Pretty miserable

The leaves are snowing outside! There’s a storm brewing off the Atlantic Coast of France right now and people have been warned to stay inside. Here in Ramonville St-Agne, the almost bare trees are dropping their leaves in a swirling mess; actually a really beautiful swirling mess. It's time for a walk, after sitting at the computer for too long. I hope I make it back.

Autumn here in France is just gorgeous, and this year it was particularly wonderful with weeks and weeks of summery temperatures and still, long days. The colours on the trees made me gasp, and the leaves stayed firmly attached to their branches, willing you to look at them and admire their beauty before they became compost.

The tall plane trees that line many of the main streets here drop their leaves like you wouldn’t believe. The council works very hard to sweep them up, and teams of men with a little truck with circling brushes tidy things up nicely. I prefer the scattered leaves to stay where they are - they look so lovely and it’s so much fun to kick your way through them on the way home from school with the kids. (Just watch out for doggie calling cards though - that can be a bit messy.)

But now, autumn is over and it’s almost Christmas Day and the shortest day of the year (the darkest depths of winter in Europe).  It’s very hard to get moving in the morning when there’s no light, but after school in the late afternoon the kids like nothing better that to gear themselves up to go rollerblading down our driveway, with only the light from the outside bulb and their dynamo torches.  It’s mad fun, and they come inside buzzing and gleaming (with cold and excitement), ready for a big, warm meal.

It hasn't snowed yet, but it probably will before winter is over. During our first year here it snowed three times - good, proud dumps. Last year it was only a measley scattering on Christmas Day. We are going to visit a ski town after Christmas, called Luchon, nestled in the Pyrenees mountains. The ski lift leaves the town of Luchon and goes straight up to the ski slopes which is perfect for lovely husband and the boys who like skiing. Olivia and I will be soaking in the Luchon thermal pools instead. Aaaah.

Toulouse - observations of a New Zealander

So, we are in the 'south of France'. Before I moved here, those words held for me images of fields of lavender, a gazillion grapevines, long, warm, sunny, lazy days, and Peter Mayle getting exasperated with the builders. Now I realise that from one kilometre to the next the landscape changes and from one 'departement' to the next the loyalties, customs and local delicacies change too.

Toulouse is a lovely city. It is OLD and is called la ville rose (the pink city) for the reddish coloured bricks that many buildings are constructed with; they seem to have a pinky-red glow, particularly in the evening sun.

We live to the south-east of Toulouse in a smallish town of Ramonville St-Agne which is a mixture of gorgeous, practical, functional, and sometimes rather surprising architecture. Although I have to say that after two years here I don't notice that rather surprising architecture so much now; rather I just see how practical the buildings are for the intense summer sunshine and the jolly old winter chills. Certainly the newer houses (not the tumble-down old stone farm houses) are built with heat in mind: to protect you from it in the summer, and to retain it in the winter. 

But it is the tumble-down old stone farm houses that turn my head. I love them. I love that they are built out of natural straight-out-of-the-earth products, and that sometimes even a massive great stone can be incorporated as the building takes shape.

Brongely, a village in the Pyrenees mountains

I don't know if I am unusual in this but when I go to little villages or walk through the really old part of Toulouse city my breathe is quite simply whisked away. It is all Just So Beautiful. The colours, the 'grand nature', the timelessness of the buildings, the fact that people have lived and worked in these places for centuries; it's all just a bit much sometimes and I feel like laughing and crying. And remember I grew up in a raw, young country (New Zealand); still in the process of finding its way in the world and forming an identity, developing a culture to call its own (blending European, Maori, Asian and Pacific Island - etc - cultures together), and just being at ease with itself. All of this without centuries of embedded history behind it, like France.

(NOTE: New Zealand was inhabited by Polynesian Settlers who were estimated to have arrived in approximately 1350. New Zealand was formed as a nation when Maori and the Europeans settlers signed a founding document, The Treaty of Waitangi, in 1840. This is celebrated with a national holiday every year on 6 February, and is called 'Waitangi Day'.)

I have had the privilege of being part of the Toulouse Walking Tours, run by Elyse Rivin, who is  unofficially The Most Knowledgeable Person On The City That Is Toulouse that I have ever met. I've seen lots of glorious old wonders through her tours, and been to parts of the city I would not have otherwise wandered through. For example, there is (still) a place in an old Roman amphitheatre here in Toulouse called a 'vomitorium'. I'm guessing that it had something to do with the volume of ruby-coloured alcoholic beverages and quantities of foie gras hamburgers those Romans used to drink and eat (my thoughts only, as I'm not sure the Romans were actually scoffing that much foie gras).

More on my observations to follow.

What is foie gras?

Thanks to both Valerie and Vivienne who suggested to me that this post might be necessary. So here goes. I'm sourcing this information from Wikipedia. The link will be at the end of the post for further reading.

Foie gras (pronounced 'fwa grah' and is French for "fat liver") is made of the liver of a duck or goose that has been specially fattened. In France, this fattening is typically achieved through gavage (force-feeding) corn, though outside of France it is occasionally produced using natural feeding. 

Foie gras is a popular and well-known delicacy in French cuisine. Its flavour is described as rich, buttery, and delicate, unlike that of an ordinary duck or goose liver. Foie gras is sold whole, or is prepared into mousse, parfait, or pâté (the lowest quality), and may also be served as an accompaniment to another food item, such as steak. French law states that "Foie gras belongs to the protected cultural and gastronomical heritage of France."

Gavage-based foie gras production is controversial due to the force feeding procedure used. A number of countries and other jurisdictions have laws against force feeding or the sale of foie gras.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foie_gras

We have friends here in Toulouse who are going to take us to visit a duck farm in the Gers region that is run by their friends, so that we can see how the ducks are fed. Apparently the force-feeding can be done in a quite humane way I'm told, so I'll write about that later.

Today I ate a foie gras hamburger in Carmes, Toulouse

It was D I V I N E. The meat was cooked to perfection (a point), with the right amount of essential herbs and spices, and I'm just quietly wondering whether a little foie gras wasn't tossed into the meat mixture, as it was unbelievably creamy and melty. 

The layers were, in order:

• bun
• cheese, possibly ementhal
• tomato
• a large dressed salad leaf
• the hamburger pattie that could have had a little foie gras mixed in with it, cooked by the angels
• a slice or two of foie gras, just because
• another slice of cheese, but of undetermined variety
• bun

and was served with a healthy dressed green salad with cold oven-roasted tomatoes and sliced red onion, with a few chunky fries on the side.

My friend and I both ordered this, on the name alone, and both felt more than replete at the end of the meal, sadly unable to force any mousse au chocolat down into our protesting bellies. Just enough room for a decaf coffee though, and we staggered off on our respective ways.

The restaurant is called 'Le Comptoir a la Une'. Take a peek next time you hop off the Toulouse metro at Carmes. (11 Place des Carmes 31000 Toulouse 05 61 53 86 30)

I only had a salad for dinner tonight.

Some things I've noticed

This is sort of 'dictated' by my almost 11 year old son, Matthew. 'He' has also written a book (written by me using his voice and perspective) which I hope will be published either by a Major Publishing House (why not?!) or in ebook and print on demand formats (available through Amazon worldwide) soon!

Here's a sample of his (Matthew's) writing style:

CARS

I like cars. There's lots of Renault cars, Peugot cars and Citroen cars here in France, and you don't see so many of them in New Zealand. They are usually little, and they are usually being driven so fast that they are a complete blur and a roar. Most cars in France have dents and scratches. Our car is very French. It's unusual to see cars that aren't French here, although Mum just happens to drive a British Rover car that has the steering wheel on the normal side of the car (right hand side, like in New Zealand). She gets lots of alarmed looks when drivers notice that there is NO DRIVER on the left hand side of our car, or me sitting in the front seat because I am definitely too short to be driving. Mum says they do a 'double-take'. Some of the gypsies who beg for money at the traffic lights get a bit of a surprise too.

An old 2CV car in a narrow French lane, Puycelsi

CULTURE SHOCK

I don't really know what that means. All I know is that things look different here. Nothing is written in English, or if it is, it is for novelty advertising purposes only, Dad says. So to start with you get used to seeing stuff that you don't understand at all. In fact you get really good at just looking and listening, and being really tired for about the first year.

FRENCH CULTURE

Mum is always going on about how much she loves it. As far as I can see, no one here is any more 'cultured' than in New Zealand. The kids eat with their mouths open and try to talk at the same time. Sometimes I want to move tables at school in the canteen because I'm getting sprayed with food while my friends are talking. Gross. There's too much rubbish everywhere too and my sister and Mum are quite worried about that. Sometimes Mum does rubbish collection duty at school in the playground even though it isn't her job! You notice more bonjours and au revoirs here, especially to the adults, as it is can be quite rude to not look someone in the eye and say bonjour (Mum keeps telling me).

FOOD AND DRINK

The food here is quite good and you get to eat more duck and rabbit and turkey and lots of Toulouse sausages and cassoulet and foie gras. The canteen food is sometimes good and sometimes horrible. Dad says that drinking alcohol here is not the big deal it is in New Zealand (or at least people drink in a different way - whatever that means). Maybe it means they drink alcohol here to wash the cassoulet down, rather than to get drunk.

French bread and a bottle of Blanquette de Limoux

FAMILY

What I do see here is that families really seem to like being together and doing stuff as a large group with all their friends. People are generally quite respectful of older people too and seem to use the polite form of the French language. People in the shops are mostly really friendly and helpful too.

HISTORY

I can see too that people have lived in France for ages and ages! Like hundreds and hundreds of years. That's really interesting to think about, and now we have to learn about it at school too. I know stuff about the kings of France now and the years they were in power. There's mind-blowingly old places to visit too and amazing things to see like the old Roman arenas where people were killed by other people or very hungry animals. Yuck. I read lots of Horrible History books too (in English) and I can kind of understand stuff better when they talk about France because I am here and can see it. That's cool.

Bruniquel castle

That's all from me for now. Mum says I have to go to bed because it's a school night. Bye!

Why I've enjoyed reading these books about France

This was previously posted under another (rather dull) heading, so I am now including my thoughts on each book and why I enjoyed reading them. Read on...

Allons Enfants - A New Zealand Family in France, Linda Burgess Well, she's a New Zealand journalist/writer with an ex-All Blacks husband, so it has to be a good read! I have read it several times, mostly to discover tips on how to adapt to life in France and to find out how her children coped the changes. It covers the two periods she and her husband lived in France, and is remarkably moving in places.

My Life in France (Ma Vie en France), Julia Child You can just about hear Julia hooting with laughter as you read this book. I first saw Julia Child when I was a teenager, surfing the three channels we had available on TV at the time. I thought there must be a mistake: why was this overly-loud bossy lady on TV and why was an American teaching French cookery? All my questions and more have been answered by reading this really lovely book. 

Almost French - A New Life in Paris, Sarah Turnbull Another book written by an Antipodean who has moved to France. Sarah is from Australia and moves to France to be with her French boyfriend. I've read this several times too, for the pure pleasure of it and for her wonderful writing. It's a different angle for me though as at the time of writing she had no children so I didn't get the family-aspect that I was wanting to read about, but her observations are fantastic, and I agree, I agree, I agree so often with what she says.

A Year in Provence, Peter Mayle

Encore Provence, Peter Mayle

Toujours Provence, Peter Mayle

A Dog's Life, Peter Mayle All of these books are just a great read. Peter writes in such a joyfully accessible way and makes as much fun of himself as he takes joy in all he finds around him. They make more sense to me now that I live in France. I didn't 'get' them when I lived in New Zealand.

Fete Accomplie - A New Zealander’s Culinary Romance, Peta Mathias

French Toast - Eating and Laughing Your Way Around France, Peta Mathias

Salut! Peta Mathias Peta Mathais (yes another New Zealander - a personality extraodinaire) has devoted many years to living, travelling and cooking in France. I have to have a little lie down between chapters as she crams so much LIFE and JOY into each page, but they are wonderful books, and again, make more sense now that I live here.

My Father’s Glory, Marcel Pagnol

My Mother’s Castle, Marcel Pagnol

The Time of Secrets, Marcel Pagnol

The Time of Love, Marcel Pagnol Oh, these books are just beautiful. Watch the films too and deeply breathe the Provencal air and smell the rosemary and thyme growing wild on the hills. He wrote Jean de Florette and Manon de Source too, which I find painfully evocative and far too sad for me, but that's only because I'm a just a little sensitive and should be braver... But his writing is magnificent and I feel so happy to have read his books.

Sixty Million Frenchmen Can’t be Wrong - What Makes the French so French, Jean-Benoit Nadeau & Julie Barlow A veritable bible of information that I would love to read in an updated form in the second decade of the 21st century. I read this twice before we moved to France and once now that we are here. Extremely thorough and educational, yet entertaining at the same time.

The Discovery of France, Graham Robb You can't go past this one. It combines the history of France with insightful observations as to why France is like it is now. The stories he has unearthed are just marvellous and this has had multiple thumbing-throughs as well. Highly recommended by me!

A Certain Je Ne Sais Quoi - The Ideal Guide to Sounding, Acting and Shrugging Like The French, Charles Timoney

Pardon My French - Unleash Your Inner Gaul, Charles Timoney Fun reads and really helpful too. I'm nodding all the time as I read them. I tried reading the first one when I was in New Zealand but the associations weren't easily accessible then. Now - well, I laugh and cry at the same time when I come across some situation or behaviour in his writing that has stumped or astounded me here in France too.

Of course there are other marvellous books and some not so marvellous, and then some I would actively discourage anyone from reading but on the whole, how can you go wrong with such a magnificent subject as France?

Throwing stones in the Albi river

 

French garden in Albi

View of Albi from behind the cathedral

Abli river and iconic bridges

Behind Albi cathedral, next to the museum. Grand courtyard with cobbled surface.

The two meanings of 'tea'

Example number [too many] of a cultural misunderstanding:

After receiving a very kind invitation from our Welsh/French friends, Dafydd and Patricia for tea on Sunday evening, my first thought was, 'that's very nice of them to invite us around for a meal', while my second thought was more along the lines of, 'but dinner out on a Sunday night is kind of unusual, however as we really like them, we will of course go but we won't stay too long because the children have school the next day'.

I went a little later than the others (lovely husband, Olivia and Edward) as I had to wait for the children's tutor to arrive to help Matthew with his school work preparation for the coming week. So I arrived at Dafydd and Patricia's to find tea being poured from a family sized tea pot, and a lovely coffee tiramisu and a sultana cake half devoured. Delicious! But it seemed kind of strange to start with dessert first. My friend Marijo does that with her children sometimes when her husband is away. She has a back-to-front meal where they start with dessert and finish with a salad and the children love it! And why not?

At one point Patricia and I hopped up to talk about the house renovation plans they have. Hmmmm, I thought, no food preparations in the kitchen, nothing scattered around on the kitchen bench, no French cooking smells wafting from the oven, no French bread sticking angularly out of the flower pot. This could only mean one thing, I thought as the light flickered on achingly slowly in my brain: this was an invitation to AFTERNOON TEA, NOT TO DINNER!

We hadn't even got the hint when Dafydd and Patricia excitedly told us that their daughter was skype-ing from South America in half an hour and that they would be having a lovely long chat with her to plan their holidays together. It didn't even occur to us that we might be a just a little 'spare'. We watched Madagascar 2 with the kids instead.

Ahem. After a small blushing confession that we were in fact a little confused and that in our country an invitation in the late afternoon to 'tea' meant an invitation to 'dinner' (or at least it did for me!), we decided that we would eat whatever was in the house and pretend that the invitation was for dinner after all. 'There's ALWAYS something to eat here!' cried Patricia confidently, 'and I would be offended now if you left!' In fact we all got rather jolly with the kir royale (champagne with creme de cassis - blackberry syrup), and little nibbly goodies that magically appeared. Luckily I had made a French leek and tomato tart for the starter that we were going to have with our 'dinner'. Ahem, again.

Next time we will be sure to request a clarification as to the exact nature of any invitation we might receive (hoping there's a next time, anyway, for the 'crazy New Zealanders who just won't go home').

Watching the Rugby World Cup final in France

We were surrounded by passionate, vocal, excited French people. We were the only New Zealanders. The 2011 Rugby World Cup final between France and the All Blacks, played in Auckland, New Zealand. Was it intimidating or not?

Absolutely not! It was great fun, and we felt the excitement of the French challenge just as much as they felt our excitement at meeting our old rivals. A friend and her husband arranged with our local school here in Ramonville St-Agne (the school the children attend) to have a giant screen with the match projected onto a wall, in full, glorious colour and pitch-perfect sound, while many families and friends and children buzzed around excitedly, jumping up and down, screaming, singing, clapping and sighing in unision. (Oh and then sobbing, but that was them, not us!) I kept apologising when the game was won (by New Zealand), as I felt their sorrow as much as they did I think.

But they were gracious in their defeat. We celebrated together with champagne, shared food, and lively discussions afterwards, before everyone headed off for their school holidays. It was a great community affair, and a big thank you to our friends and the headmistress of the school for organising it.

You must understand that I am not generally one to get excited about 'thugby' as my friend Joanna calls it. Even she came round to the joys of it all. Here's what she wrote in her email to me:

But firstly, let us discuss the rugby!! What did you think of the result? Quite fitting for someone hedging her bets. Well done the All Blacks - we feel enormously proud and relieved, and well done France- they played a gutsy game and it was truly nail-biting. It has just been sensational here in New Zealand over here last seven weeks. I've always been a bit sneering about 'thugby' in the past, but have found myself embracing everything about the cup and game, and can happily join a conversation about breakdowns and turnovers, and not think we're talking about car accidents and apple pies.The atmosphere and buzz have been electric and relentless and obsessive.  We have been down to the Viaduct a few times to soak up the atmosphere, and we walked around Eden Park last night just to be part of the fun, which it really was, with everyone dressed in team colours, doing little chants and dances and giving each other some good-natured ribbing. We did get to one game- the All Blacks/Argentina semi-final, which was fantastic, but apart from that we have enjoyed soaking up the atmosphere from the comfort of our couch. Who knew we could throw such a party?! It's just been so exciting!

I was proud to be able to sing the French national anthem with our French friends (the Marseillaise) and then the New Zealand national anthem in both Maori and English. It was a moving moment, but then the game was way too tense for me, and I have never known fifteen minutes to go by so s l o w l y as they did at the end of the game. I was hedging my bets, as Joanna said, and bravely announcing that I was supporting both teams to win, but of course the All Blacks had my highest hopes; for the country of New Zealand too. And YAY. We won!

Francoise, a French lady we met last week said how happy she was that New Zealand had won. She said the All Blacks were very dignified in their victory, and fiercely proud. Not like zee English, she muttered quietly. Zey do not like zee French at all - zey would be very big 'ooligans if zey won'.

French names

Why is it that you say someone's name with a French accent and it suddenly sounds so gorgeous? For example, Norbert, Melvin, Helen, Marie.

Mostly, the names of French children are really similar to English names when you see them written down. But really, it's the way you pronounce them that makes all the difference. Firstly, you drop the final consonant, and secondly, you emphasise the second or final syllable (in general, anyway). So, Norbert becomes Nor-bearr, Marie becomes Mar-ree, Richard becomes Ree-charr, and Sara becomes Sah-rah. Just say them with a French accent (pretend if you have to) and you'll be fine.

So here are some popular names for boys, and some that I just like: Pierre, Mathis, Jean-Marc, Jean-Luc, Jean-Baptiste, (etc), Claude, Mathieu, Felix, Jerome, Guilheum, Julien, Joachim, Fabien, Damien, Romain and Emile. They are all names of boys at school, or people we know.

The girls have a lot of names with Marie in them too (of course France was formerly a Catholic nation), for example Marie-Pierre, Marie-Claire, Marie-Odile, Marie-Jose, Marie-Therese and Marie-Blanche. I have friends with each of these names. Often you find a man's name in the with girl's name, like Marie-Pierre, and I haven't got to the bottom of that one yet.

There are other such pretty names for girls too: Agnes, Emmanuelle, Evangeline, Amandine, Agathe, Margaux, Armelle, Charlotte, Clara, Melusine (which means fairy), Juliette, Isabelle, Jeanne and Adele.

In my son Edward's class last year there were two little girls called Maryama. To avoid confusion, one was called Maryama la grande (the big, as she was the taller girl), and Maryama la petite (the small). Too cute, and they were both as dark as dark with the most beautiful smiles and plaited hair.

And you also hear lots of North African and Magrebian names (from Morroco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, Mauritania, etc), like Kholoud, Abel, Ayoub, Marhwa. We know a lot of families from school whose parents were originally from former French colonies. Not so many of those people in Wellington, New Zealand, that's for sure.

How easy is it to get to know French people?

People outside of France (i.e. New Zealanders mostly) often want to know if the French culture is as impenetrable, regulated, sophisticated, etc, as they have imagined. Is it really so hard to make friends with French people? I have to emphasise that this is my experience in the south of France, in the lovely city of Toulouse and the lovely town of Ramonville St-Agne. I don't know anything much about Paris or places north of here, and to be honest, I think we've found a particularly charming part of France to live in.

• Point in our favour, number one: Having children at school is a great way to get to know French Mums and Dads. Turning up at the school gates every day, quietly saying bonjour to the other parents, not being overly-effusive or ebullient, smiling respectfully but not desperately; all of things helped the process. There was not too much warm-embracing to start with but slowly and surely, and certainly very genuinely and curiously, friendships have naturally developed. Going on school trips and the children's birthday parties are two other opportunities to grab hold of.

• Point in our favour, number two: Trying to speak French as much as possible is also really important. Our French was absolutely, horrifyingly bad to start with, and I still trip over what should be blatantly obvious, stare-you-in-the-face phrases now, but it the effort that absolutely counts with the French people here. They warm to you for making the effort, they applaud your artistic creativeness with the language, they encourage you when you get something right, and they kindly correct your desperate ineptness. It was only after about one year of living here that I found that many of the French people I had been struggling to speak French with spoke the most beautiful English...

• Point in our favour, number three: We are from New Zealand (which also reads, we are not from England. I'm so sorry, but it's true). We are often asked whether we are from England. But no, we say, we speak English but we are from New Zealand. Ah, okay then, big smiles all round. Australians are also perfectly acceptable here.

• Point in our favour, number four: We deliberately chose to live in a real French town rather than in an expatriate community. I do understand the many and diverse reasons families have for choosing that option (most often work-location and temporary-contracts related), but I am just so happy that we are here: completely surrounded by Frenchness, with the opportunity to do and be all things French. It's superb.

• Point in our favour, number five: We are a novelty. From early on people seemed to know about us - that we were from New Zealand, that we were a family with three children, even where we lived. But many were also very curious about why we came to live in Ramonville St-Agne. There were lots of questions like: But why are you 'ere in France? Nouvelle-Zelande eez a beautiful country, no? Why would you study 'ere? Do they not 'ave universities in Nouvelle-Zelande?? We would explain that the south of France is considered by many, including us of course, to be one of the most appealing places in the world to live. Eez zat so? they would say quietly and thoughtfully. To them, life in France was normal, and New Zealand was exotic and fascinating.

As for their sophistication, their heightened sense of culture and design, their ability to enjoy food, drink, life, their appreciation of beauty, their innate sexy-ness, well, I'll get on to that topic soon. (And yes, it's all true!)

Are French kids here so different?

No, not really. They are a bit smaller and you don’t see lots of really tubby kids here. Most of the children have dark hair and dark eyes and I believe that’s because there is a high population of Spanish people living here. (I heard the statistic from a very reliable source – Toulouse Walking Tours guide, Elyse Rivin – that one in five people in Toulouse are descended from the Spanish people.) During the Spanish Civil War, many, many Spanish people left Spain for the safety of France, after traversing the Pyrenees mountains to get here in a grim and horribly difficult journey. Elyse tells me that it is as significant to the Spanish people as some of the horrors experienced by various peoples during the Second World War.

You will also see a lot of dark North African people, like the Senegalese, the people from Cote d’Ivoire. And then you will see people from Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia, who have been moving to France for generations now. Completely different visions of humanity from the Maori and Pacific Islanders I grew up with in New Zealand. Asians are few and far between, except for the occasional person from Vietnam with their French connections. Oh and there’s the gypsies. They take their begging very seriously and this includes asking for money at the metro stations, the traffic lights, offering to wash your car windows for a small coin or two and then starting to do it even though you say no, no, no, but then feeling really bad and giving them a euro or two anyway. To start with the children wanted to offer them all of their money-box money because they were so worried than the man at the lights might have many hungry children he was unable to feed ...

Dental hygiene is a bit of a problem here for the kids. It is not uncommon to see discoloured, rotting, decaying teeth, and that’s in the preschoolers! We read an astonishing statistic that on average every French person uses less than one tube of toothpaste a year. The source has been forgotten, but when we read it it certainly stuck in our minds! Yargh. Many of the children’s friends have several fillings or teeth removed.

So at school, the children play games like any other child does, but a noticeable difference is that there is a stunning lack of playgrounds for kids aged 6-12 here in France. You will find little playgrounds for children with spinning and wobbling and bouncing things, but not a lot of the climbing frames, in particular, that we have in New Zealand. Our children really missed those when we first arrived. (Although, good news! A park in nearby Castanet-Tolosan now has an enormous rope climbing frame, like the one on Oriental Parade in Wellington, only bigger!)

The school playground is not equipped with playground equipment. Not at all. The maternelle (preschool) has a few things, but for the primary aged children, there is a complete dearth. So the children occupy themselves with ball games, running games, ‘you’re it!' games, marbles, singing/clapping/action games, and they talk and talk and talk together. They also tease each other, and eat, drink and sleep like other kids (but they try not to sleep at school).

But then there’s the speciality of French life here called the bisous, a marvellous invention that works really well when you sort of get the rules. A bisous is a kiss on both cheeks that says hello to another person. It is not obligatory and it is not something you do to everyone. It is usually reserved for close friends and family, plus when you see someone for the first time after the school holidays or after a significant event. When children come to visit our house, they proffer their little cheeks for a bisous when they arrive. They look a bit bewildered if I forget!

You will see little children giving their parents a bisous before school and then at the end of the school day. You don’t bisous your teacher though (not at our school anyway).

I have to say that children here are generally more polite too and always say hello and goodbye and how are you to people they meet, as a matter of course. They are quite messy though and forget to pick up their rubbish, and that is something Olivia has noticed a lot and gets quite worried about. The children really love their computer games too and that’s partly why Matthew loves visiting his friends because he can play on their Wii which we don’t have. They also like playing with simple things, like Lego and Kapla which are small blocks of wood that you can make endlessly different and cool constructions out of for your Lego cars and trucks. Perfect!

They eat meals like we do, but at slightly different times of the day. Breakfast is, of course in the morning, and is often quite sweet. (In French it is le petit dejeuner which means ‘the little lunch’). Adults don’t usually snack before lunch, but they will mostly drink strong espresso coffee to get them through the morning, or indulge in a decaf if they are a bit caffeine-sensitive like me. Then they make a really serious thing of lunch (le dejeuner).

After school the kids get to have a snack (un gouter) which is often squares of chocolate in a wadge of French bread! Of course the kids love that. Then dinner (le diner) is often quite late at night – around 8.00pm – after playing, homework and a bit of reading. Bedtime can be as late as 10.00pm even for smallish kids, and if you go to someone’s house for dinner, you can generally expect the children to entertain each other, or be entertained by games or TV, until the wee small hours. Best not to do that on a school night!

There’s a scene in The Simpson’s where Bart and Lisa have to go and stay the night with Rod and Todd Flanders next door. After some fun Bible games it is time to go to bed. Bart and Lisa pull their bedroom curtain to one side to find the whole neighbourhood bathed in late afternoon sunshine, with children everywhere laughing, skipping and playing joyfully. That’s kind of how we felt when we were getting the children to bed early in the evening when we first arrived. They were honestly so tuckered out with their challenges at school that they really needed to rest. We didn’t dare let them look outside, for fear that they would see the neighbourhood children laughing, skipping and playing joyfully in the gorgeous dying rays of the autumn sun.

But voila! It’s surprising how quickly you adjust to the local traditions. We now eat later (possibly not as late as others) and spread the meal out more with courses separated out when possible.

We have just enjoyed a week poking around the Gard and Provence

School holidays, the first of the year after the start of school again. The children were quite ready for a break after the long school days (9am-5pm, four days a week, with a two-hour lunch break) and extra-curricula activities each Wednesday (swimming, soccer – called football here – tennis, art, dancing, gymnastics, etc). We stayed in a gite (a holiday house) booked through Gites de France, www.gites-de-france.com. You can change the language to English on the site too.

We have seen:

·         the Pont du Gard – the three-tiered Roman aqueduct over the River Gard. Lordy what a sight. We saw graffiti etched into the stone from 1839 (Dylan woz here, or something like that...).

·         in Nimes - the Roman arena (spectacularly still intact and functioning as an arena and concert venue but with a horrible history with all the bloodshed and gruesomeness and not so appealing to the children or me), the Roman temple (with a funny 3D movie about Roman heros), the Roman tower that used to form part of the city wall in Nimes and is a part of the beautiful public gardens of the city (which is a wicked walk up a spiral staircase to a stunning view over the city and the countryside, especially after the long walk through the gardens and up the hill to get to the tower), and the lovely tree-lined streets of Nimes with the added fun of walking by the canal.

·         the magnificent Roman theatre in Orange, where we engaged for an hour or so in a very pleasant children’s activity making small square Roman style floor mosaics. (We all loved it.) After which we wandered up and down and around and about ‘til we had all had our fill of the majesty.

·         the bridge over the Rhone River at Avignon (yes, the one from the song, ‘Sur le pont d’Avignon...’, well, a later one anyway as the first ones were wooden and are down river somewhere now, well-rotted), the Palace of the Popes, and we enjoyed a French meal in a French restaurant, without needing to resort to using English to order our meals with the French waiter, and feeling very happy about that indeed.

·         Aigue-Mortes (which means something like ‘dead waters’, Lonely Planet, or ‘stagnant waters’, local town guide) where we found the best exhibition of minerals and fossils of all things. This walled town is definitely more attractive than its name.

·         finally, a small-ish town called Agde, not far from the Mediterranean Coast. It is also the start of the Canal du Midi which flows not far from our house here in Ramonville St-Agne, and then all the way on to the west coast of France (Bordeaux I think). We enjoyed a particularly delicious fresh seafood lunch there, on a covered jetty on the river.

We have walked and walked and walked, and climbed and climbed and walked some more, and have had mostly uncomplaining children along with us, as long as we kept them well fed and watered, and off the tether for a while. I can testify that it’s better for everyone’s spirits and well-being if you keep one eye on the sights and the other eye on the ground watching out for dog poop.

For me the highlight has been a bit of a surprise. I didn’t know I could get so excited about bubbling water, but we went to the Perrier plant, where we went underground to see a great cavern of bubbling water, to the very spring where Dr Perrier thought that this water might be a bit of a money-spinning venture with a therapeutic spa at the chateau. In fact he was not the one to make the fortune; rather an Irishman with a keen sense of merchandising, and a future focused firmly on lively and risqué advertising. The chateau Perrier now has a museum, an art gallery, a 3D educational film, and a very funny overview of various advertisements throughout the years.

I’m ready for a bit of a holiday now. Our tour guide (lovely husband) is determined to wring the best experiences out of our time in France, and he has the itinerary to match. Phew. 

Pont du Gard (Roman)

Jambon du Bayonne, ham from the Bayonne region of France. These are cured by the salting process.

Nimes, Roman arena in the background. This fountain has red water, to symbolise blood we think but we are not sure why.

Roman amphitheatre, Orange. Real, live music concerts and plays are held here in the summer.

Examples of mosaics to make at the Orange Roman amphitheatre

Roman art, and tools for making mosaics

Painted wall inside the Palais des Papes (taken without a flash so as not to damage the paintwork!)

Palais des papes, Avignon

Palais des Papes, Avignon

The walled village of Aigues Mortes

Graffit on the Pont du Gard, from 1839

Perrier chateau, the site of the original spring

The well site of the original Perrier spring

Underground, the cones capture the Perrier gas which then gets injected back into the water for bottling

Adjusting to life in a new country

(I imagine that this is probably going to be 'part one' of many parts!)

When we finally decided to move to France we thought up a little mantra as to how we would view our life here:

'We are going on an adventure! We will expect some difficulties but we can help, support and understand each other, and have lots of fun together. We will laugh, relax and visit gorgeous places, and let go of the challenges of facing new stuff all the time. We'll be in the south of France, and it's going to be great!'

That was the theory anyway.

When we first arrived, people would sometimes ask us whether we spoke French at home. We just laughed, and said that it would be very quiet at home if we did. It was a relief for the children to come home after school; to be somewhere where they could relax and not have their brains constantly turning inside-out. But to answer the question now - we definitely do speak English at home, unless a French friend comes to visit and then the kids switch to French and the grownups smile a lot.

In the early days, we made sure we phoned home to New Zealand regularly to speak to the ancient family members, our cousins, aunts, uncles and friends. Sometimes we would use skype to talk to our friends, although the kids didn't really talk much; they just pulled crazy faces and made disgusting noises.

We discovered the free delivery of English books through www.amazon.fr which became a bit of a life-line for us. The children have all started to read (for fun) in French now and really enjoy French comic books (bande-dessinee or BD) of which there are an astonishingly enormous array, for all ages. Think Asterix and Tintin, only dozens and dozens more titles. These are available at the local library in Ramonville St-Agne (along with one small shelf of English children's books). You will find us there quite frequently.

One thing that took a bit of time to adjust to when we first arrived was going to the supermarket. This was for the extremely simple reason that we couldn't really recognise things on the shelves: there were different kinds of foods and completely different brands; they were packaged in different boxes and bottles with different colours and logos; they weren't necessarily on the shelves in the places we knew them to be in New Zealand; and all the labels were in another language, and it took forever trying to work them out. And Not Just That, but imagine trying to buy some yogurt and finding a whole aisle of chillers dedicated solely to yogurts! Really, there's so many choices! And they are all so delicious!

Actually I think I avoided going shopping sometimes because it was not a short, in-out, easy affair. One day I said, half to myself, 'I think I will have to be brave and go and do some food shopping.' My daughter, Olivia, was in the room and I heard her say quietly, 'Yes Mum, I really think you should. I've been trying hard to sneak some food but there's not much food to sneak...'

Something that really helped though was that as soon as we could, we watched TV in English. It was such a good way to feel a bit more relaxed at the end of the day. As much fun as it is to watch a French movie (and I love them), after a hard day in the supermarket or at university, the last thing you need is another French lesson, when you just want to blob.

After a particularly difficult few days for the children at school one week, A friend, Samantha, suggested that we just get in the car and drive somewhere else. 'A change of scenery will do wonders' - that sort of thing. We went to Collioure, a quaint picturesque little town by the Mediterranean Sea, not far north of the Spanish border. It's really old, but actually looks about the same as it did in postcards we have seen of it from the 1960s. The children had the best time playing on the beach, and we came back with a car-full of stones of many different colours. We ate pizza (a surprisingly traditional French dish here!), and walked around the water's edge trying not to get splashed by the waves (husband and I) and trying to get splashed (the children), and we watched a man juggling and doing crazy clown things, entertaining gazillions of people even though it was the off-season.

Edward really enjoyed it too, that is until he fell into the water. We suspect he had been rather mesmerised by the waves lapping over the steps leading down into the water. All of a sudden he lost his balance and fell in; his whole little body just tumbled forwards without him realising it, face down. It was very cold and he cried. Thankfully someone extremely clever with tremendous foresight had thought to throw a few spare clothes in the back of the car, so he warmed up quite quickly.

And yes, it really did help to get away from the challenges of our new life for just that one day, and to see different and beautiful things.