The latest etiquette error.

Waiting to pick Iona and Joe up from school. I noticed that another mum had had her hair cut, coloured and highlighted. ‘Your hair looks great.’ I said.

‘Thanks’, she replied.

Another mother agreed, ‘It suits you, how much did it cost?’

‘€50.’

There were then mutters which seemed to acknowledge that this was a fair price.

I am no longer surprised by the forthrightness of the French when it comes to money. The British just don’t discuss money whereas the French are quite happy to discuss their own financial status and are very keen to know everyone else’s !!

I have been asked how much we bought our house for, my salary when I was working in London and what we earn now. There are no secrets !!..

I am also getting used to this line of questioning, it isn’t really nosiness just a line of conversation. However, it has caused me to make a pretty bit English etiquette error….

Whilst in the UK recently, I met up with my brother and his wife. My sister-in-law was telling me about her new job. Without thinking, I said, ‘How much do you earn now?’

A stunned silence followed….

Looking to experience the REAL France. Look no further.

We bought this stone Breton cottage five years ago. It belonged to an elderly Parisian lady who could no longer spend July and August alone in Southern Brittany.

It was a house that was used just two months a year. The rest of the year it was left, shuttered up, unloved. As it was only used in the hot summer months it didn’t matter that there wasn’t any heating or that the windows were rotten and daylight could be seen between the wall and the window frame.

The house had a strange configuration; there was a room above the kitchen which could only be accessed by leaping off the fifth from the top step of the stairs into a small opening which led to a small room with a head height of four feet. A loft, presumably.

On the plus side, the house is located on the edge of a small village with a bar, shop, post office and a restaurant, rooms are large and it has a decent sized garden. 

So, for the next year Mark set to work, taking down the floor in the strangle little loft to produce a light and airy double height kitchen, restoring the parquet flooring in the bedrooms, installing a new bathroom and kitchen. New windows and central heating were installed throughout. It was whilst Mark was carrying on this building project he discovered the restaurant…..

My father was visiting from England for a few days and they were adjusting the stairs. At mid day lots of vans started arriving at the end of the road, water board vans, builders vans, and electricians vans. There were about 30 of them.

‘Why have all those vans stopped?’ asked my father.

‘No idea,’ replied Mark, ‘They arrive at mid day but by 2.30 they have all gone and there are always different vans.’

Curious, they walked to the end of the road. A van stopped. Two workmen got our and went into the bar. Mark and my fathered followed. The men walked through the bar and through a small door that looked as if it went to the bar owners’ private living area.

Mark, now very curious, asked the woman behind the bar, ‘Where does that door lead to?’

‘The restaurant.’ She replied.

Mark and my father followed the two men into the restaurant.

They passed through a small dark narrow corridor and into a large room with a worn lino floor. There were four long lines of tables and chairs. They sat opposite each other at the end of one of these tables. No, No… they were told to join the other men and soon they were in the middle of the table joined on all sides by plumbers, electricians, builders and mechanics.

Three bottles were placed between then, water, red wine and cider. Then came a basket of bread. A couple of minutes later two plates of langoustines (huge prawns). These were devoured with the cider. Then a huge piece of salmon with rice. After this was eaten the main course arrived, braised venison with vegetables, this was followed by cheese and then tarte aux pommes and finally coffee.

Mark and my father were totally bemused by the whole experience. There wasn’t a menu, food just kept appearing. At 2.00pm they could eat nor drink no more.  They noticed that no one paid in the restaurant. A couple of men got up to leave, they followed. The men paid in the bar and left to do their afternoons’ work. Mark went up to the bar, 20 euros please, the woman said.

Mark gave her 40 euros assuming the meal, wine and cider was 20 euros each.

‘Non, non,non, she said smiling, ‘It is 10 euros for each meal.’

What an experience. The restaurant has not been decorated in 30 years, the chairs are all odd and are at least 40 years old, the plastic table cloths, the designs on the plates are hardly visible due to years of dishwasher abuse but the place is clean and the food was amazing… and all for 10 euros each.

Mark and my father returned the next day. The experience was just as good but the food wasn’t quite so easy on the English palette, spam and diced beetroot followed by tête de veau! Every time my father visits France, they always go for a meal in the restaurant. I think not knowing what you will be served is part of the experience… but it is not always for the faint hearted!

If the REAL French experience is for you visit La Maison Bleue in this traditional French village in the heart of rural Brittany.

Immense and indestructible v polished and clever.

Today we were back at Saint Nazaire!. I hadn’t anticipated returning this quickly but we enjoyed the energy of the place so much we had to discover more. We are drawn to the docks once more. We head for the submarine pens and find a route up to the roof. The roof structure is incredible. With very little bomb damage it is all intact. The views across the docks amazing.

We drag ourselves away and head for the town centre. As Saint Nazaire was bombed to the ground in the second world war so all the buildings are new and everywhere reconstruction continues. The energy is infectious. The contemporary art gallery is showing an exhibition by Toby Paterson, Quotidian Aspect. We take a look and are not surprised that all the paintings and sculptures concentrate on architecture.

We return to the roof of the submarine pens with a picnic and once again enjoy the views and marvel at the massive feat of engineering that could not be destroyed when everything around it crumbled.

I think you may have guessed… we like Saint Nazaire !!

For some time (years!!) we have been talking about visiting Les Machines de l’île in Nantes. Nantes is just under an hour away so we head for Nantes.

We arrive at 2.00pm. The queue is circling round the building. Encouraged that so many people want to visit Les Machines de l’île, we join the queue. An hour passes and we reach the ticket office.

The Machines de l’Ile is an artistic project of artists of François Delarozière and Pierre Orefice. It is a blend of the invented worlds of Jules Verne, the mechanical universe of Leonardo da Vinci, and the industrial history of Nantes.

A heron with a 8-metre wingspan, carrying four passengers, flies over the great model of the Heron tree, planted in the middle of the gallery. Plants are in close contact with mechanical plants and animals of the canopy. You can be invited to take control of the inchworm or to fly over the model of the Heron Tree under the wings of the Heron.

You can also ride on the 12-metre high by 8-metre wide elephant. This mechanical elephant takes its passengers on an amazing journey on the Ile de Nantes.

The machines are very clever, the elephant very impressive, but it is all too polished, too clever. We prefer the  Univers du poète ferrailleur in Lizio.

Today we have seen two very different types of architecture/engineering. The immense indestructible submarine pens and then the clever moving machines at Nantes, with tiny intricate details executed to perfection.

I will return to Saint Nazaire.

 Today we visited Saint Nazaire. A working coastal town, maybe a city, it is certainly big enough. I like it. Everything is big. Huge industrial plant line the docks, massive cranes are working everywhere, diggers, building sites, regeneration on an enormous scale.

During the Second World War, the Germans built a huge dry dock which held, restocked and repaired their submarines. With fifteen submarine pens it was a massive engineering project which took 140,000 cubic metres of concrete. The British were very keen to destroy these pens but the German submarines were protected by a 3.5 meter thick concrete roof which protected them from British bombs. Reinforcement of the roof would continue throughout the war, always counteracting the technical progress that the Allies make regarding bombardment.

Unable to penetrate the concrete roof of the submarine pens the Allies turn to Saint Nazaire’s town centre. On the night of February 15th/16th 1942, Saint-Nazaire’s town center is bombarded for the first time. During the following year life for its inhabitants quickly becomes unbearable and by 1^st March all that is left of the town is a immense field of rubble, completely deserted, in the middle of which stands the massive silhouette of the submarine base, intact.

We head for the docks. The submarine pens are still there. Immense. We are blown away by the size and the sheer mass of reinforced concrete. We freely wonder through these submarine pens.

We then stumble across Escal’Atlantic. There is a ticket office and nothing else. What is it? No idea. We buy tickets and climb a gangplank. We are suddenly in the Normandie. We are in a true reconstruction of the Normandie Cruise Liner, built in 1935. For the next two hours we traveled through time and discovered what life was like on board the Normandie in 1935.

We will return to Saint Nazaire.

Quick trip to le Grand Blockhaus.

It is still half term in France, so 8.30 this morning we leave for Batz-Sur-Mer. Just over an hours’ drive and we arrive in this small coastal village. Coffee and pain au chocolat. We are revived.

Then on to the Grand Blockhaus, a German bunker. Built out of concrete into the granite coastline the architecture is very dramatic. It is the only one of its type in France. The building, which is 25 meters long with a maximum height of 17 meters and has surface area is 285 square meters. Being practically the only building on the plain, the bunker is disguised to look like a hotel. A false roof and a brick wall are built to hide the angular aspect of the façade. False windows are deceptively painted along the façade as well as false bricks and gables, in the style of a Normandy villa.

The bunker was manned by 21 men, including one officer.

Once inside the bunker, we see exactly how these 21 men would have lived. Space was at a premium, everything was extremely organized and living conditions would have been cramped, cold and damp.
We explored Le Grand Blockhaus for two hours and would recommend this trip to anyone staying in Southern Brittany.

We couldn’t leave without a walk along the Magnifique Côte Sauvage. This coastline is amazing, so much so that we ate our picnic on the granite rocks.

Loose weight the French way. Eat more Brie

Despite a diet stuffed with cream, butter, cheese and meat, just 9 per cent of French adults are obese, compared with our 23 per cent, and America’s colossal 31 per cent. The French live longer too, and have lower death rates from coronary heart disease – in spite of those artery-clogging feasts of cholesterol and saturated fat. This curious observation, dubbed ‘the French paradox’, has baffled scientists for more than a decade. And it leaves us diet-obsessed Brits smarting.

So how do they do it ?

Forget diets, they are no fun and don’t work. I have never know a French woman on a diet.

Eat sitting down. In France, 76 per cent eat meals they have prepared at home; the favourite place to eat both lunch and dinner is in the home, with 75 per cent eating at the family table. In the UK, by contrast, we like to eat our meals (a) standing up, (b) in front of the television, (c) at a desk while catching up on emails or (d) by the side of the M25.

Take your time. Whereas the French typically spend two hours over lunch, we bolt down our food in the time it would take them to butter a petit pain.

French food is real food – prepared in the kitchen, with time taken to choose, buy and prepare meals. In England, we eat more pre-prepared foods and ready-meals; we eat fast food both in and outside the home.

Food experience. Compare our ‘food experience’ to that of the French: the time that the average British family takes to prepare a meal has shrunk from two hours to 15 minutes in the past few years.

Seasonal food. The French will only eat seasonal food. There was once an outcry at the school when the school lunch had a tomato starter in January.

Lay off the processed foods. The UK has aisles and aisles of processed ready meals. These just don’t exist in France.

Smaller portion sizes. French people, exercise strict portion control. A croissant in Paris is one ounce, while America it’s two.

Quality not quantity. After every meal a French woman will restrict herself to one square of very good chocolate with an impossibly high cocoa percentage. Sugar laden chocolate bars don’t exist in France.

Stop snacking! The UK snack industry is worth £9 billion a year, with speedy growth in such crazy sectors as ‘hand-held snacks’, ’snacks on the go’ and ’snack kits’ to service our new grazing, table-less culture. This snacking culture just does not exist in France. One reason for this is that their fat-rich diet stimulates the production of cholecystokinin, a satiety signal which promotes an extended sense of satisfaction after eating even small amounts of high-fat foods. Brie-eaters stay fuller longer.

Good knickers. If all else fails by some good supportive knickers. In Paris there are almost as many lingerie shops as boulangeries!

French Kissing

Kissing in France is terribly complicated. Do you kiss on one cheek, both cheeks, three times or four times?

Technically, I suppose, it is not actually a kiss, cheeks are touched and a kissing sound is made. In some parts of France I believe one or even three kisses are exchanged, but in Brittany it is either two or four. Phew, the possibilities are halved!

There are some ‘rules’, but I find these change from one day to the next. It is a little easier for men as they only have to worry about the women, men with men always shake hands. The general rule is, if you don’t know someone very well or if they hold a responsible or respectable job, like the mayor, a lawyer or a doctor then you always shake hands. NEVER try and kiss your childs’ teacher. Huge mistake!!  If you know someone quite well you kiss them on both cheeks. Very good friends and family kiss four times.

I am finding that some French women are getting a bit bored with all this kissing. If you are the last woman to arrive at a meeting or social event it can take you fifteen minutes to kiss everyone!. Women are now more likely to say, ‘Bonjour tout le monde.’

There are some embarrassing situations which will happen…..
If you wear glasses beware, especially if the person you are kissing also wears glasses. It can get a bit clanky !!
Yesterday, when you met you kissed, today you launch towards her left cheek only to be presented with a handshake. You are now off balance and fall into her arms.

I have two pieces of advice. The first is to arrive at any meeting or social gathering early. It is then up to the people arriving after you to approach you with either a handshake or a kiss.

The second is to forget how you were greeted yesterday or last week, it will be different this time.

Far Breton. The taste of Brittany.

Now, I admit that this cake does not look the most appetizing, but it is one of my favourite Breton pudding

Far Breton is a traditional cake or dessert from the Brittany region in France. Its base is similar in composition to a clafoutis batter: a flan-style eggs-and-milk custard with flour added. Prunes or raisins are often placed in the dish and then the custard mixture is poured over the top.

Nothing beats a fresh slightly warm Far Breton, they are best eaten the same day as the texture can become a bit rubbery the next day.

When visiting Brittany, if you come across a Far Breton in your local boulangerie, give it a try….

Mademoiselles will exist no more.

The term mademoiselle may be a thing of the past.

I’ve always rather liked the term mademoiselle, the French rather chic equivalent of Miss.

In order to simplify the huge numbers of forms that the French authorities require, it has been suggested that the mademoiselle ‘tick’ box is eliminated, so all women become Madame regardless of age or marital status.

I am not quite sure by how much, removing one small box from the very long and complicated French forms will simplify the bureaucratic process…

Is the requirement to preserve the French culture or to eat more calcium?

Joe has just had his bi annual school medical.

The school doctor noted his height and weight in his ‘Carnet de Sante’, his medical book. The doctor then checked his eyesight, hearing and his spine. All fine. After a quick check that his vaccinations were all up to date, Joe was asked some questions about his daily life.

What time did he get up and go to bed?
Did he have a television or computer screen in his bedroom?
Does anyone smoke at home?
What does he drink with his meals?
How often did he eat cheese?  It was all going so well….. Joe answered, ‘From time to time.’

The doctor put down her pen, ‘Not after every meal?’ ‘Well, no’, replied Joe.

The doctor, visibly shocked that I could be responsible for the malnourishment of my child. Very coldly, she said, ‘I strongly recommend that your child has a portion of cheese after his lunch and dinner.’ The half a pint of milk he has for breakfast clearly wasn’t enough calcium for one day. But… is this about the calcium or is it about French culture, encouraging children to enjoy a cheese course from a very young age?

We start to organise Reminiac’s big event of the year

We have barely taken down the village Christmas decorations and yesterday evening a meeting was called to organise one of Reminiac’s big events of the year, the Vide Grenier (car boot sale)!

Following the success of Reminiac’s first Vide Grenier last year, there is much enthusiasm to repeat this success.

The presidente of the Vide Grenier Association started the meeting by passing round a list of tasks and inviting everyone to volunteer for a task, or two..

There then was much debate ..should we charge by the linear metre or for each car that wants to sell from their boot?, but how much do you charge a camping car?

After much debate it was agreed that the fairest way would be to charge per linear metre.

Be careful what you idly wonder….

I don’t recall seeing many overhead electricity or phone lines in England, but having said that I do head straight for a pretty large town just outside of London.

Maybe rural England is different.

Rural Brittany is very different!, there are overhead cables for everything!!.. and what a maintenance nightmare. Each year an especially designed tractor with huge loppers patrol the small country lanes chopping down any branches that are getting to close the to cables.

Thursday morning I followed a tractor  ‘doing the rounds’ in Reminiac, and I wondered, ‘Those loppers are huge, they must sometimes get the cables by mistake….’

Be careful what you wish for! We have been without a phone line for 4 days !!…..at last,  we are now back on line…