Je veux remercier chacun que nous avons rencontré de la région Lorraine de faire un accueil chaleureux à nous. Toute le monde était si gentil. Merci !! Vous êtes très bienvenu de rester chez nous si vous venez à Santa Cruz dans l'avenir. Judith a l’adresse !
En particulier, bien sûr, je dois remercie ma belle amie, Judith, et ses parents incroyables, Roby et Agnès. Ils nous ont donné une bienvenue extraordinaire. Grâce à eux, nous avons eu une opportunité rare pour deux voyageuses – à connaître une région de l’intérieur. Aussi, nous nous sentons si heureux que nous avons eu la bonne chance de passer beaucoup de temps avec leur famille et les amis de Judith.
Notre séjour dans la région sera toujours un souvenir précieux.
Gros bisous à tous!
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Last trip blog (in English)
Well, I am on the plane to the USA. This, therefore, will be the final English language blog of this trip. (As you can infer, I will do a post in French as well.) However, I have sort of liked doing this so I think I will continue it during our Hawaii trip. We are gone from September 16 – January 13th.
I thought I should add to my list of a things I like better in France (and Germany) as my final blog.
1. Trash can technology – in both the last two places I stayed, you open a door, the trash can comes out and the lid opens. Now, we probably have these trash cans somewhere in the US – but everyone was amused that I liked them so much as they are normal in Europe.
2. Toilet technology - I believe that the Japanese and Koreans are the world leaders here, but Europe has quickly adopted really good toilets that use very little water. We are way behind.
3. Lights on timed switches or motion detectors in hallways and stairwells - Every place we stayed, the lights in public halls and stairwells were off unless one actively turned on the switch (but it would turn off soon after) or a motion detector that also went off quickly. Why do we leave lights burning all the time in the same situation?
4. You have to bring your own bag to a grocery store or pay for a bag. Therefore, everybody brings there own bag and paper/plastic isn’t wasted.
5. In Paris, you must open the door on the subways. In every American subway that I have been on, all the doors open automatically at every stop. Now, I am stupid when it comes to subway technology – but I bet it uses less energy the French way.
6. All the toll takers in France are so nice! (This is a repeat but it delights me so much.) We went through about 14 tolls booths. They always say “Bonjour” or “Bonsoir”. They always say “Merci”. I don’t know about you – but, in America, I always say hello to the toll taker and thank you after they take the money and they never respond. They look so sour. We need French toll-takers!
I thought I should add to my list of a things I like better in France (and Germany) as my final blog.
1. Trash can technology – in both the last two places I stayed, you open a door, the trash can comes out and the lid opens. Now, we probably have these trash cans somewhere in the US – but everyone was amused that I liked them so much as they are normal in Europe.
2. Toilet technology - I believe that the Japanese and Koreans are the world leaders here, but Europe has quickly adopted really good toilets that use very little water. We are way behind.
3. Lights on timed switches or motion detectors in hallways and stairwells - Every place we stayed, the lights in public halls and stairwells were off unless one actively turned on the switch (but it would turn off soon after) or a motion detector that also went off quickly. Why do we leave lights burning all the time in the same situation?
4. You have to bring your own bag to a grocery store or pay for a bag. Therefore, everybody brings there own bag and paper/plastic isn’t wasted.
5. In Paris, you must open the door on the subways. In every American subway that I have been on, all the doors open automatically at every stop. Now, I am stupid when it comes to subway technology – but I bet it uses less energy the French way.
6. All the toll takers in France are so nice! (This is a repeat but it delights me so much.) We went through about 14 tolls booths. They always say “Bonjour” or “Bonsoir”. They always say “Merci”. I don’t know about you – but, in America, I always say hello to the toll taker and thank you after they take the money and they never respond. They look so sour. We need French toll-takers!
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Fishermen, horsewomen, and operaland
Everyone needs to find the thing that puts them at peace, where the day-to-day cares of the world recede and perfection seems possible – if for just short moments. For my host, Roby, that thing is fishing. I had the privilege of entering his world for 6 hours when we went to his secret spot on a nearby river where he patiently shared his expertise with me. Of course, the instructions were in French, as he doesn’t really speak English. And, as I mentioned, my comprehension of French is around 30%. So, perhaps, my learning curve was slower than it would normally be. But, no matter, it worked. Roby was very patient as he dealt with my multiple fishing line tangles. In between tangles, it was so peaceful. So perfect. Time to just let the mind wander and contemplate.
I thought of all the fishermen I knew – quite a large number – along with the fact that I don’t know any fisherwomen. I wonder why this particular passion seems to attract men more than women? And, then I thought of our visit the day before to see the equestrian center where Judith used to ride. We went there to see Amelie ride. (She is a Judith’s friend who we met last summer in Santa Cruz.) It was a world of women. Oh, there was a man here or there, but anyone who spends time at equestrian centers in Europe or the United States knows that it is a world dominated by women. I know lots of horsewomen, but no horsemen. Fishing for men? Horses for women? What is up with that? I don't know. Please explain it to me if you understand it. Regardless, I do know that they both have the same function. The escape from the stresses of life. The time to just be in the moment… at peace.
For me, it’s opera. Not all operas. Not all the time. But, there is nothing that is better at creating serenity for me than really listening to and feeling a full opera. The experience sometimes seems almost outside time and space. When I have this feeling, I say that I am in operaland.
I am pretty sure that Roby is in a similar mental space when everything is right – the weather is perfect, the fish are biting. I am sure he goes to fishland. And those women on their horses surely go to horseland.
But back to Roby and his fish. He is just so adorable with his beloved fish. He makes food for the fish. He made some balls the size of big marbles for the carp; he makes balls the size of little marbles for some medium-sized fish and he makes some other concoction for the little fishes. (I have no idea what is in the food as he told me it all in French – but it looked and smelled like fish would like it.) When he first showed me this stuff, I just thought it was bait. But, no – the river is like his huge aquarium and he wants them all to be really well fed. So, after we finishing fishing for the day, he slingshots the big balls to the carp (that he indicated hang out up the river from his secret spot), tossed the medium sized balls a bit closer and threw in a bunch of the other concoction all around for the little fish. Now, a cynic might think that he is doing that only so the fish want to remain around this particular spot so he can later catch them. And, sure, that is true, too. But, I tell you – he also just loves his fish. And, I love him for how much he loves his fish.
I thought of all the fishermen I knew – quite a large number – along with the fact that I don’t know any fisherwomen. I wonder why this particular passion seems to attract men more than women? And, then I thought of our visit the day before to see the equestrian center where Judith used to ride. We went there to see Amelie ride. (She is a Judith’s friend who we met last summer in Santa Cruz.) It was a world of women. Oh, there was a man here or there, but anyone who spends time at equestrian centers in Europe or the United States knows that it is a world dominated by women. I know lots of horsewomen, but no horsemen. Fishing for men? Horses for women? What is up with that? I don't know. Please explain it to me if you understand it. Regardless, I do know that they both have the same function. The escape from the stresses of life. The time to just be in the moment… at peace.
For me, it’s opera. Not all operas. Not all the time. But, there is nothing that is better at creating serenity for me than really listening to and feeling a full opera. The experience sometimes seems almost outside time and space. When I have this feeling, I say that I am in operaland.
I am pretty sure that Roby is in a similar mental space when everything is right – the weather is perfect, the fish are biting. I am sure he goes to fishland. And those women on their horses surely go to horseland.
But back to Roby and his fish. He is just so adorable with his beloved fish. He makes food for the fish. He made some balls the size of big marbles for the carp; he makes balls the size of little marbles for some medium-sized fish and he makes some other concoction for the little fishes. (I have no idea what is in the food as he told me it all in French – but it looked and smelled like fish would like it.) When he first showed me this stuff, I just thought it was bait. But, no – the river is like his huge aquarium and he wants them all to be really well fed. So, after we finishing fishing for the day, he slingshots the big balls to the carp (that he indicated hang out up the river from his secret spot), tossed the medium sized balls a bit closer and threw in a bunch of the other concoction all around for the little fish. Now, a cynic might think that he is doing that only so the fish want to remain around this particular spot so he can later catch them. And, sure, that is true, too. But, I tell you – he also just loves his fish. And, I love him for how much he loves his fish.
Je suis différente et difficile
I think there is something really wrong with me. Other people seem to really like seeing pretty or ‘interesting’ things – like forests and fields of flowers and old ruins and castles and quaint villages and grand cathedrals. All I can do as I go from field to village to forest and back again is to hear Ronald Reagan in my mind…”If you have seen one ……, you have seen them all”. He was talking about redwoods, of course – but it works for everything.
What do I like? People, people and more people. Can’t get enough of them. Watching people, talking with people, talking about people, meeting people, communicating with people. When people are the focus - at a meal, for instance - I have been really happy. But, when walking and driving to see buildings or landscapes is the focus, I have been, well, quite difficult.
Agnes and Roby, the parents of Judith, have been extraordinary hosts here in the Lorraine. They, along with Judith, have pulled out all the stops to introduce us to their region and their family. It has been an amazing opportunity and I have enjoyed every second when people have been the focus. Even though 90% of the conversations have been in French and I only understand, perhaps, 30% - this remains true. Roby has cooked three delicious meals. Judith threw a fantastic party where she introduced us to her 15 closet friends. Yesterday, we had a wonderful meal that Rose Marie, Roby’s mom, cooked for the family and the family of Roby’s brother. We had a great tea with Agnes’ mom, Colette. Several great meals out – one with Agnes’ totally cool sister, Valerie. Wine has flowed freely. What could be better? People, food and wine. My favorite things. We have been extremely privileged to be invited into their home and lives. I feel so lucky.
And yet – you know I am getting back to the “but” – I began to really dislike daytrips to see anything. Agnes wanted to show us the area and planned a series of daytrips around the Alsace/ Lorraine region. A normal person – like Leslie, for example – seems to enjoy this sort of excursion. But things – and I don’t care how ‘beautiful’ or ‘magnificent’ or ‘quaint’ or ‘ancient’ – leave me cold most of the time. Occasionally, for a brief moment – something strikes me as interesting. I remember thinking the Metz cathedral was pretty cool, for example. It reminded me of a particular set from the Lord of the Rings. Ummm…. Ummmm. Can’t think of anything else. See, I am not normal at all! I am a different kind of person!
And, even though I do like food a lot, I was constantly saying "no" to various offers of this kind of food or that kind of food, I asked Judith what the word for picky was in French and she said difficile. I said - but what do you use for a generally fussy person: difficile. Ok, I embrace it as it works for me both ways on this trip. Je suis differente et difficile!
This fact about me has made me feel bad and guilty, of course. Our hosts – particularly Agnes - have been totally enthusiastic to show us the area that their families have lived for many generations and I am not – quite obviously – appreciative enough. What a horrible person I am!
As already discussed in the July 17th blog entitled Why Leslie’s IQ is 14 points higher than mine, Leslie is the far more curious and well-rounded person. As always, she is interested in everything. Taking pictures, asking questions – soaking it all in. I do like watching her enjoy everything.
And then there is Agnes. She is a force of nature. Absolutely extraordinary. She is like Leslie - interested in everything, curious about everything – but also has this amazing stamina (unlike Leslie). She is fearless and lots of fun. I also love watching her. I have adored all the times we have been sitting around the house or at a restaurant talking. But, she is really quite the taskmaster. Go, Go, Go. Allez, allez, allez. I do have a relative who is very similar, my sister-in-law Tobae. The difference is that I don’t feel obligated with Tobae to go on her many adventures – her entreaties fall on deaf ears. But, how could I say no to this astonishing host?
Somehow I found a way. I just had to “come out” as the different and difficult person that I am, as I couldn’t stand one more daytrip. And, Agnes adapted quickly to my personality quirks without taking, I think, any offense. She and Leslie now roam the countryside together while I sit at home writing this. They are at some 10th century church as this very moment. But, you know, I really think that if you have seen one church, you’ve seen them all.
What do I like? People, people and more people. Can’t get enough of them. Watching people, talking with people, talking about people, meeting people, communicating with people. When people are the focus - at a meal, for instance - I have been really happy. But, when walking and driving to see buildings or landscapes is the focus, I have been, well, quite difficult.
Agnes and Roby, the parents of Judith, have been extraordinary hosts here in the Lorraine. They, along with Judith, have pulled out all the stops to introduce us to their region and their family. It has been an amazing opportunity and I have enjoyed every second when people have been the focus. Even though 90% of the conversations have been in French and I only understand, perhaps, 30% - this remains true. Roby has cooked three delicious meals. Judith threw a fantastic party where she introduced us to her 15 closet friends. Yesterday, we had a wonderful meal that Rose Marie, Roby’s mom, cooked for the family and the family of Roby’s brother. We had a great tea with Agnes’ mom, Colette. Several great meals out – one with Agnes’ totally cool sister, Valerie. Wine has flowed freely. What could be better? People, food and wine. My favorite things. We have been extremely privileged to be invited into their home and lives. I feel so lucky.
And yet – you know I am getting back to the “but” – I began to really dislike daytrips to see anything. Agnes wanted to show us the area and planned a series of daytrips around the Alsace/ Lorraine region. A normal person – like Leslie, for example – seems to enjoy this sort of excursion. But things – and I don’t care how ‘beautiful’ or ‘magnificent’ or ‘quaint’ or ‘ancient’ – leave me cold most of the time. Occasionally, for a brief moment – something strikes me as interesting. I remember thinking the Metz cathedral was pretty cool, for example. It reminded me of a particular set from the Lord of the Rings. Ummm…. Ummmm. Can’t think of anything else. See, I am not normal at all! I am a different kind of person!
And, even though I do like food a lot, I was constantly saying "no" to various offers of this kind of food or that kind of food, I asked Judith what the word for picky was in French and she said difficile. I said - but what do you use for a generally fussy person: difficile. Ok, I embrace it as it works for me both ways on this trip. Je suis differente et difficile!
This fact about me has made me feel bad and guilty, of course. Our hosts – particularly Agnes - have been totally enthusiastic to show us the area that their families have lived for many generations and I am not – quite obviously – appreciative enough. What a horrible person I am!
As already discussed in the July 17th blog entitled Why Leslie’s IQ is 14 points higher than mine, Leslie is the far more curious and well-rounded person. As always, she is interested in everything. Taking pictures, asking questions – soaking it all in. I do like watching her enjoy everything.
And then there is Agnes. She is a force of nature. Absolutely extraordinary. She is like Leslie - interested in everything, curious about everything – but also has this amazing stamina (unlike Leslie). She is fearless and lots of fun. I also love watching her. I have adored all the times we have been sitting around the house or at a restaurant talking. But, she is really quite the taskmaster. Go, Go, Go. Allez, allez, allez. I do have a relative who is very similar, my sister-in-law Tobae. The difference is that I don’t feel obligated with Tobae to go on her many adventures – her entreaties fall on deaf ears. But, how could I say no to this astonishing host?
Somehow I found a way. I just had to “come out” as the different and difficult person that I am, as I couldn’t stand one more daytrip. And, Agnes adapted quickly to my personality quirks without taking, I think, any offense. She and Leslie now roam the countryside together while I sit at home writing this. They are at some 10th century church as this very moment. But, you know, I really think that if you have seen one church, you’ve seen them all.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Love those bises...
I just adore the bises in France. Absolutely my favorite thing. This is when French friends (and usually acquaintances) exchange kisses on alternating cheeks upon meeting and separating. It is just so sweet. In the morning, the very first thing, Judith, Roby et Agnes (and also Leslie!) give me bises. When we go to bed, I get bises. When they go out, I get bises. Lots of bises. It is so fun!
I have no idea what size group is necessary to stop the practice of everyone giving everyone else bises upon greeting (and parting) but I now know from experience that 15 isn’t too much. Judith had a party of that size to introduce us to her friends. And, when the last three came in, they methodically moved around a very cramped table to impart the bises to each person in turn. (Leslie filmed these particular bises. We will be happy to show you the ‘native customs’ when we return.)
As we all know, in the United States there might be a hug for your close friends in a group that size. But, no way would we walk around hugging, kissing or otherwise acknowledging each person in turn. Just would not happen.
I really hate to be repetitive – but it is just so damn sweet.
I have no idea what size group is necessary to stop the practice of everyone giving everyone else bises upon greeting (and parting) but I now know from experience that 15 isn’t too much. Judith had a party of that size to introduce us to her friends. And, when the last three came in, they methodically moved around a very cramped table to impart the bises to each person in turn. (Leslie filmed these particular bises. We will be happy to show you the ‘native customs’ when we return.)
As we all know, in the United States there might be a hug for your close friends in a group that size. But, no way would we walk around hugging, kissing or otherwise acknowledging each person in turn. Just would not happen.
I really hate to be repetitive – but it is just so damn sweet.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Some Generalizations: Jehovah’s Witnesses and German drivers
As human beings are wired to do, I seek patterns to make sense of the world. From these perceived patterns come generalizations that – hopefully - contain some truth that helps me successfully navigate my way in the world. Of course, when you meet an individual such generalizations must be held very, very loosely. I have made some gross generalizations in this blog and will continue to do so. But, individual people are always so damn unique!
For instance, Judith has a friend who is a Jehovah’s Witness (JW). Ok – I need to admit right now that I have only met JWs at my door when they were evangelizing and have found them to be the closest thing to zombies that I have ever met. (Think Invasion of the Body Snatchers). So – the pattern is: JWs are zombie-like. Generalization: JWs must be dumb and lack critical thinking skills. I think it is clear that I have a prejudice against JWs. But, Judith likes this woman a lot – so I was sure that she would not meet the pattern. And, indeed she did not. She was absolutely charming, intelligent and – this is an aside but feels relevant – a knockout. So, I will admit, I assumed that it must be her parents that were the zombies.
Totally wrong. Judith’s friend and her mother came by Judith’s house for a visit and the mom was also absolutely charming, intelligent and very, very talkative. Ok, she was speaking rapidly in French so I probably only caught 20% - but it was a charming 20%. She had absolutely no zombie-like qualities. So, the pattern is totally broken, the prejudice is exploded. (I have to add at this point that even though I had this horrible, now-proven-wrong prejudice against the people who practice the JW religion – I have long loved them because of their fight for our first amendment rights. If you don't know this history, please read this to get the gist of how crucial JWs were to the expansions of our basic freedoms: http://www.adherents.com/largecom/jw_freedom.html
It is because of them, for instance, that this atheist wasn’t required to stand and say the pledge of allegiance at school.)
Interestingly, when Judith’s JW friend and mom came over, the subject turned to Germans. The mom was talking about how much she hated the German language – how difficult it was. But, then she added that as much as she hated the language, she loved the people because they were so polite. And, everyone there (all French folks) quickly agreed that Germans are more polite than the French – particularly when it comes to driving. Given my last blog, I thought it was important to add this in….
Speaking as a person trying to learn French, I did find it amusing that she was talking about how hard German is to learn. I understand that German has its difficulties with declensions and all that. But for an English speaker, German has some real advantages. Consider these two sentences:
Was ist das?
Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça?
The meaning of both is: What is that?
The German seems straightforward to me and one can easily learn - and say correctly - three German words with that sentence. But, what the hell is going on in the French? Where is what? Where is is? Where is that? And how the hell do you prounounce that, anyway?
And she thinks German is hard????
For instance, Judith has a friend who is a Jehovah’s Witness (JW). Ok – I need to admit right now that I have only met JWs at my door when they were evangelizing and have found them to be the closest thing to zombies that I have ever met. (Think Invasion of the Body Snatchers). So – the pattern is: JWs are zombie-like. Generalization: JWs must be dumb and lack critical thinking skills. I think it is clear that I have a prejudice against JWs. But, Judith likes this woman a lot – so I was sure that she would not meet the pattern. And, indeed she did not. She was absolutely charming, intelligent and – this is an aside but feels relevant – a knockout. So, I will admit, I assumed that it must be her parents that were the zombies.
Totally wrong. Judith’s friend and her mother came by Judith’s house for a visit and the mom was also absolutely charming, intelligent and very, very talkative. Ok, she was speaking rapidly in French so I probably only caught 20% - but it was a charming 20%. She had absolutely no zombie-like qualities. So, the pattern is totally broken, the prejudice is exploded. (I have to add at this point that even though I had this horrible, now-proven-wrong prejudice against the people who practice the JW religion – I have long loved them because of their fight for our first amendment rights. If you don't know this history, please read this to get the gist of how crucial JWs were to the expansions of our basic freedoms: http://www.adherents.com/largecom/jw_freedom.html
It is because of them, for instance, that this atheist wasn’t required to stand and say the pledge of allegiance at school.)
Interestingly, when Judith’s JW friend and mom came over, the subject turned to Germans. The mom was talking about how much she hated the German language – how difficult it was. But, then she added that as much as she hated the language, she loved the people because they were so polite. And, everyone there (all French folks) quickly agreed that Germans are more polite than the French – particularly when it comes to driving. Given my last blog, I thought it was important to add this in….
Speaking as a person trying to learn French, I did find it amusing that she was talking about how hard German is to learn. I understand that German has its difficulties with declensions and all that. But for an English speaker, German has some real advantages. Consider these two sentences:
Was ist das?
Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça?
The meaning of both is: What is that?
The German seems straightforward to me and one can easily learn - and say correctly - three German words with that sentence. But, what the hell is going on in the French? Where is what? Where is is? Where is that? And how the hell do you prounounce that, anyway?
And she thinks German is hard????
Monday, August 11, 2008
The Germans and the French
When one goes to Europe, the weight of history seems (and is) so much stronger than it is in the United States. Certainly this is particularly true of the relationship between the French and the Germans. Americans – of course – are unconcerned about history of any kind, much less European history. In considering French/German relations, most would think back only to World War II or, if they are older, perhaps World War I. (Though I need to add that I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that 50% of Americans under 30 don’t know anything substantial about World War II.) But, to really understand the French/German relationship one must certainly go back much farther in time. At the very least, one must throw into the mix Napoleon’s invasion and occupation of Germany, as well as the Franco-Prussian war.
I don’t really have the space here, nor the inclination or, most certainly, the expertise to discuss the complications of the relationship between these two fine countries and their wonderful people. But, a few morsels follow as food for thought.
We are staying in Baden-Baden, a town of 50,000 inhabitants, which lies 10 kilometers from the French border. It is a place of stunning beauty and incredible cultural richness. It is an international destination popular for its famous baths, for classical music year round, for its fine restaurants and hotels, and so much more. Tourists come from all over the world to experience this incredible place. So, do the French also cross the border to appreciate this wonderland in their backyard? Apparently, no. One hears very, very little French around town. Mais, pourquoi pas?
When I mentioned to Peter how nice everybody in France was to us, he said – “ah, but you are Americans.” Now – as I have already mentioned – Peter is the nicest person in the world. Thus, he wouldn’t say that with no reason. And, Peter lived in France for many years, worked for a French company, and his son went through the French school system and is, for all intents and purposes, French. Peter is not a knee-jerk anti-French person by any means. So, when he tells me that the reception can be hostile to Germans by some French people, I am inclined to believe there is some truth to it.
When we were discussing the relationship of the French and Germans with a delightful German friend of Peter’s, she told us that when she hears someone speaking French when she is in America (where she lives 4 months of the year), she switches to English as a defensive measure. Wow.
And, finally, I actually witnessed a troubling encounter between a young French woman and Peter. We were at a concert with table seating. The tables were very tightly packed together and one needed to cooperate with the neighboring tables to orchestrate it so everyone could get comfortable. This particular woman pushed her chair into Peter’s chair – and kept pushing. When he asked her to please move a bit so he had some room, she really let him have it. It was bizarre actually and, indeed, incredibly rude. (While this was happening on one side of the table, by contrast, I became fast friends with a man named Wolfgang when I stepped on his toes.) Peter turned to me and said – “so, is this the nice French people that you talk about?” Leslie and I contended that it had nothing to do with the fact that she was French and everything to do with the fact that she was a complete jerk. Peter good-naturally agreed. Nonetheless, would it had been different with me? Would her reception to me – an obvious American - have been much nicer and more accommodating? Je ne sais pas…..But, I do now wonder.
I don’t really have the space here, nor the inclination or, most certainly, the expertise to discuss the complications of the relationship between these two fine countries and their wonderful people. But, a few morsels follow as food for thought.
We are staying in Baden-Baden, a town of 50,000 inhabitants, which lies 10 kilometers from the French border. It is a place of stunning beauty and incredible cultural richness. It is an international destination popular for its famous baths, for classical music year round, for its fine restaurants and hotels, and so much more. Tourists come from all over the world to experience this incredible place. So, do the French also cross the border to appreciate this wonderland in their backyard? Apparently, no. One hears very, very little French around town. Mais, pourquoi pas?
When I mentioned to Peter how nice everybody in France was to us, he said – “ah, but you are Americans.” Now – as I have already mentioned – Peter is the nicest person in the world. Thus, he wouldn’t say that with no reason. And, Peter lived in France for many years, worked for a French company, and his son went through the French school system and is, for all intents and purposes, French. Peter is not a knee-jerk anti-French person by any means. So, when he tells me that the reception can be hostile to Germans by some French people, I am inclined to believe there is some truth to it.
When we were discussing the relationship of the French and Germans with a delightful German friend of Peter’s, she told us that when she hears someone speaking French when she is in America (where she lives 4 months of the year), she switches to English as a defensive measure. Wow.
And, finally, I actually witnessed a troubling encounter between a young French woman and Peter. We were at a concert with table seating. The tables were very tightly packed together and one needed to cooperate with the neighboring tables to orchestrate it so everyone could get comfortable. This particular woman pushed her chair into Peter’s chair – and kept pushing. When he asked her to please move a bit so he had some room, she really let him have it. It was bizarre actually and, indeed, incredibly rude. (While this was happening on one side of the table, by contrast, I became fast friends with a man named Wolfgang when I stepped on his toes.) Peter turned to me and said – “so, is this the nice French people that you talk about?” Leslie and I contended that it had nothing to do with the fact that she was French and everything to do with the fact that she was a complete jerk. Peter good-naturally agreed. Nonetheless, would it had been different with me? Would her reception to me – an obvious American - have been much nicer and more accommodating? Je ne sais pas…..But, I do now wonder.
So, are Germans nice like the French?
Written on August 7th (but I was away from the internet)
As mentioned earlier, this is my first time in Germany. We are here for three days in Baden-Baden visiting some friends we made via housetrading, Peter and Sabine. We followed Peter’s directions to his home in Baden-Baden. When we arrived, there was no obvious public parking, but some private parking that we pulled into temporarily to check the exact address. Within 10 seconds, we had our very first interaction with a German. A man from an apartment building balcony some distance away dramatically waggled his finger to us in the universal sign of “don’t do that”. We attempted some conversation with him to explain that our presence there was very temporary, but he was too far away to understand Leslie’s halting German. So, we retreated.
I didn’t think this was a good sign. I had been in France for four weeks and not one “don’t do that” came my way. Now, less than 10 seconds parked in Germany and I am already being corrected!
The above was going to be the end of my blog entry, but since then every other interaction with the people here has been marvelous. And, even extraordinary. I think I will wait for another blog entry to fully describe our fabulous German hosts. But, let me say for the record that I really doubt that nicer and more generous people can be found in the world than Peter and Sabine.
But, I do want to relate another tale that gives a good example of our welcome here. Peter and Sabine keep an extra apartment for family and friends that is only a few blocks from their house. It is a very comfortable flat on the fifth floor of the building (the sixth floor in American-speak). While there is an elevator, we always use the stairs. Today, I went out to buy some food when I realized I needed a little more money. I returned to the door and put the key in – but couldn’t get the lock to work. As I was fiddling, I heard Leslie approach from the other side of the door to open it for me. But, it wasn’t Leslie. It was another woman, – dressed in a white t-shirt – and nothing else (that I could see, that is). Obviously, I screwed up the floor. As I was searching my brain for my German from high school to explain and apologize, the woman exclaimed: “Hello! Are you the friends of Peter and Sabine?” I expected fear, shock or irritation that I was trying to enter her home– but instead she pulled me into her apartment as if we were long-lost friends and apologized for her clothes as she was in the process of cleaning. Let me re-emphasize - she was the one apologizing!! She mentioned that “if you were French, I wouldn’t have answered the door looking like this– but I know people from the United States are more casual and wouldn’t mind”. (She had a peep-hole, so presumably she looked through it and surmised who I was from my no-French-woman-would-be-caught-dead-in-it t-shirt.) And, by the way, she actually looked fabulous. She introduced herself (her name is Monica) and then proceeded to entertain me with stories of Peter and Sabine, showed me a lot of photos, gave me restaurant recommendations and so forth. By the end of this surprise encounter with Monica, I had invited her to visit us in the United States! And, I really hope she comes sometime, may I add.
So, bottom-line, Germans are nice, too.
As mentioned earlier, this is my first time in Germany. We are here for three days in Baden-Baden visiting some friends we made via housetrading, Peter and Sabine. We followed Peter’s directions to his home in Baden-Baden. When we arrived, there was no obvious public parking, but some private parking that we pulled into temporarily to check the exact address. Within 10 seconds, we had our very first interaction with a German. A man from an apartment building balcony some distance away dramatically waggled his finger to us in the universal sign of “don’t do that”. We attempted some conversation with him to explain that our presence there was very temporary, but he was too far away to understand Leslie’s halting German. So, we retreated.
I didn’t think this was a good sign. I had been in France for four weeks and not one “don’t do that” came my way. Now, less than 10 seconds parked in Germany and I am already being corrected!
The above was going to be the end of my blog entry, but since then every other interaction with the people here has been marvelous. And, even extraordinary. I think I will wait for another blog entry to fully describe our fabulous German hosts. But, let me say for the record that I really doubt that nicer and more generous people can be found in the world than Peter and Sabine.
But, I do want to relate another tale that gives a good example of our welcome here. Peter and Sabine keep an extra apartment for family and friends that is only a few blocks from their house. It is a very comfortable flat on the fifth floor of the building (the sixth floor in American-speak). While there is an elevator, we always use the stairs. Today, I went out to buy some food when I realized I needed a little more money. I returned to the door and put the key in – but couldn’t get the lock to work. As I was fiddling, I heard Leslie approach from the other side of the door to open it for me. But, it wasn’t Leslie. It was another woman, – dressed in a white t-shirt – and nothing else (that I could see, that is). Obviously, I screwed up the floor. As I was searching my brain for my German from high school to explain and apologize, the woman exclaimed: “Hello! Are you the friends of Peter and Sabine?” I expected fear, shock or irritation that I was trying to enter her home– but instead she pulled me into her apartment as if we were long-lost friends and apologized for her clothes as she was in the process of cleaning. Let me re-emphasize - she was the one apologizing!! She mentioned that “if you were French, I wouldn’t have answered the door looking like this– but I know people from the United States are more casual and wouldn’t mind”. (She had a peep-hole, so presumably she looked through it and surmised who I was from my no-French-woman-would-be-caught-dead-in-it t-shirt.) And, by the way, she actually looked fabulous. She introduced herself (her name is Monica) and then proceeded to entertain me with stories of Peter and Sabine, showed me a lot of photos, gave me restaurant recommendations and so forth. By the end of this surprise encounter with Monica, I had invited her to visit us in the United States! And, I really hope she comes sometime, may I add.
So, bottom-line, Germans are nice, too.
Monday, August 4, 2008
The Twilight Zone
We left Paris and arrived at Nancy in eastern France on Friday. As is our habit and preference, we were trading houses – the couple was already in San Francisco and would be at our home in a couple of days. Francine – our trading partner – had come to Paris to give us our keys for the house and work out a few logistics.
I had googled the street we were at - “10 rue Guy Ropartz” – and had made a copy of our area of the town, copied the bus map from the Gare (train station) and was feeling on top of everything. It turned out that we didn’t even have to take the bus because our ridiculously nice friend, Judith, drove 1 ½ hours from her home to pick us up and drive us 1 mile! She (and her boyfriend, Pierre) dropped us at our lovely house in the burbs and, after a brief stay, went on their way.
And, then we entered the twilight zone.
I took my map and we walked around our neighborhood to get the lay of the land. And nothing was right. None of the streets corresponded to our map. There was no one around. Very little traffic. No stores were open (though it was a weekday and not that late.) Dorothy, I don’t think we are in Paris anymore! Do you remember that episode of the Twilight Zone where the guy was walking around the deserted town? Really, it felt like that. Very eerie.
The house was lovely, but yet somewhat strange. They left very little in the way of instructions and appliances are very different here. They had refinished the floors recently and it smelled of that. We couldn’t open the windows to air it out, though, as they were all stuck closed. We couldn’t get the lights to go off in the stairway and hall. We couldn’t get the CD or DVD or stove to go on. The toilet was running and when I tried to fix it – I broke off the float ball and water sprayed everywhere. I was able to turn off the angle stop (or, at least, the French version of it) so the water stopped but that was only a small consolation.
Did I mention that the internet (WiFi) that they promised wasn’t working and the car that they left for our use didn’t start?
They left a cat that came in and out of a very loud cat door at will, which was also jarring. And, the strangest thing of all to me was that – at 1:00 at night – kids started playing outdoors. It sounded just like an elementary school at recess. They were laughing and screaming and, well, it sounded just like an elementary school at recess. But they did this until 2:00 am. Now, we had just come from three weeks in the biggest city in France and we hardily ever heard a peep after 10:00 pm. This was very, very strange indeed.
At this point, I was absolutely convinced that I had entered another dimension.
All of the above is true, but the order of our particular problems is a bit fictionalized. We did get the internet working fairly readily after an initial frustrating period. With a little internet sleuthing, I found out that the address I googled was for “Nancy, France” but our house is actually in “Villers-le-Nancy, France” which is a suburb of Nancy. Who knew? Both, in turned out, had a “10 rue de Guy Ropartz”. I guess he was a real important guy. Thus – if our extremely nice friend, Judith, had not driven 1 ½ hours to drive us a mile, we would have taken a bus to the wrong house and had a real nightmare of our hands. So, as usual, we were really lucky. Again, thanks Judith!!
As for the house…. After a lot of pulling – we did get the windows open so we could breath. And, after waking to the kids screaming in the middle of the night, I was a bit agitated so I got up and fixed the toilet and solved the light problem. After all, dammit, I was a maintenance person and an electrician in my past. We figured out how to turn on the stove. We decided to just play CDs and DVDs on the computer. I learned how to start the car.
And, as for the silent, eerie town with everything closed? Well, it is France and August – and, well, they take the month off! Not everybody and not the full month. But, lots of stores close for 2 or 3 weeks and most people go on a vacation in late July or early August. So, it is rather empty. And, the places we walked around just happened to be full of closed stores and people on vacation – like our trading partners.
So the bottom-line now – we are well settled in our town and home and everything is just fine. It is not the twilight zone. But, the first day was a little sketchy. Sometimes, one does really feel foreign in a foreign country.
I had googled the street we were at - “10 rue Guy Ropartz” – and had made a copy of our area of the town, copied the bus map from the Gare (train station) and was feeling on top of everything. It turned out that we didn’t even have to take the bus because our ridiculously nice friend, Judith, drove 1 ½ hours from her home to pick us up and drive us 1 mile! She (and her boyfriend, Pierre) dropped us at our lovely house in the burbs and, after a brief stay, went on their way.
And, then we entered the twilight zone.
I took my map and we walked around our neighborhood to get the lay of the land. And nothing was right. None of the streets corresponded to our map. There was no one around. Very little traffic. No stores were open (though it was a weekday and not that late.) Dorothy, I don’t think we are in Paris anymore! Do you remember that episode of the Twilight Zone where the guy was walking around the deserted town? Really, it felt like that. Very eerie.
The house was lovely, but yet somewhat strange. They left very little in the way of instructions and appliances are very different here. They had refinished the floors recently and it smelled of that. We couldn’t open the windows to air it out, though, as they were all stuck closed. We couldn’t get the lights to go off in the stairway and hall. We couldn’t get the CD or DVD or stove to go on. The toilet was running and when I tried to fix it – I broke off the float ball and water sprayed everywhere. I was able to turn off the angle stop (or, at least, the French version of it) so the water stopped but that was only a small consolation.
Did I mention that the internet (WiFi) that they promised wasn’t working and the car that they left for our use didn’t start?
They left a cat that came in and out of a very loud cat door at will, which was also jarring. And, the strangest thing of all to me was that – at 1:00 at night – kids started playing outdoors. It sounded just like an elementary school at recess. They were laughing and screaming and, well, it sounded just like an elementary school at recess. But they did this until 2:00 am. Now, we had just come from three weeks in the biggest city in France and we hardily ever heard a peep after 10:00 pm. This was very, very strange indeed.
At this point, I was absolutely convinced that I had entered another dimension.
All of the above is true, but the order of our particular problems is a bit fictionalized. We did get the internet working fairly readily after an initial frustrating period. With a little internet sleuthing, I found out that the address I googled was for “Nancy, France” but our house is actually in “Villers-le-Nancy, France” which is a suburb of Nancy. Who knew? Both, in turned out, had a “10 rue de Guy Ropartz”. I guess he was a real important guy. Thus – if our extremely nice friend, Judith, had not driven 1 ½ hours to drive us a mile, we would have taken a bus to the wrong house and had a real nightmare of our hands. So, as usual, we were really lucky. Again, thanks Judith!!
As for the house…. After a lot of pulling – we did get the windows open so we could breath. And, after waking to the kids screaming in the middle of the night, I was a bit agitated so I got up and fixed the toilet and solved the light problem. After all, dammit, I was a maintenance person and an electrician in my past. We figured out how to turn on the stove. We decided to just play CDs and DVDs on the computer. I learned how to start the car.
And, as for the silent, eerie town with everything closed? Well, it is France and August – and, well, they take the month off! Not everybody and not the full month. But, lots of stores close for 2 or 3 weeks and most people go on a vacation in late July or early August. So, it is rather empty. And, the places we walked around just happened to be full of closed stores and people on vacation – like our trading partners.
So the bottom-line now – we are well settled in our town and home and everything is just fine. It is not the twilight zone. But, the first day was a little sketchy. Sometimes, one does really feel foreign in a foreign country.
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