I accused my husband of being a culinary racist the other day. This was after I asked him, carefully concealing my enthusiasm/pride, if he'd enjoyed our meal. The one I'd (lovingly) prepared for him while making sure our beloved two-year-old didn't stick her fingers in sockets etc. It wasn't haute cuisine, but it was a nice mix of tasty food and I'd made an effort.
His reply, "Yes, it was simple, but good."
Ouch. This is not exactly a compliment coming from a French person. This is like telling your kindergartener that the drawing of rainbows and stick figures is no Da Vinci, but it's coming along.
Luckily I've been in France long enough, and around my husband long enough, I might add, that I don't burst into tears at these double-edged sword type "compliments". But it bugged me. And as we were drifting off to sleep that night I continued asking him about it. Not in a confrontational way (for once) but repeating neutrally that I'd taken the time to prepare this meal for him.
I even tried the "I-statements". As in, "I feel like you're making fun of me a bit when you say that." He swore he wasn't. I think the French food snob, er, I mean, expert in him couldn't help but comment on the complexity, or lack thereof, of the meal. I suppose it's genetic.
On the other hand, he can be downright territorial about the American desserts I make. He nearly pouted when I made chocolate chip cookies for his birthday when one of his friends was also there to sample them. Less for Remi, of course. And when I recently made madeleines, those delicate French scallop shaped cakes, he said, yes, but it's a French dessert. Since when am I not allowed to make French desserts?
Next time I'll just make hotdogs and brownies and maybe everybody will be happy.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Beach and bay bums
Any vacation is a challenge to a sort-of perfectionist. You’re out of your comfort zone and have to accept that there will be moments that sinks won’t be handy to wash sticky hands or that your backpack will wrinkle up your jacket and the thing you most need will always be at the bottom of the sack. But when it’s a beach trip those challenges multiply! Sand and water come into the equation. On the other hand it’s a bit liberating to realize that’s just the way it is and that in fact going with the flow is the whole idea of holiday time. And luckily I’m not that OCD to let the little things get to me.
Such was the case Sunday when we had a little beach time in Fort Mahon. After slathering ourselves with sunscreen, we set Juliette down barefoot on the sand to let her splash around. But she’s become quite the dainty thing and doesn’t know what to think of the moist sand now. Her legs curled up rigidly against my hip as I tried to put her down- like magnets that were repelled by the sand’s opposite force. Little by little she agreed to walk on the sand. But this time she didn’t want to go into the puddles that the waves had formed. Instead she collected shells for the first time in her two-year life. I encouraged her to put her newfound shells in the half watermelon-shaped pockets of her dress. It’ll come out in the wash, I told myself. She’s only two once and there’s only one first time to pick up seashells.
Compare this video of her running with one from about the same time last year. What a difference a year makes. I think she's saying "wa-wa" for water and then something like buoy as I was telling her that's what the big yellow thing was.
The day before we hung out in the bay towns of Saint Valéry sur Somme and Le Crotoy. It was a bit rainy for most of the day, but we strolled around as best we could and checked out a few shops. The architecture in St. Valéry is so very picturesque. Took an old style steam train to get from one town to another. The next day we took a boat ride in the bay and were lucky enough to spot some of the gray seals that make their home there. I used Juliette’s booster chair belt to keep her attached to me on the boat for the moments we couldn’t keep her quiet in her stroller. Yes, mom, there were life jackets available.
Lest you start thinking we are rich to be on vacation so often, let me tell you otherwise! In fact we've only really been travelling a week total this summer if you add it all up. We just cut it into mini-trips of two days here and there. Kind of nice that way as it does spread out the fun. We're all too good at spending money. Wish we could find more ways to save.
So here are a few pics:
Where water and sky meet. Always so nourishing for the soul.
Very yellow shutters in a bed and breakfast in Le Crotoy.
Juliette in the light of the setting sun, with a bouquet of statice. It grows naturally at this boggy part of the bay.
Sunset on the bay.
The thing to eat at the beach (but I'm not into it)- mussels. You pick out the little meaty part and make a nice pile of the shells aftewards. That's Remi's friend Vincent.
Posing with Remi's friends. Vincent's wife was checking out stores so not pictured.
I can't guarantee we won't be tempted by another day at the beach, considering it's only two hours away. But trust me, we'll be brown-bagging it.
Such was the case Sunday when we had a little beach time in Fort Mahon. After slathering ourselves with sunscreen, we set Juliette down barefoot on the sand to let her splash around. But she’s become quite the dainty thing and doesn’t know what to think of the moist sand now. Her legs curled up rigidly against my hip as I tried to put her down- like magnets that were repelled by the sand’s opposite force. Little by little she agreed to walk on the sand. But this time she didn’t want to go into the puddles that the waves had formed. Instead she collected shells for the first time in her two-year life. I encouraged her to put her newfound shells in the half watermelon-shaped pockets of her dress. It’ll come out in the wash, I told myself. She’s only two once and there’s only one first time to pick up seashells. Compare this video of her running with one from about the same time last year. What a difference a year makes. I think she's saying "wa-wa" for water and then something like buoy as I was telling her that's what the big yellow thing was.
The day before we hung out in the bay towns of Saint Valéry sur Somme and Le Crotoy. It was a bit rainy for most of the day, but we strolled around as best we could and checked out a few shops. The architecture in St. Valéry is so very picturesque. Took an old style steam train to get from one town to another. The next day we took a boat ride in the bay and were lucky enough to spot some of the gray seals that make their home there. I used Juliette’s booster chair belt to keep her attached to me on the boat for the moments we couldn’t keep her quiet in her stroller. Yes, mom, there were life jackets available.
Lest you start thinking we are rich to be on vacation so often, let me tell you otherwise! In fact we've only really been travelling a week total this summer if you add it all up. We just cut it into mini-trips of two days here and there. Kind of nice that way as it does spread out the fun. We're all too good at spending money. Wish we could find more ways to save.
So here are a few pics:
Where water and sky meet. Always so nourishing for the soul.
Very yellow shutters in a bed and breakfast in Le Crotoy.
Juliette in the light of the setting sun, with a bouquet of statice. It grows naturally at this boggy part of the bay.
Sunset on the bay.
The thing to eat at the beach (but I'm not into it)- mussels. You pick out the little meaty part and make a nice pile of the shells aftewards. That's Remi's friend Vincent.
Posing with Remi's friends. Vincent's wife was checking out stores so not pictured.
I can't guarantee we won't be tempted by another day at the beach, considering it's only two hours away. But trust me, we'll be brown-bagging it.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Internet Anonymous
Hi, my name is Milam and I’m addicted to the Internet.
And the virtual group says in unison: Hi Milam.
It started out in the mid-90s. It was a novelty thing and everybody was doing it. I thought I’d try it once or twice. Just a bit of email and checking out the rudimentary travel websites they had back then.
I made a great penfriend named Jennet who still keeps in touch today. My college even encouraged us to experiment with the new technology, giving us all user IDs and email accounts on their clunky old non-Windows based system.
It seemed innocent enough back then. I had no idea how addictive the stuff was. When I went on to grad school I couldn’t live without my AOL account. My heart started racing when I’d hear the high-pitched scratchy noise of the modem connecting. Now things are silent, like putting the menthol filters on cigarettes. That way we don’t realize just how often we’re connecting in a day.
My dependence grew when I met Remi. Internet was our main way of communicating what with the time difference and an ocean between us. A day without an email from him back then was cause for worry or nervous breakdown. We used MSN chat to “talk” since phoning would have been so expensive.
And now he often looks over to me in the evening as I write one last email to my mom or friends and he waves weakly and reminds me I’m married. To him. Not the computer.
I’ll admit I have a problem. I can’t resist a little email check before work, if I’ve got a free five minutes. Or on my lunch hour. And when I get home I sometimes juggle Juliette in my lap as we both fight for the keyboard (she often wins) to check yet again. Or I wait for her to be engrossed in some toys to check my work schedule online or upload a few pictures to friends and family.
I wait for precious moments of calm to update my blog. I feel the need to read other people’s blogs and follow their lives. While not always living my own. Now there’s Facebook, which I use sparingly. But it has its addictive charms,too.
But I don’t think I’m totally to blame. Don’t you think the big corporations out there are feeding our desires? Every product’s got a website, you can check your bank balance online, you can search for jobs and watch news videos. It all adds up to more screen time. More fingers tapping on the keyboard. Less looking out the window.
I don’t know that I can really kick this thing. It’s become my lifeline to communicate with the world. But maybe AOL and other websites should put a pop-up window on that says, “Warning: The Internet can cause you to lose all interest in everything else. “ It might save some lives. Or marriages…
And the virtual group says in unison: Hi Milam.
It started out in the mid-90s. It was a novelty thing and everybody was doing it. I thought I’d try it once or twice. Just a bit of email and checking out the rudimentary travel websites they had back then.
I made a great penfriend named Jennet who still keeps in touch today. My college even encouraged us to experiment with the new technology, giving us all user IDs and email accounts on their clunky old non-Windows based system.
It seemed innocent enough back then. I had no idea how addictive the stuff was. When I went on to grad school I couldn’t live without my AOL account. My heart started racing when I’d hear the high-pitched scratchy noise of the modem connecting. Now things are silent, like putting the menthol filters on cigarettes. That way we don’t realize just how often we’re connecting in a day.
My dependence grew when I met Remi. Internet was our main way of communicating what with the time difference and an ocean between us. A day without an email from him back then was cause for worry or nervous breakdown. We used MSN chat to “talk” since phoning would have been so expensive.
And now he often looks over to me in the evening as I write one last email to my mom or friends and he waves weakly and reminds me I’m married. To him. Not the computer.
I’ll admit I have a problem. I can’t resist a little email check before work, if I’ve got a free five minutes. Or on my lunch hour. And when I get home I sometimes juggle Juliette in my lap as we both fight for the keyboard (she often wins) to check yet again. Or I wait for her to be engrossed in some toys to check my work schedule online or upload a few pictures to friends and family.
I wait for precious moments of calm to update my blog. I feel the need to read other people’s blogs and follow their lives. While not always living my own. Now there’s Facebook, which I use sparingly. But it has its addictive charms,too.
But I don’t think I’m totally to blame. Don’t you think the big corporations out there are feeding our desires? Every product’s got a website, you can check your bank balance online, you can search for jobs and watch news videos. It all adds up to more screen time. More fingers tapping on the keyboard. Less looking out the window.
I don’t know that I can really kick this thing. It’s become my lifeline to communicate with the world. But maybe AOL and other websites should put a pop-up window on that says, “Warning: The Internet can cause you to lose all interest in everything else. “ It might save some lives. Or marriages…
Monday, August 2, 2010
Vacations- part two
I know I already spoke a bit about vacation time in France. But it's such a national preoccupation that I have to come back to it. Last Saturday was announced as "black" on the color-coded scale of traffic. Because everybody and their frère was taking the highway to the south of France to splash about in the French Riviera. Frankly you couldn't pay me to go down at this time of year. I don't really relish the idea of spending ten hours or more in a car in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Last night on the news they talked about the difficulty of finding fresh bread in August. It's really serious! So many shops close up because the majority of their customers are on vacation. So it's logical for them to close then, too. But if you have the misfortune to get sick in August, you'll probably find your general practicioner has gone south like all the other folks. In some of the companies my trainees work for there may only be two out of a department that usually bustles with 15 employees. Sometimes production closes for three weeks in August and maintenance crews come in to repair the machines. An American journalist has even written a book about what he deems the French obsession with vacations, Sacrées Vacances, and I have to agree with him a little. He says it can almost be stressful for the French to plan their vacations, especially since some have so many days per year.
So as half of France was driving to the beach, Remi and baby and I just took a brief drive to a nearby mine heap/mountain. Call us anticonformists. Oh, the turquoise blue waters of the Mediterranean have got nothing on this place (smell the sarcasm). So under a brilliantly overcast sky, we walked around this old mine heap which has now been populated by whatever plant species that can survive there. As we climbed up, the views were fairly impressive. We could see surrounding fields and villages starting to grow smaller and smaller. Remi went to the very top, but Juliette and I stayed at a safer distance below.
But in fact I will be off next week, so I shouldn't mock the vacationing bunch so much. We will be enjoying a three-day weekend at a beach here in the North of France with some of Remi's friends. The weather might not get over 75°F but that's ok.
For the moment I'm just hanging out at home this week. Only three classes won't keep me that busy. Juliette will go to the sitter just in the morning for most days. It's a good thing I'm a homebody and can always find things to do here. I've got lots of projects and most of them begin with an "O". Like:
organize the closet,
organize the bookshelf,
organize the totally messy clothes cabinet in the bedroom...
You get the picture. Lately I've been finding myself resembling Monk more and more. Wanting things so tidy and organized. Every thing in its own place. My house is still far from this ideal, and I doubt it will be much cleaner at the end of August. But it's on my list anyway. Plus to do some cooking projects, like make a raspberry charlotte dessert myself (like what my birthday cake was). Oh, and get my Life in Order. That's always on my list but I never seem to be able to tick it off. No matter how many vacation days I could have...
Last night on the news they talked about the difficulty of finding fresh bread in August. It's really serious! So many shops close up because the majority of their customers are on vacation. So it's logical for them to close then, too. But if you have the misfortune to get sick in August, you'll probably find your general practicioner has gone south like all the other folks. In some of the companies my trainees work for there may only be two out of a department that usually bustles with 15 employees. Sometimes production closes for three weeks in August and maintenance crews come in to repair the machines. An American journalist has even written a book about what he deems the French obsession with vacations, Sacrées Vacances, and I have to agree with him a little. He says it can almost be stressful for the French to plan their vacations, especially since some have so many days per year.
So as half of France was driving to the beach, Remi and baby and I just took a brief drive to a nearby mine heap/mountain. Call us anticonformists. Oh, the turquoise blue waters of the Mediterranean have got nothing on this place (smell the sarcasm). So under a brilliantly overcast sky, we walked around this old mine heap which has now been populated by whatever plant species that can survive there. As we climbed up, the views were fairly impressive. We could see surrounding fields and villages starting to grow smaller and smaller. Remi went to the very top, but Juliette and I stayed at a safer distance below.
But in fact I will be off next week, so I shouldn't mock the vacationing bunch so much. We will be enjoying a three-day weekend at a beach here in the North of France with some of Remi's friends. The weather might not get over 75°F but that's ok.
For the moment I'm just hanging out at home this week. Only three classes won't keep me that busy. Juliette will go to the sitter just in the morning for most days. It's a good thing I'm a homebody and can always find things to do here. I've got lots of projects and most of them begin with an "O". Like:
organize the closet,
organize the bookshelf,
organize the totally messy clothes cabinet in the bedroom...
You get the picture. Lately I've been finding myself resembling Monk more and more. Wanting things so tidy and organized. Every thing in its own place. My house is still far from this ideal, and I doubt it will be much cleaner at the end of August. But it's on my list anyway. Plus to do some cooking projects, like make a raspberry charlotte dessert myself (like what my birthday cake was). Oh, and get my Life in Order. That's always on my list but I never seem to be able to tick it off. No matter how many vacation days I could have...
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Q&A
Got this idea from the Femina magazine, a fairly well-done women's magazine which is included with the Sunday papers around here. They interviewed foreign women who now live in France and asked them a series of questions. As I read the article I found myself formulating my own answers.
So Q&A:
My history:
Alabama girl meets French guy while in Holland. Finds internship in France and decides to stay on. Married with a bébé and Cat-ki.
What's the most American quality I have?
Hmm, without sounding totally arrogant about my nationality, I really think there's an openess and casualness that we have and that I continue to carry with me. It's what I always noticed when I go back home, and have mentioned before, how folks in the airport start calling you "honey" and giving you conspiratorial winks and smiles and joking around. These things can happen in France, but it just seems rarer. So I'd say I like to create these kinds of encounters here. There, is that clear?
What's the most French quality I have?
Now that I've been living here nearly 8 years (scary!), I think I do appreciate the idea of taking your time and enjoying the little things. Take Sundays. Nearly nothing is open except a few supermarkets in the morning or a bakery or two. Which forces you to do other things like take walks. As annoying as the lack of open shops can be, I have started to enjoy this forced quiet time.
What my double identity adds to my personality?
That I can just as easily be pleased by fresh baguettes and frilly pastries as with a pack of easy-bake muffin mix from the US. Here's a picture from my local bakery, just to maintain my food obsessive photography motif. I think I try to take the best of each culture and enjoy it and create my own fusion. Plus there can be times that knowing two languages adds some new dimensions to either language.
What I want to pass on about my origins?
I'd like Juliette to know that she can do whatever she wants. In France it's not that you tell kids they can't do anything, but the school system is somewhat restrictive. I remember when I told my host family in France that I wanted to work in a botanical garden. They immediately started telling me this was a really tough job to get in France as it was often at a government level and you'd have to pass an exam, etc. Maybe, so, but I want my daughter to think beyond the restrictions. Maybe this is more of an American dream attitude?
A childhood memory:
So many, how can I choose? Playing fort in the woods with the kids that lived in my dad's neighborhood. Fourth of July at mom's house and fresh blueberries and all the fixin's. Playing legos with my sister.
My favorite smell from back home:
The smell after a hard rain, like a nice summer downpour.
Fellow expats or those who've simply transplanted from one state to another, I'd love to know your answers to this survey. So feel free to respond in a comment our on your own blog.
So Q&A:
My history:
Alabama girl meets French guy while in Holland. Finds internship in France and decides to stay on. Married with a bébé and Cat-ki.
What's the most American quality I have?
Hmm, without sounding totally arrogant about my nationality, I really think there's an openess and casualness that we have and that I continue to carry with me. It's what I always noticed when I go back home, and have mentioned before, how folks in the airport start calling you "honey" and giving you conspiratorial winks and smiles and joking around. These things can happen in France, but it just seems rarer. So I'd say I like to create these kinds of encounters here. There, is that clear?
What's the most French quality I have?
Now that I've been living here nearly 8 years (scary!), I think I do appreciate the idea of taking your time and enjoying the little things. Take Sundays. Nearly nothing is open except a few supermarkets in the morning or a bakery or two. Which forces you to do other things like take walks. As annoying as the lack of open shops can be, I have started to enjoy this forced quiet time.
What my double identity adds to my personality?
That I can just as easily be pleased by fresh baguettes and frilly pastries as with a pack of easy-bake muffin mix from the US. Here's a picture from my local bakery, just to maintain my food obsessive photography motif. I think I try to take the best of each culture and enjoy it and create my own fusion. Plus there can be times that knowing two languages adds some new dimensions to either language.
What I want to pass on about my origins?
I'd like Juliette to know that she can do whatever she wants. In France it's not that you tell kids they can't do anything, but the school system is somewhat restrictive. I remember when I told my host family in France that I wanted to work in a botanical garden. They immediately started telling me this was a really tough job to get in France as it was often at a government level and you'd have to pass an exam, etc. Maybe, so, but I want my daughter to think beyond the restrictions. Maybe this is more of an American dream attitude?
A childhood memory:
So many, how can I choose? Playing fort in the woods with the kids that lived in my dad's neighborhood. Fourth of July at mom's house and fresh blueberries and all the fixin's. Playing legos with my sister.
My favorite smell from back home:
The smell after a hard rain, like a nice summer downpour.
Fellow expats or those who've simply transplanted from one state to another, I'd love to know your answers to this survey. So feel free to respond in a comment our on your own blog.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Birthdays and traveling
Oh, I have so much catching up to do with my blog. First things first, we’ve been celebrating birthdays around here. Today was Remi’s. I bought him a session at the same beauty salon where he gave me the facial, but his is for a relaxing massage. Will make him some chocolate chip cookies tomorrow (with Tollhouse chips and American brown sugar).
And Thursday was Juliette’s second birthday. We gave her a rocking crib for her baby doll and she shrieked with delight when she saw it in the living room. She also tried to climb in it, and I think we’ll need to dissuade her a few times again. She had Skype sessions with Grandpa (Baca) and also Mameelin and Grandma the Great. Then there was cake and attempts to blow out her big number two candle. She smiled as I sang Happy Birthday and then dug in heartily into that cake. Didn’t finish it all but this could also be because it was time for her evening bottle.
Our little two-year-old knows so many things about the world already. She sings along with some of the commercial jingles on TV, tries to say “bonjour” and “ça va? (how are you?) to strangers in the grocery store. She sticks her little hand in the cabinet whenever I have it open and looks for cookies. Will take the camembert to her daddy when I tell her so. Shouts out “doggy” or “chien” when she sees one out and about. Her vocabulary is increasing by leaps and bounds, but she still says a lot of things that sound like jibberish, but serious jibberish, mind you. There are a good number of English words and phrases, like “get down”, “plee” for “please”, “where are you?” all slurred together as we play peek-a-boo with the chair, “nap”, “leg”, “mouse”… But there are also lots of French phrases, which at times still seem to be “winning”. As long as she can still understand me and my family and speak some English, I suppose we’re doing well.
Speaking of Shakespeare’s tongue, we visited his homeland during our week off. After much hemming and hawing, Remi and I decided to do a two-day trip to Dover and Canterbury. We drove over a little more than an hour to Calais, then took the ferry to Dover. It was such a breath of fresh air for me to be in my own language again and there are definitely lots of similarities between English and American cultures. I’m admittedly prejudiced but sometimes the British did seem more open and casual. Like the teens who were happily making faces and sticking out their tongues playfully at Juliette. That’s never happened to me in France. The French like to say the English are so reserved, but sometimes I find it the opposite. No offense to any Frenchies reading. It was kind of liberating to know I could go into any shop and make myself totally understood. And what fun to see some of the brands I know from the US also on the British shelves.
So here are a few of the trip highlights in words and pictures:
Canterbury Cathedral, duh! Can’t go to Canterbury without seeing it. History tidbit: this is where Thomas Beckett was assasinated. The pilgrims of Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales came to this place, too (flashback to British Lit class). But on the day we went they were doing the graduation ceremony for the University of Kent students. You can see a few in their gowns at the bottom of the pic. They were even giving an honorary diploma to Orlando Bloom (no, we didn’t see him). Unfortunately we couldn’t go into some parts of the cathedral because of the ceremony.
But before we visited the cathedral we just had to make a stop at Starbucks for a mocha frappuccino and carrot cake. Here’s the view from said coffee house, which is right next to the cathedral.
Posing with the cute post box.
I think this sign says it all.
The gardens along the river were quite lovely, too.
What English town would be complete without a pub or two?
Dover is less picturesque than Canterbury but still quite fun to go into little shops and experience that English touch. We had an English breakfast complete with divine mild sausages, bacon, hash browns, eggs, boiled tomatoes ( it was that or baked beans) and toast.
Beachfront buildings there. This area was nice but some parts of the town were a bit on the shabby side.
British schoolkids visiting Dover Castle. They all had some touch of teal in their uniforms. They were all carrying their sack lunches and more or less listening to the middle-aged guide who seemed a bit exasperated.
One last view of Dover taken from the castle.
Tea time, so divine. Little biscuits with butter and jam. I had to squeeze it in before our ferry ride home.
Brilliant sun on the English Channel as we came home (reluctantly in my case). We ate overpriced fish and chips on the boat. Strangely it came with Ben and Jerry’s ice cream for dessert.
Some great memories, and once our bank accounts recover from the exchange rate, maybe we’ll think about another trip next year.
And Thursday was Juliette’s second birthday. We gave her a rocking crib for her baby doll and she shrieked with delight when she saw it in the living room. She also tried to climb in it, and I think we’ll need to dissuade her a few times again. She had Skype sessions with Grandpa (Baca) and also Mameelin and Grandma the Great. Then there was cake and attempts to blow out her big number two candle. She smiled as I sang Happy Birthday and then dug in heartily into that cake. Didn’t finish it all but this could also be because it was time for her evening bottle.
Our little two-year-old knows so many things about the world already. She sings along with some of the commercial jingles on TV, tries to say “bonjour” and “ça va? (how are you?) to strangers in the grocery store. She sticks her little hand in the cabinet whenever I have it open and looks for cookies. Will take the camembert to her daddy when I tell her so. Shouts out “doggy” or “chien” when she sees one out and about. Her vocabulary is increasing by leaps and bounds, but she still says a lot of things that sound like jibberish, but serious jibberish, mind you. There are a good number of English words and phrases, like “get down”, “plee” for “please”, “where are you?” all slurred together as we play peek-a-boo with the chair, “nap”, “leg”, “mouse”… But there are also lots of French phrases, which at times still seem to be “winning”. As long as she can still understand me and my family and speak some English, I suppose we’re doing well.
Speaking of Shakespeare’s tongue, we visited his homeland during our week off. After much hemming and hawing, Remi and I decided to do a two-day trip to Dover and Canterbury. We drove over a little more than an hour to Calais, then took the ferry to Dover. It was such a breath of fresh air for me to be in my own language again and there are definitely lots of similarities between English and American cultures. I’m admittedly prejudiced but sometimes the British did seem more open and casual. Like the teens who were happily making faces and sticking out their tongues playfully at Juliette. That’s never happened to me in France. The French like to say the English are so reserved, but sometimes I find it the opposite. No offense to any Frenchies reading. It was kind of liberating to know I could go into any shop and make myself totally understood. And what fun to see some of the brands I know from the US also on the British shelves.
So here are a few of the trip highlights in words and pictures:
Canterbury Cathedral, duh! Can’t go to Canterbury without seeing it. History tidbit: this is where Thomas Beckett was assasinated. The pilgrims of Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales came to this place, too (flashback to British Lit class). But on the day we went they were doing the graduation ceremony for the University of Kent students. You can see a few in their gowns at the bottom of the pic. They were even giving an honorary diploma to Orlando Bloom (no, we didn’t see him). Unfortunately we couldn’t go into some parts of the cathedral because of the ceremony.
But before we visited the cathedral we just had to make a stop at Starbucks for a mocha frappuccino and carrot cake. Here’s the view from said coffee house, which is right next to the cathedral.
Posing with the cute post box.
I think this sign says it all.
The gardens along the river were quite lovely, too.
What English town would be complete without a pub or two?
Dover is less picturesque than Canterbury but still quite fun to go into little shops and experience that English touch. We had an English breakfast complete with divine mild sausages, bacon, hash browns, eggs, boiled tomatoes ( it was that or baked beans) and toast.
Beachfront buildings there. This area was nice but some parts of the town were a bit on the shabby side.
British schoolkids visiting Dover Castle. They all had some touch of teal in their uniforms. They were all carrying their sack lunches and more or less listening to the middle-aged guide who seemed a bit exasperated.
One last view of Dover taken from the castle.
Tea time, so divine. Little biscuits with butter and jam. I had to squeeze it in before our ferry ride home.
Brilliant sun on the English Channel as we came home (reluctantly in my case). We ate overpriced fish and chips on the boat. Strangely it came with Ben and Jerry’s ice cream for dessert.
Some great memories, and once our bank accounts recover from the exchange rate, maybe we’ll think about another trip next year.
Friday, July 9, 2010
My house elf and I
Sometimes I feel like Juliette is a house elf. In reference to the little creatures in Harry Potter who are probably just about her height, have huge eyes and dream of having a sock thrown their way. Because that means they are free from their masters. I think this because for a while (and she’s not completely out of the phase), she was wild about taking socks or pairs of underwear off the drying rack and putting them around her neck. It didn’t matter that they were still wet, she had to put a slew of them on her. It must be part of her trying to dress herself and be more independent.
She also likes putting things on her head in general. Like bloomers or handkerchiefs. I think I gave her the idea for the latter. She looks so cute with stuff on her head. I think she must be a “hat person”. Put something on her head, even just a handkerchief, and it transforms her from rumble tumble baby to Bohemian princess baby.
Another similarity with the house elf is her sometimes willingness to help out with little chores. Because she sees me doing it so much she has learned to put up the laundry on the rack, too (not sooo much now with the dryer, but from time to time). Though if I don’t watch her the result is not always what I’m looking for. She’s still into using the dustpan, though I discourage her since it is dirty. And when she feels like it, she’ll actually help clean up her toys (usually after a few stern warnings and visits to the corner).
Yes, the terrible twos are around the corner for my house elf. Dr. Spock says it’s a bit of a misnomer because two can be a wonderful age of discovery and fun as this little person develops. And it’s true that I find myself reminiscing as I go to bed about what she’s done that day, even if there were lots of tantrums. The words she tried to say, the laughs and smiles. I love to see her stretch that little body when I wake her up on weekday mornings. She’s still small but her size belies her already very strong personality. This house elf knows what she wants and how to play with her masters/parents.
Just make sure there’s an endless supply of socks and washcloths and we’ll be ok.
She also likes putting things on her head in general. Like bloomers or handkerchiefs. I think I gave her the idea for the latter. She looks so cute with stuff on her head. I think she must be a “hat person”. Put something on her head, even just a handkerchief, and it transforms her from rumble tumble baby to Bohemian princess baby.
Another similarity with the house elf is her sometimes willingness to help out with little chores. Because she sees me doing it so much she has learned to put up the laundry on the rack, too (not sooo much now with the dryer, but from time to time). Though if I don’t watch her the result is not always what I’m looking for. She’s still into using the dustpan, though I discourage her since it is dirty. And when she feels like it, she’ll actually help clean up her toys (usually after a few stern warnings and visits to the corner).
Yes, the terrible twos are around the corner for my house elf. Dr. Spock says it’s a bit of a misnomer because two can be a wonderful age of discovery and fun as this little person develops. And it’s true that I find myself reminiscing as I go to bed about what she’s done that day, even if there were lots of tantrums. The words she tried to say, the laughs and smiles. I love to see her stretch that little body when I wake her up on weekday mornings. She’s still small but her size belies her already very strong personality. This house elf knows what she wants and how to play with her masters/parents.
Just make sure there’s an endless supply of socks and washcloths and we’ll be ok.
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