La Bûche de Noël: a Traditional French Christmas Dessert

When in France, you must absolutely indulge in the dessert, la Bûche de Noël, over the holiday season. After eating oysters, smoked salmon, foie gras, champagne, duck, cheese and baguettes, it’s a Christmas miracle if you find you still have some space left for dessert. But when you know what’s coming, you save room. 

La Bûche de Noël (Yule Log) is a log-shaped cake or ice-cream cake made with chocolate or other tempting flavors. It is prepared, presented and garnished to look like a log ready for the fire. The traditional bûche is made from a sponge cake in a shallow Swiss roll pan, then frosted and filled with a chocolate (or other flavor) buttercream, rolled to form a cylinder, and then frosted again! Bring on the frosting says this American. 

our 2011 bûche de Noël

Gazing through the display cases of many shops and bakeries, I’ve seen several different variations of this scrumptious and sinfully delicious dessert. And because it’s France we’re talking about here, looks and presentation are very important; this applies to dessert as much as it does the sunglasses you wear. La bûche is often served with one end cut off and placed on the top or on the side of the cake (rings facing out) to resemble a chopped off branch. 

Or, you can buy one shaped like a Christmas Tree! un sapin de Noël (available at Picard) 

I've added 2 photos of the packaging which gives the mouth-watering details and a great dissection photo. It looks exactly like the picture! And tastes better than I could ever describe...

 

looks too good to eat? naa

To give the yule log a bark-like texture, drag a fork through the icing. Don’t forget to garnish! Why not place a couple of small real spruce boughs around the cake, maybe a pinecone too, add some fresh raspberries, and then sprinkle powdered sugar on the icing to resemble snow. Look too good to eat? Hmm, nope! 

A lot of people make their own bûche de Noël, or possibly buy one from a French grocery store. But gourmets and those with deep pockets will perhaps serve their guests la bûche made from a top chocolatier or pâtissier.

Each year these masters of chocolate and pastries manage to out-do even themselves. To tease you I’ve added some photos of these gorgeous creations, which do look too good to eat (again, just an expression). Merry Christmas everyone!



amazing presentation on this cake



Èze and...the Donkeys?



Eze Village in Provence

Turn back the clock and transport yourself to the Middle Ages by visiting one of France’s fortified castle villages. Steeped in violent history, these villages will not only amaze you, but could render one speechless. As you wander the village's narrow streets, which in many spots are wide enough for only a few people, you might find yourself talking a little more quietly. 

On a sunny, summer’s day, with Mom and husband in tow, I explored one of these medieval villages. It’s called Èze.

a typical street in Eze Village

I first saw Èze on the Travel Channel back in the US. Samantha Brown was wandering around Provence. Ooo, an excuse to stop cleaning! I sat down and watched the show. Man, what a job she has.

She said she was in Èze. Èze? I’d never heard of it. While watching, I googled it and read that its first residents dated back to 220 B.C. and that it was given the name Èze in the 11th century. Prior to the 1700s it ‘changed hands’ many times through various feuds and wars.

I wondered if today artifacts were still being discovered when breaking ground for a new home. Èze is located in Provence. Knowing that we’d soon be moving to Provence, I put it at the top of my list of “Places I Gotta See”.

To say that Èze is a little hard to find is like saying my cat’s not that fat. Èze is a needle in a haystack and…our cat’s a major porker. Rising up 2,300 feet above sea level, Èze Village is perched on the edge of a cliff like an eagle’s nest. And if you don’t have a car (like me), getting there can be an adventure in itself. But with a little patience and a lot of espressos we made the trip…via bus, train and then bus again. Jacked up on too many espressos, we bounced out of that last bus! Tourists…the locals must love us as much as they hate us.

There are 3 parts to Èze. You have Èze-sur-Mer that sits at the water’s edge. This is where the train pulls in. Then at the very top, our destination, is Èze Village. In between the two is the town of Èze. Google it. It’s amazing. On a clear day one can see from Italy to St. Tropez, and turn around and say OMG to the awesome Alps that seem close enough to touch.

The bus that took us up 2,300 feet was a ride as enjoyable as anything else. It took us through the pitch black darkness of tunnels carved into mountains, and gave us blindingly bright, beautiful views of the azure méditerranée. Once we reached the ascending, winding, impossible roads of the foothills, the bus downshifted and I got butterflies. Shouldn’t we be in a hummer or something? Can this bus seriously do these roads? I looked at my Mom who had never stopped filming. I was so happy that she was seeing this.

As the bus grunted through each climbing twist and turn we were rewarded with stunning panoramic views. I kept looking up wondering where the village was. Looking down was a tad more scary. Unconsciously my body leaned toward the mountain and away from the edge. It sort of just drops off! No joke. Veer off the road a little and tumble a thousand feet. I hoped that the bus driver was also jacked up on espressos. That and that the brakes were in good shape for the descent at the end of the day.

Suddenly, there is was on the next mountain. Èze Village is perched on a peak that looks uninhabitable. (See first picture) It really is an eagle’s nest. I looked at my husband and BEAMED. Standing at the base of the village and looking up, I was completely fascinated. The view of it all brought my mother to tears. Èze really is that breathtaking.

We stopped to pet a lazy village kitty that was smiling in the sunlight and began our climb up the first of many ancient staircases which led us into a maze of cobblestone streets where the bougainvilleas competed in volume and brightness. With the ground rising up about a meter for every three steps, I thought who the heck needs an elliptical machine when you live here? I wondered how people got around. I mean, really. These were hardly forgiving streets. Miss a step on the way down and you’re headed for a month in a cast.



Nani and Nina, retired Bagagistes

 Then we saw the donkeys. That’s right, donkeys! Up until the 1960s all of the residents of Èze Village had a donkey. They were used to carry heavy items and deliver tasks. These cute creatures were even employed for manual labor, like the two I was standing there staring at (with a goofy grin on my face). Cool as a cucumber and chewing on some hay, they posed for pictures. These two donkeys, named Nani and Nina, are retired employees of l’Hôtel Château Èza. Nani and Nina were porters – they carried luggage! I’m not even kidding.




a charming boutique

  As we explored and discovered hidden art galleries, quaint jewelry boutiques and souvenir shops I thought again about the donkeys. If every resident used to own a donkey, where did they keep these furry hee-hawnkers? And then I noticed the wildly abstract shapes of the shops. Some shops were just big enough for la vendeuse, and maybe 2 customers. Don’t forget to duck as you go in. Some shops had one tiny glassless window and some had none at all. Some shops looked as though they were carved out by a giant ice cream scoop while others were simply dug in a hurry. They all looked like they’d house about one or two donkeys. “So this is where they kept their donkeys!!” I said. My travel buddies didn’t seem phased by my totally cool discovery. These shops probably arrived when the tourists did, which was probably at the time when the donkeys were phased out.

view from atop Eze Village

After taking a long lunch at a quiet outdoor table, we made our way to the top of Èze. There we discovered the remains of an 800 year old castle and saw what was left of the fortress walls which were built in 220 B.C. This was all destroyed by Louis XIV during the Spanish Succession. What a shame. To bring beauty back to this area, an enormous botanical garden was built among the remains of the fortress. The garden was much larger than any of us expected. Manicured paths led us on a tour of hundreds of cactus, some as tall as 20 feet, agave, lavender, aloes and more. The garden is also decorated by elegant, tall white sculptures of Déesses de Terre, Earth Goddesses, with plaques next to each of them, revealing their thoughts. Next to one named Margot it said, “Suivez-moi, jeune home et vous connaitrez tous mes secrets…ou presque” - which means: follow me young man and you shall know all my secrets…or almost. Typically not much of a fan of cactus, I walked around just amazed. The three of us agreed that this was a very impressive garden. I noticed the floodlights and thought how beautiful it must be at night...and how much cooler. Temperatures in this exotic oasis must have reached 100!

My 65-year-old mother sat on a piece of the castle and raised her arm in triumph in making it to the top. You did it Mum! Then we got lucky and found a mister. We gave the lever a yank and stood under a cool mist that showered down upon us. That felt good and got us ready for our long descent.



row of plots at a French cemetery

On our way down from the top of Èze Village we explored the old church and cemetery. We donated a euro into a slot in the church wall, lit a candle, and prayed to the saints for a loved one. Then we showed Mom a French cemetery. She had never seen one like this. In France, there is a large stone slab resembling the shape and size of a casket that sits on the individual’s plot. Under that, and normally underground, is the body. In addition to the headstone which sits atop this giant slab (many are quite beautiful), you will also see photos, flowers, and candles placed there by the family. I never liked how in the US you can simply walk on top of cemetery plots. Outdoor movies, funerals, walking the dog – none of it, à mon avis, should take place while standing or sitting directly on the graves of the dead. It’s disrespectful.

Continuing down toward the base of Èze Village, everyone had to step aside for a bride and groom, who were heading up!! With her dress in both hands she looked like a giant melting cream puff. But they were a beautiful sight – even though she said, “My next wedding’s going to be on a flat surface!!!” We all laughed, except for the groom. Ouch! Later we heard the church bells ringing.

enchanting hotel entrance

Èze Village has one 4-star hôtel (see pic) that has 3 restaurants, plus other more affordable hotels, and a nice selection of restaurants and cafés. Make sure your SD card has plenty of room on it, because in addition to Nani and Nina, the donkeys en retraite, you’ll see unbeatable views as well as plenty of charming, stone townhouses. And of course, wear blister-proof shoes. Èze is absolutely one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. It’s been checked off the list but I’d definitely go back for a visit!



Watch Your Step!!

We’ve all done it by accident. Oh Crap, we say. We check the bottom of our shoes, swear (using the word which is the name of the stuff we stepped in), and try to find a patch of grass or other tool to get it off.

Not stepping in dog poop is an acquired skill every French person learns through years of practice. As an American, I seem to be without this skill. They don’t even seem to be looking down at the sidewalk, unlike me, who’s looking down as much as I am up! Safely traversing the pavement is an art and an exercise of one’s subconscious. To be on a sidewalk and remain poo-free means your eyes must briefly scan downwards taking in the next 10ish feet of pavement. Having mapped your route, you stride along in moderate confidence until the process repeats.

France is a beautiful country. The architecture, the mountains, the medieval villages, the fields of sunflowers, the markets, the cafés…just don’t forget to look down as much as you look up, because just as you’re saying, “Oh it’s SO pretty here!”...click... all of a sudden you step and slide on a mushy turd as you snap your photo. Oh crap. And just when you think it couldn’t get any worse you realize that you’re wearing flip flops. Le ew.

scooping Le Poo

I’ve noticed that in general, the folks in France aren't pooper scoopers. And if you see one doing it there’s a good chance it’s an expat or a tourist who brought their dog along.

There are about 200,000 dogs in Paris alone and those fur balls produce 16 tons of the brown stuff daily!! If you’re caught not disposing of the dog poop you can receive a fine – I’ve read anywhere from 183 euros up to over 400 euros. Does the size of the steaming pile reflect the size of the ticket? I’m told the fines are rarely enforced leaving not much incentive to clean up after your dog. Maybe people here are too posh to squat and scoop the poop? Can you really see a lady in a fur coat in the 16th arrondissement of Paris bending down to bag it up?

Some neighborhoods encourage you to pick up after your dog by posting signs like “J’aime Mon Quartier, Je Ramasse” (“I like my neighborhood, I pick up my dog poop”).

Dog turd infested pavements create obstacle courses only the observant and agile can navigate. Forget about it if you’re pulling a grocery cart, walking with a cane, pushing a stroller or in a wheelchair. Often you’ll see the evidence of merde victims: a large brown skid mark followed by a pattern of diminishing patches. This is not just a Parisian problem, but one that seems to plague France as a whole. It’s funny though – the same neighbor of mine who will complain about having just stepped in crap here in our residence (and I’m being nice by saying ‘complain’ – ‘temper tantrum’ is more like it) is the same man who lets his own Yorkie make little brown deposits anywhere he’d like! I’ve never seen this neighbor scoop the poop. I've been told by the locals that, “Stepping in zee poo wiz your left foot eez good luck.” I think that’s some good luck I’ll pass on.

In the fall when leaves lay on the ground you have to be careful here not to walk on the leaves for fear of what lies beneath!! Maybe you romantically kick the leaves about, or like me; you like to step on a nice, crispy one. Only I don’t get the satisfying crunch but a smoosh instead. You pray it's just mud.

adorable little bugger

There must be millions of Yorkies here. They seem to be the little dog of choice! They are pretty darn cute. These little dogs don’t donate large piles of crap that you can see from a mile away but rather small nuggets, or what I call tootsie rolls (sorry, for any tootsie roll lovers out there) making their poop that much harder to see. Nobody likes to make a tiny pancake out of a Yorkie nugget. And don’t underestimate the small stuff – small dog poop smells just as bad! 

French dogs wear scarves!

It's good to be a dog in France. Here, dogs are allowed in grocery stores, shops, restaurants, cafés, trains, buses and just about everywhere else. The French love their dogs. And I think it's great that the pups get to go everywhere. But please, owners, keep a plastic bag in your pocket and pick up the poo!

Happy trails.

I'm a Dreamer

the Atlantic Ocean on a cold winter's
 day in Maine

When I was a young girl, une fillette, I would stare at the globe that sat on the corner of my desk. I wondered what life was like in all those places near and far. And I wanted to go there... At that time I think most kids had globes on their desks. Times sure have changed though. Globes, maps, and Encyclopedia Britannica have been replaced by the internet and GPS. Amazing how the kids today are growing up so differently than I did – which wasn’t that long ago!! For instance, back then, after playing a basketball game we’d pile into the bus and be driven back to our hometown, talking and laughing the whole way. Today I suppose the very same bus ride is much quieter, and the only sound you’d hear would be that of thumbs tapping away at warp speed on the tiny keypads of BlackBerries and Nokias…important messages?...or with the smooth Samsung and iPhone, there’s no sound at all. By the time these kids are home, they’ve networked with half their school. Texting, for just $9.99 a month, has effectively replaced talking. I do not give this a thumbs up! So I wonder…would the kids today laugh if their parents offered to buy them a globe for their desk? Hello Mom, I have Google Earth on my phone...duh.

There were less distractions when I was a kid. I had more time to daydream. And daydream I did. Taking a break from homework, I would sit at my desk, spin the globe, and then stop the spinning with my pencil. Wherever my eraser tip landed, I’d daydream about that place. So here's where today's kids would really laugh; if my pencil landed on Sydney, I’d grab

the ‘A’ encyclopedia and read about Australia. Then I’d picture myself living there, immersed in another culture, being married and having a family there.

Even when I was young I knew that I’d marry a man from another country. And I did. I always had a feeling that my husband would be from a country whose native language was not mine. I always dreamt of living in another country. And now I live in France. Not a clue what ever made me think this way – or what made me sure of it. I certainly possess no psychic ability!

even leopards daydream

I loved growing up in New England and my home there was idyllic. I carry a piece of it with me everywhere I go. My parents worked very hard to provide my sister and I with a happy childhood. And every kid has dreams. It's such a big world out there, and we're all staring up at the same big sky, I'd think as I looked at my globe. And now, living in the south of France...it's my life's greatest adventure. What can I say...I have wanderlust. I love to explore, take photos, write about it. I am a dreamer. And I probably always will be!    

Life with Turkey: Sharing the Ottoman

It's mine!

So if the ottoman was purchased for the humans why is it that every time I turn around I see our cat on it? Does she work? No. Does she fit on it? Uh, not really. Does she need to put her feet up at the end of a hard day? What hard day. You mean eating and sleeping and meowing at us? Maybe it’s the countless hours she spends grooming her soft fur? That must be tiring. 

Flirting with disaster

Our cat’s name is Turkey. She is a world-traveling, Miami-born, gorgeous, porky grey tabby. She sleeps 18 hours a day and when she’s not sleeping she is either eating, cooing or mooing (much like the sounds pigeons and cows make) at us, or is spending countless hours bird watching from our balconies. (She also does her fair share of cat and people watching.) She believes of course that all furniture is for the humans 2nd and the feline 1st.

In the case of the ottoman, she clearly thinks it was purchased for her. This cracks me up. She almost has that look that says, “Hey thanks..yawn..where’s yours?” As the rest of you humans know, ottomans rock. After a long day at work, or after walking here there and everywhere, the foot rest provides instant relief and happiness. Elevating the feet in my opinion is definitely underrated. The moment the feet go up, the tension just seems to exit your body.

Now that we have this magical piece of furniture, I can’t imagine ever being without one. Even now, while writing this blog, I am so much more comfortable…thanks to the ottoman! Weird word though, ottoman. Anyway, the ottoman wasn’t in the living room five minutes before our plus-sized grey tiger had claimed it. Five minutes after that we were reminded that Turkey doesn’t share. The fact that I had the nerve to try out the ottoman at the same time that she was trying it out, completely ruffled her feathers. Ears turned back, she stared at me out of the corner of her eye. I gave her big sloppy kisses on her soft fur. I got up to do something and moments later I noticed she was still on the ottoman but this time was in complete relaxation mode. Fur, jelly belly, fuzzy pantaloons, and whiskers were everywhere. Her look seemed to say, “Too..comfortable..to..care..about..anything.”

Because we love everything about her, including her sometimes difficult attitude (cattitude) we find a lot of things she does to be hysterical. She has an unreal personality. And we also spoil her rotten. Big surprise, she eats it up! I mean, is there any other way to treat your animals? She is very funny. She still plays like she’s a kitten, something we’re told is normal for grey tabbies. Sometimes, the ottoman makes her frisky. We don’t know why. A lot of things make her frisky, and sometimes for no reason at all, you’ll look at her just the right (or wrong) way and her eyes will become fully dilated until they’re all black. At this point, you know IT’S ON. Just say in your head “Let’s Get Ready to Rummmblllee!!” She might do what's called 'the head move' where she does a little Stevie Wonder action -- it's a call sign to come play. Grab a toy and play with her. Watch her go bananas on the ottoman. Or, she might run to the ottoman, ears flat back, jump up on it and get ready for battle. Already laughing we laugh some more when the ottoman slides a foot across the floor as she lands on it. And when she spreads out she almost covers the whole thing! She's either playing like a kitten or is curled up somewhere and looks as cute as a kitten. We love her to pieces.

beautiful Turkey

So, when I want to relax in this chair and I see that there’s a pile of grey tabby on the ottoman, I find two spots on either side of her, watch one ear turn in annoyance and then settle back once she realizes she HAS to share. Sometimes she’ll put an arm over my leg and rest her furry head on my foot. And it’s moments like that that I just love. Life with Turkey – there’s never a dull moment.

Coffee, or Espresso?

Hanging out with friends at a French café is a great way to pass the time, and it's kinda cool. But if you’ve never been to France, or to Europe for that matter, and you grew up in the States with Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks and great local coffee shops, well you’re in for a real surprise when ordering a coffee here.

You’ll find that a language barrier could prevent you from getting the coffee you want! And I don’t mean the fact that you can’t speak French. Go ahead and speak English to the waiter, he’ll understand you. For extra credit though, try your French, because the effort might be well-received. A simple Bonjour Monsieur or Bonjour Madame, or a S’il Vous Plait ending with a Merci could go a long way. No, the language barrier I’m referring to is about coffee itself! Even if you don’t speak French, I think we all know that the word ‘coffee’ in English translates to ‘café’ in French. It’s what’s served that does not translate. Ask for un café here and you’ll receive an espresso. Want an espresso? Just ask for un café! Confused? It’s ok to say yes. I was. So, what are the different types of coffees in France?

Café is unfiltered coffee with nothing added, and is strong because it’s brewed like an espresso. I love it! You’ll only get 2 inches or less of it, in a tiny espresso cup. Drop in a cube of sugar to slightly soften the blow that’s headed your way. Two of these and you are fully alert. More than two, not recommended. You’ll get the shakes.

Café au Lait is popular in France. This is simply coffee (again, see above definition of ‘coffee’, don’t think filtered coffee) with steamed milk. Americans, we'll put milk or cream in our coffee any time of the day. Typically, in France, the café au lait is only to be enjoyed with breakfast.

Café Crème is coffee served in a large (normal to Americans) sized cup with whole milk. And like the coffee above, is usually only had with breakfast. Rules were meant to be broken.

Café Décafféiné is decaffeinated coffee.

Café Noisette is delicious! It’s espresso with a little dollop of milk in it. “Noisette” is French for hazelnut, but the coffee doesn’t taste like hazelnut, it just has this name because of the rich, dark color of the coffee. It is so good.

Café Américain is filtered coffee, and is pretty much the same as the traditional American coffee that I grew up with. If you run on Dunkin, this is what you’d order here.

Café Léger is espresso with double the water.

Sweeteners. Don’t ask for Equal, Sweet’n’Low or Splenda. Just ask for some sweetener, or edulcorant, and they’ll bring you a sugar substitute. And you can ask all you want for cream in your coffee but what you’ll get is milk. Just roll with it. Believe me, the whole milk in France is so creamy that it tastes like cream!

The cost of an inch or two of coffee in France may shock you a little, but remember that in general you don’t leave tips here. Waiters aren’t paid like those in the US. The waiters here don’t need tips, they get a regular paycheck like you and me…which is why you won’t see any bending over backwards to try and get any!

just look at all the people watchers with their coffees!

Oh, and if you want to sit at a table outside, preferably at one that faces the sidewalk and the passersby, your café will cost more chérie. Location, location, location. Sit inside and pay less if you want. But why would you want to do that when you can sit outside to see and be seen?

So as I said, I do love the café here, because I love espresso. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t miss all the coffees in America! Nothing beats 'em. My French husband misses them even more than I do. Medium roast, dark roast, French roast, hazelnut, French vanilla... Brew it like you want. Nothing irritates me more to hear a French person say that all American coffee is sock juice jus de chaussettes. Really? Have you been all over America to try all the coffee to be able to make such a statement? In France, people have a tendency to brew their filtered coffee very strongly -- lots of scoops for not much water, and therefore think ours is weak. The subject's all relative, no?

To even mention Dunkin Donuts around my husband Pascal is just cruel...because it will be a long time before he has another one! He loves Dunkin Donuts. Sometimes, my family sends us some DD coffee to brew over here. So sweet of them : ) Me, I really miss the French vanilla iced coffee from DD. And every so often I get a craving for a grande or venti non-fat-no-whip white mocha from Starbucks. Heaven. And that right there is part of the beauty of Starbucks. No matter how hectic and chaotic life can be, one can enter a Starbucks and order a completely complicated cup of coffee -- to go. So, for around $4.00, you have restored some order to the daily grind. This you do not feel when ordering a café in France. It’s a completely different experience here.

at the train station in Cannes

Also, no one, and I mean no one uses travel mugs. You never see anybody with a travel mug of coffee headed to work or headed to class. Well, the only 2 times that I have seen people with travel mugs, one turned out to be an American tourist who brought his along in his luggage, and the other was an American chick who lives here. Where did you get your travel mug? I asked her. In the US of course, she chuckled. People just don't do coffees to go. OK, I say this and post a picture of 'to go' espressos. We were all surprised! Never seen it. Lids? It can't be! Haven't seen it since. Have you?

There are espresso vending machines here (which I love) but lids, you just won't see. The thing about a 'to go' espresso, is that it's GONE in no time flat. So what's the point.

my mom loved the French espresso!

Part of the culture shock for me was getting used to sitting down so much. Us Americans, even from Maine, we're on the go like all the time and pretty ambitious to boot. So 'to go' just works for us. Here, you’ll look around and see people doing something really odd. Sitting. Lounging around. Sitting as if they have no place to be. But they do. They're just not in a hurry to get there. Well, that and the fact that that tardiness is widely tolerated here. And because of the cushy 35 hour work week, they actually have an extra hour per day to lounge compared to us workaholic Americans!

Being tardy and sitting to enjoy coffee are completely foreign concepts to us busy Americans (unless meeting a friend at Starbucks for the latter). But that’s the way it is here. There’s really not much need to be in such a rush. The French have a different view of time, in that there's plenty of it. If you should run out of it today, don't worry, there will be more tomorrow. So sit and enjoy. Your coffee is served to you in real cups and is usually not in the typical, American ‘to go’ cup. If it is served in a small disposable cup, like I said, don’t bother looking for a lid.

Gone are the days when my husband and I would get our nice, big coffees from a Dunkin Donuts drive-thru and head out for a couple of hours at a bookstore or to do some shopping. This was actually hard to say goodbye to. If you think I’m kidding, imagine it. No coffee drive-thrus. No French vanilla coffee. No Christmas special edition coffee. No medium roast. No dark roast. No Splenda. No lids. And no travel mugs. Ahh!! Want to buy a travel mug in France? Good luck and let me know where you found one. Better just get one online.

It’s not easy letting go of certain conveniences that you’re used to. Conveniences you've had for years and years. But it can be done. Out of sight, out of mind...right? The jury's still out on that one. Maybe I should contemplate this thought further at a French café, while I watch the world go by...

No Bag Boys

Turkey, in charge of grocery bag (and cart) inspection

The French tend to take a different approach toward time, in that there’s plenty of it. If you should run out of time today, don’t worry, there will be more tomorrow.

You’ll hear words like ‘sleepy’ and ‘time stood still’ when used to describe villages and towns all across France. Things just seem to slow down, and all that stress you’ve been carrying around in your neck and shoulders magically starts to disappear.

Having done my best to accept this French way of viewing time, my life has seemed more pleasurable.  It takes some getting used to though. And like all aspects of French life, even a trip to the grocery store can take a bit of understanding…and a bit more time.

Where are the bag boys, I whispered in my husband's ear as I stood in line for the first time at our local supermarket. There are none, my husband said. We are the bag boys. You're kidding. Well let me just say that you will be in that line for about as long as it took you to shop for your groceries because we just can’t bag it up like a bag boy can. Not only are some people just slowww at bagging up their groceries, but I’ve never seen it take so long to process a written check or debit card. You will age while waiting in line.

Here’s something that’s great though - something I wish was practiced by everyone in the US – the use of reusable grocery bags. (Thumbs up to my Dad who's been doing this for years!) France has been known to be ‘the greenest country’ and this is probably one of the reasons why. French people do their groceries with huge, reusable bags. The cashier will not hand you a bunch of plastic bags for your groceries. You can buy flimsy plastic bags from her if you wish, but hardly anyone does. And believe me, they don't hold much. I see now a real reason for a huge purse! Should the wife pop in to the grocery store and not have one of her reusable grocery bags with her, she won’t buy a bag, she’ll just open up the purse and start filling it up! Note to self: buy a huge purse. Otherwise, tout le monde brings big, ultra-sturdy reusable bags. In one year I’ve collected many. Some are multi-colored (see picture) and are so fabulous that they even get compliments. The amount of groceries that one can place/squeeze/cram into one of these bags is unreal.

I even have a waterproof cart on wheels for the heavier items (see picture up top) or to use if it’s raining. Thinking back on how many non-recyclable, barely-reusable plastic grocery bags that I’ve thrown away in my adult life is just daunting.

So, if you’re planning a trip to France, get ready to slow the pace down...allow more time for the simple things in life, and if you’re stopping to pick up a few things at the grocery store, spend the 50-80 centimes on an earth-friendly reusable bag, and remember: you are your own bag boy. Even if you're staying at a hotel, won't be cooking, and will be eating out, I strongly suggest wandering the aisles of a French grocery store. You'll discover lots of great things, some that you can enjoy right away and maybe some that you can smuggle back home! And while you're there, why not buy extra reusable bags, lay them flat in your luggage, and use them back home? And since many bags are funky and display words in French, they make a more interesting and practical souvenir rather than a key chain for your family and friends.

High Heels vs. Flats

Within my first month of living in France, I was amazed at the beautiful landscape, the tiny cars, the ideal weather, the delicious food and...all the high heels?? It seemed that everywhere I looked, women were wearing heels. And we’re not talking 3 inches but more like 4 or 5 (I don’t believe that 3 inches actually qualifies as a heel here anyway.) And not just adult women, but young girls, and grandmas, flirting with disaster on stilettos! Oh my. I’ve come to understand that here in France, high heels are simply part of a normal, everyday outfit, like leather tights…yes that’s right, leather tights. (Take leather pants and black leggings and put 'em together.)

Perhaps living in the fashion capital of the world makes women proud to run errands in clothes that normally you only see one wearing when going out for the night with her friends...or when you're a working girl. Yes, I said it! You'd understand if you saw what I see. Or is it not pride, but dare I say, a duty? Do French women feel like they have to dress up and dress provocatively every day? I couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would willingly wear such high heels and stilettos to the post office, to pick up the kids or to do the grocery shopping. So to find out, I asked around. It’s been explained to me that in general, the French not only want to look good, but feel a need to look good, at any age. And this goes for women and men. In general, the French put a great deal of money, time and energy into their appearance. They know they're being looked at...and perhaps judged? This is what I'm told. And it's easy to see that that's the way it is. Wearing heels is part of the deal. So what I see as high maintenance and down right painful, they see as normal.

I gotta hand it to these French women though - they are troopers, because to put up with wearing high heels and the whole dressy get-up all day (including relaxing weekends!) is more than I am willing to put up with. Me, when I do errands, I might be in jeans, a cute tank, flats or sneaks, or in the summer of course, flip flops. Heels look great with jeans, but to wear heels when you know that you’re going to be walking a lot, maybe for errands, shopping, or sight-seeing - sorry, is just nuts!! It’s flats for this American girl! The heels can be worn for going out to dinner later that night. And FYI, any woman who tells you that her feet don’t hurt when she’s wearing heels is l-y-i-n-g. Even socialite Paris Hilton created a cushiony insert to be placed inside the high heel, because even she admitted that her feet hurt while putting in endless hours of partying and socializing. She’s very thin and buys expensive shoes, which proves that even thin women suffer from foot pain after they’ve shoved their feet and toes into heels.



result after years of high-heel wear

 But don’t take it from me or Paris, listen to what the docs have to say (or just google some images like this one - yikes!). High heels have seen significant controversy in the medical field lately, with many podiatrists seeing patients whose severe foot problems have been caused almost exclusively by high heel wear. There’s the Hammertoe: a deformity of the 2nd or 3rd toe causing the toe to be permanently deformed (because the toes have been crammed into a small space). There're the Bunions: a structural deformity where the big toe bends inward, and at the base of the big toe is an enlargement of bone or tissue around the joint. (See image. Or just come to France and observe women's feet. It's INCREDIBLE.) This can be painful, but good news ladies...it can be corrected by surgery!! Oh joy. Just what you always wanted and have time for, foot surgery. And after that you won't be wearing heels probably ever again. To avoid surgery women could just not wear high heels as much...I know, blasphemy!! I'm just sayin'. I couldn't post a picture of a foot ready for surgery, or a post-surgery pic...they are just too gross. I remember seeing this girl on the bus, a young girl, in her 20’s, beautiful, thin, but with the largest bunions I’d ever seen in my life. In addition, both her big toes were perma-slanting inward at at least a 45 degree angle. Why did she have bunions at such a young age I wonder, hmm? I watched her as she carefully slid her foot back into her high heel (she'd been rubbing her foot, naturally) and it just looked so painful! But clearly she had not yet received the message -- because she was wearing high heels!

From wearing high heels too often a woman can also suffer from degenerative joint disease of the knees. This occurs when a decrease of the normal rotation of the foot puts more rotational stress on the knee. While wearing heels gives your calves a workout, and this seems great and all, at the same time you're actually shortening your Achilles tendon. I think we all know that’s not good.



big toe turning inward, only surgery can fix it

 But the fact remains that wearing high heels gives us the aesthetic illusion of longer, more slender and more toned legs. And what woman doesn’t want that? Victoria here demonstrates this for us. Notice that she has developed good-sized, and I'm sure painful, bunions on each ball of the foot. Also notice the big toes are bent inward. Here's what's terrible - when she takes off those expensive heels, her big toes don't bend back to go straight again. They STAY like that. Ew! But who's looking at her toes? No one. She wants us to notice everything else. High heels are a blunt gesture toward sexuality and sophistication. Add the famous French scarf to that and wear some thongs and YOU ARE IN SISTER! We women are well aware of this and have all used a pair of high heels to our advantage at some point or another! So...is it no pain no gain?

The clothes, the scarves, the thin bodies, the lingerie, the less-is-more make-up approach, the glossy, pouty lips, the hair, the sunglasses, the knee and thigh high leather boots, the perfumes, the creams – Yes, the Frenchwoman is the epitome of how to be feminine. But do we have to wear high heels nearly every day to prove that we are feminine? I hope not. It doesn’t make one appear all that relaxed. Yet everywhere I look I see high heels, leather, silk, and a lot of skin. I think this is one of the only places where a woman can wear a mini-skirt and not be noticed. It doesn’t bother me, but you can really feel the pressure to fit in. You can hear it with the tap-tap-tap of the heels behind you, in front of you, and beside you.

But no thanks. After googling countless images of bunions, hammertoes, foot surgery, and reading up on it, I am more sure than ever that I will never regret wearing flats more than heels. The images are real -- I see it every day here in France -- and quite honestly when I see a foot of tangled toes, bent this way and that, I get the heebie-jeebies a little. I want to ask - was it really worth it?

And as for anyone who doesn’t know, wearing high heels can be work. Especially on these old cobblestone streets. Women here have worked hard. France has created one of the world’s only societies where women work full-time (80% of women between age 25 and 50), have lots of children (highest birth rate in Europe after Ireland) and still look and sound – and are LOVED – for being women. In my opinion, they’ve certainly earned the adoration, because they’re not doing it wearing flats! They're workin' it!!

Taking the Bus...Ok, It's Not So Bad

Cannes, Hotel de Ville (City Hall), busy bus stop

I’ve always had a car. Probably most of you have a car. But now I take the bus and my driver license just sits in my wallet, ignored. I’m used to going where I want, when I want. I like listening to my own music, maybe singing along (you know you do it too!) and I guess I’m used to sitting while traveling.

I’ve lived in France for about 3 years. and in that time I’ve generally traveled by foot, bus or train. For the first time in my adult life, I don’t have a car. This is difficult to say.

Looking back at how life has changed for me in this way…OK, I guess I’d have to admit that taking the bus hasn’t been all that bad. I suppose that I can deal without a car. Am I crazy for saying this? And the walking...SO much walking now. That's why everyone here has beautifully sculpted calves. The walking. There are just stairs and hills everywhere!

I’ve done more errands by foot in the past 3 years than I did in my whole life living in the US. Scary, but true. I live within a 10 minute walk from 3 grocery stores. They’re so close that it doesn’t even make sense to take the bus to get there. On average I go to the grocery store twice a week, which means that I’ve walked to the supermarket about 104 times in the last year alone. Do you know how hard it can be to carry your groceries home instead of just putting them in the trunk of a car? This may have something to do with losing some weight without even really trying.

a typical bus schedule, which I live by

Having a car means independence, sitting while traveling, listening (and singing!) to your own music, and getting where you want when you want...not arriving 45 minutes early because it was either that or arrive 10 minutes late with the bus schedule. Being dependent on the bus schedule requires patience and efficiency. You do a lot of waiting, you stand while traveling, listen to what the teens next to you are playing on their musical device, and you arrive at your destination when the bus finally gets there. As far as efficiency, well that's like reading the wrong times for the wrong day because you think it's Friday when in fact it's Saturday, and of course the bus has a different schedule for both days of the week-end. Good grief.

But having a car also means car payments and insurance payments, accidents, and needing money for gas and maintenance. For the bus, I just have to buy a monthly pass for about 28 euro (38 USD). That’s it. That’s less than I’d spend on gas in one month! I hate to admit it, but by not having a car, I’m saving a lot of money. It was hard for me to let go of my independence (there may have been a tantrum or two) and  embrace the idea of taking the bus. But now I’m used to it, and used to making plans according to the bus schedules (which I keep ALL OF in my cell phone). Appointments and English lessons with my students are made based upon when I can get there, because no longer am I just grabbing the keys and heading out the door.

But like having car trouble, it is possible to have bus trouble! Maybe there’s a strike (a national sport here) or the roads are too icy where you’re going therefore service has been suspended, or maybe the bus came early and you missed it. And sometimes the bus is late, which can make you late if you’re already cutting it close. A lot of people travel by bus which means the buses can be packed. And in the summer with tourists, make that sardines packed. Yes even the tourists take the bus. More tourists visit France each year than any other country in the world (67 million annual tourist arrivals, more than the country’s population!). Traveling by bus saves the tourists from getting lost by car and dealing with the joys of finding a parking space. The buses are plentiful, run often and are a lot cheaper than a rental car.

Where are all the yellow school buses? In general there are no school buses here. School kids in France take the public bus. So, you don’t always get a seat on the bus. If you do it’s nice, but always offer your seat to an elderly person. It infuriates me that teens and 20-somethings today have a total disregard for this politeness. They just continue texting insignificant messages while the old lady clutches on to the pole for dear life.

And if the bus is full...oh, this is a horrible sign to read on the front of the bus, above the windshield: Ce Bus Ne Prend Pas de Voyageurs. Nooooo! Miserable. And so you wait for the next bus and call whomever you were going to meet to say you'll be late.

Speaking only for the buses in the Cannes region, I can say that for the most part, they’re very clean and nice. They have heat, A/C, sunroofs that open and windows that open. And a lot of jolly drivers. You get to know them a little and many of them tease me...although I don't really know what they're saying. I know a lot of French, but whatever they're saying, I haven't learned!

And in France, not only are dogs allowed in most restaurants, but are allowed on buses as well! This I found out one day when a wet nose was dobbing my leg. I looked down to see a Jack Russell looking up at me, or perhaps he was just letting me know he was there so I wouldn’t accidentally squash him. Purse puppies are everywhere in the South of France, so I see dogs, mostly the beloved Yorkie, on the bus all the time.

I’ve never lived in a place where you didn’t need a car to get around. And I never thought I’d live without a car. But I must admit that taking the bus is more economical, and I guess I'm doing my part - going green for the planet. So I suppose that until I truly need a car, this former car owner is just fine taking the bus! Wait, did I just admit that?