SERENDIPITY

Some people are born chineurs, others don’t particularly relish haggling over somebody else’s “treasures.” I guess we fall into that second category. While we enjoy browsing a good brocante, and we do make occasional purchases, we rarely wear the seller’s hat. Truth be told: in all our years in California, we set up only one garage sale, a couple of weeks before packing our container and leaving for France.

Such treasures can be found at a typical vide-grenier

Two years after moving into our renovated home, it became apparent that our garage was still full of “treasures.” If we had any hope of ever parking a car in there, we needed to sign up for a vide-grenier: it’s the French equivalent of a garage sale, except that they are organized by the city on specific dates. A designated area, be it a square or a street, is closed to traffic for the day; you pay a small fee to rent your space; you haul your stuff and set up your booth; and you spend the day in the company of other sellers who, like you, dearly hope to drive home an empty vehicle at the end of the event.

Perfect timing!

Gourdon scheduled their yearly vide-grenier in mid-June and that worked perfectly for us. I paid my ten euros to reserve five linear meters and, on a bright and early Sunday morning, we drove two filled cars and a trailer to town. Our designated area was on the place de la Poste, a good luck/bad luck situation. I knew we would be standing in full sun all day long and the forecast was a smoldering 95ºF (we did have a tent for shade.) On the other hand, our space was right next to the mail slots and the distributeur automatique: at least, we could count on some people waiting in line by our table and strolling with cash in their pocket!

Our booth in front of the Post Office

Our assortment of wares was predictably eclectic as we displayed many decor items from the US that were in excellent condition and a lot of very old objects that we had pulled from my grandparent’s house before the demolition. They included a vast selection of rusty tools, a rickety homemade crib on wheels, a couple of andirons from the fireplace, a large chipped confit pot, Sarreguemines dishes, a set of wooden skittles and balls, an old-style license plate…The most popular items turned out to be the most unusual ones: my grandfather’s copper tanks that he strapped on his back to spray the vineyards were bought by someone who planned to convert them into beehives. Two graduated enamel jugs that were originally used for enemas also garnered a lot of attention and chuckles: they routinely get upcycled as garden planters to hang on walls. Interesting conversation pieces, if you ask me!

Our armoire doors

Business was brisk in the morning but died around noon when people left for lunch and didn’t return because of the oppressive heat. Everybody was ready to call it a day by 4:30 pm when Bernard, a family friend, stopped by to say hello. He, too, was starting to pack up his stuff when he commented on our wooden armoire doors and expressed interest. In my grandparents’ house, they were hung between the fireplace and the stone sink; they covered a recessed area in the stone wall that was lined with wooden shelves and served as a cupboard. Seven-and-a-half feet tall, darkly stained with brou de noix, these imposing doors concealed my own version of Ali Baba’s cavern: there was the cast-iron Dutch oven that Grandma used to make her fantastic pommes de terre sarladaises; the cloth napkins we used everyday and the good dishes reserved for Sundays; a round plastic box full of thread, needles, and notions; a square wooden box that held her enormous collection of buttons of all shapes and colors; a rectangular metal tin (Chamonix orange!) where she stored chocolate bars and petits beurre; a bag of hard candies, the little pink minty coins that she (and I) loved so much. If I had a cut or a scratch, Grandma would reach for the bottle of eau-de-vie in the cupboard and used it to disinfect the wound. It stung but smelled much better than rubbing alcohol! And there was a strange, leathery, wrinkled pear confined in the bottle, bathing in the clear liquid. It was magical.

The cupboard without its doors

We pulled the armoire doors off the wall prior to the house demolition/renovation. I could not imagine parting with them when they bore the invisible fingerprints of Grandma and my great-grandmother Françonette. Alas, after they languished in the garage for three years, we still hadn’t found the appropriate spot for them nor figured out a creative way to use them. I was sad to let them go. When Bernard offered to purchase them, my heart skipped a beat.

Bernard’s house, a former convent

You see, there is an intriguing connection between my great-grandmother and Bernard: he lives in the house where she learned to read! It was built in the 16th century on church property that also included the (still standing) church of Payrignac and the (now privately owned) rectory: it was a convent until 1920. Around 1865, Françonette was lucky enough to get instructed by the nuns. At that time, elementary school was not compulsory in France and children in rural areas only spoke patois. Understanding French and knowing how to read the language was a rare accomplishment, especially for a peasant girl. My aunt was only ten years old when Françonette died but she still remembers her grandmother reading the only book she ever owned: her missal.

The doors in their new home

Bernard wanted to show us where he would display the doors and invited us for drinks the next evening. It was the first time I set foot inside his house and I was truly excited to discover the place where Françonette learned her ABCs. From the garden area in the back, we entered a large room downstairs equipped with three fireplaces and a bread oven: the nuns’ kitchen. From there, he guided us toward a wide stone staircase. Three steps led to a landing and an area rug: to the right, a wide sink carved into the stone used by the nuns for their morning ablutions; to the left, steep stairs leading to a very large public room where classes took place. Right in front of us, a recessed area set in the thick stone wall –presumably a linen closet– was now partially hidden by our wooden doors. The stars had aligned: they looked perfect; they were meant to be there; change and continuity.

We returned to the garden and raised a glass of champagne. I think mémé Françonette smiled and winked at us.

Mémé Françonette

Vocabulary
Le chineur: bargain hunter
La brocante: flea market
Le vide-grenier: public garage sale 
Le distributeur automatique: teller machine
Le brou de noix: stain extracted from the green outer husks of walnuts
Le petit beurre: a plain rectangular cookie popularized by LU
L’eau de vie: (f) high-proof alcohol usually drank after coffee
Le patois: local dialect

Thinking about heading out to Paris? My book is perfect to help you plan your trip. Or to reminisce if you can’t cross the pond. Buy a copy of Moments Parfaits in Paris: I'll mail you (from France) a signed bookmark in an envelope bearing this collectible Trésors de Notre-Dame stamp!

2020 DANS LE RÉTRO

Our annus horribilis will soon be over. Although 2020 started full of travel promises (the US! Vietnam! Spain or Italy! Paris!) it petered out very quickly. I haven’t logged so few air or land miles since 1976; I didn’t even spend one day in Paris. In fact, my thirst for travel was only quenched by drinking out of my Amora mustard glasses and checking “Blursday” on my Venice calendar. Not surprisingly the number of travel photos in my camera roll is shockingly slim this year. And yet, I found many fine shots to illustrate that there are gems to be found even during une année merdique. Let’s roll the tape.

January in Cahors. Since our return to France, we’ve become quite familiar with downtown Cahors. It’s the administrative center of the département so we’ve made several trips to the préfecture to solidify Rick’s status as a permanent resident. Our January meeting was the penultimate appointment before he received his carte de séjour. Fifty yards south of the préfecture, the newly renovated covered market welcomes a nice selection of local vendors who offer superb foodstuff. Best of all, the original architecture of the 1865 halle aux grains was beautifully preserved; the interior wooden frame is especially stunning.

La Halle de Cahors

February in Sarlat. I was Desperately Seeking Ridley in the Dordogne area as Sir Ridley Scott, his actors, and his crew set up shop in the famous medieval town while filming The Last Duel. Our house lies a mere 14 miles from Sarlat but I admit to limiting my visits in the Old Town to the off-season when tourists are away. February is always quiet: most of the art galleries and souvenirs shops are closed and only locals seem to populate the terraces of the cafés to warm up their hands around a cup of chocolat chaud. Nobody straddles Les Trois Oies, the bronze statue standing in the middle of the traditional goose market square, and Le Badaud can leisurely contemplate the empty cobbled market street below.

Statue by Gérard Auliac. Le Badaud sits on a short wall dominating place de la Liberté.

March in Eureka. Our yearly stay in California was cut short and I barely managed to take a road trip to Eureka with my friend Andria. As the Executive Chef at the now-shuttered Restaurant 301, her daughter treated us to a special dinner and a stay at the Carter House, a faithful replica of the San Francisco Murphy House that was destroyed in the 1906 fire (Mark Carter found the original blueprints in a Eureka antique store and decided to rebuilt it downtown.) Being the only guests, we had the whole mansion for ourselves! Although Eureka is showing signs of gentrification, the small coastal town remains a study in contrasts: a stone throw from the vacant lots that border the slightly gritty waterfront, one can’t miss the imposing Carson mansion, allegedly the most photographed Victorian structure in the US. With gables, turrets, and gothic elements, the Carson House reminded me of a Hollywood haunted mansion, especially when I captured its reflection in a stained-glass window across the street, on the porch of the Pink Lady, another Queen Anne-style marvel.

A spooky Carson mansion reflected in a parlor window of the Pink Lady.

April in Payrignac. Except for essential shopping at the grocery store or pharmacy, the whole month was spent at home or within one kilometer from the house. Of course, Mother Nature inflicted us with perfect weather during the lockdown. Permission slip in hand, our one-hour allotment of exercise time provided me with an opportunity to focus and photograph what I could (re)discover in my immediate surroundings. I walked the same roads and trails that defined my grandmother’s whole universe a hundred years ago when a trip to town was a rare and cherished adventure. Her regular activities included going to school (she passed the Certificat d’Études exam, which was a big deal at the time,) herding sheep, helping her parents at the farm, and carrying the laundry to the lavoir in a wheelbarrow. Chatting with other girls and women while washing clothes was the best way to exchange news and gossip, before Twitter.

Le lavoir du Malpat, one of eleven public wash houses around the village.

May around the farm. Flowers were spectacular during the spring. Mom’s patch of muguet keeps getting larger and we had an early bumper crop; it was pretty much spent by the time La Fête du Muguet rolled around. It’s still traditional to give a sprig of lily of the valley to family and friends for good luck but, on May 1st, floral shops were not yet allowed to open. Unfortunate timing when everybody could have used some good fortune. Fields all around us were blanketed with red coquelicots. As a little girl, I was very fond of poppies and would make it my mission to “help” them bloom: I’d peel off the green buds to unfurl the crumpled petals inside. The flowers were never quite ready for their close up and would shyly reveal their chiffon skirts in shades of light red, pink, or even white if I had rushed them along too much. I still take photos of poppy fields every year. But, this year, the Best of Show Award in the Horticultural category was bestowed to the glycine that graces my cousin’s old house a hundred yards away. Thankfully, it survived her extensive renovation!

Wisteria at Catherine’s house

June in Gourdon. Finally, a quasi-normal month. All travel restrictions were lifted and, within days (hours?) I started encountering Belgian, Dutch, and German speakers at the grocery store. Hearing English doesn’t “count” because many Brits live here year around; it’s not an accurate indicator for tourism. With a flip of the switch, life in Gourdon became festive again, especially on Thursday nights when artists and troubadours performed while strolling in the circular boulevard. We even had a mini-version of the annual Fête de la Musique. It was very exciting to see the streets fill up again and to chat with friends en terrace. Our dachshund Lily even joined us at the cafés and was on her best behavior, a sure sign that she wanted to do her part and support la réouverture des restaurants.

A fabulous strawberry tartlet served on a Distillerie du Périgord placemat. A nod to one of my former suppliers: their Guinettes cherries in liqueur were featured in every Joie de Vivre catalog I published.

July around the farm. Rick likes to keep busy around the house and the property. There’s always a field to mow, wood to chop, stone blocks to move… Besides general maintenance, he also likes to tackle one “big” project each year. This time, it was the renovation of the rabbit hutch. The original structure consisted of four stone walls, sitting on a dirt floor, capped with a sad-looking corrugated fiber cement roof. Rick’s goal was to make it larger and taller so it could accommodate a barbecue area and a storage shed for the tractor, trailer, and garden tools. He also wanted to anchor the new roof to the garage wall to construct a carport. After consulting with a local mason, we concluded the old stone walls were so unstable and crumbly that they would need to be dismantled and rebuilt. We opted to have him pour a concrete slab and build new walls with cinder blocks; they would get stuccoed to blend in with the garage and the house. Rick’s contribution was to design and build the roof from scratch. He picked up fir beams and boards that he cut, notched, sanded, treated, stained, and assembled himself. I think he was a carpenter in a previous life. Do I hear the Notre-Dame engineers calling his name?

Rick in his forest… The wooden framework was then covered with clay tiles like the house.

August in Payrignac. Many people had to adapt and to rethink the way they work to make ends meet this year. Our favorite local band has continuously reinvented itself over the past 45 years. When I was a teenager, their rendition of French pop songs enlivened many of our Saturday nights. Ten years later, the band repertoire took a hard turn toward Rock n’ Roll. In the early 90s’, they morphed again to showcase –wait for it– musette accordion dance songs. Although that style of music was hugely popular with older French folks, I’m not too sorry I overlooked that phase of their career… Their latest reincarnation: a Mariachi band! When they’re not playing on a Seine cruise, in a hotel in Morocco, or at the Festival des Lumières in Lyon, they bring their charro outfits, sombreros, and instruments to the Payrignac restaurant for the annual Fiesta Mexicaine. I believe this year’s edition was even more successful than the previous one: the chef was no longer attempting to make Mexican food!

Embellished charro pants. ¡Viva Mexico!

September in the Loire. Road trip! One of my cousins lives near Anger and had been begging us to drive up and visit. We had spent some time in the Loire Valley before but had not explored the Maine-et-Loire. I booked a Bed-and-Breakfast in Azay-le-Rideau for a couple of days and it turned out to be the perfect spot to catch some of the sights we had bypassed on previous trips. The lovely chateau sits in the middle of town, with parks and the Indre river nearby. The absence of crowds is the only upside of the pandemic. We toured the chateau at our leisure and it felt remarkably intimate and livable. If Azay is a study in elegance, the Angers castle is quite austere and shows its military origin. The city is full of architectural marvels, from medieval homes to Haussmannian buildings. The Art Deco glass roof at the Galeries Lafayette is magnificent. While staying at my cousins’, we also took several walks along the Maine and Mayenne rivers. Just down from their house, one can reach a section of Eurovelo 6, a 4,450 km-bicycle itinerary that links Saint-Brévin-les-Pins on the Atlantic coast to Constanta on the Black Sea. Something to keep in mind if you’re up to pedaling through ten European countries…

Locks of La Roussière on the Mayenne river

October in Milhac. Fall at the farm comes in different shades of brown: the light brown of walnuts, the medium brown of cèpes mushrooms, the reddish-brown of chestnuts. So, I harvested walnuts, found a few cèpes, and (carefully) picked chestnuts. The problem with chestnuts is that they are so difficult to peel. We went to a chestnut festival and I tasted chestnut cider for the first time: it’s just cider combined with some chestnut liqueur. As luck would have it, you don’t need to peel the chestnuts to make liqueur… I’ll be ready to bottle mine in a couple of weeks. Chestnuts were on the menu again during our monthly hike with other villagers: our walk started through some thick groves, leaves rustling and nuts rolling under our boots. A couple of miles later, we were surrounded by tall ferns and old oak trees. After crossing a stream and reaching a little valley, I paused to admire the perfect little chateau of Milhac: with its ochre walls and russet roof, it stood in complete harmony with the Autumn foliage, the yellow cliff, and the dry corn stalks below.

Château de Milhac

November in Gourdon. This was perhaps the strangest month of the year. It was the month that couldn’t decide what to be. One day was clear and balmy, the next was hazy and humid. Cafés were open, then they were closed. Supermarkets could sell books, then they couldn’t. Gift shops started setting up their holiday displays only to lock up that same weekend. In the old Gourdon, the streets were empty again: only a few cats were out and they often wanted in. The second lockdown surprised no one. Although it was not as strict as the first one, it felt more “messy,” uncertain, and paralyzing. After watching the Covid indicators peak, go down, and ultimately plateau at a higher level than Macron’s target, the French decided to get ready for Christmas anyway. Trees were bought and decorations went up. The winning trio of foie gras/smoked salmon/escargots was well stocked in all supermarkets. Oysters were everywhere and we’re not even close to the coast. With restaurants not opening before January 20 at the earliest, food stores bet that we would buy even more holiday-type food to eat at home. City Hall encouraged people to decorate their doors and windows with home-made decorations. The usual garlands of lights were strung in the streets and around lamp posts. Wooden reindeers, a present-loaded sleigh, and a snowy chalet magically appeared by the gazebo overnight. The town might have looked as festive as last year but it was hard to take notice: everybody looked inward and the mood was off.

Signs to direct holiday traffic. I didn’t meet any elf or fairy. Maybe they forgot their permission slip?

December from my office window. In the late 60s, I was fascinated by the Apollo missions and briefly considered becoming an astronaut. I quickly realized that, unlike Valentina Tereshkova or Sally Ride, I wasn’t born in the right country for space travel: persistence would be futile. Nevertheless, I still get excited when rare astronomical events are announced: a bright comet, a full solar eclipse, shooting stars galore… December 21st was the day of the great conjunction when Jupiter and Saturn were closer than they had been since 1623. My binoculars and I were ready to observe what promised to make this Winter solstice memorable. Zut! It turned out to be a cloudy night, a fitting way to conclude a year filled with disappointments. The next afternoon, while finalizing our Christmas menu in my office, I looked up and noticed the dark silhouette of the woods cutting through bands of orange, pink, and purple: it was just past 5pm and the sun was finishing its daily course behind the western hills. Less unusual than a great conjunction but perhaps more satisfying after all because sunsets always remind me of The Little Prince, the first book I ever read. His planet was so tiny, the lucky guy could watch sunsets continuously simply by moving his chair a few steps. He took pleasure in the little things and knew what was essential. Shouldn’t he be an inspiration for us all?

“Allons voir un coucher de soleil…” Le 22 décembre 2020 à 17h29.

It’s a wrap! See, it was not such a bad year after all, although I realize we were a lot more fortunate than many, many people. Out with the old, in with the new! I wish you all an annus mirabilis for 2021.

Vocabulary
Dans le retro: in the rearview mirror
Annus horribilis: (latin) horrible year
Une année merdique: a shitty year
Le département: county
La prefecture: administrative center
La carte de séjour: resident card
La halle aux grains: covered grain market
Le chocolat chaud: hot cocoa
Les trois oies: the three geese
Le badaud: bystander
Le Certificat d’Études: primary school completion exam
Le lavoir: wash house
Le muguet: lily of the valley
Le coquelicot: poppy
La glycine: wisteria
En terrace: at a café, outdoors
La réouverture: reopening
Zut: yikes, drat
Annus mirabilis: (latin) wonderful year

To feed your dreams of France and plan your next trip, please consider buying a copy of my book Moments Parfaits in Paris, where you’ll explore every arrondissement through forty photographs and essays. Hint: it’s also a thoughtful gift for this dear Francophile friend of yours… When you purchase the book, I will mail you a signed bookmark from France and stamp your envelope with this stunning timbre Trésors de Notre-Dame. Merci! Your support helps me maintain this blog.

Buy a copy of Moments Parfaits in Paris: I'll mail you (from France) a signed bookmark in an envelope bearing this collectible Trésors de Notre-Dame stamp!

SILVER LININGS

Who would not want to wear rose-colored glasses these days? Nine months into this pandemic, the virus continues to create chaos, our lives are still in limbo, and we still can’t see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Although France successfully flattened the curve through a strict confinement last spring, the number of infections rose exponentially after the summer vacations. After enacting curfews in large cities for a couple of weeks in October, the French government ordered another lockdown: it seems to be the only way to contain the virus propagation before all ICU beds are filled with Covid patients. Winter is coming and there will be tough months ahead.

Blessed are the dogs who know nothing about the nasty virus. Here is Lily surveying the edge of our woods. For her, life is as normal as ever. April 2020.

To shake off the blues, I binge-watched the Netflix series Emily in Paris and I was almost shocked to realize that everything looked so normal, except for her positively palatial chambre de bonne. How refreshing to see Parisians going about their life without face masks, colorful cafés packed with patrons, and fashion shows crowded with attendees close to each other! The first season was filmed in the second half of 2019 and the showrunners may have to wait a year or two before Emily can return to her charmed life in the City of Light. Since nobody needs to read a whiny post about the disruption and distress caused by the virus, I decided to showcase some of the positive things that I’ve observed over the past few months. Join me for a feel-good visual tour!

A very familiar sight for Emily’s fans: this hotel –and its fantastic glass and iron marquise– stands across from her office. November 2018.

Everybody knows how to REALLY wash their hands now
Next time someone greets you with a handshake –whenever that might happen– you will no doubt appreciate that our collective hygiene standards have substantially improved. Sales of Marseille soap have gone through the roof. Ah! It may just compensate for the disappearing use of lipstick.

But, but, but… where is the hand sanitizer? Photographed at Musée Rodin, October 2010.

Fashion is dead, long live fashion
On March 25th, my mother asked her sister-in-law to sew a cloth mask for her: it had to be maroon to match her purse and shoes! If an 88-year-old woman cared that much about the color of her mask, it was inevitable that face coverings would become the next hot fashion accessory. Predictably, the latest sartorial trend was in full display during Fashion Week last month. Of course, fashion houses will have to peddle many, many designer masks to make up for lackluster sales in other categories. I predict that, next year, all models will walk the runways wearing black leggings and fancy Zoom shirts, blouses, or jackets.

How about a stunning embroidered jacket for your next Zoom call? Spotted on rue du Faubourg St-Honoré, October 2016.

Thinking locally
In the early days of the pandemic, I kept waiting for signs of coordinated action, at least at the European level; I was dismayed when the EU hardly lifted a finger to help Italy. In my opinion, the French government’s efforts to blunt the economic impact were solid: massive layoffs were avoided, at least initially. Most of all, it warmed my heart to witness so many displays of solidarity at the local level. Cities and villages got quickly organized to check on elderly and vulnerable people, running errands or picking up medicines for them. We supported farmers who set up distribution points for local produce. We ordered take-out food from restaurants who had never offered such service before (check this post to see what one of my local “take-out” meals looked like.) And, of course, we collectively made cloth masks for the whole village in March, at a time when disposable ones were not available to the general public.

It takes a village, and detailed instructions… April 2020.

Small is beautiful
Les spectacles vivants like theater, dance, music, sports were all but canceled. Some large productions found creative ways to bring their performances in front of an anxious public during the spring lockdown, either on their websites or through French TV. By summer, many artists were later able to resume their shows albeit on a much smaller scale. Musicians were quite active indeed: they often set up by the terrace of local restaurants so we could safely enjoy a good meal and a concert. The city of Gourdon closed the circular boulevard to car traffic and organized street entertainment every Thursday evening; it could be used as a stage for a large swath of entertainers including Brazilian dancers, clowns, magicians, storytellers, and more.   

La Bedoune performing en terrace at the Hostellerie de Goujounac, August 2020.

Everyone is an artist
Social media is often decried but it enabled everybody, famous or not, talented or not, to showcase their artistic endeavors: playing the cello on a balcony, dancing Swan Lake in a bathtub, building action figures with toilet rolls and chips packets… Perhaps my favorite series was the Getty Museum Challenge that prompted humorous recreations of famous paintings avec les moyens du bord. Rick was a good sport and indulged me when I staged him as my very own Lapin Agile.

A favorite painting and my favorite guy. June 2020.

The Call of the Wild
City dwellers were forced to reevaluate the value of their lodging choices: small (and expensive) quarters may be fine when restaurants, museums, and parks are waiting to welcome you but will feel unbearable when a whole family has to share 700 square feet, 23 hours a day, for 55 consecutive days. Parisians who were lucky enough to own a second home in the country quickly exited the city to settle into their résidence secondaire, as long as WiFi coverage was decent enough. It may or may not be a long-term exodus: only time will tell. But, based on my conversations with local agents, the real estate market here is very lively and they just don’t have enough properties to offer. Many French rural areas that saw their population dwindle during the past few decades will enthusiastically welcome a fresh influx of younger working professionals.

Too late! This medieval timbered house in old Gourdon sold in June…

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose
You’ve got to love the French who were nevertheless making plans for their vacations while the epidemic was raging in April: les vacances sont sacrées! They mostly chose to stay in France (not that there was much of a choice…) and headed out to la montagne, la campagne, or la plage. For those who opted for the seaside, this was a great opportunity to (re)discover beaches in Northern France and Brittany that are not as popular as those on the Mediterranean. It’s clear that the French are in no mood to sacrifice their vacations –even during a pandemic– but it’s nice to see tourism money sprinkled all over the country.  

The French do love the beach! Avoid July and August to “enjoy” more social distancing. Piémanson, in the Camargue area. October 2017.

Bicycle kick
Trying to avoid mass transportation, city dwellers are rediscovering the many health benefits of riding bicycles: physical distancing AND exercise! Paris and other large cities are encouraging this trend and adding bike lanes. In many regions, substantial subsidies are in place as incentives to purchase electric bicycles (we bought a couple of them and our net cost was 20% of MSRP.) Although bicycle use helps lower pollution indexes, I suspect many riders will flock to buses or the métro as soon as the weather turns nasty. In related news, sales of gas-thirsty converted vans and campers are through the roof, with a 6 to 10-months wait until delivery of a new vehicle. Win some, lose some…

We love our new electric bikes! Payrignac, October 2020.

Nouveaux maux, nouveaux mots
New words are invented all the time and merely reflect new technologies and human activities. Old words that we didn’t even know suddenly invade our everyday conversations. By now, everybody knows about nose swabs (écouvillons) and N95 masks (masques FFP2). We practice social distancing (distanciation sociale) to avoid superspreaders (super propagateurs). We wear our Zoom shirt (chemise visio) while holding videoconferences (visio conférences) with colleagues. And when it’s 5 o’clock somewhere, we can toast our friends with a Skype apéro or a coronapéro. Unlike George Orwell’s Newspeak in 1984, this novlangue doesn’t aim to suppress individual thinking; it just underlines that we all share the same concerns, at the same moment.

France is a divided country: are you Rosé or Ricard? Chez moi, August 2020.

A new way to travel?
For some lucky travelers, the pandemic offered a rare chance to explore popular locations without the usual crush of tourists; for the majority of us, it meant cancellations galore. 2020 will be remembered as the epitome of armchair travel. Thanks to Facebook, YouTube, and other apps, I’ve enjoyed virtual tours to many destinations, old and new. Whether filmed by locals or professional tour guides, these videos keep me in the travel loop: exploring, learning, dreaming. Perhaps they even force me to see more of the world, not less; to watch with more intent and wonderment; and to select my future destinations with more insight and desire. Who knows what next year has in store for me. The good all USA remain high on my list, of course. Vietnam was booked, canceled, postponed; perhaps on track for late 2021. And the light of Venice still haunts me: I must return. Besides, I hear La Serenissima has a fantastic selection of beautiful masks…

 Where will you be going next?

It takes a city, and centuries of craftsmanship. Venice, October 2019.

Vocabulary
Le confinement: lock-down
La chambre de bonne: maid’s quarters (usually a tiny bedroom under Parisian rooftops)
Le spectacle vivant: live show (performing arts)
Avec les moyens du bord: lit. with the means at hand; with what we have on hand
La residence secondaire: country home
Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose: the more it changes, the more it stays the same
Les vacances sont sacrées: vacations are sacred
La montagne: the mountains
La campagne: the countryside
La plage: the beach
Nouveaux maux, nouveaux mots: new ailments, new words

To feed your dreams of Paris and plan your next trip, please consider buying a copy of my book Moments Parfaits in Paris, where you’ll explore every arrondissement through forty photographs and essays. Hint: it’s also a thoughtful holiday gift for this dear Francophile friend of yours… When you purchase the book, I will mail you a signed bookmark from France and stamp your envelope with this stunning timbre Trésors de Notre-Dame. Merci! Your support helps me maintain this blog.

Buy a copy of Moments Parfaits in Paris: I'll mail you (from France) a signed bookmark in an envelope bearing this collectible Trésors de Notre-Dame stamp!

LA FÊTE DE LA MUSIQUE

La Fête de la Musique was officially created in France in 1982. It’s now celebrated all over the world, every year, on June 21st. Cities typically organize large concerts headlined by well-known professional singers and groups. In smaller towns like ours, local bands and amateurs showcase their talent in an assortment of venues.
This year’s edition had to adapt to a new reality: a virus that was tamed but still lurking. It’s clear that, in Paris and a few other areas, revelers quickly forgot that social distancing was still de rigueur… I have to give high marks to Gourdon for finding a good compromise: all bands performed outdoors, at a safe distance from restaurant diners along the circular boulevard. People were either sitting down at tables or walking about in small groups, enjoying a wide selection of musical styles from jazz to rock-and-roll. It probably helped that the event took place before European tourists were allowed to cross our borders.

The best moment for me was a sensational performance by Panderovox, a local group of polyphonic singers and percussionists who specialize in traditional songs from Mediterranean and Eastern European countries. They performed in the courtyard of the 15th Century Maison du Sénéchal. Always a treat!

JOURNAL D'UNE CONFINÉE - WEEK 4

April 6, 2020

The plane! The plane! For a minute, I feel like Tattoo in Fantasy Island (Youtube it if you’re too young to remember that TV show.) For over three weeks, I haven’t seen or heard a commercial airplane above my head; no contrail scratching our deep blue skies. Even the Rafales, those loud French fighter planes that zip by at low altitude above our woods toward their Toulouse base, have been missing in action.

So, the plane. Ironically, it’s parked in front of the old Payrignac train station that was decommissioned eighty years ago. It’s missing its wing. The white paint is flaking off. The cockpit and the tail are half-covered with pale green lichen. And it’s made of wood, like one of the carvings my grandfather made in the Seventies. It might even be that old.

Perched on its metal post, the plane is grounded, like all its aluminum friends, like all of us. I always had at least one active flight reservation on the books but 2020 is shaping up differently. Airlines have reduced their flights by 90%. Some airports, like Orly, are completely shut down. Many countries, including the two that matter the most to me, have made their borders almost impenetrable. We are expected to stay home. Eventually, we may be allowed to circulate within our country but international travel will have to wait a few months, or perhaps a year. That makes me antsy. When my father was ill, it gave me peace of mind to know that I could jump into a plane at a moment’s notice and be there for him. For those of us who have loved ones in other countries, the thought of not being able to travel at will is almost unbearable.

In Louis XVI’s diary, nothing happened on July 14, 1789. The journal is kept at the Archives Nationales.

April 7, 2020

Is it morning… is it Tuesday… or July… is it still 2020… where am I? Before the confinement, our outings and activities set the tempo of the day. On Monday, our mailman would bring the weekly food ads; now, Jérémie does his route only three times a week and the ads are delivered to our phones and computers. I used to drive Mom to the salle des fêtes on Wednesday so she could spend the afternoon with friends and play belote; of course, all group activities have been suspended indefinitely. On Saturday, a small group of French natives and local Brits would get together at a café for an informal chat and everybody would practice their language skills; the cafés have shut down, we all stay home, and I don’t get to “correct” anybody…

Rituals provide markers and keep us grounded. For the fourth week in a row, time seems to be standing still. Our lives are suspended and feel somewhat empty. “Rien” as Louis XVI wrote in his diary on the date of July 14, 1789. One might think that he, too, was somewhat “confined” in Versailles, without knowledge of the turmoil that was brewing in Paris that day. It turns out that he used his journal to record the result of the royal hunt: on July 14, the king’s party was unsuccessful and he didn’t bring back any game to the royal kitchen. Rien. Lucky Louis: at least, he got to leave the palace with his horse, his dogs, and his entourage; without a permission slip.

Even if nothing happened in my life today, I am very aware that my small universe does not reflect what is going on in the rest of the world: the morbid tallies in New York, Italy, Spain, and France continue to increase. We had been spared so far but, today, the regional newspaper La Dépèche du Midi reported the first Covid-19 fatality in the Lot. Ce n’est pas “rien”.

Vocabulary
La salle des fêtes: large activity room owned by the city
La belote: French card game
Rien: nothing
Ce n’est pas rien: it’s not nothing

Farming life continues…

April 10, 2020

I don’t claim to be an avid gardener but, as a dedicated cook, I like to have fresh culinary herbs on hand. Last year, I started a small jardin in front of my kitchen. It will never be a full-fledge potager like my grandfather’s: I will only focus on herbs and vegetables that I use often or have a hard time finding here. The thyme, rosemary, and chives are all doing well; my tarragon is a bit timid and could probably use another companion plant. Jardinerie-pépiniériste Gamm’Vert is now open in the morning and I picked some annuals: flat-leaf parsley and basil; oregano was not in stock yet.

Luckily, I was able to buy a few seed packets while in Eureka last month. I’ll try my hand at growing some cilantro, bok choi, baby watermelon, jalapeno peppers, and sweet corn. Although corn is a traditional crop in our area, it is intended to feed les bêtes. Most French people turn up their noses at corn. I guess I’m aiming to have a multicultural potager.

My garden is dwarfed by the real world of farming: a mere 200 yards away, large fields have been plowed and prepared to welcome new plants and seeds. The dirt looks rich and fertile. The automatic sprinkler rhythmically oscillates and shoots water in the air and on my windshield as I drive by. For most of us, food magically appears at the stores or in our plates; we give little thought to what it takes to feed a whole country. Just like garbage collectors, cleaning ladies, or delivery drivers, farmers are finally getting some well-deserved appreciation. Border closings are preventing migrant workers from Spain and other European countries to enter our country and serve as seasonal farmhands but I heard that 240,000 French men and women have volunteered to work in the fields instead of collecting unemployment. It’s quite a relief to know that my survival will not be completely dependent on my green thumb!

Vocabulary
Le jardin: garden
Le potager: vegetable garden
La jardinerie: garden center
Le pépiniériste: nursery

Easter dinner done right!

April 12, 2020

I’m a little too old to forage for Easter eggs. I had picked up a few bags of treats to have at the house: is one ever too old to enjoy chocolate? I knew we would not have to share them with anybody this year: an unforeseen perk of social distancing… With a couple of exceptions, I always spent Easter break at the farm when I was growing up. My cousins and I would accompany Grandma to Mass, giving Grandpa a generous hour to hide the coveted candies in the boxwood hedge and the vegetable garden. At the end of the service, anxious kids would quickly hike back home. While Grandma put the finishing touches to lunch, we’d dive into the bushes and lift lettuce leaves in search of hidden treasures.

Our take-out Easter meal from Delicatessens was superb. Detailed instructions were included to warm up the different elements of each dish. All that was left was assembly and plating, the extent of my chef duties today. I could get used to that kind of take-out: clearly, French restaurants are taking the concept a notch higher than their American counterparts.

The Duomo in Milan, as I saw it in September 2019

This unusual Easter concluded with a bitter-sweet return to Milan, courtesy of Andrea Bocelli’s concert at the Duomo. I couldn’t wait to see the cathedral again, six months after my last stay in Milan. It’s the third-largest church in Europe, more than twice the size of Notre-Dame-de-Paris. It’s a massive building although the spires, statues, and carvings give it a lighter, lacy look. And the marble, that beautiful pink Candoglia marble, is everywhere.  As the drone flew over the cathedral, unveiling a skyline dotted with red tile roofs, church towers, and skyscrapers, I could picture myself on the rooftop again, way above the expansive piazza below and the elegant Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, both teeming with people holding a camera or a gelato, or both. I remember thinking that, no matter the time of day or night, it was impossible to take a good shot of the Duomo without tourists. The contrast between now and then was as stark as Bocelli’s black tuxedo against a white buttress.

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JOURNAL D'UNE CONFINÉE - WEEK 3

March 30, 2020

I drive to town for my weekly grocery run and briefly stop in the post office parking lot. Even at this time of the year, before the tourist season starts, the restaurants and cafés on the tour de ville should be animated. All are shut down except Le Pot Occitan because it also serves as a tabac. See, liberty and the pursuit of happiness varies between countries and dictates what is deemed “essential business:” cigarette stores in France, gun shops in America.

My little town looks pretty and peaceful; a little bit sleepy, perhaps. A striking contrast with the gloomy images of New York, Paris, or another megalopolis now devoid of cars, bikes, and even the dreaded electric scooters. Humans are invisible, staying safe behind thick walls. It’s like a neutron bomb hit the cities, snuffing out life but preserving buildings, statues, and monuments. The photos are both disturbing and mesmerizing. I wonder how it would feel to stand on top of the Arc de Triomphe and gaze at an abandoned avenue des Champs-Elysées? To only hear my own footsteps resonating in the métro corridors. To sit alone at a café terrace and watch… nobody and nothing? Having Paris to myself would be both a dream and a nightmare.

Vocabulary
Le tour de ville: circular street around the center of town
Le tabac: tobacco shop

Confinement? I know a thing or two about that. My cousin’s drawing for April Fool’s Day.

April 1, 2020

No kidding! This is the strangest April Fool’s Day I’ve ever experienced. Nobody seems in the mood to be playing pranks. No paper fish slapped on the back of (unsuspecting?) parents. No fake hairy spider stuck on a lampshade. No Oreo cookies stuffed with toothpaste. Worse of all, no tiny chocolate fish candies to savor with my espresso.

Perhaps we collectively exhausted our witty ideas over the past two weeks. We’ve seen masks made with bras, or wine glasses, or hollowed orange halves (extra vitamin C!) A puzzle aficionado tried to “rebuild” a pig with two hundred packs of bacon. Some people disguised themselves as trash bags so they could discreetly “walk” on the streets longer than one hour per day. The internet has been full of improbable stories and funny memes. We had probably reached our quota of jokes by the time April 1st rolled in.

The visitor center at the prehistoric caves of Cougnac

April 3, 2020

I walked to the grottes préhistoriques of Cougnac today. I knew it would be a little further than my 1 km radius. Also, I would be out longer than 1 hour but the gendarmes don’t seem to patrol our small roads and trails. My parents had owned a small vacation home in the hamlet of Cougnac for twenty years: at that time, the caves were practically in our backyard. We would routinely take our dog on le chemin aux noisettes (as my sister dubbed it) that would lead to the limestone hill and the cave entrance.

There are many prehistoric caves in our area but most of them are no longer open to the public. Lascaux (the “real one” as there are two excellent replicas) closed in 1963 before I had the privilege of visiting the “Sistine Chapel” of cave art. Cougnac was actually discovered by our former neighbor. It’s smaller than Lascaux but still accessible to anyone who wants to admire drawings of mammoths or ibex in charcoal and red pigment.

In normal times, the caves would open tomorrow to coincide with Easter break. But these are not normal times and I was surprised to hear some noise as I approached the visitor center: a man was trimming bushes and raking leaves. Le jardinier was cleaning up the area as if he expected a convoy of visitors to show up the next day. It made me smile. People joke that French backyards are looking like mini versions of Versailles and le gazon is mowed so frequently that it rivals a Wimbledon court. I know my countrymen: I can assure you this aberration will not last. But professional gardeners are a different breed: whether the caves open this July or next July, it is imperative to keep on schedule. Time may have stopped for us but not for nature.

Vocabulary
La grotte préhistorique: prehistoric cave
Le chemin aux noisettes: hazelnut trail
Le jardinier: gardener
Le gazon: lawn

Game show host Nagui and his audience, before social distancing!

April 4, 2020

Many reporters brandish the word dystopia these days. While we are cooped up in our homes, le petit écran shows images of a world that’s both familiar and unrecognizable: lengthy shots of a pristine beach a Les Sables d’Olonne; TGV trains reconfigured to evacuate patients from Alsace to less saturated hospitals in the West; endless videos of Times Square, the Champs-Elysées, and San Marco Plaza all barren of cars and pedestrians. Clashing with our current living conditions, pre-taped game shows remind us of what normal life used to look like: a packed audience sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, host and contestants exchanging handshakes and bises, crew members sharing microphones and high-fives.

The show follows a predictable format and leads to its natural conclusion: the champion gets some money, the challenger is elated to win a Brittany Ferries cruise to Spain. Wait, what? I roll my eyes, fully aware that I’m witnessing a not-so-distant past when cruising and Spain both sounded like splendid ideas. Was it only two months ago? I still want to think that soon –very soon– we’re going to wake up from this bad dream. Once again, we’ll leave our footprints in the sand; we’ll board trains to visit family; we’ll join fresh batches of tourists in large cities. We’ll even complain about the crowds.

I take note of some hastily fine-tuned commercials. The supermarkets promise to help our farmers and sell only French produce. In a sheepish nod to the baking and snacking frenzy induced by the confinement, Comme J’aime now peddles their diet program as a way to “maintain” weight; losing a few kilos might be out of reach. Car manufacturers double down and continue to fill our minds with visions of escape, travel, and freedom. That’s what we miss the most right now and they know it.

Vocabulary
Le petit écran: the small screen; TV
La bise: kiss

JOURNAL D'UNE CONFINÉE - WEEK 2

March 23, 2020

Humans abhor uncertainty. Things were probably different for cavemen but modern man has become a bit too complacent, expecting trains to always run on time and toilet paper to be available at will. The Covid health crisis takes us into uncharted territory. As a news junkie, I observe how the pandemic is unfolding. I look for intelligent questioning to sift through the known knowns and the known unknowns. Science keeps me grounded.

Meanwhile, I also take comfort in the predictability of nature and, specifically, how I can always count on bulbs to signal the turn of the seasons: yellow narcissi in our woods, pink tulips in Maguy’s yard, or wild irises in front of the old pigsty. Bulbs are your friends; your unfair weather friends.

Old clay roof tiles

March 24, 2020

The Attestation de Déplacement Dérogatoire was updated today. According to the “new and improved” version, you can still go out of your house to buy essential supplies but outdoor exercise is limited to one hour per day; you must fill the form with the precise time when you leave your residence. Apparently, too many dogs complained of exhaustion after their humans used them as an excuse to walk or jog every two hours… During your sortie, you must remain within 1 kilometer from your house which guarantees you’ll become extremely familiar with your immediate surroundings. This photographer will have to sharpen her eyes and continue to focus on details: today, I give you Old roof tiles. Tomorrow, it could be Green grass, or Clear skies, or Mom’s fuzzy slippers. The possibilities are staggering.

Vocabulary
La sortie: outing

Fabric masks made by our neighbor Isabelle

March 25, 2020

In the old days, farming families here could not survive without their neighbors’ help. They aimed to be self-sufficient, thus favoring l’agriculture vivrière, but everybody would pitch in when it was time to harvest wheat, pick grapes, crack walnuts, or slaughter the pig. A schedule was established so that equipment and able bodies were pooled to work at each farm in succession. When the task was completed, everybody would gather around the table for a festive meal. In France, rien ne change…

There are still a few farmers in our village but the size of their farms has increased following l’exode rural after WWII and le remembrement in the Sixties. They all have their own farm machinery and they hire crop hands at harvest time when necessary. But la solidarité is not an empty word here: it just manifests itself differently nowadays. Some of our neighbors bring us fruits, vegetables, or flowers; others pick up medications at the pharmacy for those who can’t drive; everybody checks up on the elderly. Today, Isabelle and Sylvain dropped off some homemade masks for us and Mom. In fact, they sewed masks for the whole hamlet, about fifteen households. Isabelle even apologized that she didn’t have any fabric printed with motorcycles for Rick!

Vocabulary
L’agriculture vivrière: (f) multi-crop farming and animal husbandry to ensure a varied food supply
Rien ne change: nothing changes
L’exode rural: rural migration from the countryside to the cities
Le remembrement: consolidation of farming lands to improve the use of machinery
La solidarité: solidarity

A traditional stone house stands in a field of wild flowers

March 26, 2020

Our weather has been positively balmy; it makes my daily outings even more enjoyable. Like many people, I’m struck by the quietness of our environment. The number of cars on nearby D704 has been reduced to a trickle. A lone tractor occasionally reminds us that spring planting is around the corner.

The only ones who dare disturb the sound of silence are the birds, hundreds of them. I still hang my boules de graisse from the boxwood tree: sparrow, great tits, and my one robin are familiar sights and songs. Turtle doves and crows regularly fly over our fields. In the woods, the distinctive sounds of cuckoo birds, owls, and woodpeckers are easy to identify but other melodies remain mysterious to me. I’ve found several websites and YouTube tutorials to get more familiar with local birds. Armed with the opera glasses that my parents brought back from Kyiv in 1986 (our binoculars are still in a box somewhere in the garage,) perhaps I can pass for an ornithologist-in-training!

Today I spotted a buzzard standing at attention on top of a fence post. It was probably eyeing some field mouse for lunch but it took off when I approached. As I watched the majestic raptor unfold its large brown wings and soar into the blue sky, I once again felt a tinge of envy. If I could have a superpower, flying would be it.

Vocabulary
La boule de graisse: lit. ball of grease; a mixture of suet and seeds.

The Javits convention center in happier days

March 27, 2020

I watch in dismay as the Javits convention center in New York is being turned into a field hospital of 1000 beds. For a couple of decades, Javits was my twice-a-year playground. While running Joie de Vivre, I regularly flew to NYC to attend the Fancy Food Show, the NY NOW Gift Fair, and other trade shows there. Javits was my happy place where I would sample delicious food from all over the world, meet new suppliers, and joke with old friends. Javits was alive, vibrant, and colorful. Now, the show floor has morphed into a giant grid of 10’ x 10’ sterile cubicles, deserted, silent, expectant. The contrast is shocking. As the 2020 trade show season grinds to a halt, Javits is poised to perform a startling new mission this year: instead of embracing conventioneers and amplifying their laughter, it will cradle patients and soothe their anguish. Normality has left the building.

Wild boars were here!

March 28, 2020

The pandemic seems to have a positive effect on the environment: with less human activity and fewer cars on the roads, air pollution is decreasing. And since people are staying home, or should be, wild animals are enlarging their territories: dolphins swim in the Venice canals, coyotes roam the streets of San Francisco, ducks waddle near la Comédie Française in Paris (sorry, guys: the theater is closed.)

In related news, our wild boars are back! Technically, they don’t “belong” to us. They don’t even live in our woods but they obviously enjoy our quiet area. They already paid us a visit last Fall. Lily loves to hunt but her focus is le petit gibier: bugs, mice, lizards, and the occasional hedgehog (ouch.) Les sangliers always leave tell-tale signs of their frolicking: they dig the ground with their nose and feet, looking for roots and worms, leaving trenches that dull the blades on Rick’s mower. They only come out at night but have become quite bold: I heard them grunt behind me one December evening as I was leaving Mom’s house! I wrote a letter to City Hall so they would inform the local hunters. I heard packs of dogs and rifle shots the following weekend. I also inherited a bag of meat that I quickly prepared as “médaillons de sanglier, sauce aux mûres.” It was yummy. But hunting season will be over in just a few days and group hunting would not be allowed anyway. I suspect that close encounters with wild boars will become part of our new normal.

Vocabulary
Le petit gibier: small game
Le sanglier: wild boar
La sauce aux mûres: blackberry sauce

Green asparagus and morels in puff pastry; 7 hour lamb shoulder with garlic, honey, and thyme; sphere of crispy risotto with lemon confit center and artichoke cream; strawberry cake.

March 29, 2020

For the past thirty years, I’ve appropriated Easter as “my” holiday. More by necessity than choice: handling Thanksgiving or Christmas was not an option because of my crazy work schedule in the Fall. Besides, the French and Thanksgiving are not exactly a match made in heaven.

I usually enjoy composing my Easter menu but it’s hard to muster some excitement this year since we all need to stay in our respective homes and I won’t be playing hostess. I had resigned myself to preparing an Easter dinner anyway and delivering the plateaux repas to family members, cafeteria-style. And then, I received an email from my favorite local restaurant; their Easter menu sounded lovely. Of course, the restaurant itself is closed: they’re only offering take-out. I am sure they have a hard time paying their bills. After consulting with the rest of the family, we decided we should show our support to a small local business and help them weather the storm. On Easter Sunday, chef Sylvaine will leave her frog coat in the closet. That will leave me ample time to focus on my second job: sommelier…

Vocabulary
Le plateau repas: meal tray

JOURNAL D'UNE CONFINÉE - WEEK 1

March 17, 2020

Ah, to be a dog, immune to COVID-19 and blissfully unaware of what’s happening in the world. After our retour précipité from California, we picked up Lily at my sister’s house. We’re back home by noon to, well, stay home. The confinement is now in effect. I take inventory of what I have in the freezer and the pantry; I notice the empty fridge didn’t spontaneously replenish itself while we were away. Lily gets reacquainted with her surroundings after her two-week vacation with her canine cousins: there is a lot of sniffing around and some napping in her favorite armchair. She has no reason to worry: kibble magically appears in her bowl twice a day. The dog is all set. If things get too dire for her humans, they’ll have to crack open some homemade cans of foie gras. The horror!

Vocabulary
Le retour précipité: hasty return

Hyacinths in bloom in front of Mom’s house

March 18, 2020

My confinement is better than yours. If the virus is a great equalizer, the stay-at-home experience is not. Some people have to spend their days in tiny apartments; we are lucky to live in a spacious house à la campagne surrounded by fields and wooded areas. Rick is back in tractor mode: the weeds grow fast at this time of the year. I check up on Mom at least twice a day but refrain from entering her home. No hugs, no kisses. We stay six feet apart and I wear disposable gloves when I bring her food. Nurses still come to her house morning and evening but her aide à domicile can no longer fulfill her schedule: she also watches over the children of the Gourdon medical personnel and is not supposed to work for elderly people. Meanwhile, Mother Nature pays no attention to the turmoil: wildflowers are blooming all over the fields.

Vocabulary
A la campagne: in the countryside
L’aide à domicile: (f.) home care assistant

Very few shoppers at the local supermarket. Still plenty of bread and fresh flowers.

March 19, 2020

I ask Mom to give me her grocery list. She says she really doesn’t need anything: she has three bottles of sparkling water, a camembert, one sous-vide dinner, and a box of frozen fish sticks. Let’s put this woman in charge of disaster preparedness, shall we? I fill out a permission slip and drive to town for supplies. At the roundabout, I’m stopped by a gendarme who asks why I am out of my house. To go to the supermarket. “I hope you’re not just picking up a baguette and sliced ham,” she says as she waves me through. Most of the shops are closed and the streets are empty. At Intermarché, I don a mask and a pair of gloves before pushing my cart into the store. The shelves are well-stocked; plenty of toilet paper. I check off everything on my list except for my favorite brand of butter. I should have enough supplies for a week. I tend to be an impulsive cook and usually pick up food every other day depending on my inspiration. The confinement is forcing me to be a methodical meal planner. It’s a new exercise and, at this point, I’m mildly amused by the novelty. I’m even making chicken stock from scratch!

The pear tree is in bloom

March 20, 2020

This spring has been milder than usual and the trees seem to visibly change day by day: buds, blossoms, and tender green leaves appear as in a time-lapse video. The pear tree is gorgeous and covered with white flowers. I’m making a mental note that I’ll surely need to thin the fruits in a month or two. A memory rushes in: a vision of my grandmother’s poire prisonnière. I’m thinking I should make my own. I’ll have to find a pretty carafe, attach it to the tree, slide the neck over a small pear, and let the fruit grow inside the glass. When the fruit is ripe, cut the stem, remove the bottle with the pear inside, and fill it with some alcool de fruit. Maybe I’ll call it my poire confinée, année 2020.

Vocabulary
La poire prisonnière: captive pear
L’alcool de fruit: (m.) clear fruit alcohol
La poire confinée: confined pear

Illustrator Battì Manfruelli from Corsica has perfect take on how many people are feeling right now.

March 21, 2020

My cousins and I started a WhatsApp group a year and a half ago. We’re scattered along a Paris-Toulouse axis but usually manage to see each other throughout the year. Getting everybody together at the same time is a challenge but I was lucky to have them at the house for last year’s Christmas dinner. The group has been active this week; we’re checking up on each other and posting humorous pictures and memes about Le Confinement. On Day 5, this thing is still fairly new and “manageable.” Some of us are retired, some are en télétravail, some are raising toddlers while trying to work from home… I wonder: how long will it take before we feel like caged birds?

Vocabulary
En télétravail: working remotely from home

Several religious services are broadcast on the France2 channel every Sunday morning. Catholic mass is usually filmed in churches and cathedrals, in France or other francophone countries.

March 22, 2020

I’m bringing Mom some of my homemade chicken soup. As I walk on her porch by the living room windows, I can hear her TV set blaring a religious hymn: if it’s Sunday, it must be Mass. I drop off her food on the outdoor table and we spend ten minutes chatting, she inside, me outside. She plans to have lunch, take a nap, and watch Michel Drucker’s TV show. All in all, an ordinary Sunday for her. Back at home, I catch the last five minutes of “Le Jour du Seigneur” and notice that, today, Mass is not taking place inside a spectacular cathedral but is broadcast from a TV studio in the 13th arrondissement: four priests respecting la distanciation sociale, a simple wood table doubling for an improvised altar, a giant screen showing rows of empty pews. Not an ordinary Sunday for them. At noon sharp, I hear the bells of the church in Payrignac. They sound louder than usual today.

Vocabulary
La distanciation sociale: social distancing

SECOND LIFE

What happens when trains don’t run? Major inconvenience. France is slowly emerging from one of its longest strikes. Spearheaded by RATP and SNCF rail workers, this national grève had its biggest impact on banlieusards, those who live on the outskirts of Paris but commute to work in the capital. I used to be one of them; let me assure you I’m not one bit nostalgic about those times.

Gare de Gourdon at dusk

In our little corner of La France Profonde –where public transportation is minimal– this strike mostly affected high school and college students who rely on train service to reach their schools in Brive, Cahors, and Toulouse. At times, the Gourdon train station was completely deserted as traffic between Paris and Toulouse came to a standstill. But what happens when trains stop running for good? What happens to the stations, the grade crossing keepers’ houses, the bridges, the rail beds?

Gourdon then…

The historical importance of train service can’t be overstated. In the US, whole cities grew up as rail centers, especially west of the Mississippi: Rick’s hometown Modesto was founded in October 1870 with the coming of the railroad. In France and in the rest of Europe, where towns and villages had developed over the course of centuries, the establishment of a train stop was a highly anticipated and celebrated event: it favored economic growth, regional and national commerce, and population migrations. It also provided a lot of jobs.

Gourdon now

Our train station in Gourdon was inaugurated in 1891 and life changed overnight: it would now take only 15 hours to reach Paris, instead of the 14 days (!!!) required by horse-drawn coaches. The station is four kilometers from our house and sits on the Paris Austerlitz to Toulouse line: nowadays the trip takes about 5 hours. Although we can’t get TGV service on this line, I treasure the convenience of reaching the center of Paris in a comfortable Intercités, without transferring to another train. For the past decade, frequency has declined and there are rumors of SNCF wanting to cancel the stop at our station, thus forcing us to transfer in Brive. Locally, nobody likes the idea and demonstrations regularly take place in town and at the station. Sometimes, les manifestants gather on the rails for a picnic.

Payrignac then…

Payrignac now

Today, I’m taking you along a local rail line that disappeared… and experienced a second life. At the tail end of the 19th century, a young man from the Aveyron came over here to work on a brand-new junction between Gourdon and Sarlat. While working in the area, he met and married a young woman who lived in Payrignac. After the line opened in 1902, he moved back to Espalion with his bride, my great-aunt.

The lampisterie in Payrignac: the small building next to the station was used to store light bulbs and portable lamps.

Restrooms behind the lampisterie.

My grandfather worked as a trackman on that line before moving to Paris where he continued to work for the Chemins de Fer d’Orléans. During school breaks, Dad and his siblings took the train for free to return to the family farm. Catching their train at Austerlitz, they would get off in Gourdon and transfer to reach Payrignac, the first stop on the Gourdon-Sarlat line. Their grandfather would meet them at the station and load the suitcases in his wheelbarrow. After a short 250-yard walk, they were home.

The old schedule

The line was single-track with one train and there were three roundtrips per day. It took about 40 minutes to cover the 10 miles separating the two towns. Sarlat was not a tourist destination yet but a main hub for commerce. Agricultural products like tobacco and walnuts were handled and transformed in local plants: my great-aunt rode the train to Sarlat to sell her load of shelled walnuts to a wholesaler. Shelling walnuts at home, à la veillée, was a way for women to chat with family or neighbors during the long winter evenings and bring in extra income.

There are still many railroad bridges on that stretch of RD 704

Things changed dramatically in 1937 when the SNCF was created to merge and operate all French rail companies. The Gourdon-Sarlat line stopped transporting passengers in 1938 and freight traffic ceased two years later. Most of the rails were pulled from the tracks and melted down to be used for weapons in WWII. From that point on, Dad and co. had to schlep their luggage from Gourdon to Payrignac on foot, a long hilly four-kilometer walk.

Saint-Cirq-Madelon then…

Saint-Cirq-Madelon now

The line was decommissioned in 1955 and SNCF subsequently started selling off the buildings along the way. The Payrignac, Saint-Cirq-Madelon, and Groléjac stations were purchased and transformed into private homes.

Mobile barrier at Saint-Cirq-Madelon

Original ties at Saint-Cirq-Madelon

I followed the line and stopped at all the old stations to take pictures and sometimes talk with their owners.

Payrignac was a cute fixer upper

The Payrignac station was fixed up many years ago and serves as a second home.

Vintage signal at Saint-Cirq-Madelon

More vintage equipment

The man who originally bought the Saint-Cirq-Madelon location still uses it as a second home. He has kept old signage and equipment as “décor” in his yard around the building.

Groléjac then

Groléjac now

The Groléjac station is now a workshop for a chaisier.

La Voie Verte: bike and foot path around Groléjac

Trains used to cross the river at Groléjac; now bikes and hikers use the same bridge.

The Dordogne département had a good idea and purchased all SNCF properties along the line. After removing the leftover tracks, they turned the rail bed between Groléjac and Sarlat into a piste cyclable that is used by hikers and cyclists.

The railroad bridge of Groléjac crosses the Dordogne river

Picture-perfect hamlet framed by an old bridge

A remarkable stone bridge crosses the Dordogne north of Groléjac. Smaller bridges arch over a scenic stretch of Route Départementale 704.

Carsac then…

Carsac now, with the bike path

The old Carsac station was turned into a primary school. It was the last stop before Sarlat.

Sarlat then…

Sarlat now

The Sarlat station is still in use. Bordeaux can be reached via regional train service (TER) in about 2 hours and 15 minutes.

These old signs seem to illustrate the competition between road and rail. Guess who won that battle…

It’s not difficult to know what the future holds for our remaining “local” stations in rural France. Most folks own cars nowadays but trains are vital for students and the elderly who rely on them to reach schools or medical specialists in larger cities. With privatization on the horizon, the trend in France is to favor regional hubs, especially those served by high-speed trains, and abandon smaller markets. Large train stations are being transformed into shopping malls; smaller ones may well become endangered species. Perhaps I should join the demonstrators in Gourdon and bring cheese and saucisson to the picnic…

Inside the gare de Gourdon, ceramic tiles tell the story

Vocabulary
La grève: strike
Le banlieusard: someone who lives in the suburbs
La France Profonde: lit. deep France; out in the country (way out…)
Le TGV: high-speed train (Très Grande Vitesse)
L’Intercités: (m) classic train between major cities
Le manifestant: demonstrator
La veillée: after dinner hours in the countryside, usually devoted to conversations between family members and/or neighbors that also included “productive” activities (knitting, mending clothes, shelling walnuts, etc.)
Le chaisier: someone who makes and restore old chairs
Le département: county
La piste cyclable: bicycle path
La route départementale: a road maintained by the département (county)
Le TER: Train Express Regional; a regional train that is not so “express” since it stops at many stations…

OF BEADS AND FLOWERS

Any cemetery aficionados among you? Père-Lachaise, Montparnasse, and Montmartre often show up on visitors’ must-see lists. If you’re planning to visit any of them this week, brace yourself for large crowds and colorful seas of chrysanthèmes, the official flower of La Toussaint. November 1st is a paid holiday here: it provides an opportunity to flower the graves and remember our deceased loved ones over a family meal. Just like your typical Sunday lunch, minus the singing.

Shopping for mums in the 17th arrondissement

People visit Parisian cemeteries for many different reasons. Locals in search of a quiet haven within the bustling city can be found reading their book on a sunny bench, just as they would in the Luxembourg Gardens. Armed with maps apparently designed for a chasse au trésor, tourists scurry around wide aisles and narrow alleys in search of “that” grave, be it Oscar Wilde or Jean-Paul Sartre. Architecture and art lovers marvel at the variety of structures and sculptures that mark the burial sites of the famous and the unknown.

Funeral wreaths and glass enclosure at the Payrignac cemetery

My local cimetière is less grandiose and less crowded. No “walk-in” stone mausoleums housing crypts or sarcophagi there, but I’ve always liked the understated elegance of the glass enclosures that surround some of the older caveaux. I also find them practical because the iron posts make it easy to hang wreaths and, in particular, my favorite kind: les couronnes de perles.

Wreaths of white pearls are often used when the deceased is a child or a young woman

Most of the time, the outline of the wreath is made with purple beads

These exquisite glass bead wreaths seem more prevalent in old cemeteries en province. They were very popular for about a hundred years, roughly between 1850 and 1950. They usually measure about three feet in height; thousands of small beads are strung on thin metal wires, then shaped like leaves, flowers, or dentelle patterns; typical colors include many shades from pale mauve to deep violet, pink, green, white, and black.

Countryside setting

Some designs combine pearls and cloth flowers. Intricate work!

Rust: their worse enemy

As a little girl, I looked forward to my weekly trip to the cemetery before attending mass. While my grandmother set up fresh flowers from her garden onto family graves, my cousin and I scoured the dirt alleys, searching for loose beads that we took home to make bracelets for ourselves. We were already “recycling” before it was fashionable.

Loose beads are easier to find (and pick up) when you’re smaller and closer to the ground!

This past week, my aunt and I spent a little time sprucing up my grandparents and great-grandparents’ graves. I reflected that, after more than twenty years, grandma’s wreath still looked pretty good. I found myself meandering in the alleys and looking down in the vicinity of old wreaths, hoping to spot mes petites perles. I came home with a small handful of beads and a big smile on my face.

Grandma’s wreath

Vocabulary
Le chrysanthème: chrysanthemum
La Toussaint: All Saints Day
La chasse au trésor: treasure hunt
Le cimetière: cemetery
Le caveau: burial vault
La couronne: wreath; crown
La perle: pearl; bead
En province: out in the country, outside of Paris
La dentelle: lace