Lemon festival or beach?

Every year the city of Menton, tucked between Nice and Italy, hosts the annual lemon festival during the last two weeks of February. There are parades of lemon and orange covered floats and an exposition of huge sculptures decorated almost entirely in lemons and oranges where they use millions of the bright and fragrant fruits. We could not make it to any parades as we were busy with the Mardi Gras parades in neighbouring Nice, but I could not pass up a French cultural experience so I went along to the exposition. Gord decided that he would take a walk along the sea front instead of viewing the citrus compositions, a wise choice as I certainly enjoyed it more without listening to him tell me how truly tacky it all was. I expected that it would be, I just didn't want him along side to confirm it. This year's theme was the movies which gave them a wide scope to display almost anything so we had a wild west scene, a roman coliseum, a haunted house, dinosaur park and so on.

The place was packed with groups of school children from Italy and a bus tour from Germany besides the other french speakers. As could be expected there were vendors selling everything that had any excuse of being lemon related including limoncello (a wonderful lemon liquour) citrus honeys and syrups, candies, lemon trees and an array of linens with lemons on them. It was definitely a once in a lifetime experience because I certainly do not need to go again but it was quite entertaining and much more so because Gord was happily engaged elsewhere!

Mardi Gras in Nice

For two weeks every year the streets of Nice come alive with Carnaval, a huge excuse to party. There are day and night parades and non-stop action, so Gord and I left sleepy little Gault to come to see what all the fuss is about. We arrived early evening and got ourselves settled into my Aunt Ethel's little place and then

went to see the moonlight parade in Place

Massena. There are 8 evening parades and even though this one was on a Tuesday the place was packed. The admission was 10 euros to stand but free if you came in costume. We tried to pass ourselves off as Canadian tourists but they didn't believe us and thought we must be French because of Gord's chapeau and his amazing accent. Neither Gord nor I had ever been to anything like this. There were about 50 huge floats and marching bands, stilt walkers and people carrying huge balloons. I believe each float was sponsored by some organization but it was impossible to tell who was sponsoring what and in fact many of the exhibits were so bizarre it was difficult to tell what they were meant to be. Among the recognized objects was superman, a giant polar bear and iceburg with cute little (enfants) penguins, a 20' inflatable red bull, giant cranes (the bird variety) carrying babies in their beaks, a fire breathing dragon and so on. It was definitely an interactive parade as both the crowd and the participants on the floats were well armed with silly string and confetti and the point seemed to be to see how many colours one could wear by the end of the evening.

By the end of the hour and a half parade we picked our way back through the confetti/silly string strewn streets and left the entire city work force to clean up.

Clean up they did as the next parade we went to was the following afternoon and this time it was entitled "The Battle of the Flowers." Last night's crowd was tame compared to the crush this afternoon. This time there were some of the same floats from last night but also about 20 more covered in the most fantastic flower arrangements, complete with fantastically arranged pretty girls who threw flowers at the pressing throng. They did two complete circuits of the place and the second time around they had run out of the ubiquitous mimosa that they had distributed so they started pulling apart the flowers arrangements on their floats. The girls, 2 or 3 to each float, seemed to enjoy themselves but fist fights almost broke out among the crowd as they snatched previously perfect lilies and roses as they rained out of the air. The confetti seemed to be a little lacking this afternoon but the silly silly string sprayers were out in force. (One little boy emptied almost his entire 3 euro can of purple silly string on me - I was honoured!)

We made if through our experience of Mardi Gras, we were still cleaning up the confetti in Ethel's apartment the next day and we got rid of all traces of the multi-coloured sticky string but we decided that we much prefer Nice without all the chaos. We will get our flowers, in the traditional way, from the market. Trying to catch flying mimosas in this crowd was almost as dangerous as being chased by a wild boar in a mimosa forest.

Not boared on the mimosa trail

The view from our picnic spot today!

Well, we can come home now - I have had the ultimate Provencal experience, being chased by a wild boar (and not the kind that I met at a dinner party last week that I shall have to tell you about in person!) a really hairy, savage looking beast, with tusks! But first I need to fill in the rest of the story... Every February the country west of

Nice comes alive with the blooming of the mimosa tree with lovely delicate yellow blossoms. There is a 'Mimosa Trail' that leads from Bormes-Les-Mimosas through picturesque little towns dotted along the Mediterranean coast and finally up into the hills to Grasse, the ultimate home of fine perfume. The last couple of towns are the most dramatic because the

road, "route d'or", leads through a mimosa forest which you have to see to believe. It is really gorgeous and although I took lots of pictures i really could not capture the magic of it. It was at one of these stops that I met my hairy foe. I had had my patient chauffeur stop the car so that I could get some pictures and as there were so many wild mimosa trees I decided to collect some flowers to take back to our home and to share with our neighbours. I heard a noise and turned and saw the beast coming around a corner of a building and running straight at me at full speed. Now, truth be told, I think he was as shocked to see me as I was to see him and neither of us were very excited at the prospect of meeting. I took off one across the road, very regretful that although I had my camera over my wrist I just did not have the time to stop and take his picture. Fortunately there were no cars coming as I am sure I did not stop to look as I raced back to the car and tore open the door. Sadly Gord had not been looking and although he had not seen the cause of my adrenaline rush, he said he could certainly see it in my eyes! After all our hiking in the woods when we don't see another soul for hours, let alone any kind of wild life, we never expected to come across a boar right by the side of a country road.

It was a very colourful day, not just for the event mentioned, but the yellow of the mimosas, the purple wildflowers, the prolific orange and lemon trees, the blue and turquoise of the mediterranean, the rusty colour of the rocks along the coast, the dark green palm trees and yes, even the brownish black of the wild beast added up to make a most memorable outing.

Oursinade

This morning we said a sad goodbye to Allison and Jordan, we have loved having them here (all to ourselves!) and it was hard to see them go so soon. The week has just sped by. To drown our sorrows we went to explore a new part of the Meditteranean coast. It was a lovely sunny day but too cold for swimming (so we didn't drown). We went to a place called Carry-le-Rouet, a small fishing town just west of Marseille. We were delighted when we went into town to discover that we had inadvertently arrived on the 'Oursinade', the day to celebrate the sea urchin. It was only 10:30 in the morning but there were lots of stalls offering all kinds of foods, with samples of everything but it was a little too early in the morning for fresh octopus (is it ever the right time for octopus?) so we walked passed the stalls, past the 100 or so wood tables and benches that had been set up, and where people where beginning to sit with their plates of raw oysters and bottles of wine, and discovered a lovely walk along the edge of the sea. The coastline here is rocky, rather like rusty lava, very porous and fascinating shapes in the rocks. We had a lovely long walk to nowhere in particular and then returned to see what had become of the fair. There were now a lot of people filling the rows of tables and a group of about 20 people in Provencal costume that did not seem to be doing anything but taking pictures of themselves. We waited a while but the only action was the somewhat accidental drum beat, so we decided to join the totally tourist free local crowd and have some lunch. We could not manage the black sea urchins that were being sold by the crate but we picked up a plate of moules (mussels) and frites and squeezed ourselves onto a bench at one of the long row of tables. Now I love mussels but I guess I am used to the supermarket variety that come clean, without barnacles and no more than occasional pieces of seaweed attached. Not only had these never apparently been subjected to any kind of cleaning process but they did not come with any eating utensils so I watched a local to see how it is done. Apparently, the trick is to break the shell in two and slurp up the mussel right out of the shell, barnacle, seaweed and who knows what else as well. It was a bit of a challenge but it was still more appetizing than some of the alternatives, mounds of escargot (the children especially loved these!) marinated octopus and squid, raw oysters of varying sizes or the particularily tasty raw spiky black sea urchins. We sat ourselves down at one of the long tables, our neighbours politely wished us "bon appetite" and we set to work, continuing until our empty pile of shells was suitably high and we were very sticky. At this we excused ourselves and went to see what had become of the costume party. The costumed group, we discovered, was actually a dance troupe and we would have fit right in because it appeared that you did not have to be young, good looking or even talented to partake. When it looked like we just might be persuaded to join the awkward looking group we took off, thoroughly having enjoyed our first Oursinade, and the discovery of another part of this lovely country, the 'Cote Bleu.'

Un Jour dans la vie de Gord and Lydele (by Allison)

So Mom thought that people might like to hear about their life here in France from the perspective of a loving daughter. I hope that for those of you who have joined Mom and Dad here this will be a happy reminder of your times together and for those of you who have not been here I hope this will give you a glimpse into a day in the life of Gord and Lydele.

The day actually begins the night before when Mom says "Well tomorrow I think we should get up in really good time to get on with our day." This seems like a good idea the first day, and maybe even the second, but it seems that each day is approached with this same vigour and enthusiasm. So we pull ourselves out of bed and try to greet the day borrowing a little of Mom's abundant energy. After a breakfast including bread that Dad walks to the local boulangerie to get we try to get ourselves all bundled up and out the door in a time that is acceptable to our Premiere tour guide in order to start the day's agenda. The villages visited, the Roman sites seen and the cafes indulged in vary from day to day, but each day is a delight to Gord and Lydele and these reactions are what I would like to highlight.

First of all I have seen something in France that I have never seen before, my Mom can be quite shy! Stick her in front of a French person and she actually doesn't say much! Now when there are no French people in site a french-ish word comes out of her mouth every 4th word. But when confronted with a native French speaker she courageously pulls out her well practiced words but whenever possible defers to my Dad. And the great thing is that my Dad is actually good at speaking French! Now this is my Dad who, prior to coming on this trip - would scrunch his face up like he smelled a rotten egg any time he heard a French word- is actually speaking to the neighbours, the shopkeepers, making restaurant reservations on the phone and doing really well. He doesn't think he is, but so far we have not been thrown out of any shops and the neighbours seem to really like them so he can't have said anything too offensive.

Something else I have learned is that even though Mom's french is limited she has become a certified expert in the French culture. She can declare with the utmost confidence and persuasion "now THAT is SO French." This is greatly helpful in my education in French culture as I now know that a pillow on a cafe chair, a bar of soap, small bees and anything sold in a French grocery store are truly the epitome of all things French.

My Mom also has a new favourite game to play, it's called "let's-bring-out-all-the-linens-we bought-in-the-last-3-days-and-look-at-them!!!" I think the game itself if quite self explanatory but a key part of the game is that it is most often played up in Mom and Dad's room when Dad is downstairs building a fire because he is not so keen on the game. You see, when Mom starts playing this game it usually means Dad has to start his own game of "How-are-we-going-to-get-all-this-junk-home!"

Being in France with my Mom is like being with a kid who is living in Disneyland. Every corner is a "beautiful vignette", most villages visited are "my favourite village" and most often heard is "I just LOVE that _____" (the blank can be a baguette, a tablecloth, a toilet paper holder, a different table cloth, a sugar cube, or many small little white dishes) Now this causes my Dad quite a bit of concern as he questions the worth of her evaluation of what she "loves" and is concerned after Mom has proclaimed her love to a piece of bread and later proceeds to affirm him with the same vocabulary and enthusiasm.

While the days are packed full of interesting sights and hours spent laughing at my endearing parents, at the end of the day I go to bed thinking that I have never seen either Mom OR Dad so happy and so blissfully in love with each other -or to use my Mom's words they are in "utta bliss!"

If these beams could talk....

(The team hard at work.)

For the last three months the old stone house across the street has been under total renovation. We think that it was pretty much a bare shell when they started and the builders are in the process of replacing everything from the roof down. It certainly did not have plumbing or electricity. (We hope to sneak in past the padlocked door one of these days to take a peak!) We have learn that succession laws in France are horrendous and it will take many, years many from the time a property has been left to a child until it is clear title. The law insists that upon the decease of the owner the house is left in joint ownership between the remaining spouse and any children which makes for a great deal of lengthy legal process and paperwork (something the French absolutely thrive on!). So you often see wonderful houses that are left untouchable as the legal processes drag on. Anyway this house had been empty for years and certainly needed more than a face lift. In the words of a movie that we enjoy "It was filled with the patina of a bygone era." As part of the work the builders have had to replace many of the over three hundred year old beams in the house and they told our friend Marie Johanna that she could have them. So this morning armed with a chainsaw, sledgehammer and splitting wedge, MJ, Stephan and Marie and Gord and I set to work. A villager came by and MJ informed her that she had the Canadians helping and as they consider all Canadians accomplished lumberjacks, she was very impressed, she just wondered where our plaid shirts were. There was plenty of wood for all and MJ made sure to leave some for Jean Marc (the fellow who lives in a shack in the woods) to collect when we had all left. We worked so long that we even made a communal event of lunch, MJ bringing the bread and we provided the soup and cheese. I made the coffee so strong that you could almost stand the teaspoon up in it but this time it passed MJ's approval and she even had a second demi-tasse, a real complement! So this afternoon we are sitting in front of a lovely fire. The wood is certainly dry after over three hundred years, but there is something sad about burning beams that have been supporting the old house much much longer than Canada has even been in existence. They are riddled with holes and hundreds of nails but oh the history that these beams have stood through! We are learning more about the story of this place all the time, the poverty and difficult way of life for so many generations, the loss of over half the male population to the first world war, the occupation by the Germans in the second world war, the presence of the gestapo in the village and the very strong Resistance fighter movement. It is truly fascinating to be living in such a place surrounded by the past in such a tangible way, we just feel a little guilty burning it!

Harvesting our grapes

(Lunch on the terrace in warmer times!)

We have a lovely terrace off the second floor sitting room and as the weather over the last two days has been noticeable warmer we decided that it was time to clean up the terrace a bit in the hope that it will not be too long before we are eating out again. The terrace is partially covered with a lovely iron framework over which are growing a large grapevine and a wisteria. We thoroughly enjoyed picking the grapes right off the vine in the fall, it was wonderful to have a delicious treat growing right above our table. The grapes were green and very sweet and we ate as many of them as we could, though we could not possibly eat them all as they were so prolific, and we had never gotten around to picking the remainder. They are now rotten and have been falling on the terrace and creating quite a mess so today was the day we chose to go out and to 'harvest' the rest of the grapes, an activity we are not sure we will ever get the priviledge of doing again! Gord stood on a small step ladder and ostensibly dropped the clusters into a bucket that I was holding beneath him. As the grapes are so far along it was a very messy job as there were as many grapes that fell on me in the process as those that made it into the bucket. It was not very long before we were both very sticky and smelling like the piles of discarded pulp that we saw at the back of the wine producing cellars that we passed on our walks in the fall. I was certainly wishing that we had done this earlier while the grapes were still edible instead of waiting until they were little packages of fermenting juice waiting to explode on impact. When we had removed all the debris it was encouraging to see that the wisteria is covered in yet still brown buds but in the most sheltered parts of the terrace we even see signs of green beginning to emerge. We cleaned up the rest of our little garden and found that we have irises poking up through the gravel and a couple of other unidentifiable shrubs loaded with buds.

We are excited at the thought of being able to sit out soon even if we have to wear our jackets. We cannot believe the crowds of people who sit outside the cafes in any sort of weather, sipping their coffees. It reminds me of my Mum who, although we lived in England, would jump at the chance to eat outdoors at any opportunity and we kids would groan to hear "Sweaters on - it's breakfast in the garden!"

Un hiver incroyable

While Gord and I were in Portugal, Provence was blanketed with an unusually heavy snowfall. We have been amazed as we have walked and hiked through the hills these past few weeks at the damage that the heavy snow caused to the trees. We have passed whole olive groves where almost every tree is damaged and there are large tree limbs down in many places. As we neither listen to the radio, read the news or watch TV we have no idea if this is particularly unusual but listening to the locals proclaim that this has been a very bad winter we presume the damage to be of a magnitude not often seen. There is greater damage in the neighbouring areas than in our valley though even on our property we had a couple of big branches to clear up. Today we went for a hike about 30 minutes drive to the west and on the first third of our hike the paths were covered in uprooted trees and huge broken limbs. At times it was even hard to figure out where the path went. We had to climb over, under or around literally dozens of trees. The 14km hike took us about five hours, much longer than we intended and we decided that maybe we should have paid attention to the notices that said that the route was closed!

Spring is in the air though and today we saw the leafy start of wildflowers yet to come, the almond blossoms are about to burst, the forsythia is blooming and we have even seen a few brave irises. The days are getting longer and warmer, we even hung laundry out to dry yesterday and it dried in one day! (No one here has a drier, we see laundry hanging out in the most impossible weather. We figure they are either bigger optimists than me - hard to imagine - or they don't mind wearing damp clothes.) The house is noticeably warmer on the days when the temperature is back in double digits outside. It is still hard to imagine that this place gets too hot for comfort in the summer but we are making progress and we are very happy that we will get to enjoy some warm weather before we have to return to Canada.

An evening with the neighbours

This evening we invited over the couple who live across the street from us and our friend Marie Johanna. Dean & Kathy left early this morning so we spent the day cleaning the house, shopping for groceries and preparing the meal. While I shopped Gord sat in the car studying his French as the couple, Marie and Stephan, have very little English. However, 45 minutes was not quite enough time for total fluency so we were grateful that MJ was coming to help with the translation. Around five there was a knock on the door and we found MJ there saying that she was very sorry but she had had a big day at a writing seminar and she was tired and would appreciate it if we would excuse her from dinner. When she understood that Stephan and Marie were also coming she said that she would come for an 'apero' but would not stay to eat. They all arrived at 7:00, M & S with champagne and MJ with a book on the history of Goult. MJ's family have been living in the village for over 400 years but sadly she is the last of the line now here. MJ left after champagne and pastries (home made in my crazy oven!!) and we were on our own with M & S. Fortunately for us Marie had more English than our French but as the evening wore on and the wine went down she spoke less and less in English and faster and faster in French. Gord did wonderfully well (though I can't claim he is totally fluent) and when he found out that Stephan had a passion for airplanes and old cars, a little thing like language did not seem to matter! As Marie's linguistic skills failed, Stephan's became more evident and his English actually improved with the wine on a par with the volume of conversation and the enthusiasm about his subject. They stayed till after eleven and while we had thoroughly enjoyed the evening we were exhausted. Our French is very slowly improving but refereeing opposing views on the Arab/Israeli conflict in another language was a stretch that we are not sure we will ever be ready for!

A French Lesson

Yesterday we explored an area a little to the northwest of this valley. We have really enjoyed the travel guides by Rick Steves and we went to check on five of his 'Top Ten' Provencal villages. One of the villages that we visited which is pictured here is the little village of Seguret which is nestled into the side of a hill. It dates back to medieval times and is very easy to imagine it in its previous life. There are the prerequisite beautiful entrance arches, little squares with fountains, a lovely church, several lavoirs (public washing troughs that were used right up until about 50 years ago) and a chateau at the summit of the village. It was another glorious day with not a cloud in the sky as we wandered around the peaceful, blissfully tourist-free site. On our way down the hill I stopped to ask a question of a little man who was working outside his home. He immediately invited (or should I say commanded) us to come in and proceeded to show us all around his home. He did not have a word of English and he held us captive for nearly an hour. We started in a cellar that Kathy thought was going to be our prison until help arrived then he took us all through his house ending with the roof terrace, where she thought that this might be the spot that he caused our demise. M. Poinset seemed more interested in educating us than in causing us harm so we listened the best we could to his ramblings. We think he was a teacher before he retired as he was so intent on our understanding him on a myriad of subjects, primarily history and art. He was alone in a big house that had once been six (or was it 20) individual houses as his eleven wives were dead (or was that one wife eleven years ago). I was sure that he had told us that there were crocodiles in the Rhone River as a result of the nuclear power plant near Lyon but Dean, who had studied more French than the rest of us put together was not sure that I had quite understood the conversation. Whatever he was trying to say we were all exhausted by the time that we finally extricated ourselves from his most interesting home.

We will have a hard time coming up with our 'Top Ten' when go to write our travel book but we will certainly have fun looking in the meantime and Seguret will definitely be a top contender.

Ginette & Marcel

Today after four months of searching we found the perfect French cafe. We were in Avignon where we had gone to try and sort our our visa issues when we came across it. Everything went very well at the government office today, in fact rather than having to fill in endless more forms (my worry), or being put into handcuffs and thrown into jail (Gord's worry), they encouraged us to stay until our visas expired at the end of July! Quite a contrast from what we had been imagining. So perhaps it was that our hearts were light but when we came across Ginette & Marcel, I knew that I had found what I was looking for. It is in Avignon, on a little treed square with a lovely old fountain, across from a church, in a charming building with lilies in a bucket by the door and an old bicycle holding a "Bienvenue" sign. The cafe, I discovered is run by the grandaughter of the original owners and offers aperitifs, coffees and desserts. We had cafe-au-lait, crepes and a wonderful macaroon delight covered in nutella. The decor is perfect; old unmatched wood tables and chairs, a wonderful tile floor, mis-matched china and old cabinets of interesting collectables. To me it is the epitome of all things "French", except the prices which are also surprisingly delightful. It will be on my 'must see' list for all the visitors yet to come. Soon, even though the trees in the little square will be leafy and green and the little fountain will be a pleasant cool relief from the heat of the day, I will chose to sit inside with the charming decor. Then when we are back in Canada and we are offered an endless supply of Starbucks and their clones, I will dream about sipping my cafe in Ginette & Marcel.