The boulangerie

   Right after we moved into our apartment, a new bakery opened up down the street.  They opened up in August, right as everything else closed for vacation, and they were initially open every day of the week, the better to serve the neighborhood.  They were great, offering reduced-price baguettes, free samples of things we weren't buying, throwing in extras of things we did buy, and offering tastes of items that my kids were curious about.  They also were extremely solicitous of our family (and, I assume, everyone else), apologizing if we had to wait for the bread to come out of the oven or if there was a line of customers.  I explained to my kids that this was fairly unusual as a method of doing business in France, but that people tend to be loyal to their local merchants, as they have a personal relationship with them, so if one decides to open up a new bakery, the best way to get people to change their loyalty to you would be to offer them a better alternative, especially during vacation when nothing else is open.  (Also, their bread is delicious, as are their cakes and cookies.) 
     It has become "our" boulangerie not only because it's close and they are friendly but because their bread is excellent.
    I had mostly forgotten this conversation until this past week.  I've been occasionally giving my two oldest daughters a little bit of change so that they can grab a sucker or small treat after school gets out.  On Friday, I knew I'd be home late, and I suggested to my daughter that she and her sister grab a baguette after they get off the bus, so that they would have some bread in case I was later than planned.  I added that, if they didn't want to make two stops, they could just buy a baguette at the bakery that's right by school, the one where they buy their small treats.  She said, "No, I would really rather go to OUR bakery."  She thought just a second and said, "Hey, that's like what you said about having a special relationship with your baker.  We do now!  I'd rather go two places than buy bread from someone who isn't MY baker.  That's kind of cool."

Reading and Intellectual Engagement

     In the United States, when someone asks me what I study, and I say "eighteenth and nineteenth century French history," I usually expect a disinterested response.  Sometimes, people are puzzled ("Why?"), equally often, they are actively dismissive ("Yuck.").   Here, people are far more interested.  One might think that it's the difference between working on French and American history, but for the fact that, in the United States, the aforementioned "Yuck" often includes a phrase like "I hate history," with no qualifier for the type of history being studied.
   I was reminded of this difference by a conversation with a neighbor yesterday.  She is an older woman, who has raised all of her children and is now widowed and lives alone, though her daughter and grandchildren live in Lyon.  We run into each other from time to time, especially waiting for the bus, and she always makes an effort to have a conversation with me.  Yesterday, our conversation centered on my research interests (which include motherhood and parenting) as well as her perceptions of local contemporary breastfeeding practices and we had quite a nice conversation about her interest in the topic.  She told me about some books she has read about the history of motherhood and parenting, and she really wanted to remember the author of one of the books because she was certain that I would find it of interest.  Right before my stop, she remembered the author that she was trying to recall -- and it was Elisabeth Badinter, a woman whose work is both academic and political, very engaged with the currents of the conversation that we were having.
    This type of conversation, with someone who is interested, well-read, and engaged, seems to me to be more likely in France than in the United States.  Here, I see people on their way to work reading difficult sociological texts and novels -- not 50 Shades of Grey but real, serious novels -- in the hands of a significant number of people on the train or bus.  Intellectual inquiry is taken seriously in a mainstream way that it isn't in the United States.

Vacation time

   We've struck up a bit of a friendship with an older French woman who lives in our apartment complex.  She frequently ends up waiting for/on the bus at the same time that we do, and we have talked a bit about Lyon and France.  She says that Lyon is, in her opinion, more closed and that it's harder to meet people than in many other cities.  She has lived here for years but didn't want to move here initially, when her husband got a job here.
    Today, I took the kids -- who are on All Saints break, which is two weeks long -- to the Beaux Arts museum in Lyon.  On the way home, our neighbor boarded the bus and sat nearby, chatting.  I mentioned that we were taking advantage of our vacation time to explore more of Lyon and she smiled knowingly and said, "Oh, yes, there are certainly a lot of vacations in France, aren't there?"  I said, "Well, it seems like there are more than in the United States..."  She said, "Oh, everyone knows that Americans work very very hard.  And French people do like their vacations.  That is well-known, too!"

French Theme Songs

My kids have been watching the Disney Channel on cable in our apartment.  I make them watch it in French, and they pointed out an odd phenomenon.  When there is an American show, with a title sequence that has a song, it's invariably higher-pitched in French than in English, even if it's the exact same song.  So, for example, Selena Gomez (really popular here in France, at least according to my daughters and their friends) sings the theme song to Shake It Up!  In the US, it sounds like this:

 

but when listening to it in France it sounds like this:

 

 

The same is true for Good Luck Charlie, Jessie, and others:  all modified to be at a higher pitch.  I welcome thoughts on why that might be!  (I am especially curious since Selena Gomez is popular; I wouldn't think they would change her voice that much more here than in the U.S.)



Halloween, such an American holiday

     The kids have been disappointed to not get to dress up and trick or treat while they are here, and they asked if there was any way that we could carve a pumpkin.  I told them that we would look for one but that since pumpkins were grown for eating here, not for carving, we might not be able to find an appropriate one (either in size or price).  We've been seeing them here and there, but mostly they've been out of our price range or discolored and small.  Today, we went to the market with a mission:  search out a pumpkin!
     After not too much searching, Kate spotted a fruitière who had a few whole pumpkins available.  The price was not too crazy, so we walked over and, after asking if they could touch the produce, I let the kids decide which of the five had the best carving face.
      The fruitière tried to point us to a small, squat, pumpkin that she declared perfect for Halloween. Clearly she has never carved a pumpkin. No, no. We need that big one. Yes. That one.  She weighed it and said "It's ten kilos..." clearly expecting that I would balk at the price and decide that her attempt to assist me by pointing us to the small pumpkin was far better judgment.  Of course, it may have been, but I nodded acceptance and pulled out my wallet.  (Compared to bags of candy and costumes, one large pumpkin isn't that big of an investment.)

     She gave it to us after making quite a show of how heavy it was and how it was difficult to pass over.  I suspect that was less about the weight of the pumpkin than the fact that she knows that we are going to cut a face in it, throw a candle in, light it up, and then throw this perfectly good pumpkin away.  Of course we are going to do that!  I expect we will have a good time doing it, even if we have to use an electric knife -- or maybe especially if we have to use an electric knife.  However, the fruitière's suspicion of our motives made me realize that Americans do indeed waste a great deal compared to other people, in contexts that I never even think about it.

 

Profiting from time abroad

     A few weeks ago, in music class, my son was chastised in front of the class for not having memorized the answers to a quiz.  When he indicated that his French wasn't yet strong enough to have completed the assignment, the teacher asked him how long he'd been in France.  He said two months (though he'd only been in school for about a month at that point) and the teacher said, "You must profit from your time!  Profit James, profit!"  Apparently, the exchange has continued, with the music teacher calling him up first last week and telling him that he's not really benefitting from this opportunity, because he hasn't learned enough French.
      This demonstrates that James and the teacher have rather different understandings of what it means to profit from time abroad as well as what James' "job" is here.  Overall, all the kids' teachers have been pretty understanding of the fact that they came knowing no French and that they're trying but that they don't yet know much.  However, I expect that it's hard for many of the teachers to see them making reasonably little progress in French, as it seems like they must not be learning anything about France.  Of course, that's not true.  They are picking up lots of French -- though nothing systematic -- and they are learning a great deal about social expectations, cuisine (school lunches are an entirely different animal here!), and playground games (marbles!), just to mention a few things.  They will not go back to the United States the same as when they left, whether they can carry on a conversation in French or not.

Americans in a French school

My oldest three kids have found the transition to French school to be far easier and way less terrifying than they had expected.  There are people around who are willing to help them, and it doesn't hurt that a good amount of their homework is comprised of things that they are unable to complete, because they don't know enough French yet.  Perhaps most of all, it's been a lot of fun for all of them.  In France, they are cool and interesting, just because they are American. Or maybe not just because, but it certainly gives them some extra caché. James is already able to parse a great deal of written French and Kate and Molly feel like they're picking up enough to get by (for example, learning how to say whatever word is not "poisson" on the lunch menu!).   Unfortunately, the youngest isn't finding her transition to be nearly as easy.  But I've promised her a puppy when we get home, if she can manage to stay in school full days and learn French.  (Let's hope shameless bribery succeeds, because I have a lot of work to do!)

French school supplies (or Vive la rentrée!)

    We caught the bus to Auchan (kind of like Wal-Mart for Europe) yesterday in order to buy school supplies for the kids.  Lucy doesn't need much (slippers, a blanket, and a pillow for naptime, for example), but the other kids had very long lists.  Apparently, this is something new.  Public school used to be entirely free, with almost everything but the bookbag provided by the school.  Thie lists, however, included everything from a fountain pen (with refill cartridges) to special drawing paper, and many interesting office supplies in between.
     Anyone who knows me knows that I am a sucker for office supplies, so I was pretty intrigued by the lists and thought I would know many of the things.  Some were obvious (compas/compass, for example!) and others familiar (a box of tissues for the classroom to share).  However, despite lots of previous purchases at papeteries in France, as well as a fair amount of time spent on Google Translate and with my dictionary, a number of items left me completely stumped.
   Polly Platt, in French or Foe, offers a useful phrase, which basically translates as "Excuse me for bothering you, sir (or madam), but I have a problem...."  She then suggests making a colorful story out of one's particular need, hoping to engage the interest and sympathy of the person to whom you are making an appeal.  So far, it's worked every time I've needed to use it, and ultimately, I decided that the simplest way of figuring out what everything was would be to take Polly's idea to Auchan with me and, once there, to stop a friendly-looking mom in the aisle and ask her to take pity on me.
    I debated between a few women, but one looked too harassed by her own list and another looked irritated by my children.  I eventually decided on a mom who was speaking kindly to her son and grabbing workbooks to add to a pile, figuring she had her own list and her own children and didn't seem too irritated already.  She smiled at my pleas of total American incomptence in the face of French school supplies, and did indeed take pity on me. As it turned out, she spoke a decent amount of English -- but had no idea what the English words for most of the items were, though she could point me to what they looked like -- and tell me that the list was excessive for public school, but that there was nothing to do about it except suffer through it.  It turns out that many items are things that I've never seen in an American classroom, which might help explain why I didn't have any idea.  (For example, a plastic notebook cover and a fountain pen eraser/rewriter.)  She also had a boy Kate's age, and we sent Kate and the boy off together to look for the supplies that they both needed, and we did our best to get the other things on our lists.  We debated the best compass to buy (cheap? mid-range? expensive?) and discussed whether or not her daughter (almost 3) was too young to be away from mom for preschool two mornings a week (her mom's verdict:  probably).   
    When I got to the checkout and the checker told me the total (nearly 200 euros), I made a long face and she laughed and said, "Vive la rentrée!"  Yes, indeed.
    But I do now know a lot of words for school supplies and have a pink fountain pen.

Business, Lyon-style

In Lyon, stores tend to be closed Sunday and Monday.  That means that Tuesday marks the first day of business after a couple of days off -- and more businesses take days off here than in the United States, especially during school holidays.  So, come Tuesday, the market at Croix Rousse is extra busy (and has extra vendors), stores have longer lines, and everyone has more business to conduct.   Like everyone else, I'd saved up a number of errands for today. 

My first stop was the mobile phone store.  There was one guy working the store when I arrived, and there were already three people in line.  Rather than get impatient, I just made a good mental note of who seemed to be last -- and who was already there, so I knew my place in line -- and settled in for a wait.  Soon after I walked in, another woman came in.  Then soon after, another man, and another woman.  The man serving customers had made it through one person, so the queue was getting quite long.  Eventually, he walked to the back of the store and called for some additional support -- but not with any real urgency.  By then, I was the next person due to be helped.  When the woman came out and asked me what I needed and I told her (a mobile phone with minutes, as I'm getting an extra one to have on hand for when my husband/kids arrive), she shrugged and looked at the line of people and said, "Does anyone in line have anything quick?"  She then gave a few examples of "quick" business (things that didn't involve starting a new line!), but no one took her up on it.  Once she was satisfied that it was actually my turn, she gave me her full attention.

At that point, I'd probably already been waiting about 20 minutes.  If someone had stepped forward, it wouldn't have been a problem for me, but I can imagine how frustated someone in the US might be if, at the open of business, a line of 8 people was piling up and the store didn't have enough service people on hand to deal with them quickly or skipped across the line of people!

    Saw this jam on the shelf in the supermarket today, next to fig and sour cherry.  There's been some recent discussion of the book French Kids Eat Everything (for example, the Huffington Post has an article about it), and the irony of seeing this right after reading that discussion wasn't lost on me.
    In fact, I'm not even sure it was ironic.  A nation that can offer rhubarb, fig, and sour cherry jam on its supermarket shelves is certainly a nation that has different culinary expectations for its children than the United States.  An American "Good Mother" would not be serving her children rhubarb jam!

Loud Americans

Since returning from my brief trip to Lyon, I am reminded how loud Americans are when compared to most French people.  In particular, I see how loud and rambunctious my kids are compared to French kids.

When they go tearing through the house or yell up the stairs to one another (or just make random loud noises for no apparent reason, as they are prone to doing....), I have started telling them, "You have to knock that off, or you will get us kicked out of our apartment in Lyon!"

I'm not entirely sure I'm kidding.