas.

There are certainly more apartment dwellers than house owners in Marseille, but Natalie lives in a  modern house with a garden back and front, and a small swimming pool.  Like all houses in Provence, you could not have told it was modern at first glance, because like every other building it is plastered on the exterior, painted a colour somewhere between a light pink and light orange, and has actual terracotta tiles on the roof (compulsory by law in Marseille).  Also, like all private houses, it is surrounded by a high wall, solid iron gate, and big trees.  Oh, and with a dog to guard it all, although Yoda actually took all afternoon to overcome his fear of me.

The afternoon was relaxed and very enjoyable, despite my complete inability to keep up with the conversation.  We sat in the sun for a time drinking wine and pastis (my first experience of the aniseed flavoured aperitif), and the best I could do was to grasp the subject matter of the conversation.  Once I had done that, I would carefully compose a comment of my own in French, and chuck it in whenever there was a pause.  Then they would talk to me in English for a minute or two, before the conversation would take off again in animated and rapid French.  All in all I was pretty happy with that.

Then, inside to lunch, and my first real experience of just what that means on a Sunday afternoon in France.  We had already been drinking and snacking.  Actually, the memory of that meal has just compelled me to get up and fetch myself a glass of red wine.

Anyway, we began with bread and a delicious rustic pate.  That was followed by roast chicken, potatoes and gravy.  All the while we were drinking and talking and arguing, and not in a hurry at all.  The discussion was wide ranging  and all about ideas.  Politics, nature versus nurture in relation to dogs (there were two dogs as part of the gathering), the requirements for public places, local government, unemployment and homelessness, and the local psychological services (Natalie’s daughter is a psychologist).  There was disagreement, shouting and robust debate.  Every so often someone would take their frustrations outside and have a cigarette.

At one stage, after quite a hiatus, I assumed we had finished eating and made to clear the dishes.  Not so, I was admonished.  The cheese course came out, and I was instructed to drink more wine because French people cannot eat cheese without wine.  Très bien.  I complied.  Some time later a home-made tarte tartin was produced and consumed.  Finally I was allowed to stop drinking wine and it was time for coffee.  The afternoon was well and truly finished before the lunch ended, but the problems of the world had been thoroughly addressed, if not solved.

It was, for me, highly enjoyable and relaxing.  It is surprising how little it matters that you don’t know exactly what is being said, as long as you have an idea what is being talked about.  Certainly the views of individuals are no mystery as long as you are alert to the verbal and tonal clues.  But, of course, I ought to be working harder on my language skills.

So that was my weekend.  How am I getting on otherwise?  Well, not too badly I think.

I have a loose routine.  My day starts when the light wakes me up, and I decide to get up.  Not too early unless there is something in particular going on, and then a self-directed yoga session  before breakfast.  I am lucky that Johan is happy to talk to me on FaceBook every day, so I do not feel isolated.  Most days I will take a long walk into and around the Centre Ville.  On Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday there is a big market in the Cours Mirabeau, and other days I might run errands or just window shop.  Every day I try and find something new to photograph, and really it is not hard as I become more and more aware of my surroundings.

Today in the market there were signs of Christmas, with stalls selling small, exquisite figurines for Christmas tableaux.

Some days there is a particular challenge to overcome, and a new set of vocabulary to master – the beauty salon, the post office, the hairdresser, the petrol station – all already documented in this blog.  When I have to do something new, I work out in advance what I need to say and ask, and usually that is actually very helpful.  Today, for example, I wanted to buy yard for a knitting pattern I had found in a French magazine.  I am quite proud of the fact that I negotiated my way through a conversation about different yarn types, quantities and requirements all in French.  Basic, but we understood each other and my errand was a success.

Sometimes I stop for a chocolat chaud or a cidre, and sit and people watch for a while.  Then I come home and try and write for a while, although I am easily distracted.  My latest distraction is an invitation to spend Christmas in the Netherlands (Boxmeer anyone?), which involves quite a lot of planning.  It is 1100 km by road or rail, and not simple to get to by air from here either.  So much time wasting, but opportunities are there to be taken, n’est pas?

In the evenings I make calls, watch television, and knit.  As of yesterday my evening viewing improved dramatically.  My lovely landlady left detailed instructions for everything and had the TV set up to play English language stations, i.e. 1980s BBC comedies, Fox News, and US home improvement programmes, so that it was driving me insane.  But I have just figured out how to get it onto regular French tv.  I cannot fully understand it, but at least there is proper news and a variety of other programmes (many of which are from UK and dubbed in French).

I have noticed other changes over time.  Somehow the way I dress has subtly changed, so that I now get taken for a French woman at first glance.  This means shop keepers no longer trot out their best Franglais the moment I walk through the door.  That is gratifying, even if we often have to resort to it when things get complicated.  And on the street, in this very touristy area, I am getting stopped and asked for directions.  It is very flattering, and in fact I could probably help them.  But ironically they are almost always tourists from elsewhere in France, and as soon as I open my mouth they back away and look for more reliable assistance.  Very funny.

The point is, I am doing ok I think.  I have been here for over a month, most of that time by myself, and I am neither bored nor lonely.  I have more visitors to come, and a couple of trips to take.  C’est si bonne.