Vowels versus jowls

This afternoon, we popped round to see friends for a quick cup of tea and a catch up. When we arrived, our friend informed us she had invited her neighbour to join us. This lady has been to England a couple of times and had asked our friend if she could meet us next time we were round, as she would love to practise her English on us.

Happy to oblige, we had rather a nice chat with this lady. She turned out to be somewhat talented in watercolour painting and poetry. She recited one of her poems to us in French, a lovely rhyme about the four seasons dedicated to her grandchildren. She regularly walks with the local hiking club despite being 75, and was slim and elegantly dressed in grey wool trousers and a mauve fitted cardigan with a pretty crossover tie fastening. Her hair was honey-coloured and casually yet neatly styled.

In addition to her effortlessly chic appearance, I was struck by her lovely skin. I’ve noticed this before about French ladies of a certain age. Their skin is often super smooth and radiant, and any fine lines or subtle wrinkles seem confined to the laughter lines around their eyes. I don’t believe these ladies have had any kind of surgery, so what’s their secret? Could it be the bottled water they drink? Or the abundance of lotions and potions that jostle for advertising space in the pharmacie windows?

My own theory, purely unscientific, is that it’s due to the phenomenal amount of exercise the facial muscles endure in the average French face over a lifetime. Pronouncing vowel sounds à la française calls for lips to be pursed into pouts and stretched into wide smiles, as my French teacher loved to demonstrate at school back in the 80s. After a lifetime of these everyday workouts, the facial muscles must be toned to Olympic athlete standards. That’s my theory, anyway. I’m hoping that a few months of speaking French a year will be enough to have a similar effect on my cheeks and jowls in a few years’ time!

This will be my last post for a few weeks; this trip has only been a short one, but we’ll be back in early spring.

A bientôt!

A beautiful day for a walk

Today dawned spectacularly bright and sunny, perfect to get out and about for a walk with friends. The last two or three days have been a bit grey and cloudy, weather that would not normally bother us back in Yorkshire where such conditions are fairly commonplace, but here, we seem to be becoming more like the locals; we look out at grey skies with dismay, turning up our noses at dark clouds and joining in with the oh là là-ing that is uttered everywhere as soon as the sun goes in. So today’s fabulously blue skies where enough to have us reaching for our hiking boots and hitting the hills around Beaumes-de-Venise.

The pretty town of Beaumes-de-Venise is renowned for the sweet white wine that bears its name. I am a particular fan of this delicious nectar (as the bottle below shows!)

Our walk took us up over the hills that shelter the town from the Mistral wind, following the yellow waymarkers painted on walls, trees or other random countryside features:

 

Beautiful sights along the way, such as these lovely red berries against the blue sky, and fashionably striped vines:

     

 

It seems tragic that this house should be abandoned and left to go to ruins, being in such a lovely location. A nosey in through the open window revealed rather a surprise: a room with a fireplace, an old bed, range and shelving complete with plates.

 

There were also views of a ruined dwelling, the Dentelles de Montmirail and Mont Ventoux:

 

The end of our walk took us past the chapel of Notre Dame d’Aubune:

Our tired legs took us back to the car and we then drove to Saint Saturnin lès Avignon to see the crèche or nativity scene in the church. This Christmas tradition involves models arranged around a traditional village scene, with the baby Jesus in the manger. This one is particularly impressive, with a real little stream, rotating windmill and ladies spinning wool.

 

Returning to our friends’ house for a cup of tea, I was equally impressed with her own little crèche!

 

 

Le languaging

One thing that has struck us over the years we have been coming to France, and which seems to be ever more prevalent, is the use of anglicisms in the French language. When I started learning French about a thousand years ago, there was le week-end, le golf and a handful more, but now it seems that every time we come there are more and more English words that have seemingly hopped over the Channel or crossed the Atlantic to rub épaules with their French lexicographical friends.

Now, the monetary world talks about le low cost, le discount, le cashback. Businesses feature le management and le brainstorming. But the largest influx of anglicisms seems to be in the realm of fashion and beauty. Two examples featured in this morning’s Saturday supplement magazine:

As the French language already contains the lovely word maquillage which rolls off the tongue and sounds so glamorous already, why use the blunt-sounding ‘make-up’ instead? Makes no sense to me.

A more interesting find in a book shop this afternoon was this offering:

This falls in the same category as le relooking, i.e. the average Anglophone will be left scratching their head at the non-Englishness of the Englishness, if you see what I mean.

And finally, the trend for sprinkling French clothing with English words shows no sign of abating. I just wish they’d check with a native speaker first…

Boulangeries using their loaf

My morning trot down to the boulangerie this morning proved to be an unexpectedly high-tech experience. Handing over my 1€ to pay for my baguette, the lady smiled and directed me towards the machine to my right. I had barely taken any notice of this dalek-like contraption complete with screen, but apparently money is no longer handed over the counter but placed in the machine which then duly dispenses the correct change.

Over breakfast, we discussed the possible reasons behind this startling departure from the norm. We concluded that it was probably for hygiene reasons, meaning that the assistants no longer handle mucky money as well as the breads and pâtisseries. But a quick Google revealed that the reason is not really customer-based at all: it simply means that the shopkeeper is no longer required to spend hours adding up mountains of change at the end of the day, as this clever machine does it by itself. Rather ingenious. It also, apparently, prevents disputes in the event of customers claiming they were short-changed. Is this a big problem in France? I have to say I’ve never witnessed any change-related commotion in any of our boulangeries, They always seem full of cheery people who happily hold up the queues with their morning greetings, bonjours booming across the croissants, hands shaken, shoulders slapped, assistants blatantly flirted with. Perhaps there’s a darker side to the boulangerie that we have not yet experienced?

Drowning in rainwater or paperwork: take your pick

Having suffered with a leaky roof for 9 years, leading to midnight mop-ups, crumbling plaster and a steady stream of workmen carrying out repairs ranging from blatant botch-ups to partially successful tile replacement, the time has come to finally bite the bullet and get a brand new roof. Cue a trip to the Mairie, or more specifically the Service Urbanisme that is tucked away down an alleyway in the former school buildings, to put in a Déclaration Préalable de Travaux.

Fun ensued when we established that the gentleman in the office had just started his new job an hour previously, and was not yet familiar with the logins and passwords on his computer, how to print, or what the procedure was as apparently it varies from town to town. The rare combination of a newbie employee and a foreign client led to a variety of Gallic shrugs, huffs and puffs, visits to the not-very-helpful employee in the office next door, and apologetic smiles. About 40 minutes later, I emerged with a sheaf of paperwork to fill in and photocopy four times, with the assurance that I could phone the gentleman’s direct line for any further assistance (if he can work out how to answer his phone, that is).

I could be some time…

New year, new blog

I’ve never done a blog before, but having been somewhat inspired by others and conscious that I risk boring Facebook friends with my French-related burblings and floods of sunny photos, I’ve decided to give it a go.

Let’s kick off, then, with hairy bits of fluff in trees. More specifically, bits of fluff that are in fact nests for the (in)famous processionary caterpillar. Much maligned due to their hairs that can cause skin and eye irritations in humans and even prove fatal to dogs, these fascinating creatures live cosily in these fluffy dollops of cotton wool during the winter, emerging in the spring in a nose-to-tail procession that can stretch for yards and yards. Not popular at all around these parts, but we find them rather cute all the same. The slopes of Mont Ventoux seem to be a particularly popular hibernation spot this winter.

As for us… Mont Ventoux on New Year’s Day was lovely for a bit of snow-walking and an impromptu lunch, but we’re more than happy to return to drier and warmer lower ground for a nice cup of tea and a slice of Christmas cake in front of the fire.