Falling in Love With France, Part 4

Burgundy

But, another time we headed in another direction right out of Paris into Burgundy. When I am planning a trip, I like to put a lot of time into research. I want to know where I am going to stay, how long it will take us to get there, and what there is to see. I hate it when I get back from a trip and someone says, “You mean you missed the ___? That’s the most fabulous thing I ever saw. What a shame you didn’t know about it.” But I have also found that some of my best trips have been those without any planning. Sometimes wonderful things happen when you are least expecting them. I believe it’s called serendipity.
Such a time happened to my husband and me one weekend on my first June in France. Maurice said on a Saturday morning, “Why don’t we take a quick trip into Burgundy? Just get in the region and then find a place to stay?” We quickly packed an overnight bag and were on the road in an hour. I had grabbed one fat tour book of France on the way out the door that I started scanning as we headed for Burgundy.
The country side was beautiful with golden wheat heavy with grain in the fields ready for harvesting. It was cherry season and we passed many people selling cherries at roadside stands at half the price of those in Paris. The skies were blue, the sun was shining.
The first town we came to that I saw in my tour book was Auxerre. I had never heard of it but the author mentioned a wonderful cathedral, Cathedral St-Etienne, started in the 13th century, that had been visited by Joan of Arc. The cathedral was wonderful, and that would have been all we had seen if Maurice hadn’t decided he had to get a drink of water. We started walking down a small street and discovered a town gate with an ancient clock set into it, opening onto a marvelous, cobble-stoned square. I was amazed that we had almost missed wandering around this little city.
Soon we were on our way to the next town when we decided we had better book a place for the night. Thankful for mobile phones, I started calling every little motel I could find in my tour book and found that they were all booked, so I decided I had better start calling the more expensive places and finally found a place with a room called Château de Vault-de-Lagny located between the two towns of Avallon and Vazelay. I was so happy, since I had imagined spending the night in the car at the side of the road somewhere.
We went on to Avallon, another really interesting town still shielded behind some ancient ramparts and with a lovely church. Then, we decided to go check into the Chateau. Driving along a winding country road through green hills and cherry orchards we found it: a 16th century château circled by a moat. We entered the gates and the château stood across the wide expanse of grass which are called grounds because they look, and are, so luxurious. Peacocks and exotic chickens strolled about. An 11th century tower left from ancient times stood next to a beautiful building. They just don’t make buildings like they used to, in my opinion, and it’s a shame. There is so much charm in steps that curve up to a grand wooden door, with worn indentations from centuries of others climbing in just the same way as we did that day. The interior had high carved ceilings and a wonderful fireplace. Our room was comfortable and luxurious and looked out over the grounds spreading out green in the setting sun.
We stayed there that evening for dinner out in front of the chateau with part of the entertainment being two hot air balloons being filled and then launched over our heads as we ate. We had a great meal with local wine and a regional beef stew.
I decided I could get used to this kind of life style, but I think one reason it was so special to Maurice and me is that we seldom treat ourselves to this kind of luxury, although it turned out to be fairly reasonable. It was also unique because it was unexpected and unplanned; just one of those special times that can happen if you get out and explore. “The best ever,” I thought.
We’ve made brief trips to Normandy and Brittany both full of unbelievable beauty with rugged coast lines, arching cliffs into the water, and breathtaking places like Mont St Michel, an island and cathedral truly lost in time.
There are cities like Rouen or Dijon or Lyon, regions like the champagne country or… well, I could go on and on. I have only been in France for a short time and am amazed at all I have seen and I have just started to see and explore this timeless country of France.

Falling in Love With France, Part 3

Not a photo of Chambord, but another lovely castel, Azaylerideau.

Loire Valley

I knew the Loire area would be fabulous with chateaux everywhere, and it was. Everyone has heard of the chateaux of France. I had seen pictures of various ones as I was growing up and, now that I was in France I couldn’t wait to see them in person. I found that I wasn’t familiar with any of the names except for Blois. So, I got on the Internet and started doing some research. We were only going to be in the Loire region for one weekend and I was planning to make good use of the limited time. I had a list of six chateaux that I wanted to see if time allowed.
Our first evening after eating dinner at a small place on the banks of the Loire River, Maurice suggested taking the short drive to take to the Chateau Chambord. We thought that it might be illuminated and, therefore, a good photo op.
I had seen pictures of Chambord on the Internet and was excited to see it in person. The roof is covered with a multitude of turrets, chimneys, and bellcotes. To me, it looked like the skyline of a medieval Italian city. This observation was confirmed when I read that at the time it was designed, the French had a love for all things Italian.
When we arrived it was just turning dark and the lights had started to brighten the chateau. We stood across the grounds just mesmerized. It’s hard to describe how fabulous it was with that wonderful roof outlined against the sky. Just then I heard my first cuckoo calling from the nearby forest. It sounded just like the clock. I guess I hadn’t remembered that they were real birds until that moment. It was one of those special times - to be standing along side the man I love in the growing dark looking at a centuries old chateau accompanied by a cuckoo.
Suddenly, we noticed a light inside the chateau and could see people moving around. When I heard music, I thought it was coming from the nearby hotel and wondered if there could be a party going on in the chateau. On impulse, we walked up to the side entrance and discovered an open door. There was a self guided tour called Metamorphosis, which is offered during the summer months. We were each handed a little tin lantern and off we went up the dark steps.
What a wonderful way to see a chateau. We were enthralled by dim lighting, special music, strange sounds, and moving shadows on the walls and silhouettes through the windows. It was as if we had stepped back in time, to the Chambord of long ago. There wasn’t any furniture because this had been a hunting chateau. When the king and his escorts came to hunt deer, servants brought in their furniture and wall hangings and then packed it all up again when it was time to leave. I asked a guide if there were ever any ghosts about, but was told no. No one really ever lived here. There were huge fireplaces that I could stand in. A sort of movie on a blank wall continually played. First, there was a scene of a forest. There were sounds of someone or something walking through the trees. Then I noticed a particular tree, which became a man, and then turned into a stag before once more becoming a tree. Very surreal.
We explored each floor slowly making our way up the famous stairs that many believe were designed by Leonardo de Vinci; double stairs that twisted around each other but never met. The stairs were a work of art.
Finally we reached the roof. This was so magical with all of the turrets and chimneys lit up with blue, green or gold spotlights. It made quite a spectacle against the royal blue sky. We moved to the wall around the edge, and just stood there looking at the grounds and the stars coming out as the sky turned dark. It was very silent, no sounds of traffic or civilization.
The other chateaux in the area are also wonderful, but my first one is the one I will remember - a special souvenir. “This must be the best area in France,” I told Maurice.

Falling in Love With France, part 2

Provence

We went to Provence for our honeymoon. Having heard about Avignon for years, that was first on my list of places I wanted to see. It’s a beautiful walled city with the Palace of the Popes there, a great chateaux inhabited by Popes for years, an interesting part of the Catholic history. And, it gave us Chatenuef du Papes, a fabulous and famous wine which is not a bad thing. We walked to the end of the Pont d’Avignon, where it ends half way across the Rhone River. Maurice sang an old nursery song to me that he knew when young about dancing on the bridge.
An interesting village in Provence is called Gordes. It is one of those perched villages that look out over the country. In fact, it was used by the Resistance during WWII to watch German movements. As a result, it got pretty much decimated and has since been rebuilt, mostly it appears, of stone. It once was known for its olives but all of the trees were destroyed in a cold spell so it has turned to art and has become an artist colony. It’s very interesting to walk around and the view is incredible.
St. Remy was the first French village in Provence that I walked through. I was charmed by the narrow streets, pots of flowers, interesting shops, just the whole feel of the town. We only stopped here for lunch but, as we walked around, I wished we had had more time to spend here. It’s true for St. Remy, as well as many places I have seen in France, that I put it on my list as a place I must come back to visit. I need to spend some time there and let it speak to me.
St. Remy was on the way to another incredible place called Les Baux. The short drive there is an astonishing experience with white cliffs bordered with green trees and the winding road is wonderfully tranquil, and then, there it is - Les Baux. This is where the Romans built a fort on a huge plateau. They really knew how to pick great locations. It has a long history, being in such a militarily strategic place. To get to the top we had to walk through old streets lined with the usual tourist shops and passed an interesting church. There used to be a castle at the top that was torn down by Richelieu and Les Baux, as well as St. Remy, were once in the hands of the Grimaldis of Monaco ( Grace Kelly became a princess when she married into this family). The view is wonderful and it has such a deserted feeling. I honestly felt the presence of lives long past there - very eerie. It can be packed with tourists but it has to be seen.
There are so many interesting towns to see in Provence such as L’Isle-Sur-la-Sorgue, a town full of canals and moss covered water wheels, Roussillon a town resting on a red hill and with all of the buildings red or ochre in color. There is the Luberon, a fascinating area full of vineyards and lavender fields and great villages. It would take a life time to explore the whole area. I understand why so many people want to visit here and I thought, “This is the best France has to offer,” but I’m not sure it is. It is one of the best areas France has to offer, there is just so much more to see.

A small church in Savoie

One of the cows that is the source of some great cheese.

Falling In Love With France

Being an American, I think Mount Vernon is very old. To me something 200 years old is truly ancient. Then, I get to Europe and I learn what ancient really is. Just looking up to see when construction on the Notre Dame in Paris was started I see the date is 1163. Not only that but it wasn’t finished in a couple of years - it wasn’t finished until the 1300’s. All of that time is just something that’s hard for me to wrap my mind around. Sometimes I will be climbing stairs in an old cathedral or chateau and as I step on the stone that has been worn smooth by hundreds of years of foot steps I think to myself, “Someone centuries ago walked this exact path living their lives just like I am. Maybe they were a priest going up the stairs to pull a rope to ring the bells or a servant carrying up a container of water for the Duke’s bath.” Maybe I have seen too many movies, but the fact remains that history is thick on the ground in Europe. (I know our American Indians were tramping through the forests then, but they didn’t leave anything like Notre Dame.)

Savoie

My love affair with the French Alps began when Maurice and I were married there. Like most Americans, I was totally unfamiliar with the area or even the names of the towns and cities there. I especially loved Annecy, set on a turquoise lake full of charm and flowers.
I have since been into the French Alps to a town called Bourg St Maurice. I assume Bourg is where the English word “berg” comes from, as in a very small town. I liked Bourg St Maurice with its own little old town lined with cobbled streets. The city is in the center of the Haute-Tarentaise region and is the starting point for an entry into Italy up and over a mountain pass, or the way up to a ski resort called Les Arcs. My husband and I have skied at Les Arcs, and it’s huge with runs all over the mountain. In the summer, I’ve seen people taking off the side of mountains on hang gliders, and there is excellent hiking. We trekked over a mountain trail, through fields of lavender flowers, to a little Russian-looking chapel at the top of a mountain built sometime in the 1800s. I wondered what inspired someone to want to build in such an inaccessible place, and how hard it must have been to get everything up there.
I really like the food in this part of France, the Savoie.There is a regional dish called Tartiflette, made with potatoes, bacon, onion, and the local Reblochon cheese, or Diot, a local pork sausage with Crozets, a Savoie pasta. We often drink the Vin de Savoie called Apremont that is a wonderful light white wine.
While we were in this area one summer we did several driving trips to explore the many little villages. All of the drives involved hairpin curves, and there was seldom a time I didn’t get a little car sick. One day we went across the border into an Italian town for lunch. We crossed a pass called Col du Petit St Bernard where a good deal of fighting took place during World War II and there is a statue of St. Bernard de Menthon standing at the top.
Another day we headed off for a little town called Bonneval-sur-Arc. It lies south of Mount Blanc and to get there we had to go over a pass called Col de l’Iseran, the highest pass in the Alps. There are areas here where the snow never melts. When we started out it was a sunny day, but as we got higher we entered thick fog and had to creep along, almost deciding to turn around. We finally got above the clouds and as we reached the summit, it started snowing (this was only August!). Then we descended the mountain, going again through fog and finally entered the area of Bonnelval-sur-Arc, which sits in the valley of the Arc surrounded by high peaks. It is a little town left totally untouched by development, with no satellite dishes or phone or electrical wires in sight. The tourists are all put up at a nearby village, and no cars are allowed. The buildings are all built of rough granite blocks, and slabs of stone cover the roofs. It all has such an ancient feel. It rained the whole time we were there, and it was cold so we went into a little restaurant and had some hot tea and a lunch of salad, local cheese and sausage to get warmed up. Coming out, we passed some hikers dressed in shorts and looking, to my unseasoned eyes, very wet and miserable. The whole area is covered in hiking trails that are used a lot during the summer months. I could also see ski lifts for winter skiing.
My husband’s uncle had told us to be sure to do the drive to Beaufort, as it was especially beautiful, and he was certainly right. After many a hairpin curve, we entered a valley where one of the most beautiful lakes I have ever seen sat - Roseland Lake. It was a milky turquoise color sitting in the sun. I have since read that it is manmade and covers an old village, but it is still breathtaking when first viewed. As we drove along we could see a glacier in the distance, and we passed cows everywhere eating grass that eventually becomes the famous Beaufort cheese. The charming town of Beaufort has a stream running through the center and flowers everywhere, and, of course, a picturesque church.
What’s astonishing to me is that we have barely scratched the surface of all there is to see in the French Alps. I am not much of a hiker, but I am inspired to become fit enough to start taking hikes around this beautiful area. Hiking is very popular in Europe, and now I know why. “This must be the most beautiful place in France. It won’t get any better than this,” I thought. I was wrong. Everywhere I went in France was totally awesome.

Wineless In France

I don’t know much about wine. Before I married a Frenchman not only did I only have one or two glasses of wine a month, but when I did it was a blush wine that I happen to love. I have heard wine connoisseurs laugh at this type of wine putting it on the level of soda when it came to the real thing. In fact, one night I got my feelings hurt when the television show called Frazier came on and Frazier and his brother, both wine snobs, were laughing at the absurdity of anyone who would consider blush wine a good wine. I have been known to buy a bottle of wine because I liked its shape or the design on the label. I thought I was really cool in the 70’s when I bought Blue Nun or some white wine from Portugal called Lancers - the bottle had a great oval shape. I was a total amateur in the field of wine.
When we still lived in the States we did make a vacation trip to Napa, California where we had a great time visiting wineries in this beautiful part of the State. I tried and liked a lot of white wines and even a few red ones if they didn’t taste too heavily of oak or tannin.
Shopping for wine in Texas we found French wine, as expected, to be fairly expensive and we only drank it on special occasions. In the store, Maurice would pick up a bottle, look at the label and know the region in which it was grown. I had never heard of most of the vineyards shown on the label, as I could when I looked at a bottle from California and saw, for instance, Russian River Valley and had a memory of crossing a bridge there. French wine was a total new world to me. In the States, the label tells what kind of grapes are used to make the wine. France tells where the grapes were grown-a much more important distinction to them because of the way the whole wine growing industry is set up.
Coming to Paris I went from an occasional glass of wine to at least one glass every night. Sometimes, we even finished a whole bottle. I moved from amateur status to that of a player. My children told me that my liver was now in training. I think my liver was going, “Mon Dieu!”. Since I basically started so late in life I had a lot to learn and a lot of time to make up. Sometimes we will buy a bottle of wine at Franprix for the equivalent of four or five dollars. Most of it tastes fine to me. I like the sweeter white wines from Alsace and rosé is hard to beat, in my opinion.
Red wine has taken me longer to get used to. We have a French friend who recommended that we get a guide to wine called Guide Hacette des Vins. He never buys any wine without checking it out in his book first. There aren’t many cheap wines to be found this way but we have discovered some great tasting wines in the guide and I’ve found some red wines that I have really learned to love such as a Burgundy red called Marquis d’Angerville from Volnay. The best Burgundy chardonnay white I ever had was a Puligny-Montrachet from Domaine Leflaive. I’ve had one bottle of each but now I know why these two were in our wine guide.
I don’t think I will ever be like a man I knew in the States who kept labels from wine bottles that he loved and put them in a scrapbook. I think he had more labels than pictures of his children. This is a little too reverential for me. At the time I kept a jug of wine in my refrigerator that lasted for weeks and then I could use the container to store flammable liquids if I wanted. Once I concocted some homemade kalua, a Mexican coffee liquor, and stored it in one of my wine bottles. I forgot to change the label and grabbed it and dumped about half a cup of it into some spaghetti sauce I was making. I was so mad that I had done it and, not wanting to waste the sauce, I got out as much as I could and served it anyway. I figured my children would never notice. I was wrong. Nothing like coffee flavored spaghetti.
I didn’t know that unless champagne is specifically bottled in the region of Champagne that it must be called something else. It is usually called Cremant or Brut and I can’t tell a difference in the taste. Since it is also cheaper I will often get a bottle of it for every day drinking. I don’t think most Frenchmen will buy it though. None of Maurice’s relatives ever serve it to us and the one time I took a bottle of Cremant from Alsace along to someone’s dinner, I got the remark, “Here is a bottle of champagne that Americans like the taste of.” I don’t think it was a compliment. Americans have the reputation of liking their wine and champagne on the sweet side. Germans must too. I love Reislings and Gerwurtzaminers from Germany.
There is nothing more fun and interesting than going to a part of France that grows the grapes and bottles wine and driving past rows of vineyards in their regimental patterns or visiting the caves on location where wine can be bought at fantastic prices. Of course, the fact that these vineyards are in incredibly beautiful parts of France makes it even more of an adventure. We had a wonderful trip to the area of Champagne and toured the Moet and Chandon winery, one of many. It was a very interesting tour done in English through dark underground caves where the champagne was stored. They actually have employees that turn each and every bottle of champagne regularly to get deposits into the neck where they can be removed and then the bottle is recorked. These guys can turn thousands a day. Then we bought a reasonably priced bottle of champagne at their shop and had a great memory to go with it when we drank it a few weeks later. As Dom Perignon said on tasting champagne, “I am drinking stars!” I love that.
Dijon is a wonderful city right in the middle of Burgundy country, the home of the rightly famous Burgundy wine. The whole area is packed with historic towns full of ancient buildings topped with the incredible roof tiles seen in this region looking like bright argyle sock patterns. Driving through the vineyards you find yourself on narrow little roads that aren’t crowded with cars. It can be very peaceful and refreshing to get off of the motor way and lose yourself in the countryside. Riding along you can sometimes catch glimpses of the Burgundy canal where boats do scenic tours. We haven’t done it yet but I have heard it is wonderful. You float along, stopping at the many locks. You can get off, ride a bike or go explore a village then come back for a gourmet meal and a bottle of wine that comes from the region the boat just passed. Sounds relaxing to me.
I had heard of Beaujolais Nouveau but hadn’t ever tasted it until knowing Maurice. There was quite a large number of French people in Austin, and they would get together for a huge party on the third Thursday of November to celebrate the arrival of this wine. It is a young wine, as they say, and it is fresh and fruity tasting so I like it. It hasn’t sat in an oak barrel for months, or even years, but harvested the September before. It is a time to taste what the new vintage will offer in years to come. We haven’t made it to the actual Beaujolais region in November to celebrate with the locals, but they have a lot of parties going on here in Paris. Every bar, cave, and restaurant is packed that evening as everyone tastes the new wine. One place we like to go is near Bastille and Place d’Aligre, a permanent street market, to a little place called Le Baron Bouge, a funky little bar with the walls painted bright red and where you can buy wine by the bottle right out of barrels. You can hardly get inside to order and most go outside to taste the Beaujolais Nouveau. It’s fun to be part of a celebration that has been taking place in France since the middle ages.
Another fun celebration in Paris in on the first Saturday of October when a wonderful part of Paris called Montmartre harvests grapes from their own tiny vineyard on the hill side from which a very bad wine is made and auctioned off for charity each year. There is a fun parade that winds up the hill of Montmartre that has a real down home feel, a neighborhood happening. It is lead by a group of children in red and white striped pants and blue coats, followed by groups from wine producing regions of France, some dressed like a painting by Toulouse Latrec in black capes and broad rimmed hats and vibrant red scarves around their necks. Some wear outfits reminding me of graduates of colleges with robes and floppy hats. There were brightly dressed performers on high stilts somehow making it up the hills, some men pushing a huge barrel full of wine in front of them, a few free samples being poured, and even a group of Japanese dressed in full Japanese regalia from a local museum. I saw wooden clog shoes and high architectural hats on women from Brittany. I also saw the mayor of Paris that day walking around enjoying the day totally in the open.
Provence is known for lavender, wonderful villages, the sunshine, and, of course, its wine. Maurice and I are down in Provence a lot and always make a point of stopping at a cave and buying a few cartons of wine. The first time I was at a cave in Provence I noticed a little couple come in who appeared to be in their seventies. They had their dog with them, a mixed breed of unguessable origin. I noticed that their arms were full of plastic jugs, five liter size, and a couple of straw covered glass jugs. They walked over to an area that I hadn’t noticed where there were dispensers on the wall that were similar to the ones that dispense gas in a gas station. They had their jugs filled with wine just like they were filling up their car. I took a great photo of the dog watching with interest as they filled their containers. A cart with wheels was provided to get their wine out to the car. They were soon followed by more and more people arriving with empty containers to be filled. The wine was an inexpensive table wine that cost about one Euro per liter. Our friend with us told us he never got that kind of wine as it really wasn’t anything special but it intrigues me and someday I might talk Maurice into trying it. I was amazed that people drank enough wine to need 5 liters at a time but at the rate I’m going I may be joining their league.
That is part of the pleasure of living in France - going into a local winery and buying some wine made from the vines growing right outside the door. And it’s cheaper that way, too. We can get three cartons for what a few bottles would cost at our local wine shop. It is murder lugging them up the three flights of stairs when we get home, but a joy to pull out a bottle for dinner and not only have a wonderful glass of wine but remember the day we bought it and think of the beautiful country side where the vineyards undulated over hills like cloth on the surface of a wave, smoothly stretching out towards the horizon. It makes you glad to be alive.

Primetime-Less in France

I didn’t realize I was addicted to American television until I had been in France a few weeks. I find myself watching shows from the States I never wasted my time with before I moved. American TV programs here are not up to date and can even be one to two years late, if not canceled years before. It doesn’t matter if I have seen the show years before moving here; if it is an American show that hasn’t yet been dubbed into French, I have to watch it. I never watched “The 70’s Show”, for instance, but I will plop myself in front of the TV when it comes on here. I don’t know if it’s just the pleasure of seeing something in English or the familiarity of an American setting with all of the inside jokes that I get but my husband doesn’t. I even watch “Friends” about a group of people I have nothing in common with, many years younger than me. I never cared before if Ross got together with Monica. Or is Monica his sister? I don’t know, and don’t care. I just have to watch it.
You can watch American soap operas here, too, but they are dubbed in French and they are 2 to 3 years old and I’ve heard that the American production companies make a huge amount of money selling these old soap operas and shows from the 70’s and 80’s. One I sometimes watch is an old one that I believe has been canceled for a while. A soap opera is something that can be watched without knowing French. The meaning of what is being said is telegraphed very clearly by facial expressions. I didn’t watch soap operas in the States and haven’t found them very interesting to watch here but sometimes one will come on and I will watch just to look at the clothing being worn or the interior decorating. I will watch just about anything except the old reruns of Dallas-shown here every Saturday night, or Starsky and Hutch in which even the theme song is dubbed into French with strong French accents singing “Starky and Hutch”. Just can’t watch it anymore.
My husband, and many other French people, told me that if I watched French TV it would improve my French. This is not true. I sit down to watch a French TV show and get my brain into the Zen mode it has to be in to really listen hard. I focus all of my energy on the TV screen. I become one with my TV and will myself to comprehend. I hear a few words I know - they leap out at me so I can hardly focus on the rest of the sentence. I hear some words that are familiar to me, that I keep hearing a lot, but I still don’t know their meaning. If there are subtitles written in French I learn some new grammar and usage. Soon, though, I stop listening and start watching the action of the characters on the screen. You can learn a lot about what is going on just by watching without understanding a word so I always get the big picture. However, it isn’t long until my brain clicks off and I am no longer actively listening. If I have picked up any French this way, I am not aware of it. I think watching television can help someone learning a language hear how to pronounce a word they already know the meaning of.
I’ve always loved watching American football, especially college football. I didn’t think I would get to see it in France but was surprised and happy when they started showing football games, although a day late. The commentary is in French and even I can hear that the announcer has an American accent. What is great is that all of the commercials and time outs are eliminated. You can see the total game in an hour! I had to learn to really watch and not let my mind wander, as you can in the States, or I would miss big plays and suddenly a team would be ahead by 14 points and I had missed the 10 minutes or so when it occurred.
It probably will come as no surprise that televised sports are different in Europe. There are hundreds of soccer games. My husband will watch a championship game between two countries and I will think there will be no more soccer as is true in America when the Super Bowl is over - no football until September (well, OK, August). The next night there is another championship game. “I thought the season was over,” I will say to Maurice only to find out that this is another league, another country, between French clubs, amateur clubs, a different age group - it goes on and on. I don’t think there is even a time during the year when they are not playing, although Maurice assures me there is. And, when one of the soccer players gets injured, I am amazed at the acting that goes on. They writhe on the field, rolling back and forth, holding some injured body part. I’m thinking they will definitely need surgery. Men run onto the field with a stretcher and carry the injured player off. Sure I have seen the last of him I am surprised when he runs back on the field, fresh as a daisy, one minute later. These guys could get jobs in some opera company with that acting ability.
Then there is rugby. This is similar to American football but they don’t wear helmets or padding and there is seldom a time out. The ball they play with is larger than the American football and white for some reason which brings the question to mind as to why the football is brown in America. The players get into this big circle and sort of ram into each other and the ball, which was in the middle, ends up in some player’s arms and he starts running. Right before he is tackled he throws the ball behind him - never a forward pass- and they keep trying to get to the goal. It was rather interesting at first but it becomes mind numbingly boring after a while. There is lots of passion in the stands, as with soccer, with colored smoke billowing out and chants and songs being sung. We went to a live game here in Paris once and at the end of the game the man next to me had tears of happiness in his eyes after his team won. It was his life.
Depending on the season there are hours of tennis, especially the French Open and Wimbledon but, in the early matches, you won’t see an American player unless they happen to be playing a European opponent. In the winter every type of Nordic event imaginable is seen, even those cross country events where they basically go around in circles or carry rifles stopping periodically to fire at a target. A lot of swimming events is featured year around. And there are endless hours of curling, that strange sport on ice where fat discs are started down a bowling alley type lane and people with brooms violently brush the ice before the disc effecting its progress in some way. I think it is a little like shuffle board but haven’t really figured out the rules. I see a lot of sports unknown to me that I only occasionally had seen before on televised Olympic games.
The game from Provence, petanque, with little metal balls being thrown reminds me of horse shoes that I played as a child. There is a lot of intensity seen in the faces of the people playing and those watching. Since I know a little about horse shoes I’d like to try this game sometime. I just don’t want to watch much of it on television.
We saw every moment of the Tour du France, especially with Lance Armstrong, a fellow American, racing. I thought watching men biking would be boring but incredible shots are shown of the country side so it’s like a mini travel guide as a helicopter flies overhead sometimes showing the riders and sometimes a chateau they are passing. I still smile at a shot, by a ground crew, of a group of men sitting in their chairs at the side of the road along with hundreds of other people waiting for the Tour to whiz by. The men were watching a portable TV in front of them. I assumed when the bikers approached they would be up and cheering with everyone else but they stayed in their chairs focused on the television even as the riders went by. I also enjoy various spectators. One man dresses up as Satan with horns, a cape and a tricorn and races along the riders as they pass. You see him every day and every year. There is always at least one streaker running naked with the flag of his country wrapped around his shoulders and this year I saw a line of naked men with their bodies painted in the colors of Spain’s flag and their hands covering their “privates” as the riders poured by.
Why do I know so much about sports televised on French TV? Because I watch so much of it. It’s something I can watch here that I can totally understand without knowing one word the commentators are saying. It requires no effort from me.
Shows in France aren’t interrupted with commercials every seven minutes or so as they are in the States. The commercials are all saved up and shown at the end. In some ways this is good but on the other hand ten minutes of commercials seems like a really long time. I’m not sure which is more annoying. It is nice to watch an American show the whole way through without interuptions. The commercials themselves are similar to those in the States although you will see a lot more nudity, topless with women, and more simulation of sex. I enjoyed one commercial where there were two leperchans speaking in French with an Irish accent. And there are also a lot of the horrible infomercials, some of them imported from the States and dubbed in French. They must make money but I sure keep on clicking when I come across one.
I was surprised at some of the inane shows I’ve seen in France. I guess I expected a more sophisticated level of television, and it is here, but there are also some really juvenile game shows that I can’t believe anyone can stand to watch. There was also something called “The Loft Story” where a group of young people lived together under the watchful eye of the TV cameras. They could not leave the premises. One by one they were voted off the show with the final person winning one million Euros. They all became celebrities. I hated this show and couldn’t understand the fascination with the people on it. My husband’s son would go to a special web site set up so they could be watched at anytime, day or night and he would watch such fascinating things as these people sleeping or sitting around a table eating. I just didn’t get it. Even Maurice would sometimes watch it. When he did this, I left the room. That’s how crazy it drove me.
We get CNN here and I sometimes watch it but it has a strong European slant which I haven’t developed much interest in yet and America is seldom focused on unless there is a crisis such as September 11th or the Stock market plummeting as this effected the European market as well. I try to watch the French news every night but I have the same problem with it that I had in the States with local news which is that only a part of it is really news while the rest is human interest stories. A little of this goes a long way with me. When a story is started and some sappy music starts playing in the background I know it’s going to be some more fluff with the news announcer using this special tone of voice that lets you know how sad or moving the story is. I often have to ask Maurice what was said after watching some news stories. I can usually guess, but not always.
I am hoping being in France will get me over my addictive television watching. I do spend a lot more time reading and I have a feeling that the computer is going to become my new addiction as I correspond with Americans, read American news, and just, in general, get my American “fix” that I sometimes need.