Kir and kiwifruit

OOOHHHH. I've discovered a new drink: "Kir."

It is wine

 with a bit of Cassis syrup in it. Cheap. Delicious and packs a wee punch, especially on an empty stomach.

Oh look! Kiwifruit takes central position on a bus stop billboard. Did you know that it was renamed kiwifruit because of marketing problems with the name: Chinese gooseberry? That certainly kicked our national symbol of the flightless bird out of the limelight.

Inner city apartment

I was asked to dinner with the most gorgeous, vibrant, young french family that you could imagine. I haven't posted pictures of them, as I don't feel comfortable doing so without gaining their permission first. 

I walked into town and met the teacher and his exuberant young daughter. We walked a short distance to their central, 3 storied apartment. The ancient stairwell was direct from a french filme noire. The spiralling staircase had me puffing by the time I had reached their apartment.  The moment the door opened, I was greeted with kindness and much fanfare. I was shown around the apartment which had been beautifully set out with practical solutions for minimum space. The couches, rugs, cushions, bedrooms and dining area oozed "lived-in" charm. 

The kids squealed with delight as I admired their cache of toys. The lego man took my eye, as I remember this goofy looking guy from when my boys enjoyed the delights of constructing with lego. I got a good close-up of him. 

The bonsai in the corner, is gigantic. I wonder how old it is?

The view from the tiny balcony to the city street below was quite high. I didn't get too close to the edge to try and capture the ambience of living in such a cool location.  

Here is another shot looking up the street.

By now these shots of me with a wine perched in my fist, pinky aristocratically pointed, is a common occurrence. Why not? I'm not driving. he he he.

I loved playing Santa Claus as I pulled out little gifts for the kids from New Zealand. They eagerly enjoyed the humble offerings. Next thing I know, one of the girls was tying a home-made friendship bracelet onto my wrist and the sweet little four year old had drawn an adorable picture of a man, the sun and a bird. 

The apperitif went down nicely thank you very much and the chips and carrot sticks disappeared within minutes, feeding hungry little stomachs. The tomato tarte was delicious beyond words!!!! I thought that was the main course, but no. The main course was a wonderful beef casserole cooked in wine and dauphinoise-style potatoes. The kids demolished it in minutes. So whilst the adults talked, I showed the kids an easy game to play on my i pad. They instantly became addicted. That kept them quiet whilst the adults finished the main course. Dessert was delicious french vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce.

The beautiful paper serviettes were appropriately french.

The kids politely went to bed without any fuss. The adults continued to chat and discuss all sorts of topics.

It was the end of the working week and both parents had their hands full. I was so lucky to be driven home. 

That night I found it hard to drift off into a peaceful sleep, as I was still buzzing from an incredible evening of french hospitality.

Hear ye, hear ye, New Zealand teacher is in town.

My arrival at the school is now official. The principal requested that all the teachers meet at the office for an official photo to be taken. The photo is to be posted on the school website. The school is called Collège de Fontreyne if you want to look it up.

There was joviality as we went through the school gate and stood in front of the school. 

I was blown away as one of the teachers produced 3 bright canary yellow, A3 sized pages. Each page had a separate word on it. WELCOME. TO. GAP. The students had written and decorated the words with coloured pencils. What a wonderful, unexpected surprise. 

Standing in line like birds on a telegraph line, we held up the papers for the photo. We also clutched a tea towel of a map of New Zealand, a Marmite jar, 3 impossibly rock-hard kiwifruit and a baguette. I was tickled pink with the goodwill and desire to connect our cultures. Anyway, numerous photos were taken. I think at one stage I was holding the map of New Zealand upside down.

To conclude, I asked one of the other teachers to use my i phone to take a photo of myself and the Principal.

Gap is a beautiful town, where there is very little crime. The newspaper is full of various positive news items. Hervé joked that he was going to call the newspaper, because there is a New Zealand teacher in town. he he he.

Les promenades

I have been trying to go for at least one walk per day. I tuck the i phone into my bra strap, poised and positioned for a quick Kodak moment. You never know!

Slapping my backside in a self -denigrating gesture, I indicated to Marthe that it was time to promenade. 

We proceeded to explore the local territory. If only you were there to experience it with me. 

I smiled to myself as we continued down the road where we live. The unknown territory was a charming little country lane. It was important to take care as there was no footpath and we shared the road with the cars. 

The first photo stop was the entrance of someone's house. Les loups translates as the wolves. My brain searched it's files to make sense of this. 

• Are the people who live here called Mr and Mrs Wolf?
• Is this the name of the house?
• Is this the name of ....... ?

Interesting!

The next fleeting photo stop was of an adorable iron gate. How disappointing that it would cost so much to copy this idea chez moi.  What a regal way to introduce guests to the estate.

We made our way initially through residential roads, then we picked our way through fields of long grass, past an archery field, past an old abandoned stone building, through an industrial estate, across a busy road and a round about that threatened death if I wasn't careful, and onward to a pretty little country lane. I asked Marthe to take a photo of me.

My ample derrière still announces my daily addiction to chocolate. however, that state of affairs is currently undergoing change.

OOOOoooohh. A rose!     Belle.

On another walk, I took the opportunity to capture this little beauty. How sweet. Would you believe me if I told you that it is in the backyard of a McDonalds????

I spotted this little restaurant in town. Cute name, n'est-ce pas?

 

In french, une marmite is a large cooking pot. I wonder if we stole the word from the french as our salty spread ,flavoured beef stews cooked in a large cooking pot. When I spoke to numerous classes about our strange , black salty spread that we spread onto toast, they were perplexed over such a bizarre eating habit. I brought an empty plastic Marmite jar from home. i gave the students the opportunity to inhale its peculiar smell. They all concurred that it STINKS.

One of the kind english teachers managed to find a jar in the central supermarket. She bought the jar, as a matter of curiosity. She gifted it to me, as it was beyond comprehension to actually eat it.

The other day when I was waiting to meet someone in town, I stood outside the pink painted tourism office. Next to me, in prime position, in the centre of all the goings on in town, was this Durex dispenser. How do YOU interpret this as a social comment? It must be to prevent the spread of disease. 

Marthe and I laughed at the absurdity of making a purchase from this dispenser in full view of all café go-fers. You would have to be brazenly european to make the purchase. Anyway, I lurked next to this dispenser for half an hour whilst I waited for my friend. I love people watching. Sadly, no brazen european gigolo made a purchase to fulfil my imagination.

I think my blog is aptly named: Meet Me in France. I hope you have enjoyed taking a walk with me, engaging in banter and sharing the visual adventure.

Winter lurks around the corner

Autumn is here. The mornings are fresh. Between 2 and 3 o'clock it is very hot. When the sun casts a sharp shadow as it traverses the sky, it is decidedly chilly in the shade. One needs a jacket in the morning and in the evenings.

Here is nature's autumn colours. 

The cyclic rhythm of seasons encompasses its own beauty. Gap is beautiful. It has a rustic, wild feel to the vegetation. Flowers are bountiful at the moment, as they exhibit their final glory. However, I am warned not to expect any flowers in the harsh winter season. 

I am so lucky not to have any classes on Wednesdays. Last Wednesday, I spent most of the day writing on my blog. It's kinda cool sitting outside in the little backyard, armed with my trusty Apple devices.  My creative juices oozing out of my pores. Here I am, with a very straight back!!!!! It's midday and the sun umbrella is necessary to prevent me and my devices from melting.

Ooooh. Winter, EEEk!

It is very dry here. The washing always dries the laundry to a clean, crisp finish. MMMMMMMMmmmmmm the freshly washed sheets are wonderful to slide into. I am told that it is so dry here, that it is possible to put the washing out and it will dry, despite the fact that there is snow on the ground. On verra! We shall see!

La Libellule or Monsieur le Hélicoptère

Hervé was riding his motorbike around town. He arrived back home with a dragonfly attached to his headlight. I promptly took a photo. Its colours are beautiful, and it was huge as you can see. We all gathered around him, trying to will him to live.

We marvelled at his compound eyes, the fragility of his wings and the vibrancy of his colours. 

As the minutes passed his strength diminished. I tried to learn how to pronounce dragonfly in french. Libellule. I aborted the ability to say that word and decided just to call him Monsieur le Hélicoptère. All the while he slowed raised and lowered his broken middle leg as if to help us understand his ailment. Alas! We were unable to help.

 

He sat on the kitchen table that night as we dined. He had lost his life and we mourned the passing of one of God's most exquisite creatures.

Sink or Swim

Before I departed for France, I had many lessons to improve my ability to speak and write french. After an unsuccessful semester with Alliance Française, due to my inability to connect with the teaching style, I tried taking private lessons. I was constantly dismayed at my inability to make rapid progress. I consistently felt dumb and very empathetic towards my students as learners. 

I knew that my trip to France was going to ensure my ability to speak french is a success. Sink or swim has been an old teaching technique.

Well into my third week in France, I had a sink or swim experience. Three hours. A kind english teacher at school invited me to meet his wife and then onwards to view a potential apartment. He patiently explained everything to me in slow french so that I could understand. Nouns, verbs and adjectives were explained and examined. Whilst waiting for his wife to emerge from an art lesson, we paused in the sunshine to take in the view. A gorgeous gentleman was doing the gardening and the ensuing rapid french conversation (lesson) began to rev up. After about 10 minutes of repartie, the ladies spilled out of the house and the 6- person conversation went into full thrust. There was much joking, laughter, teasing and gentile mayhem. It was thoroughly enjoyable, but I have to say, a lot of it went over my head.

After a good 30 minutes of wonderful, neighbourly discussion, we retreated to the beautiful home of the english teacher. I simply had to take photos of the two gorgeous welcome signs at the front door.

I was quite impressed with this fantastic, simple Matisse that was on display. 

I quickly learnt that they loved art and that the whole family was very, very arty.

I was shown around their beautiful home and we conversed over a very delightful cup of tea. The house was teaming with glorious light, and happy family memories filled every possible space.

I loved the red shutters and here is a photo of me trying to look slim. I think I achieved the opposite. Note to self: do not stand in this position in future photos.

The end of season garden was gorgeous. Everywhere in Gap, people cultivate their own kitchen requirements.

I was then taken to a beautiful apartment on the other side of town. There was even more amicable and friendly conversation with the charming owner. I was most impressed with the setting and facilities. I was tempted, the drawback was its distant location from school and town. The free bus was the solution. So the english teacher took me on the route into town and then along another route back to school in order to help me become familiar with the journey. All the time I was being taught even more vocabulary,verbs, phrases, colloquialisms, adjectives, names of places, etc.

By the time I was dropped off chez moi, I had really experienced the most incredibly intense french speaking lesson. I was deeply grateful for all the time and effort that had gone into helping me. 

The Land of Milk and Honey

We dined with a mélange of kiwi and french cultural interchange. I insisted that before we eat, that we all watch a 4 minute tourist promotion of the Land of Milk and Honey.The New Zealand flag was in prime position. The silver fern flag served as a satisfactory table cloth. The humble beeswax candle blinked its flame with vengeance. A calendar-sized picture of a kiwi was propped against the wall. We dined on country vegetable soup and chicken drumsticks. The french component? Red wine of course.

See the French Alps Through My Eyes

The voyage into the mountains commenced as a four-lane highway. Incrementally after every 20 minutes or so, the road would narrow. So, after a while the road narrowed to a two way highway, next, small roads, which then in turn, quickly diminished into narrow lanes. This is where we paused for the garage sale. 

We continued on our way, and incredibly, the roads became even more narrow! At one stage of the journey, Marthe was having an earnest conversation on the phone as she was driving. Now, the road began to climb in an ever-upward spiralling wave. As we gained altitude my ears popped. Still we wound our way upward, at times navigating areas where water clearly rushes down the slopes, perhaps next Spring. It was about now that my nerves turned into giggles. I was staring down deep ravines, that would make a mountain climber "swoon". Marthe enquired if I had vertigo. I quickly denied. I didn't want her to know that in my heart I was quite nervous. Anyway, I trusted her implicitly. At times, we encountered tiny hamlets of the most adorable ancient stone houses.

Until at last, like an eagle alighting upon the nest, we arrived at a small enclave of buildings. Marthe parked the little chariot in one skilful manoeuvre. I paused, took a deep breathe, and audibly sighed.

Like a puppy I followed Marthe to their mountain retreat. Hervé greeted us and whilst Marthe and Hervé had a tête à tête, I tried to absorb the scene around me. 

I walked out to the balcony to be hit by a vista that belongs to the birds.

Voilà!!!

Hervé pointed out that the very steep, wooded escarpment on the left of the photo above, is where he gathers wood. A most exhausting and time consuming pastime. He carries a whistle to make a noise to scare away wolves and such like as well as warning hunters that he is human.

Some of the roof tiles are original and some are new. The newer ones are of more inferior quality.

O.M.G!

Stunning view.

This is a "selfie" as I am filled with glee that I am so lucky to be here.

With camera in hand, I turned around and Hervé and Marthe were framed beautifully in the doorway. I asked if they would mind if I took their photo .... Hervé grabbed Marthe to mock a dancing pose.

We all were starving. Hervé prepared some lamb chops that he had bought a day earlier. I'm sure that you appreciate that there are NO local shops!

M-m-m-m-m-m. Herbs and spices.

 Lots and lots of bread. We won't starve.

I could resist becoming "snap- happy" with the camera.
The home-made jam and the old-fashioned kettles tickled my fancy. How rustic!

Oh my goodness. A bookcase groaning with fond memories. A collectors' treasure cove. Hervé spent a fair time offering and giving me very special books to browse, read and entertain.

On the left is a pure leather bicycle pannier. In the middle an authentic french, felt blue beret.

Hervé has objets d'arts that he has brought back after living in Pakistan for 6 years. ( That's where he learnt to speak English!!!!)

A beautiful day bed.

 I love the audacity of this picture.

 A double birdcage hangs high from the ceiling beams.

The front entrance. Enchanting!

We were all starving. Hervé opened a bottle of rich, red wine. I think that the wine was quite special. i think it had been in storage for quite some time.

OOOOOOHHHHH. Yum. Salty, spicy sausage to serve as an appetiser. Washed down with heavenly wine.

Whilst we were doing the whole appetiser thing, a neighbour dropped by. Lots of animated conversation and laughter. Apparently, she had brought some desserts that were left over from a lunchtime family birthday celebration. 2 exquisite rich, dark chocolate fondants and a slice of home-made cheesecake. Oh la la. Excuse me whilst I pinch myself to ensure that I am not dreaming.

 Do I look the part?

After lunch, I became snap-happy again. Here is a basket of fresh walnuts.

Another vista of rumpled, homely comfy rugs etc. every surface was crammed with fascinating paraphernalia.

I then negotiated the winding narrow, ladder-like stairs downward. t was like a time warp. This was the original kitchen.

To add to my delight, I spotted a beam of keys and locks on display. Calm my heart, I have a quirky passion for keys, manifested around various parts of my distant home back in NZ.

 Ah! An open window. A splendid metaphor for a positive outlook for the future.

 Everything was coated with a thick layer of dust. The room seemed suspended in time. The air was thick with past memories. I was humbled when I thought of the basic lifestyle of the previous occupants. 

Hervé had bought the house off the original owner. He had this place passed down through many generations. Hervé showed me his grave in the local cemetery. I commented that he must have been a hard worker. Hervé disagreed. When Hervé first met him he was cutting the hay with a sickle, whilst two diminutive women carried the hay in bundles that dwarfed them.

I explored even further into a dark,wondrous world of memories. I found a broken globe, and found my homeland.

A chink of light from the window gave me sufficient light to pick my way through the assemblage.

Would you believe it? I went even further into the bowels of the earth. I discovered a cave of masculine tools, implements, instruments and such like. I guess an ancient version of a male's domain; his shed.

 The garlic hanging from the prong above the door couldn't help but make me feel that I was in the domain of vampires.

I nervously creaked open the wooden door. It was pitch black inside and I couldn't see a thing. I fumbled for a light switch but to no avail. Giggling with nervousness, I held the camera and pointed into the darkness. I wondered what the flash might reveal.

To my delight, it was even more storage of every conceivable man's tool that you could imagine!

Aha. So this is where the wood is stored. I was told that it needs a number of years to dry out.
Oh. The back-breaking job of cutting firewood.

So I surfaced through the most adorable exit.

I took advantage of asking the neighbour to take a group shot. 

Here Hervé and I pose in mock prayer at the spiritually of it all.

 Marthe grabs every opportunity to pursue her knitting passion.

Not able to rest, I then went on an excursion further afield. Try Google Earth-ing these places!

Peek-a -boo. The land seemed to drop away into nothing. Please note, I did not venture too close to the edge.

Aha. the obligatory Petanque piste.

Hmmm. Quaint stone house alert!

Oh my goodness. a cemetery!!!

 Narrow lanes everywhere.

As luck would have it, I found the pinnacle of my adventure right here. i tried with earnest to commit this vista to my permanent memory banks. If only you could experience this view from the top of the world with me.

I don't know how long I was there for. Time stood still.
It occurred to me that if I closed my eyes, I was vulnerable to anything that liked to eat tourists. 
At some stage I heard a distant soft clapping. To my relief, it was Hervé looking for me as he had stale bread to feed the local donkeys, Marthieu and I can't remember the other donkey's name.

We explored the crumbling cemetery together. Hervé was not impressed that the graves were not being serviced by the families. He also wasn't impressed with the new gravesights.

 Hmm. This looks like an interesting fruit.

Whilst Hervé paused to chat with a friendly neighbour, I took the opportunity to share these jovial little chaps with you.

  How gorgeous! Dwarves scrambling up a mock mountainside.

Chickens in their dusty habitat.

Note the white goose in the foreground. It is destined for the table, eventually.

Whilst we were looking for the donkeys, we found a rock that talks. Yes. Really. The rock that Hervé is leaning on is made of plastic. The black panel is a solar panel. If one pays a sum of money at the local tourist office, you can insert your card and the rock talks. It tells you all about the local history.

It was at this stage that i was gutted to find out that the battery for my phone had given up. so no more images to enhance my narrative.

We picked our way through smelly donkey territory,led the donkeys back to the farmhouse and fed them stale bread. Ooooohhh, they were coated in thick dust. But adorable with their long ears and sturdy hooves.

We then investigated apples growing on a nearby tree, but they were only worthy of donkey food. Although I nibbled into one, I didn't want to have a mouthful of worm infested organic apple.

We retreated back to the house to settle into an afternoon slumber. I nestled into a deck chair with an accompanying pillow. Marthe knitted and Hervé read whilst lounging on the livingroom day-bed. I drifted into a deep afternoon doze. Music wafted in and out of my consciousness. Graham Allbright, a New Zealand balladeer, a favourite of Hervé's, lullabied me with soft, peaceful melodies.

It was with affection that I bid the mountain retreat farewell. Marthe deftly drove the little car down the picturesque route. Fortunately, her slow, steady driving ensured that I didn't feel carsick. The homeward journey saw many cars on the road, as city dwellers returned to their homes.

The next installment of this day has yet to be posted. An evening of good old kiwi ambience.