Fungii = Drugs??

Autumn is here, and with it brings a favourite French pass-time: mushroom hunting. The whole family bundles up, and heads for the woods on Sundays in search of delectable, edible fungi. Yet how do they distinguish the edible from the poisonous varieties? Are the French taught the distinguishing features at an early age, or are mushroom related poisonings an issue in France? Turns out, they head to their pharmacist for species identification. Each different type of mushroom is placed in a separate bag; the pharmacist then consults their reference book and gives the green light if the variety is edible. Can you imagine?! This is just another reason why I cannot be a pharmacist in France. Unless I was asleep that day in class, our studies steered nowhere near the realm of mushroom identification! And I am not sure that I would want the responsibility of differentiating a deadly from a non-deadly mushroom for others. I can only imagine that that would boost a Canadian pharmacist's insurance fees!

Canada is Scary!

I am a proud Canadian and think my native country is wonderful. It is a large country with varied landscapes and cultures, offering something for everyone. Canada is a safe, politically stable country, with a great worldwide reputation. And even though I love France, my adopted country, it is sometimes hard not to compare things here to Canada. And because of my patriotic bias, Canada often has an unfair advantage in these comparisons. So imagine how astounded I was when I recently met people that fear life in Canada!

In the past several weeks, I met three French people that were given the chance to move to Calgary with Total, the company that brought us to France. It was three separate encounters, but each one of them looked at me in awe, saying “but it is so cold!” .

One of the families decided to take the position and move to Calgary. I met with the lady of the family to discuss life in Calgary and Canada. She has lived her whole life in southern France, and was clearly uneasy about her pending move. We discussed many aspects of her new life, but somehow about every ten minutes, she brought the conversation back to the weather. Here are some of the questions I received, many of them more than once: How cold does it get? When does it get cold? Do the kids play outside at school? Where do I buy boots? You plug your car in? I tried my best to put a positive spin on things. I explained that Calgary gets several chinooks every winter. I told her the kids would love playing in the snow, sledding, making snowmen. Maybe they will learn to skate. I tried not to mention that the temperature can sometimes drop very low in October, or that it can snow in May. She was anxious enough as it was, I did not need to fuel her fear.

Last week I met a lady that turned down the chance to move to Calgary because of the weather. I was dumbfounded! I would think that being posted in Calgary with Total would be equivalent to winning the lottery. This is a company that does work in some very unstable, isolated, and potentially unsafe locations around the world. This family could alternately be offered to move to Nigeria, Angola, Myanmar, Qatar, but they refused to go to Canada because of a little snow!?! They would prefer potential car-jacking, civil war, droughts and developing world conditions to freezing temperatures!?!

Is life that unfavourable in the winter? Are Canadians really living at a disadvantage? I obviously do not think so, but it is interesting to see how others perceive our country.

Our French Anniversary

Sunday was the one-year anniversary of our arrival in France. We celebrated in a wonderful way: driving around beautiful Provence, shopping in a local outdoor market, visiting vineyards, and picnicking under the warm Provencal sun. Here's hoping our second year in la Belle France is as memorable as the first!

This is where we used to live

It’s a little overdue, but I figure it is time to add an entry about our recent trip to Calgary. Truth is, I have been putting it off because I was a little sad upon our return to France. Turns out it was much harder leaving Calgary this time than it was a year ago. For those who don’t know, we spent three days in Calgary earlier this month. Gilles had a conference in Houston, and we figured we could not pass on the opportunity of being so close to our old home, so I tagged along and we extended the trip from Houston to Calgary.

I knew our return trip to Calgary was going to be emotional, and I was right. The overwhelming feeling of returning ‘home’ hit me as soon as our plane started its descent over the city. I looked out the plane window toward downtown, and thought, “this is where we used to live”. We had great lives in Calgary, and it was hard to leave. I was starting to see that it was going to be hard to return too.

The thing about Calgary is it holds so many wonderful memories for us, and our visit became a 72-hour walk down memory lane. A little bit of nostalgia is one thing, but memories were jumping out at me everywhere we went. I looked at the river trails, and not only thought, “this is where we used to run”, but was reminded of training for half-marathons, running late at night, having great chats. While eating paninis at Mercato, I thought about all the times we went there during our condo renos, stocking up on the prepared salads and sandwiches while our kitchen was out of commission. I walked by the Petro-Canada in Kensington, and remembered the day we fuelled up there before a camping trip. It was a warm summer day, and I couldn’t wait to be in the mountains, going for a hike,…. That last memory made me realize how carried away I was getting. Who becomes nostalgic at the sight of a gas station?!

I would like to thank everyone for making themselves available for us in such short notice, and on a long weekend. We would have loved to spend more time with everyone, but even our short visits meant so much. We have so many wonderful friends in Calgary, and while there we slipped back into our relationships as though we had never left. It was a bit shocking, and a little unsettling. I think being reminded of such great commeraderie made me miss it even more.

But now, here we are, back in the land of wine and cheese. Do I want to hop on the first plane with all my belongings and move back to Calgary? No. Despite my feelings, I know that I am not ready to leave France yet. I am just starting to feel as though I have a good handle on life here, and there is so much more I want to do before leaving Europe. Hopefully once it is time to move back to Calgary, we’ll fit right back in again.

Bug Addendum

I was just getting used to the generally innocuous bugs in my house until I met the world’s largest HORNET! Apparently, it is called a european hornet, and while it may not be the world’s largest, it is pretty much the scariest thing I have ever seen. They are around 1.5 inches long, and look as though they would deliver one incredible sting (I would say deadly sting, but Wikipedia claims otherwise).

My terrifying encounter with this giant hornet came one night while talking to a friend on the phone while in bed. Gilles, my protector and chief bug-killer, was conveniently away. Suddenly, one flew into my room. I immediately hid under the duvet, shaking and talking to my friend in a hushed voice in case ‘he’ could hear me. After a few minutes of listening to it buzzing around my room and colliding into walls, I knew I had to muster up some nerves and kill the damn thing. So, armed with the latest copy of Elle, I set out on a hornet-hunt. Fortunately, this hornet’s enormous size makes him a little slower than the wasps/yellowjackets/hornets I am used to. So, I squashed this guy good, and despite my shaky legs I was rather proud of myself.

I decided not to close the windows, figuring the last visit was a rare occurrence. Nope! No sooner was I done washing hornet guts off my wall did another one fly in! After giving myself another pep talk, I killed hornet number two. Ironically, I later read that they are an endangered species, and one can be fined 1,000 euros for killing a european hornet in Germany. Oops. Good thing I don’t live in Germany!

I now sleep with my windows closed, but every now and then am awakened in a fright by the sound of the giant hornet’s buzz…all in my head, of course!

French Scents

It’s no secret that the French love perfume. Most of the world’s best perfumes are created in France by master perfumers, there are numerous perfume museums, and there are perfumes shops everywhere. When I am finished getting a waxing at my perfumerie/esthetician of choice, they always ask me if I want to be ‘perfumed’ before I leave. And when I say no, they look at me as though I am crazy; I can hear their appalled thought: “but how could you not want to be perfumed?!”

I am mostly used to living in a well-scented world, but the one aspect of it that continues to baffle me is the people who go for a run with perfume on. No, these people are not running after work, wearing lingering scent from their morning spray. I am talking about people out for a run first thing in the morning! Somehow, along with gearing up with shorts and sneakers, they think it necessary to put on perfume. I get my first whiff as we pass each other, and it lasts for quite a while in their trail. I continue along, sniffing in amazement. I can barely remember to put on perfume when going out for the day, but when going out for a run? Who does that??

Bugs, Bugs, Everywhere

I now know the downside of living in a French house: bugs. There are bugs everywhere in here! The reason for this is that there are no screens in French windows. Hardware stores do not even sell rolls of screen should one want to protect themselves from the pests that freely enter their house.

There are insects of all kinds in our house: moths, house flies, spiders, dandy long-legs, the occasional cricket, and many insects that I cannot identify. I do have two cats that should be helping me with the infestation, but they are unreliable. In the beginning they made half-hearted attempts at squashing bugs, but now they could now care less. That leaves us to do the dirty work. During one weekend, we killed over fifty flies in our house! I am not sure whether I spent more time killing, or washing the smeared guts off windows and walls.

Lately there has been a mysterious insect biting/stinging us during the evenings, leaving large welts on my arms. I just shudder at the thought of what is crawling into bed with me.

Thankfully, there are not many mosquitoes in Pau. We have only seen two to date, and they are scaled-down versions of those found in most of Canada. Unfortunately, one of two was in our bedroom while we were trying to sleep. It buzzed in our ears all night long, conveniently hiding when we got frustrated enough to turn on the lights to try and locate it. I felt as though I was camping, and had failed to jump in the tent and zip the door fast enough to avoid letting in mosquitoes.

As we approach the end of summer, I suspect my insect killing days will be coming to an end for this year. I will miss the long, warm evenings, but I certainly won’t miss the deluge of insects in my house!

Ghost Town

August is vacation time in France. It is fully expected that employees will take off several weeks this month. The national attitude is that every French citizen has a right to time-off. They believe so strongly in this that many businesses close for several weeks during the month of August. Restaurants close, wine shops, offices, chocolate shops, little grocery stores. I even saw a pharmacy that was closed for vacation. We were at the local market last Saturday, and half the vendors were closed for ‘les vacances’, leading to unusually long queues at the vendors who chose to stay open. There is no apology for being closed, nor a suggestion for an alternate retailer, just a posted sign stating the weeks that they are closed.

During these holidays, many French flock to the coast, leaving the interior towns and cities eerily quiet. Meanwhile, the beaches and seaside towns are packed. Those who choose not to go to the beach stick around home and enjoy quality time with friends and family. We have seen and met neighbours that we have never laid eyes on before. All over town, families consisting of at least three generations go for strolls and bike rides.

To the outsider, that is me, this August behaviour is unusual, but surely a healthy break. It will soon come to an end though, as the most important work month in the French calendar is just around the corner. September is called la rentrée, or the entrance. It is when everyone heads back to work and school with a clear head for a super productive month. At least Gilles will soon have someone to sit with in the cafeteria!

TPB Encounters

Gilles was so thrilled with his two Trailer Park Boys encounters while we were in Canada. First, we met Mr Lahey and Randy at the Ottawa airport. Mr Lahey serenaded me with the song 'April in Paris', and Gilles had a chat with the two of them. Then, we visited Bubbles' Mansion while in Halifax. No run-ins with the actors there, but we did get to see a lot of the memorabilia from the show.

Beach Food

Why does food taste so good when cooked over a fire? The food being cooked will likely contain ash, char, and sand (if the fire is on the beach), yet this somehow enhances the flavour. We had lobster twice while home on vacation. The first feast was cooked over a fire on a beach at Campobello Island; the second was cooked over a burner at the LeBlanc home. For both events, the lobster was steamed in salt water from the sea, and the cooking times would not have varied. Yet those who had lobster on both occasions commented on how good the Campobello lobster was. Was that batch of lobster of better quality, or was it the raging flames that made all the difference?

Lobster was not the only thing we cooked over a beach fire. We also feasted on scallops (cooked on a stick & in a pan), smores, hot dogs, and a whole pig. Yes, we tried our best at roasting a whole pig on a spit while in Cape Breton. It was a fun-filled, three-day event, led by one of our family chefs, Shaun, who when armed with a sharp boning knife can tackle any animal. On day one, the pig was purchased, deboned, and shaped for roasting. On day two, a roasting apparatus was constructed using various objects from my father-in-law’s pack-rat’s dream of a garage. That day, the pig was also placed in brine for seasoning. On day three, game day, Team Swine started early by prepping a fire on the beach. The pig made its appearance several hours later when the coals were nice and hot. What came next was not as easy. Credit definitely has to go out to all the guys who were constantly improvising to come up with solutions to the challenges that that pig kept throwing at us. Such challenges included a pig that did not spin along with the rod, a fire that was too hot, then too cool, then while reheating the fire the pig caught on fire, and so on. But it was certainly not all work without play. Our large group enjoyed horseshoes, live entertainment, swimming, snacking, and making a pig-shaped sand castle. But, after nine hours and a pig that was still only at 130°F, the rising tides forced us off the beach. The pig was finished at home in the oven and on the BBQ. Everyone patiently stuck around, and the finished product was well worth the wait. Shaun, I can’t wait for the next South Pondville Beach Pig Roast!