Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Serenity Now

Gilles and I were fully aware that we would be confronted with many frustrating situations while here in France. We expected most to be in the beginning, while setting up services and learning how things work in a different country. Life can be challenging at the best of times in one’s own country, but throw in the additional hurdle of not having full command of the language and it becomes especially difficult. Until now, we have been incredibly patient. We are here to experience life in a new country, challenges included. Today, however, my month-long battle with the bank has put me at my wit’s end. So because I could not yell at the bank manager (not because I didn’t want to, but I truly don’t know how to argue in French; it is something left out of the French Immersion curriculum), I am venting my frustrations in this blog entry.

The bank functions very differently in France than in Canada. For example, there are no tellers at our bank, only a welcome/information desk, bank machines and several offices where my friend the bank manager and other employees have meetings with clients. Our first such meeting was when we visited Pau in June. We thought we had set up our accounts at that time, and that everything would be functioning properly when we moved here. Turns out, we were wrong.

Another difference is with Visa cards. To use the ‘carte bancaire’ or ‘carte bleue’ here, one requires a four-digit code that is provided by the bank instead of a signature. I will give them credit here, as the code is certainly more secure than a signature. If a card is stolen, it cannot be used unless the thief knows the secret code. The money that one puts on the ‘carte bancaire’ MUST be paid monthly. Certainly not how a credit card works in Canada. This is not necessarily a bad thing because it limits people from living beyond their means.

Now that you have a general idea of the system, here are my issues. In June, we set up our accounts to be joint; that is, we would each have equal privileges to the accounts. When we arrived in September, we were each given a code to access our checking account online. So far, so good. However, only Gilles received a carte bancaire (Visa) with a confidential code. Because I am unemployed and have plenty of time to run errands, I am the one who does all the shopping, thus I require my own carte bancaire. We figured this must have been an oversight on the bank’s part, so we returned and ordered a card for myself. A week later the card arrived without a confidential code. I assumed that my code must be the same as Gilles’ because why would the bank issue a card without the code that is required to use it? Turns out, our codes are not the same. I discovered this while trying to use the card at a store and got rejected. Back to the bank I go to order a confidential code. Even now, my blood is starting to boil as I think of how absurd this is. Anyway, I return to the bank several days later, and they have no code for me. In fact, my last request magically disappeared! So I make yet another request for a code, which they assure me will be ready Friday, or Saturday at the latest (they are open Saturdays but not Mondays). I stop by Friday: no code. The smiling lady at the welcome desk informs me they have a quota for how many codes can processed in a day, and it is particularly busy right now. She says it will be ready Saturday. I want to punch her.

I decide to wait and return to the bank on Tuesday. By then it has to be ready, right? I am sure you know the answer: it is not ready! This time, it was the smiling bank manager who does not speak a word of English who broke the bad news. The worst part is I don’t even think that they consider this to be absolutely ridiculous. They don’t apologize, just smile and wish me a good afternoon as I storm out. Banks are thieves, so one would think that getting an active bank card full of hidden fees into my hands would be a priority. Clearly, it is not. So, I think I am done with banks. Maybe I will just start stashing money under my mattress.

Monday, October 29, 2007

Spicy Espelette




Sunday we spent the day in the quaint town of Espelette. It is in the heart of French Basque country, about one hour from Pau. We went with another Canadian family living in Pau to take part in the annual Pepper festival. Espelette is an agricultural town with peppers, or piments, being their most famed product. They were introduced to the area about 500 years ago from South America. The Espelette peppers have AOC (appellation d’origine controlee) status, ensuring their autonomy and protection.

During the weeks leading up to the festival, the peppers are hung out to dry on the village houses. It is quite a nice sight, as the red peppers and red shutters contrast the stark white houses typical of those in Basque villages.

During the festival, visitors from all the surrounding towns bombard the tiny streets of Espelette. We had to park 1.5 Km from the town itself and walk in. We strolled the streets for several hours and took in all the sites: music, sheep’s cheese vendors, roasting chestnuts, various food vendors, jeu de paume (a Basque sport), and many, many peppers. The peppers are not particularly hot, and have a sweet aspect to them, which makes them compatible with certain desserts. For example, we purchased a cerise noir (black cherry) and piment alcoholic drink to be enjoyed as an aperitif. It is sweet, yet has a lingering warm sensation once the liquid has been swallowed. We sampled chocolate containing piment, and purchased piment jelly to be served with the famous sheep's cheese from the region. All very yummy treats!

Monday, October 22, 2007

No, I am not from Quebec...

The mystery of our nationality often leads to an intriguing conversation. We are frequently asked where we are from, because we are clearly not French. Most people are smart enough to recognize that we are not from the United States or the UK. On several occasions, Gilles has been asked if he is from Argentina. But no one has ever guessed that we are Canadian. I suppose that just goes to show how small Canada is on a global scale (I obviously don’t mean land mass here). But as soon as we say we are Canadian, it all makes sense to the inquirer. “Yes, of course you are Canadian!” Then, we are inevitably asked “from Quebec?”. This question is usually asked with a hopeful tone. Why, I am not sure, because I think they expect the answer to be yes. Certainly not because our French is that good, but I actually don’t think they really know of any other place in Canada. Toronto maybe, but the mention of Calgary, Alberta, New Brunswick, or Nova Scotia is always followed by a glassy-eyed look.

While I am on the topic of Quebec, I’ll mention a few other interesting observations we have made. The French in Canada have fought unfailingly, and perhaps unmercilessly at times, to protect their language. Being from a bilingual province, I am accustomed to seeing stop signs depicting both: stop and arret. Here, the sign says STOP only. When you get a ticket for the highway or for parking, it’s known as a ticket, not billet. And email is called email or mail, not the Quebec-invented word of couriel. Yes, very interesting…

Sunday, October 21, 2007

New Wheels



We finally bought a car. After weeks of shopping and much deliberation, we bought a Mercedes Benz Class A. This Mercedes model is not available in Canada, so to get an idea of what it looks like, think small…very small. I had recently noted several Mercedes Benz Class B cars in Calgary, a larger model than the class A. There, the Class B looks quite minuscule, swimming in a sea of SUVs and large pick-up trucks. Well, the Class A is even smaller than that. Reference frames change fast, though. Now the SUV looks like the odd vehicle on the road. And how do they squeeze it down the tiny streets??
We love our new little car. It was our first choice, yet more expensive than some of our other options. We had to decide whether we were willing to pay more money than Total provides for a vehicle allowance. After scouring the dealerships for used Mercedes, we found our perfect match and decided to throw in the extra money. The runner-ups were a Volkswagen Golf Plus and a Peugeot 307.
The salesman pointed out one feature of our car that would never have been mentioned in Canada. When opening the sunroof, one can first lift the front to expose a small width to the outside, allowing just a little air to circulate. Apparently, this is perfect while smoking a cigarette in the car as it draws the smoke quickly outside. Lucky us! You know you’re in France when….

Friday, October 19, 2007

French Immigration

We flew to Paris Thursday for government medicals, a requirement for our cartes de sejour, which is essentially a Visa allowing us to live and work in France. Apparently, we’re not the only ones wanting to live here. They processed about 15 people during the hour we were there, and the waiting room was full when we left.

I had expectations for what tests were to be performed. I suspected we would have blood work and a chest x-ray done, and possibly have to answer a few questions. I figured the only medical circumstance that would keep someone from entering the country would be a contagious and uncommon-to-France disease, or perhaps a pending and expensive medical situation. Turns out, I was wrong.

The whole process was quite interesting. We were lead from station to station like herded cattle. The first three stations were with a nurse, the last with a physician.

First up: height and weight. The French are proud of being a country with low obesity rates, and obviously wish to keep it that way. I wonder if an overweight person would really have been rejected? Unfortunately, everyone in our group had a healthy BMI, so I did not get the chance to see anyone get rejected right from the start. Even Gilles and I, with a couple of extra cheese and Nutella pounds, progressed to the next station.

Second: an elementary eye exam. This one made me laugh. We had to stand across the room from an eye chart, and call out two or three letters for each eye to a nurse. All that that would have ruled out is the blind, which apparently are not welcome in France.

Third: a chest x-ray. I suspected this; no country wants to deal with TB.

Fourth and last: a meeting with a physician. He took my blood pressure, looked at my tonsils (and for once did not comment on how freakishly large they are), asked what I did for exercise, and if I smoke. Oh, and all this required me to enter the room without a shirt on. Lovely. I was concerned that the smoking question was a trick. In a country where it appears as though >50% of the population smoke, what was the right answer? Did he want to see how well I would fit in, in which case I should say yes? I figured it was best not to lie and I said no. Fortunately, this did not give me a failing grade. He also asked about my vaccinations. I now think this question was futile, as Gilles does not have a single up-to-date vaccination, and the physician who interviewed him did not care.

So, if you are considering a move to France, you will have no problems as long as you are not obese, blind, or have TB. Smoking and updated vaccinations are merely suggestions. Good luck!

Monday, October 15, 2007

Food: Post #2

Warning: this post is not for the faint of heart. If you get queasy watching contestants eat bugs on Survivor, maybe you should not read further.

Gilles and I ate supper at Le Berry, a restaurant favoured by locals, on Friday night. It’s certainly not fine dining, but an equally worthwhile dining experience. The staff pumps out local specialties at a fast pace; the tables turn over about ten times a night, and that’s saying a lot when the first seating is at 8 PM! The clients are packed into the restaurant, which means we get a good view of our neighbours’ dishes. We enjoy the place so much that this was our second visit. The food is delicious, and it gives us a chance to observe the locals in a social setting. But this Friday night, the most interesting observations were of a couple of dishes.

The first was cervelle, or brain, that the young lady sitting beside us ordered. I am not quite sure what type of brain it was…lamb, perhaps, because of its size. She received two cerveaux. I later asked Gilles if he thought it was prepared, as say a pate is. He assured me that they were two perfectly assembled brains. He described what it looked like when she cut pieces off to support this conclusion.

I can only assume that this dish was very yummy: why else would this lady have ordered it, and eaten it so enthusiastically? And what is wrong with eating brain anyway? It’s simply one’s reference frame. Most North Americans are used to eating pre-cut, pre-cleaned cuts of meat such as chicken breast, beef tenderloin and pork chops. In this case, a brain may seem unusual. But why is it different? An animal part is an animal part, right? I enjoy sweetbreads and the green stuff in lobster, yet these would disgust many people I know. So, I would likely try cervelle if given the opportunity. However, neither Gilles nor I are brave enough to try the next dish that we observed.

Steak hachees. The thought of it amazes me. Freshly ground beef mixed with salt, pepper, and wine, then served. Yes—ground beef, eaten raw.

This dish is loved all around France. On Friday, I saw it being mixed in a huge bowl by the bar. Within minutes, five plates were served to various tables. The first time I saw steak hachees was at a different restaurant while in Pau in June. That time, it looked fairly innocuous. It was shaped into a nice, small disk, and served with a raw egg on top. Not that I would have eaten this dish, but I did appreciate its creative presentation. Friday, however, I saw something different. Our neighbour, this time a man, had a plate of steak hachees placed in front of him. It was piled high on the plate. At least one pound of ground beef. It looked as though he should be forming hamburger patties. He would have gotten three or four large patties out of the meat. But no, this was his dish. He tucked in, bread in hand. Gilles and I stared rudely, unable to look away.

Now, I am sure this guy survived the night, as did the many other people who ate steak hachees that night. But ingrained in my mind is the fear of undercooked ground beef. If undercooked is bad, then raw must be really wrong, right? As much as I want to experience everything that our living-in-France opportunity has to offer, I am not sure I can bring myself to try this delicacy. Would you?

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Food: Post #1


I am calling this post #1, since I am sure there will be many food posts. I have not been able to cook yet, as the kitchen in our temorary accommodation barely qualifies as a kitchen. We've been enjoying cold foods for supper, and even these have been delicious. Here's some of our favourite new discoveries:

Nutella...where have you been all my life? This chocolate/hazelnut spread that most European children grow up on is so incredibly delicious! We have tried Nutella in Canada, but it does not even compare to the formulation that is sold here. We were told that we would miss peanut butter, but who needs peanut butter when there is Nutella? Gilles is officially addicted. He eats it on bread for breakfast, and right out of the container with a spoon the rest of the day. First, I bought the smallest container just to try this infamous product. It lasted less than two days. Then I bought the medium sized bottle. It lasted about five days. Yesterday, I bought the largest bottle. The only thing that made me feel less guilty about buying more of this sweet spread was that the lady ahead of me in line had three large bottles in her cart!

Mayonnaise. Yes, mayonnaise is a French invention. In Canada, one can buy Miracle Whip (which tastes nothing like a true mayonnaise), and mayonnaise (which I suspect also tastes nothing like a true mayonnaise). In France, the prepared mayonnaises available in the grocery stores are a dijon/mayonnaise mix, and are so tasty that Gilles has resorted to dipping pieces of baguette into it. If you have heard my Parisienne chicken sandwhich story, I now know that this is what was used to make that sandwhich so memorable (I have plans of hunting that sandwhich down for a third time the next time I am in Paris!). I will attempt to make mayonnaise from scratch once we move into our house. I predict this will take some trial and error. Julia Child has seven mayonnaise recipes in her Mastering the Art of French Cooking cookbook!

Baguettes. Nothing gets more French than a baguette. It is one of my pre-visit images of France that has proven to be true. There are boulangeries on every corner. People are seen walking, baguette in hand, throughout the city. When they get hungry, they simply break off a piece a bread and munch away. It is not unusual to see someone buying four or five baguettes at a time. It is said that the French eat bread at all three meals, and I believe it. Every breakfast that I have been to has several baguettes on hand. Gilles said his colleagues use pieces of baguette to mop up left over sauce and dessert at lunch. And it is the first thing to appear on the table at restaurants. It is such an essential piece of French cuisine that the price is regulated by the government. One baguette costs around 0.70 euros. I have been trying several boulangeries to find the best baguette in town. So far, it was the one we bought on Sunday when all the stores were closed. We had it half eaten by supper! Yum!

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

All I Wanted was a Bottle of Water...

We had been warned that the French shut things down on Sundays. Sunday is a family day. I am not quire sure where these families are, because the streets are empty, but I am sure they are spending time together somewhere.
In the past, we were used to stores being closed on Sundays. The Maritimes were notorious for this until recently. However as an Albertan, Sunday is an essential shopping day. Getting a parking spot at our downtown Coop was impossible on Sundays. And I am sure one is just asking to get run over by a crazed shopper’s cart at the WalMart or Superstore in Calgary on Sunday. But not in France! You could be going the wrong way in a rond-point (more on driving later) on Sunday without a worry.
Unfortunately, we were unprepared for family day last Sunday, when our bottled water stock ran dry. The tap water in our temporary accommodation tastes horrible, so we have been living on bottled water. In our car and furniture shopping frenzy Saturday, we did not make it to the grocery store to stock up on water. So thirst brought us out of the house on this rainy Sunday. Grocery store one—closed. Grocery store two—closed. We stopped at the closest Patisserie, a store that is open on Sundays. But alas, no water. Wine and champagne, yes, but no water. We left with a baguette, crème brulee, and pain au chocolat (called chocolatine, or choco here), that cost only 3.30 euros, and continued on our hunt.
It soon became clear that nothing was open, except patisseries and gas stations. We stopped at the nearest Total station, and fortunately were able to pick up a couple of bottles of Evian.
Sunday served as a good lesson: stock up during the week!

Sunday, October 7, 2007

Bonjour & Au revoir

The French focus heavily on greetings. We have noticed this over and over again both in Paris and in Pau. As soon as one steps into any type of business (restaurant, bar, store,...), the nearest worker says "bonjour monsieur", "bonjour madame". And it is clearly expected that the customer return the greeting. The greeting never seems forced; it is always accompanied by a smile and seems whole-hearted. The same occurs when one departs the store or restaurant; one leaves by exchanging a merci and au revoir.
You may ask how we noticed this greeting formality. It is certainly not a custom in North America, and caught us off guard in the beginning. We would enter or leave a store and appear like rude customers because we did not provide the proper greeting. Imagine exchanging hellos with the Starbucks or Tim Horton's employees as soon as you enter the store, regardless of how big their line-up is. And then "saying goodbye, have a nice evening", when departing, and receiving a reply from often more than one of the employees (often said as "au revoir monsieur", "au revoir madame").
Unfortunately for us, the bonjour greeting gives us away as Canadians as soon as we enter the door. For some reason, we say bonjour and au revoir very differently than the locals. I suspect it is the same as the words that gave us away as Maritimers in Alberta. These words included car, bar, and the infamous tour (apparantly pronounced 'toor' by Maritimers). I've been practising my bonjour and au revoir, to no avail. I suspect we'll sound like foreigners for some time.

Friday, October 5, 2007

House Hunting, French Style

Gilles and I are not strangers to searching for a house. We have owned four houses/condos in the last five years, and we rented many apartments before that. But none of that could prepare us for our house hunting experience here in France. We met with our mobility agent Wednesday morning. She is responsible for finding us a home, setting up utilities, and furnishing the house we select. We have budgets for each of the previously mentioned things. The house rental sector is quite different in France. The person who wishes to rent their house works with a real estate agent, who advertises and shows the house as though it were for sale. So everytime we visited a house, the renter's real estate agent was there to greet us and show us around.
We saw seven houses that day, and we started off with some of the worst. Fortunately, we had anticipated some of what we were to see, so were not as discouraged as one could have been. When people move out of a house in France, they take just about everything with them. This includes the light fixtures, all appliances, and the kitchen counters and cabinets. Imagine walking into a house with lightbulbs dangling from the ceiling and a pillaged kitchen. In addition, most houses have been shut up tight since being vacated. This includes the typical French shutters on all the windows. So the house smells damp and musty and is dark and dreary until the windows and shutters are opened.
The houses seem to age much faster here than in Canada. We saw one very large house that I thought was at least seventy years old. You can imagine my surprise when I was told it was built in the 1970's! Every functional room in this house was situated on the second level. The large garage and an adjacent large room were on the main floor. Both were walled with cement brick, had dirt floors and were damp and cellar-like. The real estate agent said the large room would be perfect for the children to play in. What children? We thought it would be a perfect wine cellar. However, it would take a small fortune to buy enough wine to stock it.
As the trip neared an end, we saw two houses that we are still debating between. One is just being completed. It is a semi-detached (jumelee) house with a large-by-Calgary-standards backyard, an "American-style kitchen", and three bedrooms. They call a kitchen "American-style" when it is large and open to other rooms. This requires further clarification: when they say 'large', they seem to be referring to the size of American kitchens thirty years ago. Housing developers have clearly not visited newly built houses in North America recently. This leads to another observation that always amazes me. French cooking has been revered for hundreds of years. Some would argue they have the best cuisine in the world, and created the basis for many dishes we are familiar with today. Yet they work in the tiniest of kitchens! We observed the same thing while traveling in Italy. Clearly, space is not a necessity for being a good cook. It makes me realize we are often spoiled in North America. That being said, I will have a hard time adapting to a small kitchen...sigh.
The second house was built in the 1980s. It is close to the historic centre of the town Idron. That is, it is walking distance to the old church and chateau of the town. It backs on to a river, or large stream depending on what your reference frame is. It has a huge tree in the backyard with an old swing hanging from it. It does have charm, and a certain draw that is making it hard for us to decide between the two. The typical Canadian, including Gilles and I, would go for the new house. But there is something in our minds that tells us we should experience French life to its fullest, including this house...even if it does contain two bidets and only one toilet.
The one deal breaker may be our two cats. The French chat wanders freely indoors and out. Our spoiled boys are indoor cats, and not about to be introduced to the great outdoors and the large, barking neighbours' dog at the age of eight years old. They would be instant dog food, or be stuck in the tree. So what is the problem? The French do not put screens in their windows or doors. In fact, they may not even know that it exists, because you cannot even buy screen in the hardware store. We were prepared, and brought a roll of screen with us, hoping to put it in all the main floor windows. Unfortunately, the older house has only doors: there are two single and three sets of double doors that lead to the outside on the main floor! And only one window!
We have not given our final decision, but it looks as though it will be the new house. We will join the fate of the other two Canadian families we know in Pau and overlook the charm of the typical French house and opt for the shiny new house. You can take the Canadians out of Canada, but you can't take Canada out of the Candians!

Thursday, October 4, 2007

The LeBlancs Arrive in France


We left Calgary after a week-long rush of packing and tying up all the loose ends needed before an international move. All this despite the fact that we have been preparing for this move for months. A big thank you to all our friends who helped move furniture, agreed to store things for us indefinitely, and who are providing us with Canadian television while here in France.
Our trip to Pau was long: we left Calgary early Wednesday morning & arrived late Friday night. However long, we made the most of it. Our flight from Toronto to Frankfurt was on Air Canada's new planes. Each person flying in executive class has their own cubicle with a chair that reclines into a bed. It was the most pleasurable flight, complete with champagne and a four course meal.
Our 36 hours in Geneva was spent strolling the streets and window shopping in their wonderful shops. Geneva is known for their watch manufacturing, and they certainly are proud of that heritage. There are many, many watch shops and the names of the large companies adorn the city's buildings and are lit up at night. Gilles, being a watch lover, thought Geneva was wonderful. It also helped that Geneva is famous for one of Gilles' other favourite things: chocolate.
Since arriving in Pau, things have not really slowed down. We are trying to muttle through the language, and setting up the essentials of moving to a new town: television, internet, telephone, etc.
Yesterday, we picked our cats up at the Toulouse airport. Now our whole family is here. They had a difficult travel, from Calgary to Vancouver (with a week-long stay there) to Amsterdam, then Toulouse. They are brave little boys! They are slowly settling in, but are clearly happy to be with us again.