The Art of Relaxation

When you live in France, or spend any amount of time here really, a lot of things will probably grab your attention - the fashion, the language, the delicious cheeses and wines, the villages, the gas prices (ouch), all the teeny tiny chiens, tiny cars, and tiny streets. And watch out for what those small chiens leave on the streets. Merde.

prairie dogs displaying some PDA

Something else that will grab your attention will undoubtedly be the PDA at the next table.  And no, I don't mean a personal data assistant. Think more along the lines of lips, hands and tongue. Get my drift? Muah! Kissy, kissy. XOXO, Bisous. Now if you're not the type, imagine being relaxed enough to kiss in public. The Frenchies seem to have no problem with this ; )

And you might also notice that you're hearing a lot of French being spoken at the tables around you at the café. No...they're not in fact all tourists enjoying their tiny espressos and big conversation. They're locals! Shouldn't they be at work or something? Sure, in a little bit. Meet the French, people who've mastered the art of relaxation. 

relaxation often leads to napping, as demonstrated by Turkey

The art of relaxation, something our cat Turkey knows a thing or two about, is more than just body language; it's truly a state of mind. Isn't that right, Turkey. Turkey? 

It's not uncommon to have a beer or carafe of wine on your lunch break here. And why not? Chances are you have at least an hour and a half till you have to get back to work.

I consider heading to work at 10:00am pretty late, but sometimes the English lessons I give don't start until then. So one morning I'm on the bus, and we stop at an intersection, next to a café. It was hilarious to me what I saw, and I wish I'd snapped a picture for the blog. At one of the sidewalk tables, were 4 men, drinking beer, playing cards, and smoking cigars. At 10 o'clock in the morning! I guess for some, 10am may be late to start work, but early enough to crack open a cold one!  

a postman un facteur on his scooter

Mail delivery. It's done on scooters here which I think is really cute. You might get your mail at about noon every day, or maybe 2pm. Why the two hour difference? Isn't time of the essence with this type of job? Well, like many people are, we're friendly with our mailman; in fact we give ours a box of chocolates each holiday season. So even though he's trying to get that mail into the slots as quickly as possible, trying to get onto the next residence, he's also as polite as can be, so if you want or need to speak with him, he'll oblige. So, a picture I just had to snap, was of a postman and some guy in Le Cannet, yakking away, while I was outside waiting for a friend to pick me up. They talked a good 15 minutes. Hey, let it be said that the men over here can bavarder just as much as the women!  

bavarder (v) : to chat ; a necessity that should be practiced daily

Another pic I really wish I had - but honestly if I took photos of everything that caught my eye, people would stare too much - was a picture of 2 bus drivers chatting. Attendez, je vous explique. Imaginez...you catch the bus to head to work and are so glad the bus is actually à l'heure instead of its usual 5-10 minute late arrival. Part way into the commute, your bus driver slows down and stops next to an approaching bus, driven by a buddy of his...and they slide open their windows and start chatting away! 

Turkey always has something to say

A couple of cars are behind both buses so you think, OK, surely this is just a quick Salut, mais non! They carry on a conversation as if it's the end of their shift, as if there's no one on either bus trying to get to work, as if this is a totally appropriate, professional behavior. 

About 2 minutes pass and the chatty cathy bus drivers aren't showing any sign of wrapping it up, and you think you're going to accidentally yell something along the lines of, "Uh..helLLOOOO!!!!" But you look around and see that no one seems to share this sense of urgency that's mounting inside of you. You're having an out of body experience. It's a dream. You're in bizarro bus world. And then it hits you... You're in France. You have NO choice but to try to relax. Eventually the bus hisses and spits and you start moving again, and your blood pressure starts to go back down. 

Only 5 minutes were lost. Learn to relax, American. Learn.to.relax. And take the earlier bus time if you want to get somewhere on time, because you never know when you're going to get held up by "traffic."  

As I've mentioned before, it takes some getting used to, this relaxation thing here in France. Us Americans, we reserve this guilty pleasure for weekends, the occasional vacation, and retirement. But during the day? While we're young and able? While at work? Presque jamais.

Stop and Smell the Roses

one of my father-in-law's gorgeous roses

Observing the French in their daily routines can be fascinating. Things move at a very slow pace here. If you live here, this pace starts to grow on you. So I suggest going with it. Enjoy the long lunch and fabulously long dinner at a friend's. Lighten that to-do list on a day off. There's more to life than just work, work, work, and constantly doing things. Stop to smell the roses. I have to admit, after a while, it starts to feel pretty good, relaxing. Still feels like a guilty pleasure, but those feel good too. I mean there's not much you can do once you realize that it's 1 o'clock in the afternoon and everyone's at lunch, the bank's closed, and all the stores are closed. So what's that old saying? If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!

my mom, also demonstrating how relaxing in Provence can turn into a siesta

 

not a care in the world...

My French Kitchen on Spin Cycle

There are hundreds and hundreds of apartments in our lush complex, which is made up of palm trees, swimming pools, sculpted paths and flower beds galore, all interwoven around large, wavy, peach and cream-colored residences. And in each and every one of these apartments, and in French apartments all across this country, you'll find something out of place in the kitchen that you'd never find in an American kitchen: the washing machine.

It's totally normal in France to do up the breakfast dishes to the sounds of the spin cycle. And that right there is one of the aspects of it that I don't like. The dishes part of course....and the noise of the washer, which can sound like a train passing through depending on whatcha got in there; it's just not what I want to hear when I'm doing dishes, or relaxing in our living room. Spoiled Americans with our big spaces...we're used to having a room for everything!!

a homeless beauty that we adore, we call her TFP (tiny fat princess), and she IS the gatekeeper to our entrance!

I will plan phone calls around the washing machine cycle. It's either that, or head into the bedroom or out onto the balcony to chat. From the balcony I can look down and usually spot the TFP (see picture above). She's an abandoned kitty : ( weighing in at about 7 pounds, but don't underestimate the small stuff. She packs a powerful little punch that you never saw coming. We've seen large dogs head for the hills with their tails tucked between their legs. She is the scrappiest little puff ball I've ever met. Fortunately, for my husband and I, we've managed to get on her good side...actually she loves us to pieces, and it's impossible to exit or enter these doors you see pictured without being ambushed by her, purring and meowing and rubbing and pretty much demanding to be caressed. We're all too happy to give in to her demands. It's a joy to pet her; she has the softest multi-layered fur we've ever touched.


You might be thinking, oh come on, what's the big deal? So the washer's in the kitchen. Suck it up buttercup! OK, go down to your basement or to your laundry room dungeon, pop in those clothes, and then hang around for a second when the water blasts into the machine, or have some friends over and park your chairs in its vicinity and see how comfortable that is. What?! Can you turn up the TV?!?

Why washing machines are in the kitchen here in la France I have no idea. I definitely think it's strange, but I also thought it strange that you have to buy all your own appliances when you move in to an apartment here. 

Back in the States, the oven is already there, the stove, the fridge, maybe even a dishwasher. 

So if you're planning on moving to France, and you're not moving in with a roommate who already has all of that stuff, be prepared to shell out an extra 500 to 1,000 bucks for your appliances after you've already paid the 1st and last month's rent plus a hefty security deposit. 


But here's a tip. Buy a toaster oven. If you're planning on moving here, maybe just figure on baking small stuff, so all ya really need is a toaster oven, right? That's what we did. Saved us a bundle, and saves on space. We've got a medium sized toaster oven and it does the trick just fine.

Turkey, the washer and our teeny tiny fridge

But think again if you think you can survive without dropping a few hundred euros on a washing machine. Back home, laundry mats are everywhere. Here, I've seen like two. In fact, I'm not even sure if my town, population about 25,000 even has one. I'm sure we do, but I've never seen it. I saw one in Cannes once. Although I'm sure there's gotta be at least two. Point is, you must have a washing machine here. 

Not many people seem to have dryers including us, and I miss that terribly, but much of the year here is so dry and warm that your unmentionables dry on the balcony in a jiffy. 

Other than the noise of the washing machine being like right there, the only other thing that irks me is that no matter how neat and clean and careful you try to be, life is messy. With the washing machine squeezed right under the part of the counter where we do all our food prep, it's often the victim of a splash of sauce or spilled milk. Don't even want to imagine what's managed to fall in the small crack between the counter/washer and the fridge. Yuck!


Some people do rebel against this, like my American friend Brige who is lucky enough to have two bathrooms, and her washer is in one of her bathrooms. Lucky girl. She detests the idea of having it in the kitchen. Won't hear of it.
 

Pascal and Turkey on our living room balcony. Bedroom balcony is to the right.

Maybe you've noticed things like this in your travels? Washers in kitchens? Things like that? People of other cultures are different after all, and have different ways of doing things. What's odd to us, works perfectly fine for them. 

If any of you have anything interesting or odd to share about what you've discovered while visiting another country, please comment under this post! I'd love to hear what you have to say.


A la prochaine!!

peace out