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."

Being tourists v. living there

We've been taking advantage of the Toussaint holiday to explore more of Lyon, including the Parc Tete d'Or and various museums and churches.  We even took advantage of some of the recent beautiful weather to ride one of the open-top Lyon tour buses around and see Lyon from a different -- more touristy -- angle.  My oldest daughter remarked that we were being stared at like we were tourists, but "we aren't!  We live here!  At least for a little while!"  When I said that we were certainly playing tourist, she insisted that wasn't true, since we weren't just "touring" Lyon, or France, for that matter.   For her, it seemed important to recognized that she has learned more about France and experienced more of Lyon than a typical tourist.  I'm sure some of that is just pride, but I think it also recognizes that she's making France her own, that she wants to be a part of Lyon and not "just" a tourist in this city and country.

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.

 

The machines are conspiring against us

   I thought I might learn a new set of vocabulary on this trip.  Having my kids with me, I figured I might need to learn phrases like "cough syrup" or "gummy bears" or even "I'm so sorry for the loud noises; my kids are used to living in a house.  I will try to teach them better.  They aren't actually animals."
  I didn't foresee sentences like "The dishwasher won't drain," and "The electricity seems to be out in the entire apartment; I think a fuse blew, but I'm not sure where."
  So today, I'm waiting for the electrician.  (The dishwasher was last week and is now fixed.)  The washing-machine is tripping a breaker, so it's off...but that means that the refrigerator and the dishwasher are off, too.  (Dishwasher being of substantially less importance than the refrigerator and the washing machine!)
   But I learned that you might say that someone who gets really angry "blows a fuse" in French, too.