Erin Goes Back To School

Maybe you've heard: my French language skills suck. The four years of French in high school, as well as the two years in college and the early instruction I got way back in kindergarten and first grade seem to have left almost no impression on me, and so it has been deemed by the French government, that, for my own good and the good of the realm, I must take language lessons. Thank God. It was getting awfully tiring to be sitting in a cafe, listening to conversation and trying desperately to follow what was going on, but eventually giving up and having to be satisfied with recognizing one word in every four or five. When you listen for five minutes and only catch "bird", "bike", "good" and "recycling", well ... it's a good thing I've never been of a suicidal temperment, because there are a lot of upper-story windows big enough for me to fit through around these parts.

I started classes at the beginning of September, and I think my word comprehension has increased to maybe one word in every three or so! I am starting to actually be able to piece together the meaning of conversations, and, at least in class, can even respond with only a minimal delay (in which my brain frantically pages through its French-to-English dictionary to search for the appropriate words). It's delightful. I think I may even be able to make friends soon, now that I am beginning to retain the correct vocabulary for more than just the weather, ordering in a bar, and standard greetings. I'll be able to strike up actual conversations! If you've never been in another country and not comfortable with the language, you can't even imagine the absolute relief in starting to solve the puzzle that lets you comprehend the world around you more fully. 

I go to the nearby town of Marvejols three times a week, from 8:30 in the morning until 4:30 in the afternoon to learn the intricacies of the French language and prepare for an exam called the DILF (Diplome initial de langue francaise) that I must take in December. My teacher is a lady of great patience and energy, and I love her. I won't give her name here, to protect her identity, but, trust me, the woman is a saint. We have never had a conversation in English, although if I get really stuck and say a word in English, she will give it back to me in French with nary a delay. I don't know what I will do when the class ends - maybe ask her to move in with me? Or adopt me? Maybe her kids won't mind a new, older, American sister.  

There are twelve of us in the class currently, and everyone is at different levels, but somehow it works and it's comfortable. We do a lot of spoken exercises together, which often includes what is called "presenting" yourself to the others: your name, your nationality, when you arrived in France, your marital status, if you have kids, your hobbies ... that sort of thing. And so I know that, out of the three Moroccan ladies who are in the class, two of them consider "cleaning" to be a hobby. Also, one gentleman from Portugal apparently has no hobbies at all except for weight training. (Since he is roughly the size and weight of a bantam rooster, I find this hard to believe.)  One lady, also from Portugal, insists she has no hobbies, and seems to get more and more offended each time we do this exercise. Considering that she has five children, I guess maybe she needs words for things other than "faire du ski" or "jouer au tennis". Makes sense. There are also two guys from Turkey, and we haven't been able to get any hobbies out of them yet, but I think that's because they don't understand what the hell we're asking - they only arrived in August. Luckily, one of them speaks a little English, so if all else fails, the teacher asks if I can explain in English. Some of the time, it even works! 

All kidding aside, it does help an awful lot to be a classroom and go through the rote exercises over and over - it cements them in your head. I almost swooned with pleasure when I went to the market today and had an actual conversation with a stranger that I could understand and make the appropriate responses to! Of course, it was about the weather and what I was buying, so it's not like we were discussing philosophy or quantum theory, but he said things, I understood them, and I answered him. I felt like bursting into song. (That probably would've seemed a little weird, though, so I refrained. I did hum on the way home.)

I still feel dumb almost every day. But, I've started to feel slightly less dumb, which to my mind is a huge improvement. And I have to say that most every person I've encountered here is willing to help. If you attempt their language, they're willing to cut you some slack. They'll repeat themselves, speak slower, whatever will help you gain understanding of a few more syllables. If they giggle at my accent or dismal grammar later, well, at least they had the good breeding to keep it to themselves until I was out of earshot. I'm gonna get there, folks. God bless the French government and my teacher and my classmates. One day, I'll actually be able to tell them all what their help and support meant to me, and I'll be able to do it in French. Yay!

This is just a test!

I am in the process of trying to find a few ways to get paid for my writing, and this post is as the title suggests: just a test. In order to get myself listed with a particular service that may assign me some blog topics to write about, I need to post the words a dollar sign is the cheesiest within a post. And so, my mission is complete. 'Bye for now.

Presents

A few people have asked me what to send, should they feel generous and send me a "care package" here in France. and so, with the holiday season just around the corner, I decided I would post a small list of things I can't get here but that I really, really miss and would love to see at any time arriving in my mailbox:

-peanut butter (Jif makes these little single-serve thingies that are a lot lighter in weight to send than a big ol' jar. my dad sent me some - which I have already eaten - and they got here fine in a padded envelope)
-Kraft Mac 'n Cheese (my preference is the Spirals, mmm)
-Twinkies
-Arm & Hammer baking soda (seriously, can't bake anything good without it, and can't get it here)
-Colgate Sensitive toothpaste - the paste kind (no sensitive teeth toohpaste except Sensodyne here, yeck)
-celery salt
-marshmallows - little or big
-Jolly Ranchers
-Necco wafers
-Twizzlers licorice - the Nibs are my favorite, or the cherry twists
-Mrs. Grass chicken soup - it comes in a blue box, usually two together. Lipton Chicken Noodle soup envelopes are good, too
-Hidden Valley Ranch Dressing seasoning packets
-Orbit chewing gum, sweet Mint or any of the weird flavors, like Mojito or berry or pina colada
-small ponytail holders (remember, I have about five hairs, so the ones that are about the circumference of a silver dollar are more than adequate)
-Triscuits
-Nerds
-tubes of Blistex or Chapstick - plain or anything minty/mentholated is best
-legal pads. Yellow, white, colored, it doesn't matter. All the notebooks, etc. here are made with graph paper, and it sucks for writing letters.
-Lubriderm fragrance-free body lotion, or Banana Boat After-Sun lotion. All the lotions I've tried here so far are perfumed and make my skin feel funky.
-disposable emery boards

That's all I can think of, and please don't think this is a cry for presents - it's not, really ... just helpful hints in case anyone was already thinking of sending something my way. I welcome all requests for packages TO the States, just tell me what you'd like to try and I'll do my best to send it! And remember, I would be just as tickled to get a letter from you in my mailbox as I would to get a box with goodies in it. Love you all!

I'm a permanent resident

Did you know I am now a permanent resident of France? Well, almost. The appropriate page with its fancy stamp has been put into my passport, and when I go to renew my visa in March, I will get my actual carte de sejour, which is, I guess, the French equivalent of a green card. I actually got this taken care of a couple of weeks ago, and neglected to write about it, but when I told one of my sisters the story on the phone recently, she decreed that it should be described on the blog as soon as possible. And so, here we go.

You may have read about my first forays into the world of French immigration in much earlier blogs, back when I was getting the visa I needed to travel here. I have, since I arrived, and with the help of my husband, been to visit the French unemployment office (Pole d'Emploi) and the French equivalent of Social Security, to get myself registered and on their books. Both these things were done in the early days here, and neither was very traumatic. Registering with unemployment, also, made it possible for me to get hooked up with French language classes, which I finally started this week. More on that later.

I was told to expect, soon after I arrived, a summons to meet with someone or other in the French government for a "welcome meeting" - whatever that might entail, and a medical exam. I duly sent the necessary form to the appropriate office upon arriving (well, Patrick did, thank God for Patrick) and waited for word on this meeting. And waited, and waited some more. It seems that a whole hell of a lot of people have been immigrating/emigrating (and what exactly is the difference there? I've never known) just lately, and the welcome visits were a bit on the backed-up side. Finally, last month, a summons arrived. I was scheduled to appear in Montpellier (about two hours' drive) in early September, and a list was kindly included of the paperwork I needed to bring with me, and the fee that would be required.

Though many things in France are blessedly free of charge (like my French language classes, for example), some things - like a green card - do indeed carry a cost. A weighty one! Three hundred and thirty euros, to be exact. And you can't just write a check or present your debit card, either - oh, no, you must purchase these things that are sort of like postage stamps, instead. And it's not like you can get 3 hundred-euro ones, a 20, a 10, and 3 ones ... no, you're instructed instead to purchase a weird mix of 55 and 12 and 8-euro stamps, or something similar. It's a darned good thing they send you instructions, or you'd be liable to show up with the wrong mixture, and then I'm pretty sure you would go back on a waiting list for your meeting, and possibly be deported in the meantime. Anyway, it's no worse than some of the shenanigans I've lived through at an American DMV or the Social Security administration - bureaucracy is bureaucracy, no matter what country it is in. And besides, Patrick again came to my rescue and went to procure the weird stamps at city hall. He's my hero.

So, we arrived at the OFII (Office Francais de l'Immigration et de l'Integration) for The Visit. First, we went into a waiting room with chairs around the perimeter, which slowly filled with other people anxious to immigrate or integrate. There were folks from all over, but not much English, until a couple of Thai ladies entered with their French husbands - English was apparently the language they shared. Neither one of the Thai  women appeared to understand a whole lot of French. We were also joined by what appeared to be a teenage mother with her vocally precocious (and by this, I mean he yelled a lot) son in a stroller and her dad. But wait - it wasn't her father, but actually her husband. (Seriously, the girl looked about 16 or 17.) Ew. Anyway, the room filled up, and then in came Really Skinny French Lady, to make a bored-sounding speech about a video we were all required to watch. Since I think everyone but me and the Thai ladies spoke French, her instructions were heeded, and we watched a lovely ten-minute film outlining the basic structure of French society and government. It had lots of lovely shots of Paris and of happy French people. I understood maybe half of it. Patrick whispered translations of salient points in my ear.

After that, the meetings began. This was a five-part process. You had to see one of the officials, so they could go over all your info and find out if you had a job, etc. You also had to have a visit with a nurse, a visit with a doctor, AND a visit to the x-ray room so that a chest x-ray could be taken, and then back to the original official to complete the final paperwork. Okay, then.

First, we met with Really Skinny French Lady. Patrick came with me for this one, and translated. We went over basic info, talked about the job I worked over the summer, the fact that I was already registered with the unemployment people, and what kind of jobs I might be looking for, based upon my job experience in the States. Then she told us I needed language classes (which we already pretty much knew) and attempted to give us the number of someone in Mende, where I would need to drive for classes. Patrick, having already talked to a lady in Marvejols (oodles closer than Mende) about classes there, told Skinny Lady we had already made arrangements. I was, in fact, scheduled to meet with Marvejols Lady the very next day. Skinny Lady pursed up her mouth and asserted that, very possibly, classes with Marvejols Lady would not fulfill my immigration and integration requirements. Patrick very coolly observed that since her name had been provided to us by the unemployment office, also a government office, she should be just fine. A number of terse telephone calls were made, and at the end of things, it was determined that the name of Marvejols Lady was actually the same (as was the phone number) as the woman that was on Skinny Lady's list for Mende. I promised to be sure to ask about this discrepancy when I saw Marvejols Lady tomorrow. Skinny Lady looked like she wanted to be more sure, but hey, there was a waiting room full of folks to see. We were dismissed.

Patrick escaped for some fresh air and a smoke, and I waited for Meeting Two. It was the nurse. I followed her into a small consult room and, through the use of my much-mangled French and her very few words of English, the first day of my last period was established, along with the facts that I had no major illnesses or diseases, was not pregnant, had not been hospitalized for anything in the past several years, and that I thought my vaccinations were up-to-date. When I said I didn't have my vaccination records with me, she was completely nonchalant, shrugged, and said I could see a doctor in my village if I was concerned about it. Okay, then. Stage Two, complete.

Back to the waiting room, which was starting to thin out as people were off to their various meetings. A few minutes later, I was called back for the chest x-ray. The tech took me to a changing room and explained (in English, actually - boy, was I glad of that) that in France, they don't use lead vests, and that you must be unclothed from the waist up for a chest x-ray. Oh-kay. As I was wearing a dress, I asked her should I shuck the whole thing? She replied that yep, that was what was called for, but I could, of course, leave my underwear on. Delightful. She closed the door and I undressed and then sat reading a book in my panties until she knocked for me to come out. In this interval, I heard her try to retrieve one of the Thai women from the cubicle next to mine - she had come to get her, and Thai Lady was still fully dressed. When the tech explained again that upper-body nekkid was needful, Thai Lady asked if there was a paper gown or something. The tech she sounded like she was trying not to laugh when she said that no, there was nothing. Poor Thai Lady. The knock came on my own door, and I sashayed out into the room - thankfully, I had put on good undies that morning. I was ushered into the x-ray machine, which looked like a photo booth, and had to press my front side to what looked like one of those targets at a shooting range. A big breath and a few seconds later, and I retired to my cube to dress. A few minutes after that and bam! I had my very own chest x-ray in hand.

Back in the waiting room once more, we waited for the next-to-last summons: the doctor. Patrick rode along on this one, now that he was back from his "break", and I expected a regular examining room and some poking and prodding, perhaps. I wanted Patrick there in case I needed words I didn't have in French. Nope, wrong again. The woman simply greeted us, grabbed the chest x-ray, slapped it on a light box, peered at it for a few seconds, said okay, and then asked me the same questions as the nurse. She did, as a doctor must, plead with me to quit smoking, but in a very nice way. She signed and stamped a piece of paper, gave it to me, and then we were "au revoir"ed out the door. Phew!

Lastly, it was back to Skinny Lady to give her the doc's signed okay that I wasn't a some sort of Typhoid Mary, and to give her the funny money-stamp-thingies. She carefully pasted them to a page with my info on it, clipped it to a lot of other paperwork we had sent to OFII previously, and then proceeded to print up a nifty little page that got plastered right into my passport, along with a very official-looking stamp (the rubber kind) and a shiny, holograph-y clear sticker that went right on top to seal it in. It looks very fancy and indicates that I am now firmly on the road to being Immigrated and Integrated.

I still have to go to a one-day French civics class in November (I am actually looking forward to it - I don't have to bring Patrick, as they will have English speakers there to help if I don't understand), and my carte de sejour is contingent upon my passing an oral and written test called the DILF in December, but I am not worried. I blithely walked while almost completely nekkid in front of a strange x-ray tech, and I didn't even blush. If I can ever figure out those stamp thingies on my own, I will be well on my way to really being at home here.

Oui!

The Lure of Ricard

Hello, my lovelies. It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm afraid I've been caught up in my day-to-day living, and have shamefully neglected you. Ah, well, let's try to remedy the neglect, shall we?

For all of you out there who have never visited France, there is something you should know. The French love anything anise-flavored. Candy, mints, and most especially ... Ricard. Every bar and cafe hereabouts has a bottle or ten of this aperitif ready to pour at all times, and I am going to do my best to explain it. In my own opinion, it is possibly the foulest-tasting stuff on the planet, but the French enjoy it mightily, and perhaps, as the years go by, my taste buds will become accustomed. Who knows.

Ricard (and other local variants of the liqueur, called pastis) is simply an anise-flavored liqueur, somewhat like  Galliano, or Jagermeister, or ouzo. What really differs is the serving of it. You don't drink Ricard neat; instead,  a couple of ounces are poured into a snifter (usually with the Ricard logo printed on it - the Ricard folks are no slouches when it comes to promotional materials, especially glassware), either with or without an ice cube, according to taste ... and then, you top it off by pouring in a measure of cold water before drinking. This still sounds pretty typical for any sort of liquor, but the water actually changes the color of it, so that the clear, kind of light amber of the liqueur itself now is a milky yellowish-white, looking disturbingly like skim milk. And then you drink it. And it tastes like black jellybeans. As an old friend of mine would always say, oy vey.

I've noticed that, on the whole, it seems to be much more a man's drink than a ladies' drink, but that doesn't mean I haven't seen plenty of women quaffing this beverage from time to time. One would think that the French national drink would have to be wine - and wine is important here, no doubt - but Ricard seems to give the vineyards a run for their money in terms of customer loyalty. People sit and chat with each other for hours, with a bottle of Ricard on the bar and a flagon of water between them, refilling and topping off their glasses countless times as the evening goes by. I've tasted it myself, and almost ran screaming down the street as my taste buds were saturated with the oily and slightly medicinal taste of licorice, but I am definitely in the minority here, as far as the wonders of Ricard are concerned. Again, maybe this is how I will know that I have assimilated into French society - when offered a Ricard, I will happily accept and even drink it without wanting to tear out my own tongue. But then, I was never a fan of Jagermeister or anything similar, either. Ew.

Instead, I stick to beer when I can (mostly light lagers, which are most popular here), the occasional glass of house red or white, and, more and more increasingly, whiskey and water. I haven't had a gin and tonic in quite some time - gin seems to be missing from the drinks menu in most establishments hereabouts - not too popular, I gather. Although to me, the leap from anise flavoring to juniper is not all that far, and you can always get a tonic water, wherever you go ... but I can buy gin in the liquor store or at the grocery, so my love of a good G&T can at least be indulged at home!

One last note: here, it is perfectly acceptable to order a beer sweetened with flavored sirop. I am not kidding. Grenadine, mint, or peach syrup are the most common, though I guess you could tell them to put in whatever they had on hand - strawberry, blackcurrant, lemon, orange ... There is a disturbing concoction called a Monaco that is beer, grenadine syrup, and limonade, which is like 7-UP. Basically, a Shirley Temple with beer in it. I made several of these for people while I was working at the campground, and the expression on people's faces as they sipped them always seemed to be, Ah - how refreshing. I myself am not convinced of this, and have steered clear. Between licorice-flavored stuff and sweet beers, there is enough evidence, in my opinion, to stick with the old tried-and-true staples of beer, wine, and whiskey. No surprises there. If you like licorice, though, then France is the place for you. There is a bar stool, pitcher of water, snifter glass, and bottle of Ricard right here waiting for you.

Pronunciation guide:

Ricard: ree-CAHR
pastis: pass-TEE
sirop: sear-OH
Monaco: mohn-ah-COH
limonade: lee-moh-NOD

Things French People Love

I've been watching and learning, here in La Canourgue, for three months now, and I've noticed a few things that the folks around here seem to adore. These are generalizations, of course, and I'm sure that with time, I'll discover that it's not true of everyone, but for the time being - a few Things That French People Love.

Cantaloupe: For some reason, the French adore cantaloupe melons. It's called "melon", as if cantaloupe are the only melons cultivated to be consumed by the masses. I rarely see watermelons in the store or at the market, and honeydews seem to be non-existent. There are occasionally some weird-looking African yellow-y things in the supermarket, but by and large, cantaloupe is the melon of choice. In the summer, it seems, no picnic or barbeque or quiet lunch at home is complete without this orange fruit sliced and served to each person. They eat it as a first course, and everyone exclaims with pleasure how sweet (but not too sweet) and delicious it is ... I have eaten so much cantaloupe this summer that I would be perfectly happy to never encounter it ever again. There is a huge one reposing on my kitchen table as I write this, a gift from the melon vendor whose table sits beside my front door every market day. I know my husband will happily suggest cutting into this piece of fruit when he gets home from work for his midday break, and I will smile, and say, of course, and eat it, and try very hard to enjoy it. Maybe a love for it will eventually sink in? I am living in hope.

Peanuts:  Do you like peanuts? I've always considered them to be sort of the poor cousins of the nut family. You eat them when all the other nuts in the mixed nuts can are gone. Or you crush them up and use them to garnish pad thai. Or, best of all, you can pulverize them and mix in a little oil and sugar to create peanut butter, one of the best substances known to man. Not so in France. Here, you go to someone's house for dinner, and bam! The bag of peanuts comes out. Everyone happily digs in and eats them by the handful as an appetizer. There are crackers, potato chips, and things that look like Cheetos, but are peanut-flavored. (Yuck, by the way.) If you bring a bag of mixed nuts (this is if you can find one in the store) to the party, the peanuts are winkled out and eaten first! It boggles the mind. And, as I may have mentioned before - no peanut butter. It is, quite literally, an unknown quantity here. The "exotic foods" section of the grocery store might have a jar or two available, but it will inevitably be the extra-super-chunky variety that consists of mostly chopped-up peanuts and hardly any "butter" to be going on with. I have no idea where the love of plain peanuts came from, but it is bewildering. A country noted for its love of food and cooking, and most of its denizens think peanuts are an appropriate snack. I just don't know. Also, the French word for peanut is "cacahuete", and, you know, being American, I don't like to eat things that have "caca" in the name.

Peach iced tea: I was excited to find bottled and canned iced tea available in France. I thought I would be making my own sun tea, if I wanted this particular beverage, and was pleased to see that wouldn't always be necessary. But ... if you don't like peach flavoring, you're up shit creek on this one. Fortunately, I do! Just about every grocery chain has a house brand for bottled beverages - soda, juice, etc. And apparently, for the French, "iced tea" and "peach" are inseparable. (I have seen a few bottles of mango iced tea here and there, but never in any quantity, and always with the word "nouveau" -  new - prominently featured on the label.) There is even an iced tea syrup available (I have a bottle in my own kitchen, in fact) that you just add water to and, voila!, a delicious iced tea beverage is waiting for your consumption. However, it is always peach iced tea syrup. Never lemon, never raspberry, never plain. Perhaps I should contact some beverage manufacturers here and suggest the lemon, raspberry, or mint options? If Lipton doesn't get in ahead of me, I might be able to open up whole new vistas in the French ready-made beverage market.

Outdoor activities: I come from a very suburban/urban area of the U.S. When people there have leisure time, they generally go to the movies, or shopping, or to an amusement park. Maybe they head to a public park with some friends for a summertime cookout. In this part of the world (the least-populated area of France, actually),though, when people have down time, they head outdoors. Hiking, biking, camping, swimming, canoeing ... I imagine there are places in the U.S. where this is the case, as well - I just never lived in any of them. My husband and I spend countless hours in our yard, gardening, mucking out the stream that flows through it, and inviting people over to barbeque and eat al fresco. And I've learned to be careful when someone invites me on "une petite balade" ("a little walk") ... because, depending upon the person, that could mean a hike of twenty kilometers through the mountainous terrain that surrounds us, or it could mean a short stroll to the outskirts of town and back. You just never know, and it appears that you should be prepared for either outcome when you accept their offer. I am hoping that, with time, my mind reading abilities become better and I will know when I should bring water, sunscreen, and Power Bars along for "a little walk". I'm sure I'll get there some day - and I'll probably be walking, when I do.

Meat: First, there's saucisson. It's a kind of dried sausage, kind of like pepperoni. You slice off little pieces and eat it with bread or by itself. The people around here eat it all the time, and there are an infinite number of varieties. I have no real idea exactly what goes into the making of these things, but they taste fantastic (despite the sort of vague feet-like aroma before you cut into them). Then, of course, there are pates and terrines and mousses. All made out of some sort of meat (usually organ meat, like livers) and sometimes veggies, like mushrooms or onions, and molded into a sort of loaf that you then slice hunks off of and spread on bread. Again, delicious. Think of it sort of as meat jelly or jam - makes a great sandwich. So, these are the before-the-meal meat products, and then you move on to the entree portion of your lunch or dinner, which is always ... surprise! More meat. Sausages - pork or lamb, usually - or perhaps pork chops, or thin beef steaks. Maybe a roasted chicken - boneless, skinless chicken breasts are not very popular here. Sometimes people will have turkey steaks or perhaps a piece of fish (usually salmon, unfortunately). But always, always, the main course around these parts is meat. Here is the crazy part: I've never, since I've been here, seen anyone marinate a piece of meat. There is this little packet of dry herbs that comes with any steak or chop you buy in the market that most folks will rub on the meat before they cook it, but that's it! (And it always consists of mostly rosemary. Mom, watch out.) I made an herb butter with some fresh chives and parsley last week to put on some steaks I was broiling for dinner for myself and my husband, and he looked horrified as I applied it to the meat prior to putting it in the oven. Thank God I had rejected the balsamic vinaigrette and shallot marinade that was my other idea - he might have left the house, and me, upon seeing that perpetrated on a steak he intended to eat. I have been afraid to broach the subject of marinating with my new French friends - it seems so universally neglected that I feel sure there is some big, glaring reason for NOT doing it that I haven't yet discovered. I will continue, of course, to marinate in the privacy of my own home, but in front of others ... rosemary, anyone?

I discover new things every day, and will continue to parade those things past all of you. Thanks for reading and sharing in my adventures!

Pronunciation Guide:

melon: meh-LOW(n)
cacahuete: ka-ka-WEHT
nouveau: noo-VOH
voila: vwah-LAH
une petite balade: ewn puh-TEET bah-LAHD
saucisson: so-see-SOHN
pate: pah-TAY
terrine: teh-REEN

Bread and Bonjour

I've been pondering two things that, to me, seem quintessentially French - and that you really need to understand, absorb, and participate in to become comfortable living in France or with the French. As my title suggests, these things are bread and greetings such as "bonjour". Let me break it down for you:

Bread: The staff (or stuff) of life, right? In France, you simply MUST eat bread. There is no conversation about it, like, "Hey. Should we go buy some bread for [insert meal here]?" You go to the bakery every single day and you purchase whatever bread supplies you need to lay in for that day. End of story. People here eat bread with any and every meal they consume. Bread with their coffee or hot chocolate in the morning. Bread for their sandwiches at lunch. Bread (of course) with dinner and most especially with cheese, which you eat at dessert time. And I'm not talking Wonder Bread here. Mention sliced sandwich bread like that, and most French-born citizens will give you an incredulous look, as if you just announced you like to eat dog poo for dinner. No, French bread is the long, crusty on the outside, chewy on the inside baguette, first and foremost. There are many other kinds - I am most partial to the bigger cousin of the baguette, the flute, because it is a little less dense than the baguette and has a fluffier interior. (My husband rolls his eyes at me when I state this preference.) There are breakfast breads (pain au lait, pain au mie, brioche) that don't have a hard crust and are excellent for dipping in beverages, there are sweet pastries (pain au raisin and pain au chocolat) that are related to the illustrious, flaky and delicious croissant, and there are literally thousands of regional specialties in both sweet and non-sweet, hard and soft varieties. For example, in my village they make a big ring of country bread called a couronne, and this is apparently impossible to get in Paris. It's very good, but I am a little stumped as to why you just don't eat something else while you're in Paris that they don't make here? (Like Chinese take-out or kebabs from the 24-hour kebab stand.)

But this is the thing about bread: it is not just a staple in your diet. It is part and parcel of the French man or woman's identity. Bread is not just sustenance; it is religion. I am pretty sure that there have been wars here (or at least really big arguments) over where you could get the tastiest bread. Everyone has their particular preferences, not just for the type of breads they prefer to eat on a given day, but also for the actual bakery where these are procured. People don't just buy bread from anywhere, all willy-nilly. No. Absolutely not. You go to the bakery you have ALWAYS gone to, and there is no deviation. I think when you move someplace new, you get a window of time to sample the local bakeries, but once you've gone there multiple times in a week, you're committed. And if your bakery runs out of something you want? You go without. No running across town and picking up a loaf from the other bakery, oh no. Perhaps, if you wear a wig, dark glasses, and a cape, you could drive to the next village over and buy bread there, maybe. If you had house guests, for instance, and needed bread to feed them. But you are loyal to your baker, and he or she will be loyal to you. Our bakery is literally about fifteen steps from our front door, and Patrick is now such a good and regular customer he can even take home bread if he forgets his money - he just brings payment to them later on, or even on the next day. Can you believe it??? I am working hard on ingratiating myself with the people who work there, as well, and it will be a happy day when I can say more to them than "hello", "good bye", and "one flute, please".

Bonjour: Literally, it means "good day". French people use it as an all purpose "Hello," or "Hey there!" What's different about this greeting is that you use it, um, all the time, and with everyone, whether you know them or not. First, you must greet (and say good-bye to, by the way) whoever is at the cash register in any shop or store you enter. Ditto for bars, pharmacies, the library, the post office, hotels, government offices ... anywhere, really. Even if you're just entering that building to browse around and have no intention whatsoever of buying anything or asking for any further assistance, you MUST greet them with "bonjour". (Or "bon soir", if it is after 6pm or so.) When you exit said establishment, it must be accompanied by a "au revoir", or "merci, au revoir", if they have assisted you in any way. This is gospel. It is the only civilized way to behave here, and if you don't, those employees of wherever you have just exited will gossip about you and comment on your rudeness. I am not kidding - I've now done it myself, at the campground. Wow.

And greeting people is not limited to interior spaces. We have a really deep windowsill on our ground floor window, which I sit on quite a bit, enjoying a book and/or a cigarette. Since we live in the village center, people are walking by all the time. Whether they are people I happen to know or tourists gawking at the architecture, they all will toss out a "bonjour" or "bonsoir" as they drift past me - even kids! In fact, it is now easy to tell the tourists who are from countries other than France, because they are the people who don't greet me as they walk in front of my house. (Well, there are also several long-time residents of La Canourgue who studiously ignore me and refuse to let out a bonjour in my direction. I generally pretend to be completely absorbed in my book when I see one of them coming, so I don't have to meet their eyes and recognize the slight. Or, if I'm feeling froggy, I say bonjour first, and watch the sound speed up their steps. I am hoping that, eventually - like in five years, maybe - they will get accustomed to the sight of me and grace me with a greeting.) If you're taking a walk, you say "bonjour" to anyone who makes eye contact with you, in general. Can you imagine it? Try - imagine you are walking down a street in your own town or city. Now imagine saying hello to complete strangers as you go. Strange, right? It seemed that way to me until I started doing it, and now I just can't stop. It's an addiction. But it's also 100% really and truly French. Of course, in Paris, people don't greet every person they see - the city's too enormous for that. But in the suburbs of Paris? Yep, bonjours abound. The really fun part? If you actually know the people, more often than not you also get to do the cheek-kissing thing. And that's a whole 'nother ball of wax ... I'll save cheek kissing for next time, sportsfans.

Take care of yourselves and each other, and make sure to give a nice greeting to the person behind the counter the next time you go to a bakery. Or your mechanic's. Or Target. If people look at you funny, just tell them you are experimenting with other cultural norms. If they still are giving you the hairy eyeball, just say, "merci, au revoir" and walk away. You can't win 'em all.

Pronunciation and definition guide:
baguette: bah-GETT (crusty loaf of bread, about a foot long)
flute: FLOO-tuh (crusty loaf of bread, about twice the size of the baguette)
pain au lait: pahn-oh-LAY (soft breakfast bread, made with milk)
pain au mie: pahn-oh-MEE (soft breakfast bread, as above, sweeter. Both are similar to Hawaiian rolls.)
brioche: BREE-ohsh (soft rolls with an egg wash on top to make them shiny. Sometimes have giant sugar crystals decorating them.)
pain au raisin: pahn-oh-ray-SAHN (croissant-like pastry with raisins baked in)
pain au chocolat: pahn-oh-shock-oh-LAH (croissant-like pastry with a seam or two of dark chocolate baked inside)
couronne: koo-RUN (a hearty whole-grain country bread, baked in a ring like a crown)
croissant: KWAH-sahn (you know what these are)
bonjour: BOHN-jewr (hello! or good day!)
bon soir: BOHN-swahr (good evening)
merci: MEHR-see (thank you)
au revoir: oh-vwa (good bye)