The beauty of Burgundy (and at last -- Ireland pictures!)

Most of my growing up years were spent in a small mountain town in Colorado. It was beautiful in many ways and for many reasons (the view of Pike's Peak, the shimmering aspen trees, the true-blue sky and year-round sunshine, stars that go on forever). But the high altitude and the almost non-existent spring and only slightly-longer fall didn't really allow for an appreciation of the changing of the seasons. That lesson -- especially the wonder of welcoming in spring -- didn't come until I left for university in the Pacific Northwest (where I remember calling my parents to proclaim "The trees here have FLOWERS on them! Blooming! All over the place!") and then later for Philadelphia (where I called my parents to announce "The dirt in our backyard is BLACK! And we didn't even have to buy it! It just comes that way!").

Well, this week is showing us that Burgundy knows how to do seasons just as well as any place I've ever lived. It is springtime here in every sense of the word. Everywhere I turn, there are bursting flower buds, lush green fields, quick moving rain showers, and the wonderful damp smell of things growing. The world is waking up -- and we are, too.

I think my favorite view right now is out the kitchen window, where this gorgeous cherry tree has been adding new flowers every day. The violets covering the path up to the top of Mount-St-Victor (aka Coconut Mountain) are a close second. The golden daffodils and pastel tulips, the bright yellow forsythia, the moss and green fields and vineyards... well, they're not so bad either.

We are feeling very, very lucky indeed (and hearing of a long chinook -- multiple days of 80 km/hr wind -- in Lethbridge only makes us appreciate this more.)

***

And as promised -- a few (dozen) pictures from the Ireland trip. We started at Bunratty Castle:

But we went straight to the folk park and had lunch at a pub. Lamb stew for me, fish and chips for John... the first of many many potatoes we would eat in a quick visit.

We stopped to say hello to real Irish wolfhounds.

And toured lots of great old cottages, workshops, barns and shops (loving the thatched roofs).

 

After lunch, we toured the castle, which dates from the 1400s and is quite impressive. One of the many interesting points -- there are tiny little stairs to the nursery, so if that castle was attacked, they'd send the children (and a small woman or two) up to their rooms, and the big men in all of their shining armor couldn't get up the stairs, at least not right away...

We did talk to the kids about firearm safety after their fun peering in the cannon of the ship in Bristol... but they still had to take a look here.

We crossed a real moat and drawbridge to enter.

The kids took their places at the head table in the Great Hall

And after climbing up (and up and up) the tiniest spiral staircases, we arrived at one of the towers. Unfortunately we then had to go down (and down and down)... and then did it again (just to get a different view).

And here are a few other pictures from our quick trip... enjoying a Guiness, an Irish whiskey, and lots and lots of potatoes. The picture of the pub "Kathleen" is for my aunt, the original Superchicken in Chicago.

Both girls became somewhat reluctant to have their pictures taken on this trip (we called it "being Amish"). I love this photo of Katie with that big pouty lip... a few second later, she was smiling.

After our whirlwind visit, we flew back to Beauvais, north of Paris, and had a great walk around the city Tuesday night (which is home to a beautiful cathedral). Here are a few shots from that part of the trip as well. And despite the strike interruptions, we DID make it "home" (as our French village house does feel like home by now) and we are all happy to be here -- at least for a few days!

GUEST BLOG: Splattered with mud, bottle firmly in hand...

While I am the primary writer and keeper of this blog as well as the blog I kept in Japan, there were times in Japan when John had a say, too. It seemed to happen when he experienced something the rest of us didn't (taking Katie to the emergency room for her head wound, for example), or when something was so momentous and huge, we both had a lot to say (the election of Barack Obama, for example).

So, although I had my own account of some of yesterday's fun, I thought it would also be good to hear the story from John's point of view. Enjoy!

***

While it is generally good to write about these experiences while they are still fresh, the timing certainly shapes the description. If I wrote my account just after the race, I might have raved about the event under the influence of a runner's high (and bolstered by the treats given out at the end of the race as well as the prospect of picking up my bottle of wine). The rain and mud on the race course may have been more prominent features in the guest blog if I had written last night, as I became increasingly sore.

Instead, I am writing the next morning. There is no runner's high nor crippling soreness. Just a bit sore--enough to remind me that I did not train properly and that I am 15 years older than when I ran this distance in a much quicker 42 minutes.

I thought a bit about speed at various times in the course even though I was more motivated to run this race by vin than vitesse. The lure of the vin lived up to its billing--both the beauty of the vineyards and the fun of receiving the bottle of wine at the end. However during the race I couldn't help but think about the vitesse, and the lack of speed.

This race is much bigger than any I have been part of. They cap registration at 2,500, and the #2330 that I wore suggests that they had full numbers. The course is beautiful but also fairly narrow as it winds through the vineyards. We came rather late to the race despite the advice of our friend Thomas that for a good time you must start near the front as you will otherwise be stuck in the crowd bumping into other runners. I started far from the front, and he was right.

Runners were excited and jumping around as men with microphones stoked this enthusiasm and then counted down for the official start. The gun fired and if I hadn't heard it I would not have known the race started. There were so many people in front of me that we just kept jumping up and down as there was no way to move forward for what seemed like a long time. So much for speed at the beginning.

As the race went on the pack spread out and there were opportunities to pass people while avoiding the big puddles and the deepest mud. This allowed me to feel reasonably fast while passing people. The race was messy but fun in the early stages like here where I saw Lisa and Jack near the 3k mark and when passing through the impressive Château du Clos-de-Vougeot at the point where we turned back toward Nuits-Saint-Georges.

Not long after passing this chateau there was a second table with cups of water along the near side and what appeared to be pate, more substantial snacks, and perhaps some wine on the far side. Next time I will have to stop, linger on the other side of the table, and indulge in the original reasons for doing this run. However, this time I was still thinking about speed and grabbed a cup of water from a volunteer--there were an amazing number of volunteers in this remarkably well organized event--while on the move.  

At the time, not slowing to eat or drink seemed the thing to do. I was pleased that I was not tempted to walk at any point in this run, but when a joker passed me near the 8k mark it became clear that my "running" was often mere jogging. Yes, this participant was in the costume of a joker, like on a playing card. I had left most costumed participants behind earlier in the race, but perhaps I should not have been surprised by this alarming development. After all, two very tall drag queens in miniskirts had passed me 1 km earlier. 

This led to more philosophical musings about speed. I had passed many more runners than had passed me (this is not difficult to do when you start behind so many other runners), but I think serious runners would have been less tempted by the pate and wine and more concerned about being passed by anyone in costume. I became somewhat resigned to the thought, which turned out to be accurate, that my time would likely be one minute slower per year of age since the race I had run full-out 15 years ago.

Of course this does not have to be true. We have a friend in Canada who is older than me and she runs marathons and ultra-marathons every year with what seems to be faster times with age. But I did not think of her. Instead, I thought--with growing empathy--about the old Ford Mondeo station wagon that we are driving around the village here in France. 

The car we are borrowing has 250,000 km on the odometer and there are many signs that it is not as spry now as a decade ago. But, as they say here, il roule (it goes, it rolls), with a shrug suggesting that it is how it is and that is sufficient. That became my mantra when passed at 8 km by the joker. Il roule, et ca suffit.

Seeing the 9k sign was energizing and I shifted my inner Ford Mondeo into a higher gear and passed a dozen or two runners to finish in good form. Just as turning up a car radio can "fix" problems by preventing the driver from hearing thumps, whines, and sputters, I cranked up Lisa's iphone and ran that last km in the 4.5 minutes it took to play James' Born of Frustration.

After clipping off the electronic device on my shoe, which allowed them to record my modest time, I was pointed to an exit where I was given a bag of treats including this race shirt and a coupon to pick up a free wine glass at the tasting as part of the many festivities for the 49th vente des vins in Nuits- Saint-Georges.

Creaking body and all, it was great fun. The girls did not seem disappointed that I had not won the race and Jack and Lisa were able to see the full scope of the race and have very French race experiences of their own (she did get the wine and pate I had foolishly passed on). That link takes you back to Lisa's account of the day and the picture of the bottle of wine that initially motivated the run through mud-splattered spectacular scenery--vines, chateaus, jokers, drag queens, and all.

It's spring! (and the world is puddle-wonderful)

Wow. Burning that bon homme d'hiver last weekend must have really worked, because since then we have been reveling in the glorious weather of spring.

Need proof? I took these pictures this morning, at around 8:30 before the girls went to school. Note the absence of coats, mittens, scarves, hats... and it's just getting prettier as the day goes along. As the poet e.e. cummings wrote, "it's spring, and the world is mudluscious" (and later in the same poem, he called it "puddle-wonderful"). Not a very French description, but somehow fits anyway.

Bienvenue printemps!

Thinking about thanks

So... it's still snowing. Still. And my children still don't have proper footwear (and are wearing many, many varied (some would say bizzare) layers of clothing to school).

Well, on Friday, one of the wonderful teachers at Kate and Liv's school mentioned that she might have some old boots at home (she has older girls) and wondered if we might like them. I tried (poorly) to explain why people who live in Canada should come to France with rainboots and not the world's heaviest coats, and that really we have snowboots (and snowpants and warm coats and more hats, mitts, and scarves than we know what to do with) back at home but that we were limited with the number of bags we could bring and that this has been the coldest and snowiest winter here in a long time... and then it all got jumbled up in the subjunctive and past tense and conditional -- so I just said that'd be great, merci beaucoup.

Yesterday on the fieldtrip to Dijon, she mentioned that she had forgotten the boots that morning but she'd bring them today. I said no problem, merci beaucoup.

And today she showed up with boots, slippers, and a giant, overflowing bag of warm winter sweaters, turtlenecks, heavy pants, tights, two coats and more for us to use while we are here. And... although I wanted to explain that really, REALLY, I can provide clothing for my children, that really it's almost embarrassing how many clothes these girls have in their closet at home in Canada, that really I can just go and buy new boots and heavy sweaters... instead I just put away my pride and said merci beaucoup.

It's not always easy to just give thanks or to accept help. And for me, it is harder being on the receiving end of this sort of kindness than being the one doing the kind deed. If the tables were turned, I would do (and have done) the same thing as she did.  If I heard in Lethbridge that someone had just moved from out of the country and didn't have enough warm winter clothes (regardless of their financial situation), I wouldn't think twice before putting together a big bag of clothes. We have always passed on all of the kids clothes once they are outgrown -- I am always SO happy to get them out of the house! --  and we have gathered coats, hats, and more for families in need in our own town.

And while I don't think of us as a family IN NEED, we are a family that, at the moment, is in need of winter boots (that they may only wear this weekend -- or perhaps that is just wishful thinking at this chilly point?). And however hard it is to accept help from other -- we are grateful for these (thick, heavy, suitcase filling) clothes. More than grateful -- the girls were THRILLED! They dressed up all afternoon, picking out their favorites and putting entire French outfits together.They looked so cute too -- very French (I think). That's Liv in the first picture (you can't see the fabulous purple skirt or bright tights) and Katie in a long-sleeved cat shirt (which she had smartly paired with a dog cardigan earlier in the day).

 

  

Sometimes, the limitations of langauge are good. It was just too hard to try to explain all that I was tempted to explain when she handed me that bag. Sometimes, only being able to say thank you ends up being the best thing to say. So to the wonderful teacher at Kate and Liv's school, we all pass along a warm merci beaucoup tonight.

***
In other exciting news -- Jack came home from school today with an invitation to a birthday party of a classmate for next week. He is SO excited. Anyone know what 8-year-old French girls might like for a gift?

Weekend update

I wish I had taken a picture from our house on Thursday night. It would have shown John on Skype, talking on to Franck (one of the owners of this house), who was on his computer in Canada and who then did a conference call with his father at his computer in a house in our little village, who was (thankfully!) talking on his phone to Monsieur France Telecom about our telephone and internet woes. It was an impressive feat of technology – trying to solve our technological problem.

Apparently, it is a problem with the line to the house, and France Telecom will need to fix it. Now, we’ve only been here two weeks, but already I know enough to not hold my breath that France Telecom will be able to do that any time soon (I figure if you set the bar of expectations VERY low, you can only be pleasantly surprised). And I am so grateful to Laura and Franck for arranging a native French speaker to talk to French Telecom on our behalf. I am feeling pretty OK about my language skills for most conversations (and am remembering so much more French every day), but the telephone is SO hard. So three cheers to Franck's father!

And no one knows why we still can get Skype when we can’t get a dial tone on the phone or a regular internet connection – but we do seem to have Skype (lisnjohn1) if you need to reach us urgently, and a French cell phone if the schools need to reach us. I figure it’s a bit of a safety net to keep us connected to the world, and I'm not going to complain about it even if no one understands why we are getting it.

In the meantime, Franck and Laura have hooked us up with an internet connection at another location, where John or I go (briefly) once or twice a day to check in with the outside world.  It’s working for now – and one unintended consequence is that instead of turning to my usual daily must-reads (The New York Times online, The Globe and Mail online, etc.), I have looked instead to the many wonderful books in this house and started devouring those.

Oh yeah, books! I remember you! First I enjoyed a fluffy and fun read called Entre Nous about finding your inner French girl (full of lots of useful tips including how you can’t really buy coffee to go in France (no kidding!), advising buying fewer items of clothing but the best quality you can afford, and extolling the virtues of sayin "no" (or "non") from time to time). Then, I picked up the wonderful writing guide/inspirational tome by Anne Lamott called Bird by Bird. You know how there are books you need to read at a certain place and time? Well, this is one of those books. She strikes just the right note of teacher/friend/editor/fellow writer sharing the lessons learned... and it was just the bit of inspiration I needed – the kick in the pants to get back in the habit of writing *something* every day. We’ll see how long her pep talk lasts – and feel free to email me and encourage (harass?) me as I try to get back into the world of writing again.

The kids had a good end of the school week, although we had more snow which meant that the bus for Jack was cancelled Friday (he had taken it for the first time on Thursday and loved it) and that the kids are not properly shod for the moment. I had considered long and hard what winter wear to bring and, it seems, I made the wrong call on this one. France is generally more temperate than Canada (I can't help laughing a little as a write that -- most places in the woirld are a bit more temperate than Canada!) and often there are winters with very little snow. This, however, appears NOT to be one of those winters. So we have been putting the kids in lots of layers (which works) and sending them to school in their rain boots and two pairs of socks (which mostly works, sort of). I know I could go buy new snow boots – but what if it doesn’t snow again?

We braved the snow and bad roads to go to check email briefly Saturday morning and then (more importantly) to head to the Beaune market. At several points I thought we should turn around and go home – the roads were quite slick and it was looking worse by the minute. But when we arrived at the market, I swear you could almost hear the harps of heaven strum and the angels sing as the grey skies broke and the sun and blue skies cascaded down on all the market goers! Clearly we were meant to be there -- and we had a wonderful outing. The kids and John returned to the carousel (bien sur) and I did a quick tour to pick up a few things we needed. It wasn’t as big of a haul as last week, but still pretty good considering how little time I actually spent there (we wanted to get home as we didn't think the blue skies would last long -- and they didn't).

 

 

Pictured above, you can see the haul: six apples, eight pears, four avocados, four containers of strawberries (on special this week because the vendor wanted to go home), tapenade, walnuts, hazelnuts, dried apricots, dried strawberries, olives, a new cheese of the week (again, I didn’t catch the name... I need to bring a pen next week!), salami dried with goat cheese (DELICIOUS!), a quarter of a roasted turkey and some French beans, a Florentine baguette, the most delicious tomatoes I have ever had in January (grown in a nursery in the south of France), an umbrella, and local honey. Pas mal, n’est pas?

(Oh, and Katie and Livie are in tank tops because we were doing their laundry and pretty much EVERYTHING else was dirty.)

And a few other observations from the week:

* We passed by a high school at some kind of morning break and were surprised (although perhaps we shouldn’t have been) at the number of students smoking. Crowds of teenagers, all wearing black and grey jackets, of course, but also school backpacks, were huddled in the cold, smoking, smoking, smoking. It feels like the U.S. and Canada are quite different in this area... even when I was in high school (way back then), you wouldn’t have seen this kind of number of students with cigarettes. I wonder if they are taxed as heavily here? It would be interesting to find out if there have been any changes in who smokes (and how much they smoke) over the last few decades.

* Like in Lethbridge, it is not always easy to get details out of Jack about his day. But we did manage to ask just the right question the other night to elicit a response about the behavior of kids at school. He said the kids are wilder on the playground but calmer in the classroom. He said he’s been a little surprised at some things – seeing kids (boys and girls) throw snowballs at each other, fight, kick, wrestle, pull hair, etc. – but all of the kids involved seem to *want* to be wrestling/fighting/throwing snowballs, etc., and no one seems to be upset about it. He said none of it’s been directed at him, either, and that he’s been happy to be playing tag, hopscotch and other games with boys and girls. He added that the students are unsupervised for most of their breaks. The flip side is that he said things in the classroom are very, very calm. There has been only one time where one student was acting out in a way that Jack noticed this last week and where the teacher had to raise her voice a bit. His own classrooms in Lethbridge have been pretty calm, I think (when considering have twenty children together in a confined space), so for him to comment on this is pretty telling, I think.

* On Thursday, when I was waiting for Jack to catch the bus, I was talking to a girl in his class. She told me (unprompted... I had only asked how old she was and hearing she was almost eight, asked if she knew Jack) that Jack is a quick learner and hard worker... that there is something he doesn’t understand one day, and then he does the next. Bravo, Jack!

* We pushed our luck a bit with Kate and Liv and had them try heading back to preschool for an afternoon on Thursday. The afternoon program sounded wonderful – lots of time spent reading books and painting and playing. While they were fine, they were SO tired when we picked them up.  So for now, we will have them go only in the mornings. They both are having so much fun there. We are feeling VERY lucky about how well it’s all going for all three kids at school.

* On Monday, I will get to accompany Kate and Liv on a field trip to Dijon. In the morning, the class will go to the museum. They will have a picnic lunch, and then see some kind of puppet show (I *think*... I could be completely wrong about all of it, too!). They are very excited about this, and I am excited to get back to Dijon.

*  Speaking of the beautiful city to our north -- I have exchanged emails with the Harmels, the family I lived with in Dijon in 1993, and am going to try to get together with their daughters (who have many children) this week and with them in a few weeks (they have been travelling quite a bit lately). I am so excited to see them -- I look back at my time in Dijon and so many of the wonderful memories took place at their apartment, at the kitchen table with Christine, as I learned about France, French, and more.

* Two of the kids (Jack and Kate) have picked up the cold I heard actively in both classrooms when we went to visit our first week here. Sigh. I know it's inevitable (between travel, weird sleeping schedules, and new germs they haven't encountered before), but I don't like it anyway! Kate had a rough night but seems to be a lot better this morning. Jack had a rough night and seems to be about the same today. Neither has a fever,  headaches, or body aches, and Jack's doesn't sound like it's tranformed into his asthma cough (and he says it doesn't feel like his asthma cough)... so I am hoping it's just a regular old cold.  Fingers crossed for their quick recovery!

And I think that's about it. Sorry for such a long post... and apologies, too, if you email and we don't reply right away... we are mostly just checking in and making some travel plans (Jay and Judy are coming to visit next week!), and hoping for the best for France Telecom to fix the phones.

A view of our village

French schools are closed on Wednesdays, which suited us all just fine. The kids got a very good night's sleep at last (and slept in a bit, too), then lounged around this morning, watched French cartoons (which feels both culturally and linguistically worthwhile!), ate, played, and hung out.

This afternoon, we walked through our village to Mont-Saint-Victor, home of  a 12th century Roman chapel and a cemetery. The walk started in village, took us past the Mayor's office (he who was required to sign so many papers for the kids to go to school), and went straight up some wooden steps to the top of a beautiful hill. Tall trees and a sunny day made the hike take on a bit of a magical feeling, and all five of us walked home agreeing it was a great walk.

 

 

I love old cemeteries. When I worked at the Philadelphia Inquirer all those years ago, one of my favorite stories I did was on old graveyards in New Jersey. Just as I did back then, I wanted to know all of the stories behind the tombstones and people buried below. One of the tombstones showed at least three (and maybe more... the etching had worn off) members of the same family who all died in 1915. Was it an illness? A fire? Really bad luck? It couldn't have been the war -- not all of them seemed the right ages for that.

 

 

 

And there are so many stories that could be told from this place -- and not just the ones found in the cemetery. When I wrote earlier that this village seems old, I wasn't kidding. The village is mentioned as early as 761 AD! Laura and Franck have left a bit of a history of the village (and in English) and I am just going to go and quote most of it to let you know a bit about our new (and temporary) hometown.

 

According to Laura and Franck's history, the village "has long served as a natural gathering point. No less than five Roman roads converge in the village and its surrounding area. In 761, the village is mentioned under the name 'VILARE' which signifies 'rural habitation'.

"The word 'FAYE' became associate with the village due to the trees in the surrounding forests, known in local parlence as 'FAGUS'. In 1200, the village was referred to in written documents as 'VILER LA FAIE", which then evolved to its modern name of 'Villers-la-Faye' by 1740.

 

"The Mont-Saint-Victor which dominates the village used to go by the name the 'Mont de Villers.' This hilltop has known a long and varied history, and has over the years been the home to both a Gallo-Roman village and a fortified house in the Middle Ages. In the cemetery at the top (which was our destination during our walk today), you will find a little Roman chapel from the 12th century. A statue of Saint Abdon (one of the many patron saints of Villers) from the 15th century is still to be found in the chapel's edifice.

 

"From the deck of La Maison des Chaimes, you can see a round stone tower which is one of the remaining vestiges of the village's chateau (that was the Rapunzel tower that Katie and Livie liked so much).

"The Knights of Villers, a very eminent family of knights in the Middle Ages, built a large castle here in the beginning of the 15th century. It consisted of three large buildings flanked by four towers (the only one remaining is the one you can see from our deck, Laura wrote -- and is the one we walked by on Sunday), a chapel, and of course, a grape press. The whole ensemble was protected by a deep moat and drawbridge. If you walk down there today via the rue du Chateau (which is where we walked on Sunday), you can walk along waht used to be the moat wall (Jack REALLY liked that idea... and just wished the moat was still here).

 

"Traces of Roman and other ancient inhabitants of Villers can still be found all around the village. Laura wrote that many winegrowers in the region would find old Roman coins in their vineyards but kept it quiet because nobody wanted the government to expropriate their vineyards and start a dig... after all, she wrote, "Then what would they drink?"

It's a pretty village, too. John and I drove around a bit yesterday and actually found some scenery in and around neighboring villages that WASN'T breathtaking and beautiful. We returned home feeling even luckier to be perched on the side of our hill, surrounded by vineyards and forests and old stone houses and history everywhere you look.