Chez moi

At one stage, on NZ TV there was a flurry of intriguing reality programmes. It was all about decorating and renovating using recycled goods from garage sales and cheap outlets. 

These programmes inspired and motivated me to be creative when decorating on the cheap.

The weekend was pure luxury of decadent use of time. Two whole days of no commitments. I used the time to talk on Skype and decorating my new little abode. The weather was perfect. The sun moves around the rooms of the apartment in patches of inviting radiance. It even beamed an invitation to sit on the garden seat in front of the shrine.

The rooms are spacious and filled with light. Heating is controlled with radiators on timers.

The fuschia-painted walls are right up my alley. The purple-polka dotted table cloth is made of paper. It has been designed for a one-off party, I suggest. Microwave, oven, fridge .... all brand new. 

Vase: second hand shop.
 Peace signs: paper napkins.

Picture frames: second hand shop and garage sales. 
Peace sign: paper napkin. 
Pictures are postcards of my exotic travels. he he he.

Bathroom: spacious, warm, colourful ....  all brand new.

I brought a summer dress from New Zealand. Bad idea!

Use it to cover a small chair. Good idea!

I love my two large Charlie Chaplin posters that I purchased from the second hand shop. They are brimming with character and remind me not to take myself so seriously. 

My bedroom is painted a soft adorable pink. Ah, ma vie en rose.

I loved giving this cushion a creative twist with a cute little cardi I picked up from the second hand shop. I knitted the bow tie myself. The picture on the wall is a cool calendar that I purchased.

 The single bed is rock- hard. Lying on my back to fall asleep is not comfortable at all. Sleeping on a single bed is quite bizarre. Feels like being a kid again.

Buckets of wardrobe space.

 A view from the hallway back out to the entrance; a sweeping driveway and a flat grassed area.

This is the view from my front door. I wonder what it will look like soon when the snow begins to fall.

Oh, the heavenly vista of the nearby mountains.

Garden and neighbouring house.

 One of my neighbours.

These two beauties are called, Cybéle and Roxanne.

If you peer closely at the rip in the fence, there's a dog peering out. It is frustratingly noisy as it expresses itself with consistent yelping.

Grand entrance gates.

My floor-level apartment is called rez de chaussée.

Thanks for joining me on a tour.

On the Move

The dehydration scare gave me quite a fright.

The last four weeks had been a blast!!!

But I realised that I needed to slow down a bit and give myself time to rest, recover and assimilate with a more gentle demeanour. The next week although full of activity, was more relaxed and peaceful. I also decided not to take so many photos as well. 

Having said that, the week involved many discussions, meetings and organisation to get me established in my own apartment.

By the time Friday rolled around, I was ready mentally and physically to make the move. The apartment is well within 10 minutes walking distance from my friends', M and H as well as school. Mixed emotions as I took this photo of the sweet little bedroom that had been my sanctuary over the last 4 weeks. 

M helped me move.

Amazing how my market purchases and gifts have accumulated in such a short time.

Everything was bundled into the tiny car. We dumped the goods off and went straight to the local furniture shop. I purchased a bright pink faux fur rug, 2 huge bright green bean chairs a full length mirror and a bright green poof. Lugging them out to the car was one thing. Squeezing them all into the tiny car, was another thing. M and I were swamped with bulging soft furnishings as the car found its way back to my new apartment.

With a happy-sad tear in my eye, I bid farewell to M. Deeply touched by her generosity in sharing her precious time to help me out.

I paused to take a photo, confident that the next photo would be of an apartment with a more homely touch.

True to the generosity and incredible goodwill that the people in Gap display, D and G, the owners, had left me a whole lot of organically grown fruit and veggies. Way cool! I rang them and thanked them.

I set out to establish the apartment as a homely environment. I was astounded at how quiet and still everything seemed. The ticking of the clock was deafeningly loud. It wasn't long before I realised that the new chapter that I was about to embark upon was that of independence and inner strength.

Dehydration and elation

 9 a.m. sharp. Empty stomach. I had risen from my slumber only minutes before. The little, grey european camionette pulled into the kerb. I was instantly transported into a different world. V was driving, three kids and D were squeezed into the back. I had the honour of sitting in the front passenger seat. The happy hubbub of kids and rapid-fire french conversation was music to my ears. I did my best to respond in coherent french to the ensuing barrage of questions.V did a confident u turn and we zoomed through the quiet Sunday morning township to a local garage sale, vide grenier.

An incredible array of nic nacks were laid out in a sea of rainbow colours. I took one look at extent of the stalls and said to V, "I'll meet you back here in half an hour." 

I poked through piles of attractive old postcards,
thought hard about buying kids' movies in french,
bought a couple of cool bright pink picture frames,
viewed old ornaments that you would never see back home, 
picked through old magazines for their potential as a classroom resource,
and viewed with mild interest at clothes that have been pre-loved, etc.

I rendez-voused back with the lively young french family who were also swept up in the fun of the market.

We piled back into the car and drove off to another, vide grenier. The sun was shining brightly by now and I wished that I had filled my water bottle up with water before I hastily left home that morning.

When we parked the car, I realised that this vide grenier was a much larger version of the previous one. Car parking was scarce. People swarmed the streets. Laughter, family groups and people enjoying the sunshine was a treat to my senses. Again, I agreed to rendez-vous with V in an hours' time. As I began picking my way through bits and pieces, I cursed under my breath my thirst. I relished the last drop of water from my drinking bottle. It was clear that I needed water as the fierce mountain sun took its toll on me. Nevertheless, with a stoic attitude I pressed on with exploring the many new intriguing stalls. I had to withhold from buying many things, as it would be impossible to store and transport them back to NZ. 

Three highlights:

1. I admired another of the old gramophones. This time I just took a photo rather than a video. To my delight the owner cranked her up and put on an old scratchy record. The sound was adorable. Everyone around, paused, smiled and instantly we all seemed connected to the same thread ....  music of yesteryear. Moments in time like this are fleeting, yet the most precious thing in the world.
2. I admired the needlework on a beautiful table cloth. The material was high quality linen, cleaned and preserved immaculately from a time when women sat and prepared a trousseau for their wedding day. In this box of goodies were lace doylies and beautiful needlework. I paused, deep in thought about how beautiful these items were. I didn't notice the vendor looking at me. I broke from the reverie and made the decision to purchase the tablecloth. Whilst making the exchange of miniscule coins, the vendor told me that these items belonged to her mother. I felt sad about the sale of family heirlooms. I asked her what her mother's name was. She was deeply touched at my sensitivity towards the emotions behind the sale and she promptly gifted me an accompanying lace doyly. I was overwhelmed with the simplicity but the moment over-flowing with love. 
3. I bought a simple pancake, cooked in front of me on the spot. It was sprinkled with white sugar, folded perfectly and wrapped in a classy white cardboard cover. It tasted delicious. Just like Mum used to make as a quick desert or Sunday treat.

Midday crept up and overtook. I was still very hungry and dying of thirst.

I met up with V, but D hadn't finished doing the rounds so V and I chatted for half an hour whist the kids expended energy on the bouncy castle. I didn't take many photos. I think you have seen enough of french garage sales. Whilst hovering around the bouncy castle, I had the opportunity to observe couples, families and market goings-on. Very cool. V met up with friends and there was no shortage of animated, merry conversation. The kids were happy with all their affordable purchases of toys.

Next thing on the agenda was lunch. By now, I was starting to feel dehydrated and very sick. I kept telling myself that it wouldn't be long before real food hit my stomach.

By the time we arrived at the restaurant, I wondered whether I was going to throw up or faint. I was so dehydrated. My head was throbbing and I found it impossible to respond to questions in french as my brain had ceased to function. I wondered if people could notice that my eyeballs were doing circles.

I grabbed the carafe of water and poured water for everyone. In reality, I wanted to drink the whole carafe myself.  Over the next hour I depleted everyone's carafe and the waitress replenished the water countless times. I must have downed 2-3 litres.

Fortunately, I didn't make too much of a fool of myself, but I was a bit of a wet rag for company and conversation.

What a hoot. We ate at Buffalo Bills. Not a typically french restaurant at all! By the time the meal was finished a couple of hours later, I felt like normal and requested a photo of everyone standing around the totem pole. The person taking the group photo didn't know how to work the i phone.( When I returned home I had 56 photos of us gathered around the totem pole). I won't post a picture of us, as I haven't asked their permission to post their faces on my blog. However, this nebulous picture might suffice to show the mayhem surrounding the group photo.

On the return journey back home, I announced that I had a rendez-vous with a retired couple to view a potential possibility for an apartment. D was very kind and offered to come and be my translator. I eagerly accepted. 

After drinking 2-3 litres of water, my body functions kicked into action. Over the next hour of talking and viewing the apartment, I must have visited the bathroom at least three to four times. How humiliating! The apartment was beautiful and I  was deeply grateful for the aid to understand the details needed to ensure clarity over rent and contractual matters.

That night on the tele was a fantastic 2 hour-long Edith Piaf memorial concert. It was held in New York. I enjoyed watching it with H and M. We had a picnic dinner watching and listening as outstanding contemporary performers paid hommage to the legendary Piaf. I didn't want it to end. As each song was sung, I wafted on a cloud of deep inner glow as Piaf's iconic songs resonated in my heart. The concert itself was tastefully orchestrated and I held great respect for the understated extravaganza.

That night, as I closed my eyes, smiling smugly to myself, that I  had just been to a brilliant Edith Piaf concert, for free!

Cloud-song

I've turned into a bit of a cloud connoissseur. Late one evening recently, on one of my walks, I was overwhelmed with the sky putting on a magnificent display.

All these photos were taken within an hour, as I walked around the neighbourhood.

Call me a little light-headed at times if you will .... but I'm sure you agree, they are pretty dramatic.

I haven't touched it up at all.

I guess, when I'm back home, we have the same magnificent displays in the sky at dusk. It's just that I have my head looking down, wrapped up with earthly matters.

Note to self: look up more often.

This last picture was an explosion of light, moments before the sun went to sleep behind the distant mountain.

It reminds me of a cool song by Judy Collins. Very poetic:

Bows and flows of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I've looked at clouds that way
But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I've looked at clouds from both sides now,From up and down and still somehow
It's clouds illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all.

Cultural difference between eating regimes

Saturday lunch: 

Indian deep fried vegetables

Tomato salad

Rotisserie chicken

Bread 

Wine

It was today that I was taught with a gentle and kind explanation, that the french eat their main meal at midday. I kinda knew this all along, but old habits die hard. My tummy was saying that it needed its main meal at night time. It was about now that the realisation that the very light, late evening meal was just something very, very light. Oh. Ok. So whenever I have been making evening meals with meat; shepherd's pie and boeuf bourgignon, they find it hard to digest. Myself, personally, I find it hard to digest meat at midday.

From then on, I stopped trying to help in the kitchen for the evening meals.

H had harvested some pretty autumnal leaves for a very attractive table display.

Au marché

Saturday morning. For the first time since I had arrived, the heavens opened and it rained. We spent the best part of the morning mooching around the house. 

I was quite prepared for a day of rest from constant supply of new experiences.

Once the rain had subsided, the announcement was made that we were off to the Saturday morning market. The three of us perched high in the front of the little green jeep. Parking was difficult. I should have seen this as a warning. The little township was alive like a beehive. People thronged the streets; baskets swinging from shoulders, shopping baskets on wheels and every Tom, Dick and Jean-Luc were there with bells on. 

The long,main street was lined with stalls of every kind of imaginable food. I followed Marthe and Hervé closely. Apparently, this is their Saturday morning ritual. We paused at the rotisserie stall for Hervé to buy an easy lunch.

The vendor looked curiously at me taking a photo. I could hear Hervé lower his voice and mutter something about me playing with my toy. The two men shared a snorting laugh.

Marthe was in charge of the vegetable and cheese purchases.

I was sucked into buying a beautiful, but expensive cheese after sampling a piece. As a means of exchange, I asked if I could take a photo of his stall.

He probably thought, "Tourist!!!!!!"

After the hubbub of the market place , we sought a spot for coffee. But on the way, I admired these two giraffes guarding the entrance of a home décor shop.

I keep getting two french words mixed up. One is le magasin and the other is la magazine. The first is a shop, the second is a magazine. Jeepers, I must sound foolish when I get my vocabulaire mixed up.

I turned around and took a quick snap of the route from whence we had just come.

And pointed the camera in the direction that we were about to follow.

We stopped many, many times, whilst three cheek kisses were given to all of Marthe and Hervé's friends. This snap is of Hervé talking to a couple of his ex pupils. They were delightful boys. H clearly has a good relationship with his students.

To their adult friends, I was introduced as the New Zealander who is staying with M and H for a while. The friends quickly cottoned on that I was able to understand when I was spoken to in simple french, but maladroit, when it came to oral production.

We plonked ourselves down at a café beautifully positioned in the sun in an open square. Funnily enough, the café is called, le beausoleil, the beautiful sun. We received relatively quick service, unlike on another occasion, when I went there with another english speaker. On that occasion, we received arrogance and non existent service. (Tourists!)

Whilst we sat in the sun, I snapped this endearing picture of a skull on the ashtray. Typically, every table is supplied with ashtrays. 

Butts litter the streets, EVERYWHERE!

I think sometimes people just upturn their ashtrays out of their cars onto the streets. Butts are at shop entrances, and all along the footpath.

I also took the opportunity to try and capture the whole quaint, european village square ambience. I don't think Marthe was too happy with taking the photo. I was gesticulating with my hands how I wanted her to take the photo of me. Consequently my hands are held in an unusual position. She took the photo before I was elegantly poised.

Friday night fun

Friday night. E rang me the night before to ask me to go to the movies with herself and her husband, J.  It would be a light dinner at her place beforehand. I was delighted, as not only do I love a good movie, but also it was an opportunity to learn where to go, how to purchase tickets and such like. What a kind and thoughtful suggestion! Jeepers, some people are so open-hearted.

I purchased some flowers from the supermarket. Whilst waiting for e to pick me up, I asked Marthe to take a photo of me. I dislike photos of myself full front on, and rigidly motionless. So proceeded to stand side on to the camera and faked a 'walk" so it looked as though i was walking. How crazy! As if anyone would be walking in the tiny lounge with barely any room to spin a cat! Anyway, I thought I would explain the story behind the picture.

E and I chatted merrily as she negotiated the 6 o'clock traffic congestion. Some things are universal; traffic congestion is one of them, even in the adorably small town of Gap.

As soon I reached the entrance of E's house, she lovingly showed me around her garden. I promptly brought my ever-handy i phone into action and snapped these images of the last blooms of autumn. This pink flower seems to mirror the whole "La vie en rose" metaphor about my 10 month stay in France. La vie en rose translates as "life in pink". This particular shade of pink seems to follow me wherever I go. This is, in reality, a fact. I register this colour loud and clear above other colours in my perception. Edith Piaf's iconic song resonates with me on all levels.

Even a simple monkey apple tree sports this beautiful colour.

As E told me all the names of the plants in french, they went in one ear and immediately zoomed out the other ear. There is no way I could remember these names. Perhaps if I lived in France longer than one year, I would be able to grasp will be able to grasp all the names of these beautiful plants that spring to life in the summer months after having experienced below zero temperatures.

What an incredible backdrop for a dwelling! Do you think that if you ever lived here, that you would take the mountains for granted?

We then entered her beautiful home. E appreciates the work of a greek artist. I love it. I love the contrast of the 2 dimensional image of the woman in the foreground against the scenic mediteranean backdrop.

The smokey-ink-blue of this picture has a typically greek profile along with symbolism. I can only guess the story behind this picture. What do you think?  If this was in my house, I would be able to spend a lot more time on pondering meanings that lie beneath the surface of the picture. It looks like a print. Maybe with my ambitious drive to resurface my artistic flair, I would copy this style of work.

   Ah! Here is the name of the artist. E likes this artist so much she had purchased a small book about him. She offered to lend me the book.  There is no way in the world that i could read and understand the text in french. As well as this, it is too precious to lend out, in my opinion. You know what it is like when you lend a book to someone.

When E and her husband visited Paris a couple of years ago, they visited an exhibition of this wonderful artist. On the spur of the moment, they made a purchase. As I was admiring all these pictures on the wall, J could see that I loved what I was looking at. He disappeared upstairs. He returned with a carefully folded cardboard folder. In it was a tissue wrapped original of Fassianos.  I was honoured to take a photo. It is a mixed media masterpiece. I love its opulence, colour and reference to all things Greek. I inquired why they didn't have it on display. The answer: "It doesn't look right on its own. We need to get another one." ( I suggest that art collection is addictive.) They pointed to a perfect spot on the wall behind the couch where it will sit.

In my head, I wished that they would put it on display and enjoy it in the here and now.

I snapped a beautiful rose that E had in a vase. It's not real, but it sure looks real.

E said that it was just a light meal before we go to the movies. She had set the table beautifully. I felt so humbled by such hospitality. I think that the flowers I gave her, look beautiful.

E had some wrinkly, old kiwifruit in a bowl. She couldn't eat them. They were bitter and not nice at all. Bof!

Before dinner, I was asked what i would like to drink before dinner. Having NO IDEA what the options were, I unwittingly declared, "Surprise me!" If any of you readers try this mode of action, be forewarned!

J smirked and reached for a mysterious bottle of amber fluid from a high cupboard. He poured a very generous portion into a glamorous glass. It poured with the ease and "glug" of water. E did not partake. J and I chinked glasses, "Santé!" Oh the glint of mischievous humour as J watched my reaction to his mystery drink. My eyes widened and my throat instantly exploded into fire, as I, like a dumb blonde took a generous initial first swig. "OMG!" I was NOT expecting the burst of whiskey-like qualities that hit my senses. J quietly chuckled to himself. He probably thought,"Gotcha!" (In french, of course.) Anyway, after the first shock, I downed the rest. Now that my throat was on fire, I decided to go all the way. The unknown liquid turned out to be a gift from his son. A Japanese whiskey. Lucky me. I think this expensive drink was only brought out on special occasions.

Well, for a light meal, we began with a delicious salade with a simple, homemade dressing.

E had pre-prepared an incredibly, sumptuous spinach and feta pie. As you can see, it was a very successful creation.

As we ate, I was treated to extremely old photos of E's greek family from a distant generation.  I loved the stories that each photo initiated. The gene's of E's family was that of tenacity, fun and a strong, pioneering spirit. They had a story of trying to break into a foreign culture, with all the difficulties that comes along with living in a foreign land.

I loved the colourful, healthy desert of fresh fruit.

A neighbour had given E and J a large helping of her plum tart. We shared this culinery delight with lip-smacking appreciation.

We then bundled into warm clothes and took the short car ride into town.

As we walked the streets to the movie theatre, E stopped a lady to ask for directions. After we had walked on a little way, J remarked to his wife that he felt embarrassed. The lady that E had stopped was a teacher at J's school. He thought that the teacher may have wondered why J was going on an evening outing with two women. He he he. Gotcha back, J!

The movie theatre was VERY small. It ran arty type movies. Not your Blockbuster movie theatre. IT was tucked away in a dark alley. The entrance was a tiny doorway, as you can see. 

The movie was a Woody Allen movie, Blue Jasmine. It was in english with french subtitles. PERFECT!!! Typically Woody Allen, it was satirical, with dry humour and plenty of social comment. It held up a mirror to society. It showed us how we have lost values through materialism and surface relationships. I came away feeling deeply ashamed of myself, as I could see that I was a walking example of the trappings of a shallow contemporary lifestyle.

To finish with, I would like to comment, that I have  enjoyed the opportunity to re-evaluate myself whilst in Gap. Family values, mindful usage of technology by young people, open spaces, large blocks of land for family dwellings, joyful community spirit and healthy eating habits are all a return to my childhood values. Somehow, over the passage of time; stress, over work, time-poor and the pressures of relationships, I lost myself. 

I walk everywhere. This is GOOD thing.  I smell the freshly cut grass, I talk to dogs and horses, I greet "bonjour" to passers-by, I inhale the sweet scent of pine hedges; crunch the dry stalks of strong pasture grass under foot; pause when a view captures my attention etc. I love passing the petanque piste, a community meeting place; park benches where aging women discuss with animation je ne sais quoi; greet friendly school kids that shout "bonjour" to that visitor at school that doesn't speak very good french; pause at patisserie windows at the artistic gourmet creations, gaze at the spectacular displays in the charcuterie, and so the list goes on.

Thank you for joining me.