Unfortunately it seems impossible not to write this post.
There is a Lycee in the road that I live and over the last few days they have been 'striking'. They are answering a call from the unions asking them to strike against the pension reforms. I don't want to get political in a blog that is supposed to be about the lighter side of life but the pension reforms and the strikes and manifestations are big news here.
Last week the girls from work went on strike, leaving just 3 of us working and a whole lot of parents resigned to looking for alternative childcare for the day.
When asked by my colleagues why I was not striking, I tried to explain that I have 19 years of pension rights tied up in the UK that I will no be able to access until I'm 67, so even if I stay in France and retire at 60, I will only be able to claim what I have earnt in France, which will not equate to full pension. The whole idea of contributing to your pension plan was also an alien concept. In fact amongst my friends the strikes are only getting the support of the French, as most other nationalities are already having to work beyond 62 before they can retire. It has sparked some interesting debates on facebook and in the bars.
Calling out the students seems to be a desperate effort by the unions who have seen dwindling support for the strikes over the last few months. While most people will only strike on the day called by the unions (in order not to lose too much pay) the students have the luxury of striking as often as they want - though the realization that they are jeopardizing their own education and therefore (in exam obsessed France) the chances of going on to getting a good degree and a job and therefore more pension, seems to be lost on them.
The local students first went on strike last Tuesday, this involved a group of between 70/100 standing outside the school and shouting, trying to intimidate those in the school. Over the days it has gradually got more violent. It started with the bins being kicked down the street, then setting light to them. Then the bottle banks were upturned and rolled down the street. This continues till about 10am each morning, then they all head down to Place Bellecour and set light to more bins there.
Yesterday it turned nasty and the riots began in Lyon. It started with the students outside my apartment turning over cars and setting light to them as well as smashing the windscreens of others. Eventually the riot police arrived, to the obvious relief of the 4 or so Police Municipal and the crowd dispersed to Bellecour, setting light to another car on the way, as well as breaking shop windows and more windscreens. I have found footage of the incidents in my street on Youtube and the students are complaining that the wrong school was named in the news reports??
Today the riot police were waiting for them at 9am so not much happened outside here, but the students at the neighbouring Lycee set light to cars instead. Then the town centre turned into a war zone.
I had hoped that the manifestations of the striking unions - which are normally peaceful, would encourage better behaviour in the students. Unfortunately this was not so and I have looked on with horror at the scenes of devastation from central Lyon, tear gas, riot shields, looting, burning cars. What is happening to this beautiful city in the name of pension reforms?
Students - you have the right to strike but not to vandalise other people's property. Having, literally seen this develop from the very start, I can say that this is not the 'spirit of 68 revisited' as quoted by some of the foreign media. It is sheer bloody minded machoism of teenage youth.
Tuesday 19 October 2010
Sunday 10 October 2010
Visitors
When I first moved here all my friends were promising to come out and and see me, however visitors have remained thin on the ground and a rare sighting. Some people have been very honest and expressed a concern about having to speak French all weekend (they won't have to) and others keep promising but never seem to get round to booking tickets. Though a couple of friends have been amazing and regular visitors, bringing with them much needed supplies of teabags, bacon, sausages and marmite.
I think one of the problems maybe that I live in the city - you would think that this would be a perfect excuse for a cheap weekend city break, but I'm not that far south to make it a sunny escape in winter but far enough south to be unbearable in the summer. Also being in the city, I don't have a pool and shady patio for guests to lounge around drinking apero's and pretend they are living the French lifestyle (but I do have a great apartment with fantastic views..)
Having got that little moan out of the way I am pleased to report that after 11 months without so much as a hint of a guest on the horizon, I was positively inundated with visitors. Well, two and a dog that came for a city break while his owner went abroad for work.
The first had been working up in the Alps and came for a couple of days before going home. Unfortunately the Alps are not known for their supply of teabags, bacon or sausages but he was a 'great' visitor and did cooking and washing up duties without prompting or hinting. In fact it was lovely to come home from work and find dinner all ready prepared. Then, no sooner had I put him on a bus to the airport, I was back at the station collecting visitor no 2.
He arrived fresh from Gatwick and had a plentiful supply of pork products and a rather amusing story of being interrogated by the security people at the airport about what was in his luggage. I can see how a packet of sausages could look like a bundle of dynamite sticks in an x-ray machine.
It is fun having visitors, not just catching up on the news and the gossip from home over bacon sandwiches but also a great way to rexplore the city and do things that you don't normally do as a resident. Just as you start getting jaded about where you live and start only seeing the pollution, the traffic and striking transport workers, you can see it through a pair of fresh eyes and see the beauty of the place again. I teased visitor 2 about going to see a wall. He is a builder but even he didn't seem thrilled by the prospect of 'a wall' - till he saw what must be one of the most striking pieces of trompe l'oeil ever. It was also fun just sitting by the river and having a drink in the sun. This was made even better as he was getting texts saying how miserable the weather was in the UK!!
It was sad to see everyone go, though I still had the company of a 6 month old puppy for a few days. I say 6 months old - but he weighs 26 kilos and still thinks he's teeny tiny when tries to sit in your lap! Now even he has gone and I have the place to myself again, awaiting the next visitors (whenever that may be) and getting used to doing my own washing up again.
I think one of the problems maybe that I live in the city - you would think that this would be a perfect excuse for a cheap weekend city break, but I'm not that far south to make it a sunny escape in winter but far enough south to be unbearable in the summer. Also being in the city, I don't have a pool and shady patio for guests to lounge around drinking apero's and pretend they are living the French lifestyle (but I do have a great apartment with fantastic views..)
Having got that little moan out of the way I am pleased to report that after 11 months without so much as a hint of a guest on the horizon, I was positively inundated with visitors. Well, two and a dog that came for a city break while his owner went abroad for work.
The first had been working up in the Alps and came for a couple of days before going home. Unfortunately the Alps are not known for their supply of teabags, bacon or sausages but he was a 'great' visitor and did cooking and washing up duties without prompting or hinting. In fact it was lovely to come home from work and find dinner all ready prepared. Then, no sooner had I put him on a bus to the airport, I was back at the station collecting visitor no 2.
He arrived fresh from Gatwick and had a plentiful supply of pork products and a rather amusing story of being interrogated by the security people at the airport about what was in his luggage. I can see how a packet of sausages could look like a bundle of dynamite sticks in an x-ray machine.
It is fun having visitors, not just catching up on the news and the gossip from home over bacon sandwiches but also a great way to rexplore the city and do things that you don't normally do as a resident. Just as you start getting jaded about where you live and start only seeing the pollution, the traffic and striking transport workers, you can see it through a pair of fresh eyes and see the beauty of the place again. I teased visitor 2 about going to see a wall. He is a builder but even he didn't seem thrilled by the prospect of 'a wall' - till he saw what must be one of the most striking pieces of trompe l'oeil ever. It was also fun just sitting by the river and having a drink in the sun. This was made even better as he was getting texts saying how miserable the weather was in the UK!!
It was sad to see everyone go, though I still had the company of a 6 month old puppy for a few days. I say 6 months old - but he weighs 26 kilos and still thinks he's teeny tiny when tries to sit in your lap! Now even he has gone and I have the place to myself again, awaiting the next visitors (whenever that may be) and getting used to doing my own washing up again.
Sunday 19 September 2010
Journees du Patrimoine
Really do need to work out how to do French accents on an Qwerty keyboard.
This weekend was the heritage open days in Lyon and I'm guessing France and the rest of Europe as well, and I got the chance to peep inside a couple of buildings that I've always wanted to go in.
The first one was the Hotel de Ville in the centre of town. I often walk past this rather grand building and catch a glimpse through the windows of big state rooms and chandeliers. It did not disappoint, there were chandeliers aplenty, frescos, silk lined rooms and parquet flooring. All very grand. The only other Town Hall I have really seen was Wandsworth Town Hall were I used to go to a lot for meetings and stuff when I worked for the borough. It was a 1930's building and quite classic in it's style and did also have some chandeliers and an awful pink marble staircase. The council chambers were staid and boring, so to see the frescos and chandeliers in the ones at Hotel de Ville was amazing. In many ways it seemed more like a home for the aristocracy than the the Town Hall, except for the fact you passed several huge photocopiers, a couple of coat racks and occasional recycling bins in the corridors.
The strangest room was the office of the Mayor - it had patterned silk lined walls (Lyon silk of course!!)and a huge traditional carved fireplace. Fine. But then the mayor's personal choice came into play with some 1960's modern art pictures on the walls (at best, lost against the pattern, at worst, clashing) and some quite modern funky furniture and it just didn't work, which was a shame.
The other building I visited was the Fort St Jean perched on the side of the Croix Rousse hill, overlooking the Soanne. Lyon used to be a walled city (with 3 large gaps were the rivers flow through) and there are the remains of several forts in a rough circle around the town. This fort was one of the first buildings I ever noticed in Lyon, as we drove past it in the lorry when we moved down here. It has amazing ramparts that seem to be shoring up the side of the hill and stopping it falling into the river. Later I used to walk past this building on my way to work in Vaise and always tried to peep inside the gates.
Now it is a school for the Tresour Public and stagieres are sent on week long training courses on how to balance (or maybe even cook) the books. I learnt today that it was restored at a cost of €13 million. It was worth it. There has been extensive use of concrete and glass to turn the old buildings into a useful working environment and this looks stunning against the traditional stone of the buildings and walls. Add to this the panoramic 180 degree views of the easterly part of town and you are left thinking - this wouldn't be a bad place to be a finance student!
I'm already planning which buildings I want to visit next year.
This weekend was the heritage open days in Lyon and I'm guessing France and the rest of Europe as well, and I got the chance to peep inside a couple of buildings that I've always wanted to go in.
The first one was the Hotel de Ville in the centre of town. I often walk past this rather grand building and catch a glimpse through the windows of big state rooms and chandeliers. It did not disappoint, there were chandeliers aplenty, frescos, silk lined rooms and parquet flooring. All very grand. The only other Town Hall I have really seen was Wandsworth Town Hall were I used to go to a lot for meetings and stuff when I worked for the borough. It was a 1930's building and quite classic in it's style and did also have some chandeliers and an awful pink marble staircase. The council chambers were staid and boring, so to see the frescos and chandeliers in the ones at Hotel de Ville was amazing. In many ways it seemed more like a home for the aristocracy than the the Town Hall, except for the fact you passed several huge photocopiers, a couple of coat racks and occasional recycling bins in the corridors.
The strangest room was the office of the Mayor - it had patterned silk lined walls (Lyon silk of course!!)and a huge traditional carved fireplace. Fine. But then the mayor's personal choice came into play with some 1960's modern art pictures on the walls (at best, lost against the pattern, at worst, clashing) and some quite modern funky furniture and it just didn't work, which was a shame.
The other building I visited was the Fort St Jean perched on the side of the Croix Rousse hill, overlooking the Soanne. Lyon used to be a walled city (with 3 large gaps were the rivers flow through) and there are the remains of several forts in a rough circle around the town. This fort was one of the first buildings I ever noticed in Lyon, as we drove past it in the lorry when we moved down here. It has amazing ramparts that seem to be shoring up the side of the hill and stopping it falling into the river. Later I used to walk past this building on my way to work in Vaise and always tried to peep inside the gates.
Now it is a school for the Tresour Public and stagieres are sent on week long training courses on how to balance (or maybe even cook) the books. I learnt today that it was restored at a cost of €13 million. It was worth it. There has been extensive use of concrete and glass to turn the old buildings into a useful working environment and this looks stunning against the traditional stone of the buildings and walls. Add to this the panoramic 180 degree views of the easterly part of town and you are left thinking - this wouldn't be a bad place to be a finance student!
I'm already planning which buildings I want to visit next year.
Sunday 12 September 2010
The Braderie
When wandering uphill yesterday to meet a friend, the Place de la Croix Rousse came into view as well as not just one but two churros vans. My heart sank to my feet. 'But the fair's not due for another month!!' I protested to myself.
Fortunately closer examination showed that it was not the fair but the annual Braderie. This is a mixture of fun and frustration. The second weekend in September the main streets of Croix Rousse are closed off (and the carparks) and stalls are set up selling wares and goods of all descriptions. Also certain areas are turn into giant junk sales aka the Vide-Brocante (The garage sale concept wouldn't work in Lyon as all the garages are underground, and as for a carboot sale - there isn't the space.) People come from all over Lyon as well as the locals who - let's be honest, can't really avoid it. It is quite a party atmosphere.
A walk along the Grande Rue and you pass stalls selling clothes, costume jewelry, cheese & saussison, make up, soaps and lotions, Asian tie dye, baby clothes, handbags, posters, wonder mops (as seen on TV) as well as numerous devices designed to make food preparation easier and prettier - each one with a young man chatting into a microphone while slicing and dicing cucumbers, tomatoes etc, all the while knowing that the product they are selling will be used a couple of times before ending up in the back of the cupboard.
The Braderie is great fun if you have the time to drift along slowly and poke your nose into the stalls as you go past and chatter with your mates, collect leaflets from touts etc. Even better if you can install yourself a table at the pavement cafe and watch it all drift by you while you sip at an apero. It is a nightmare if you just want to 'pop' into somewhere to get something, as the crowds are huge and slow moving. It is also a nightmare to park, as the friend I was meeting found out.
However we did manage to find a table, consume a drink or two as well as chat with various friends and neighbours who walked past. The sun was shining, there was a slight breeze - it was perfect weather and a lovely way to spend the late afternoon. That was until I remembered I had to pop into Carrefour for the missing ingredients for the evening meal!
Fortunately closer examination showed that it was not the fair but the annual Braderie. This is a mixture of fun and frustration. The second weekend in September the main streets of Croix Rousse are closed off (and the carparks) and stalls are set up selling wares and goods of all descriptions. Also certain areas are turn into giant junk sales aka the Vide-Brocante (The garage sale concept wouldn't work in Lyon as all the garages are underground, and as for a carboot sale - there isn't the space.) People come from all over Lyon as well as the locals who - let's be honest, can't really avoid it. It is quite a party atmosphere.
A walk along the Grande Rue and you pass stalls selling clothes, costume jewelry, cheese & saussison, make up, soaps and lotions, Asian tie dye, baby clothes, handbags, posters, wonder mops (as seen on TV) as well as numerous devices designed to make food preparation easier and prettier - each one with a young man chatting into a microphone while slicing and dicing cucumbers, tomatoes etc, all the while knowing that the product they are selling will be used a couple of times before ending up in the back of the cupboard.
The Braderie is great fun if you have the time to drift along slowly and poke your nose into the stalls as you go past and chatter with your mates, collect leaflets from touts etc. Even better if you can install yourself a table at the pavement cafe and watch it all drift by you while you sip at an apero. It is a nightmare if you just want to 'pop' into somewhere to get something, as the crowds are huge and slow moving. It is also a nightmare to park, as the friend I was meeting found out.
However we did manage to find a table, consume a drink or two as well as chat with various friends and neighbours who walked past. The sun was shining, there was a slight breeze - it was perfect weather and a lovely way to spend the late afternoon. That was until I remembered I had to pop into Carrefour for the missing ingredients for the evening meal!
Sunday 5 September 2010
Food, glorious food...
Lyon is known as the gastronomical capital of France and famed far and wide for it's restaurants etc. Though this fact seems to have bypassed the cook at work and the pasta and rice are regularly overcooked.
What I have also noticed is how much my eating habits have changed over the last couple of years. Little changes taken one step at a time, that you don't really notice happening.
I saw some photos of my friend's holiday in the USA and the food portions were enormous!! Even in the UK they are bigger than in France. I now find myself eating smaller amounts of good quality food.
Also the food is far more seasonal here. OK, my regular supermarket is the street market where local farmers sell their produce, so therefore it is easy to do. The soft fruit glut is nearing an end - as demonstrated by the arrival of the Miribel plums and the autumn vegetables are beginning to make an appearance.
You never really see anyone snacking in France and I would now never dream of eating as I walked along the street. You can buy Mars Bars and Kitkats etc in the Tabacs but it is a minute display compared to the rows of sweets that are available in a UK newsagent, so minute in fact, you really have to look for them. Last time I was back in the UK, I was blown away by the choice and variety of different chocolate bars and how much space they took up in the shop. Also, here you can buy crisps etc in the supermarkets but not in the Tabacs, they are definitely eaten as an accompaniment with an apero and not as snack as you are waiting for the bus.
My taste for chocolate has now changed and I prefer darker and more bitter types, whereas before I was a Cadburys girl and I now find that too sweet. I did have great fun introducing the girls at work to chilli chocolate, which I think is a fantastic combination and occasionally available here.
Don't get me wrong, not everything about French food is great. It can be very bland at times and though a lot of herbs are used, not many spices are. As a nation they are quite wary of 'Foreign' food and tend to stick with what they know. This is changing in the larger cities and things like Sushi are making more of an appearance. It is still difficult to get a good curry. Friends of mine like to get on first name terms with the local curry houses so that the chefs will make the food more spicy and hotter.
Unfortunately this new style of eating has not made much of an impact on my waistline because there is a nemesis to the healthy, seasonal, smaller portion society. It's called cheese and the French do cheese incredibly well.
What I have also noticed is how much my eating habits have changed over the last couple of years. Little changes taken one step at a time, that you don't really notice happening.
I saw some photos of my friend's holiday in the USA and the food portions were enormous!! Even in the UK they are bigger than in France. I now find myself eating smaller amounts of good quality food.
Also the food is far more seasonal here. OK, my regular supermarket is the street market where local farmers sell their produce, so therefore it is easy to do. The soft fruit glut is nearing an end - as demonstrated by the arrival of the Miribel plums and the autumn vegetables are beginning to make an appearance.
You never really see anyone snacking in France and I would now never dream of eating as I walked along the street. You can buy Mars Bars and Kitkats etc in the Tabacs but it is a minute display compared to the rows of sweets that are available in a UK newsagent, so minute in fact, you really have to look for them. Last time I was back in the UK, I was blown away by the choice and variety of different chocolate bars and how much space they took up in the shop. Also, here you can buy crisps etc in the supermarkets but not in the Tabacs, they are definitely eaten as an accompaniment with an apero and not as snack as you are waiting for the bus.
My taste for chocolate has now changed and I prefer darker and more bitter types, whereas before I was a Cadburys girl and I now find that too sweet. I did have great fun introducing the girls at work to chilli chocolate, which I think is a fantastic combination and occasionally available here.
Don't get me wrong, not everything about French food is great. It can be very bland at times and though a lot of herbs are used, not many spices are. As a nation they are quite wary of 'Foreign' food and tend to stick with what they know. This is changing in the larger cities and things like Sushi are making more of an appearance. It is still difficult to get a good curry. Friends of mine like to get on first name terms with the local curry houses so that the chefs will make the food more spicy and hotter.
Unfortunately this new style of eating has not made much of an impact on my waistline because there is a nemesis to the healthy, seasonal, smaller portion society. It's called cheese and the French do cheese incredibly well.
Monday 30 August 2010
Hog Roast
On Saturday we were invited out to the lovely countryside of the Beaujolais region (the 'nouveau' wine may be bad but the area is stunningly beautiful)for a Hog Roast - Ozzie/French style.
Our hosts were celebrating their marriage with barbecue to end all barbecues, well he is Australian. It was a very bilingual occasion and great fun. They have a house in the area which they inherited from her grandparents and is actually an old saw mill and the buildings that go with it. It was last used in the 60's and the wooden sheds have disappeared but a couple of the buildings remain. The local planning permission is that you can build on the footprints of existing buildings, so they are camping out in one, while restoring the other into what will be a stunning weekend place (incidentally about 3 times the size of their town flat.)
So back to the hog roast. A spit was made using an old washing machine engine and some Heath Robinson like additions and, of course, half an oil drum. Several trees were chopped down (OK - they had to go anyway) a pig, a sheep and 3 kegs of beer were ordered, their friends were invited and fingers and toes were crossed for good weather.
Us guests arrived clutching bowls of salad, bottles of wine and two sacks of bread, and proceeded to start on the alcohol. You will be pleased to know that it was mainly the men who hovered around the spit and debated how hot the fire was, adding more logs, basting the meat etc, while mainly women sat around the table and debated how men were the same the world over - give them a fire and leave them to it. The children were running around playing football, petanque or pirates and trying to skim stones across the river - awe inspired by the finely honed skills of my friend and her childhood spent by the sea in Ireland.
It was one of those great evenings when you catch up with old friends and meet new ones. I was also formally introduced to the boulanger who bakes the bread for the Creche I work in. It was one of those 'I know you but I don't know where from' moments but then the two sacks of baguettes were a big clue. Small world!
The weather held out, the food was eaten, the drinks were drunk, no children drowned and several hours later I went home, rather unsober and smelling of woodsmoke!
By the way, even though we were missing mint sauce and apple sauce, the pig and the sheep were done to perfection. Yum yum.
Our hosts were celebrating their marriage with barbecue to end all barbecues, well he is Australian. It was a very bilingual occasion and great fun. They have a house in the area which they inherited from her grandparents and is actually an old saw mill and the buildings that go with it. It was last used in the 60's and the wooden sheds have disappeared but a couple of the buildings remain. The local planning permission is that you can build on the footprints of existing buildings, so they are camping out in one, while restoring the other into what will be a stunning weekend place (incidentally about 3 times the size of their town flat.)
So back to the hog roast. A spit was made using an old washing machine engine and some Heath Robinson like additions and, of course, half an oil drum. Several trees were chopped down (OK - they had to go anyway) a pig, a sheep and 3 kegs of beer were ordered, their friends were invited and fingers and toes were crossed for good weather.
Us guests arrived clutching bowls of salad, bottles of wine and two sacks of bread, and proceeded to start on the alcohol. You will be pleased to know that it was mainly the men who hovered around the spit and debated how hot the fire was, adding more logs, basting the meat etc, while mainly women sat around the table and debated how men were the same the world over - give them a fire and leave them to it. The children were running around playing football, petanque or pirates and trying to skim stones across the river - awe inspired by the finely honed skills of my friend and her childhood spent by the sea in Ireland.
It was one of those great evenings when you catch up with old friends and meet new ones. I was also formally introduced to the boulanger who bakes the bread for the Creche I work in. It was one of those 'I know you but I don't know where from' moments but then the two sacks of baguettes were a big clue. Small world!
The weather held out, the food was eaten, the drinks were drunk, no children drowned and several hours later I went home, rather unsober and smelling of woodsmoke!
By the way, even though we were missing mint sauce and apple sauce, the pig and the sheep were done to perfection. Yum yum.
Tuesday 24 August 2010
Swimming
I quite enjoy swimming, but don't seem to do as much of it as I would like. One of the joys of living in a (slightly) warmer climate is that it is more tempting to go swimming and Lyon is blessed with a plethora of pools (quite a few are olympic size ones as well) but they all seem to have different and weird opening times - especially in term times when there is school swimming and hour long staff lunch breaks to take into account.
Several of the pools close in the summer, I suppose it must be too hot to go swimming and several close in the winter - 'Ah, it's -5c outside, time for a refreshing dip.' Having been so dismissive, there is a method in the madness in that the ones that close in the summer are the indoor pools and instead the city opens up the outdoor pools. There is something lovely about swimming in the open air as it automatically makes you think that you are on holiday, even if you are only putting in a few laps on the way home from work. Unfortunately for someone as unmotivated as me, the open air pools are quite a trek from my house, where as my local indoor pool is within walking distance.
Also in France and most other countries in Europe, there is a lot more freshwater swimming than in the UK. This makes sense, the UK is an island and a hot summer's day means a queue in a traffic jam down to the coast. Imagine trying to do that in a country as large as France. Consequently we don't really do lake and river swimming the way the Europeans do it. There is a large lake outside of Lyon, that is packed every summer weekend with families having picnics and barbeques. We also have several rivers in the area and there are plenty of places within an hour or so's drive that are safe and clean for swimming. (But they don't have fish & chip shops, rock and kiss me quick hats either) The other weekend I was swimming in the Rhone - anyone fancy going for a swim in the Thames? Doesn't quite bring up the same image, does it.
Then there is something even better than outdoor municipal pools or lake/river swimming. It is the friends who have their own pool in the back garden. I was fortunate enough to be invited to afternoon at one of these on Saturday. It was heaven, a quiet pool, lounging around in the sun, drinks available, catching up on the gossip. What more could a girl want?
Oh, a pool of my own!!
Several of the pools close in the summer, I suppose it must be too hot to go swimming and several close in the winter - 'Ah, it's -5c outside, time for a refreshing dip.' Having been so dismissive, there is a method in the madness in that the ones that close in the summer are the indoor pools and instead the city opens up the outdoor pools. There is something lovely about swimming in the open air as it automatically makes you think that you are on holiday, even if you are only putting in a few laps on the way home from work. Unfortunately for someone as unmotivated as me, the open air pools are quite a trek from my house, where as my local indoor pool is within walking distance.
Also in France and most other countries in Europe, there is a lot more freshwater swimming than in the UK. This makes sense, the UK is an island and a hot summer's day means a queue in a traffic jam down to the coast. Imagine trying to do that in a country as large as France. Consequently we don't really do lake and river swimming the way the Europeans do it. There is a large lake outside of Lyon, that is packed every summer weekend with families having picnics and barbeques. We also have several rivers in the area and there are plenty of places within an hour or so's drive that are safe and clean for swimming. (But they don't have fish & chip shops, rock and kiss me quick hats either) The other weekend I was swimming in the Rhone - anyone fancy going for a swim in the Thames? Doesn't quite bring up the same image, does it.
Then there is something even better than outdoor municipal pools or lake/river swimming. It is the friends who have their own pool in the back garden. I was fortunate enough to be invited to afternoon at one of these on Saturday. It was heaven, a quiet pool, lounging around in the sun, drinks available, catching up on the gossip. What more could a girl want?
Oh, a pool of my own!!
Tuesday 17 August 2010
How hot is too hot?
When walking down the Grand Rue this afternoon, I overheard two women greeting each other and then straight away complain about the heat. If it hadn't have been for the fact that the conversation was in French, I would have thought myself back in my local High Street in South London.
However it does lead to the interesting debate about how hot is too hot. Yes, in the UK as soon as the thermometer hits over 20, everyone starts fanning themselves and complaining about how hot it is. Here in the (nearly) south of France, where the thermometer regularly hits the high 20s and above, you would expect more resilience amongst the population.
Today was a pleasant 27c - or so the flashing green sign outside the chemist informed me. Tomorrow will be the same - according the radio station playing in the background while I was in the shoe shop (It also pointed out that there is a traffic jam on the A7, along the Rhone, so you may want to avoid that area for the next couple of hours.) This sort of temperature is fine by me, though I do have to say that when walking up the hill, the shady side of the street is preferable to the sunny side. I find it a tad hot when it starts hitting the low 30s and when it hits the high 30s and above is when you will find me lying in a shaded room, with a damp cloth on my forehead and moaning like hell.
I feel I am acclimatizing well and as I said,the other day refused to go swimming as it was only 25c - I mean it was an outside pool!!!! Do you want me to freeze???
I still have a way to go though as several years ago, when working in Hong Kong, I realized I was sitting in the park, wearing a cardigan and it was 32c....
However it does lead to the interesting debate about how hot is too hot. Yes, in the UK as soon as the thermometer hits over 20, everyone starts fanning themselves and complaining about how hot it is. Here in the (nearly) south of France, where the thermometer regularly hits the high 20s and above, you would expect more resilience amongst the population.
Today was a pleasant 27c - or so the flashing green sign outside the chemist informed me. Tomorrow will be the same - according the radio station playing in the background while I was in the shoe shop (It also pointed out that there is a traffic jam on the A7, along the Rhone, so you may want to avoid that area for the next couple of hours.) This sort of temperature is fine by me, though I do have to say that when walking up the hill, the shady side of the street is preferable to the sunny side. I find it a tad hot when it starts hitting the low 30s and when it hits the high 30s and above is when you will find me lying in a shaded room, with a damp cloth on my forehead and moaning like hell.
I feel I am acclimatizing well and as I said,the other day refused to go swimming as it was only 25c - I mean it was an outside pool!!!! Do you want me to freeze???
I still have a way to go though as several years ago, when working in Hong Kong, I realized I was sitting in the park, wearing a cardigan and it was 32c....
Wednesday 11 August 2010
"C'est pas ouis, c'est oui."
For reasons that I haven't gone into and probably won't, I came out to France not speaking much more French than Bonjour. It seemed like a good idea at the time....
I have learnt quite a bit since then and am at that stage where I can understand a lot of what is going on around me but by the time I have formulated what I wanted to say to contribute to the conversation about giving up smoking, everyone has moved onto a different topic and is now discussing the merits of the cotes de rhone 06 over the bordeaux 08. It's wine, drink it!!!
The first French I learnt was market French, we have an amazing street market in Croix Rousse, it really is a gastronomical marvel. I know everyone will get defensive over their particular local markets but the sheer size and breadth of this one has to be seen to be believed. Through listening to other customers, I have learnt to ask for specific weights and measures of different items.
I then signed up for an intensive French course at a local language school and did 10 hours a week for two months. I took in a lot but as I was not using this on a daily basis it didn't become a habit to use. (At the time I was a nanny for an English family)
I then made the easy decision to stay in France and found a job in a bilingual creche. Easy peasy - I am a qualified childcarer and was being employed to speak English to the children. However it has been the place where I have learnt most French and I would like to give a big thanks to the French staff who have patiently listened while I got my tenses muddled up and done their best to understand my accent (which they are now quite complementary off)I still have a way to go, but these girls have given me the confidence to go out into the big wide world and use my beginners French. It is thanks to them that I was able to hold a long conversation in the chemists today about why a particular medicine wasn't working for me.
My other teachers have been the children, a lot of them come from bilingual households and, because we are in France their first language is French. Through them I have seen the way they learn a language more clearly and have been able to apply this to how I learn. Believe me it is so much easier than learning verb tables. I often use expressions were I don't know the literal translation but do know the context and spend hours looking up words in the dictionary and eventually realizing it is two words strung together or spelt differently than I imagined.
I am dyslexic and am now only realizing that it is possible to learn another language when I had struggled at school because teachers were more obsessed about spelling than working out whether I had understood the process or the concept being taught. I now know so much about words and their entomology and how they work together, it is truly an enriching experience, though I am still a long way off playing scrabble for 'fun'.
However, having said all that, it is still, quite hard to take a two and a half year old correcting you for saying 'Ouais' (Yeah) instead of 'Oui' (Yes).
I have learnt quite a bit since then and am at that stage where I can understand a lot of what is going on around me but by the time I have formulated what I wanted to say to contribute to the conversation about giving up smoking, everyone has moved onto a different topic and is now discussing the merits of the cotes de rhone 06 over the bordeaux 08. It's wine, drink it!!!
The first French I learnt was market French, we have an amazing street market in Croix Rousse, it really is a gastronomical marvel. I know everyone will get defensive over their particular local markets but the sheer size and breadth of this one has to be seen to be believed. Through listening to other customers, I have learnt to ask for specific weights and measures of different items.
I then signed up for an intensive French course at a local language school and did 10 hours a week for two months. I took in a lot but as I was not using this on a daily basis it didn't become a habit to use. (At the time I was a nanny for an English family)
I then made the easy decision to stay in France and found a job in a bilingual creche. Easy peasy - I am a qualified childcarer and was being employed to speak English to the children. However it has been the place where I have learnt most French and I would like to give a big thanks to the French staff who have patiently listened while I got my tenses muddled up and done their best to understand my accent (which they are now quite complementary off)I still have a way to go, but these girls have given me the confidence to go out into the big wide world and use my beginners French. It is thanks to them that I was able to hold a long conversation in the chemists today about why a particular medicine wasn't working for me.
My other teachers have been the children, a lot of them come from bilingual households and, because we are in France their first language is French. Through them I have seen the way they learn a language more clearly and have been able to apply this to how I learn. Believe me it is so much easier than learning verb tables. I often use expressions were I don't know the literal translation but do know the context and spend hours looking up words in the dictionary and eventually realizing it is two words strung together or spelt differently than I imagined.
I am dyslexic and am now only realizing that it is possible to learn another language when I had struggled at school because teachers were more obsessed about spelling than working out whether I had understood the process or the concept being taught. I now know so much about words and their entomology and how they work together, it is truly an enriching experience, though I am still a long way off playing scrabble for 'fun'.
However, having said all that, it is still, quite hard to take a two and a half year old correcting you for saying 'Ouais' (Yeah) instead of 'Oui' (Yes).
Sunday 8 August 2010
Summer musings
Time to play 'Spot the Tourist.' However, no points are awarded if they are carrying a Michelin guide vert.
Sunday 1 August 2010
What have the Romans ever done for us?
Been meaning to write about this for a couple of weeks now, so here goes.
Lyon was an important Roman city and, like in London, you trip over Roman remains all the time. For instance the square up the road was the junction of 5 important Roman roads and there is an amphitheatre round the corner. Interestingly enough the archeologists started looking for this amphitheatre over on the other side of the Croix Rousse hill. They had no luck, then some bright spark suggested digging in the Jardin des Plantes as that was where it was shown on the medieval maps. French archeologists 0 - medieval mapmakers 1.
There is an amazing complex of ruins up on Fourviere hill that has a Grand Theatre - the oldest in France and a smaller Odeum, built into the side of the hill, with amazing views down to the river and over the town. These have been partially restored and every summer a series of music concerts and performances are held there, Les Nuits de Fourviere. The content of these can be quite varied and this year I trooped up the hill on July 14th to see Mr I Pop and the Stooges. I had to hand over top of my bottle of water to the attendant before being allowed in. Do I look like someone who is going to hurl a bottle of water into a crowd????(I told someone who was going to a later concert about this and she cunningly took up a spare bottle top, hidden in the depths of her trouser pocket)
We then went to get a cushion (stone seats are very, very hard) and before we were allowed any, we were asked if we were going in the mosh pit or not?? Eventually we were reluctantly handed a cushion each. Fortunately my friend who turned up later brought us in some more!! Then we looked for two friends who had gone ahead - hindered by the fact the guy I was with has no mobile phone and I didn't have these guys numbers. Now, you would have thought that a tall Mauriatian guy would have been easy to spot in mainly white crowd but no. Then the thought dawned on us that perhaps they were in the mosh pit. Then our 3rd friend arrived (she with the extra cushions) and she had a mobile with one of their numbers on and yes, they were in the mosh pit. Us geriatrics decided to stay on the seats.
The concert was excellent fun (even though I was sightly disappointed that they didn't play their 3 best known numbers). Iggy was topless within a minute, there was crowd surfing aplenty and the French were seen to be toe tapping every now and then. For the last couple of songs Fourviere tradition took over and the cushions we had been sitting on were thrown onto the stage. 1000's of blue missiles being simultaneously launched into the air. It is a sight to be seen and shows that the French can have fun too. It happens at the end of every concert, no matter what type, jazz, classical, rock, even when I went and saw a film up there the cushions were thrown at the screen. Then suddenly at 10.25pm Iggy and the Stooges left the stage and that was that.
As we were leaving, the Bastille Day fireworks started, and it was suddenly clear why the Stooges had left the stage so promptly. The fireworks are set off on Fourviere hill and the noise boomed and echoed round the Grand Theatre. There was no way anyone could have played over the noise of these fireworks. Which leads back to one of the most interesting observations of the evening, how teeny tiny the speakers on the stage had been. I guess some of it must be improving technology, the rest was down to how good the acoustics are.
You have to hand it to the Romans, they knew how to build a good auditorium, just wish they had made the seats a bit softer!
(The sound quality is crap, but you'll see what I mean about the cushions http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iSe8tgMc2AU)
Lyon was an important Roman city and, like in London, you trip over Roman remains all the time. For instance the square up the road was the junction of 5 important Roman roads and there is an amphitheatre round the corner. Interestingly enough the archeologists started looking for this amphitheatre over on the other side of the Croix Rousse hill. They had no luck, then some bright spark suggested digging in the Jardin des Plantes as that was where it was shown on the medieval maps. French archeologists 0 - medieval mapmakers 1.
There is an amazing complex of ruins up on Fourviere hill that has a Grand Theatre - the oldest in France and a smaller Odeum, built into the side of the hill, with amazing views down to the river and over the town. These have been partially restored and every summer a series of music concerts and performances are held there, Les Nuits de Fourviere. The content of these can be quite varied and this year I trooped up the hill on July 14th to see Mr I Pop and the Stooges. I had to hand over top of my bottle of water to the attendant before being allowed in. Do I look like someone who is going to hurl a bottle of water into a crowd????(I told someone who was going to a later concert about this and she cunningly took up a spare bottle top, hidden in the depths of her trouser pocket)
We then went to get a cushion (stone seats are very, very hard) and before we were allowed any, we were asked if we were going in the mosh pit or not?? Eventually we were reluctantly handed a cushion each. Fortunately my friend who turned up later brought us in some more!! Then we looked for two friends who had gone ahead - hindered by the fact the guy I was with has no mobile phone and I didn't have these guys numbers. Now, you would have thought that a tall Mauriatian guy would have been easy to spot in mainly white crowd but no. Then the thought dawned on us that perhaps they were in the mosh pit. Then our 3rd friend arrived (she with the extra cushions) and she had a mobile with one of their numbers on and yes, they were in the mosh pit. Us geriatrics decided to stay on the seats.
The concert was excellent fun (even though I was sightly disappointed that they didn't play their 3 best known numbers). Iggy was topless within a minute, there was crowd surfing aplenty and the French were seen to be toe tapping every now and then. For the last couple of songs Fourviere tradition took over and the cushions we had been sitting on were thrown onto the stage. 1000's of blue missiles being simultaneously launched into the air. It is a sight to be seen and shows that the French can have fun too. It happens at the end of every concert, no matter what type, jazz, classical, rock, even when I went and saw a film up there the cushions were thrown at the screen. Then suddenly at 10.25pm Iggy and the Stooges left the stage and that was that.
As we were leaving, the Bastille Day fireworks started, and it was suddenly clear why the Stooges had left the stage so promptly. The fireworks are set off on Fourviere hill and the noise boomed and echoed round the Grand Theatre. There was no way anyone could have played over the noise of these fireworks. Which leads back to one of the most interesting observations of the evening, how teeny tiny the speakers on the stage had been. I guess some of it must be improving technology, the rest was down to how good the acoustics are.
You have to hand it to the Romans, they knew how to build a good auditorium, just wish they had made the seats a bit softer!
(The sound quality is crap, but you'll see what I mean about the cushions http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iSe8tgMc2AU)
So French
A gorgeous summer day, sunlight pouring into the lobby, French man collecting post from his letter box, he was wearing sunglasses which meant he had to put the lights on.
Saturday 24 July 2010
pride comes before a tough uphill cycle
I may not have mentioned it but I live half way up a hill. Not a little gentle slope type hill but a f**k off steep one, that has steps going up it in places instead of pavement (think San Francisco) I also cycle home a lot and try and kid myself and everyone else who looks at me in amazement when they realize I cycle home, that it is good for my heart! Hahahaha. Though if I am trying to impress some tall, dark, good looking stranger then I may omit (or play down the fact) I live half way up the hill, not the whole way! Also the fact that the route to my place goes uphill, a flat bit, more uphill, a flat bit, a very long uphill bit, a teeny tiny flat bit, and then another uphill bit (which I live part way up).
So, enough scene setting.
Last night I was cycling home and to my astonishment I over took someone on the second uphill bit.!!!!!!!! You cannot imagine how pleased I was with myself. I cycled along the next flat bit feeling Queen of the Hill.
Then came the extremely long uphill bit and my pleasure began to turn to panic. I could hear the guy getting nearer and nearer me (his padlock was clanking against his bike frame) Was I going to let him overtake me? Oh No. Pride kicked in. So I was doing my best to maintain a steady speed up the bloody hill. With a sigh of relief I zigged off the main road (or is a zag?) and continued up the hill, thinking he would go straight on and I could slow down a bit. When I hit the teeny tiny flat bit, I realized to my horror that he had zigged as well and was still behind me. No chance of slowing down.
I went into the last uphill bit, cursing him, as this meant that I had to cycle the entire way up to my front door, rather than get off at the crossroads a few metres before and walk the last few paces because otherwise he would go past me before I reached my door and it would look like I had given up ....
So I got to my front door, a sweaty, heavy breathing mess and made a big show of getting my keys out of my bag. The man cycled past and as I was pushing my bike through the door and thinking to myself 'Got away with that, well done.' I could see out of the corner of my eye the guy getting off his bike and starting to walk up the hill.
What's the betting he was thinking to himself 'Thank god she stopped there, I'd never have made it up the hill at that pace!'?
So, enough scene setting.
Last night I was cycling home and to my astonishment I over took someone on the second uphill bit.!!!!!!!! You cannot imagine how pleased I was with myself. I cycled along the next flat bit feeling Queen of the Hill.
Then came the extremely long uphill bit and my pleasure began to turn to panic. I could hear the guy getting nearer and nearer me (his padlock was clanking against his bike frame) Was I going to let him overtake me? Oh No. Pride kicked in. So I was doing my best to maintain a steady speed up the bloody hill. With a sigh of relief I zigged off the main road (or is a zag?) and continued up the hill, thinking he would go straight on and I could slow down a bit. When I hit the teeny tiny flat bit, I realized to my horror that he had zigged as well and was still behind me. No chance of slowing down.
I went into the last uphill bit, cursing him, as this meant that I had to cycle the entire way up to my front door, rather than get off at the crossroads a few metres before and walk the last few paces because otherwise he would go past me before I reached my door and it would look like I had given up ....
So I got to my front door, a sweaty, heavy breathing mess and made a big show of getting my keys out of my bag. The man cycled past and as I was pushing my bike through the door and thinking to myself 'Got away with that, well done.' I could see out of the corner of my eye the guy getting off his bike and starting to walk up the hill.
What's the betting he was thinking to himself 'Thank god she stopped there, I'd never have made it up the hill at that pace!'?
Sunday 18 July 2010
Summer in France
Now, I'm only really talking about Lyon here as it is probably slightly different in more touristy places but here goes...
On Friday, I walked up the hill (please note the 'up the hill', it was about 34 degrees and it is a steep hill.)to go to the local transport office - TCL, to pick up some bus timetables that I will be using a lot this summer. I arrived and the office was closed. It was only 10.30 in the morning - way to early for lunch, even a French lunch. I then noticed the sign on the door, helpfully pointing out that the office was closed. The reason given - because it was July. Not because of staff shortages, a strike, the aircon not working but because it was July (FYI it will also be closed in August too)
The annual French migration has began. For some reason everyone goes on holiday during July and August. Once the schools have closed, zoom, everyone goes. Lyon becomes a ghost town. People who can afford to, go away for the whole time or at least a month. Others make do with 2 weeks.
The first summer I was here, I was nannying for a couple who are both journalists. One of my French friends was amazed that I was not going on holiday in August because I had to work.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because the parents are working."
"Why aren't they on holiday?"
"Because they work for a 24 hour news channel."
"But why don't they go on holiday? It's August?"
"What part of 24 hour news channel don't you get?
As all the French go on holiday at the same time there is chaos on the roads and you get Red days - when you are advised to avoid the autoroutes, but everyone ignores these messages and sits in a traffic jam on the autoroute. (The one sensible thing that does happen on these days is that they ban lorries from the main roads.) You try and politely suggest to a French person that they may want to travel on a Friday or a Sunday to avoid the traffic and you get an incomprensible look and the explanation that they always travel on Saturday.
Then as everyone is away, everything closes. Transport services are reduced, libraries and other municipal services have shorter opening hours. Usually the little local shops manage it quite well and take their 2 week breaks at different times, so there will always be a bakers, pharmacy, bar etc open. Some of the larger shops remain open but suddenly shut at lunch time or earlier in the evening. Or if you are the information office of the local transport service, you close for 2 months. The 35 hour week and the fact that of your 5 weeks holiday you have to take at least two weeks together, takes some getting around. As the French go on holiday in France, I suspect the more touristy places like Corsica and Paris remain open, but I haven't been there in the summer time to find out.
There are usually several expats left as the big expat employers here are the 24 hour news channel, the RAC and the AA and Interpol. All needed throughout the year and of course the young, childless non-French have all worked out that it is cheaper to go on holiday outside of July and August!
On Friday, I walked up the hill (please note the 'up the hill', it was about 34 degrees and it is a steep hill.)to go to the local transport office - TCL, to pick up some bus timetables that I will be using a lot this summer. I arrived and the office was closed. It was only 10.30 in the morning - way to early for lunch, even a French lunch. I then noticed the sign on the door, helpfully pointing out that the office was closed. The reason given - because it was July. Not because of staff shortages, a strike, the aircon not working but because it was July (FYI it will also be closed in August too)
The annual French migration has began. For some reason everyone goes on holiday during July and August. Once the schools have closed, zoom, everyone goes. Lyon becomes a ghost town. People who can afford to, go away for the whole time or at least a month. Others make do with 2 weeks.
The first summer I was here, I was nannying for a couple who are both journalists. One of my French friends was amazed that I was not going on holiday in August because I had to work.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because the parents are working."
"Why aren't they on holiday?"
"Because they work for a 24 hour news channel."
"But why don't they go on holiday? It's August?"
"What part of 24 hour news channel don't you get?
As all the French go on holiday at the same time there is chaos on the roads and you get Red days - when you are advised to avoid the autoroutes, but everyone ignores these messages and sits in a traffic jam on the autoroute. (The one sensible thing that does happen on these days is that they ban lorries from the main roads.) You try and politely suggest to a French person that they may want to travel on a Friday or a Sunday to avoid the traffic and you get an incomprensible look and the explanation that they always travel on Saturday.
Then as everyone is away, everything closes. Transport services are reduced, libraries and other municipal services have shorter opening hours. Usually the little local shops manage it quite well and take their 2 week breaks at different times, so there will always be a bakers, pharmacy, bar etc open. Some of the larger shops remain open but suddenly shut at lunch time or earlier in the evening. Or if you are the information office of the local transport service, you close for 2 months. The 35 hour week and the fact that of your 5 weeks holiday you have to take at least two weeks together, takes some getting around. As the French go on holiday in France, I suspect the more touristy places like Corsica and Paris remain open, but I haven't been there in the summer time to find out.
There are usually several expats left as the big expat employers here are the 24 hour news channel, the RAC and the AA and Interpol. All needed throughout the year and of course the young, childless non-French have all worked out that it is cheaper to go on holiday outside of July and August!
Friday 25 June 2010
Men and quizzes update
Yep, got my phone call this week, asking if I was going to go to the quiz "Incase they ask a question about lavender or flower arranging." I kid you not, that was the reason given as to my presence being requested.
I turned up late as I had a previous engagement at a picnic/live concert of Irish music (will talk more about this on another post). All the lads were looking terribly serious and I was immediately inundated with unanswered questions - 'Who did Jude Law marry' 'What colour do Indian brides wear?' But did have a drink brought for me.
One of the funniest exchanges was around the question 'What word now used to describe a type of French restaurant comes from the Russian word for quick?' Our sports journalist team member said 'Bistro' which was generally accepted as correct, except by the Kiwi/English teacher team member who queried the entomology of the word. The reply was "No idea but he" (a nod towards the journalist) "is Russian."
We won the box of shite again.
I turned up late as I had a previous engagement at a picnic/live concert of Irish music (will talk more about this on another post). All the lads were looking terribly serious and I was immediately inundated with unanswered questions - 'Who did Jude Law marry' 'What colour do Indian brides wear?' But did have a drink brought for me.
One of the funniest exchanges was around the question 'What word now used to describe a type of French restaurant comes from the Russian word for quick?' Our sports journalist team member said 'Bistro' which was generally accepted as correct, except by the Kiwi/English teacher team member who queried the entomology of the word. The reply was "No idea but he" (a nod towards the journalist) "is Russian."
We won the box of shite again.
Parents really shouldn't cut hair
Yesterday at work one of the children was sporting a classic 'My father wouldn't pay money for a hairdresser, decided it couldn't be that difficult and so cut it himself' haircut.
The fringe was incredibly short and lopsided.
I guess everyone has had one of these haircuts in their lifetime. If not one of these, then the closely related 'My sister/brother got hold of a pair of scissors and decided it would be fun to cut my hair' haircut.
Whilst hiding laughter I did my best "Wow, you've had a haircut!! Looking good!" attempts and as the child concerned is just three and has no idea of hair fashion, he smiled and agreed and then pointed out his new t-shirt.
I guess as the other parent there is not much you can do in case like this (except go for a No1 all over) but to have a rant and then buy a hat for the child and hope his hair grows quickly!
Let's hope that for this child/parent concerned the lesson has been learnt and won't be repeated again....
The fringe was incredibly short and lopsided.
I guess everyone has had one of these haircuts in their lifetime. If not one of these, then the closely related 'My sister/brother got hold of a pair of scissors and decided it would be fun to cut my hair' haircut.
Whilst hiding laughter I did my best "Wow, you've had a haircut!! Looking good!" attempts and as the child concerned is just three and has no idea of hair fashion, he smiled and agreed and then pointed out his new t-shirt.
I guess as the other parent there is not much you can do in case like this (except go for a No1 all over) but to have a rant and then buy a hat for the child and hope his hair grows quickly!
Let's hope that for this child/parent concerned the lesson has been learnt and won't be repeated again....
Saturday 12 June 2010
Men and Quizzes
What is it with men and quizzes? They take it soooo seriously and often ignore a mere female in the process. Quizzes are very serious business here in Lyon and every anglophone pub has one - so from Monday through to Thursday you can go to a quiz. Some offer money prizes, others meals and drinks, others offer boxes of crap. Typically questions are asked in both French and English and I got into them as it was helping me learn French and a good way of meeting people.
The team I tend to play with is a flexible one, with different people playing each week, due to the odd nature of some of their working shifts, and generally speaking we do quite well at winning the box of crap and sometimes we win money and drinks. However it is a very male dominated team and each week there are only one or two females.
What gets me though is the way that the men talk over, ignore or completely put down suggestions from me, DESPITE sending me messages asking if I am playing the quiz that night?? Yep, I'm confused and not so vain to think that it is my stunning looks and company they want for the evening, these boys take the quiz very seriously and don't like carrying lame ducks.
Here are a couple of examples from last Thursday.
"Which hollywood actor has a pilot's license and flew his own Boeing 707 to South Africa for the World Cup this week?" I said "John Travolta" before the question had finished. My team mate who was writing the answers refused to put anything down until he heard the question in French (fair enough) but as no one had anything better and I was so quick with the answer, it was accepted.
Later there was a question on tall buildings - which they wanted to put down Empire State Building and this was where I went wrong - I suggested a possibility rather than going in with a statement. I said "Wasn't the Chyrsler building built before the Empire State?" Big mistake. it was completely ignored. (I was right). I then repeated this mistake with a question on which UN members vetoed sanctions by saying - "Oh, it could be Turkey as that would explain a headline I saw on the BBC website." The two journalists (who had not been working that day, nor it appears, been anywhere near a newspaper or the internet) went for Burma and North Korea (I was right).
I did get slight victory for the question "Which tournament started in August 2007, with a match between Tahiti and New Caledonia, which New Caledonia won 1-0." After much pursing of lips and deep frowning, especially from the sports journalist, I chipped in with "Is it the World Cup? Don't the qualifying rounds start years before?" This was initially greeted with negative comments and more frowning as they tried desperately to think of any other tournament - possibly some french DOM-TOM tournament, and probably because each week I cheerfully admit to my lack of sporting knowledge, before they admitted defeat and wrote down 'World cup 2010', as "We've got no other answer."
I guess the solution is to be the one who writes the answers on the quiz sheets, as then you have ultimate control and can put down whatever you want, which I did one week when they were debating whether it was the Jules Rimet or not. I just wrote down 'Oscar', as that was the right answer and left them bickering amongst themselves.
The team I tend to play with is a flexible one, with different people playing each week, due to the odd nature of some of their working shifts, and generally speaking we do quite well at winning the box of crap and sometimes we win money and drinks. However it is a very male dominated team and each week there are only one or two females.
What gets me though is the way that the men talk over, ignore or completely put down suggestions from me, DESPITE sending me messages asking if I am playing the quiz that night?? Yep, I'm confused and not so vain to think that it is my stunning looks and company they want for the evening, these boys take the quiz very seriously and don't like carrying lame ducks.
Here are a couple of examples from last Thursday.
"Which hollywood actor has a pilot's license and flew his own Boeing 707 to South Africa for the World Cup this week?" I said "John Travolta" before the question had finished. My team mate who was writing the answers refused to put anything down until he heard the question in French (fair enough) but as no one had anything better and I was so quick with the answer, it was accepted.
Later there was a question on tall buildings - which they wanted to put down Empire State Building and this was where I went wrong - I suggested a possibility rather than going in with a statement. I said "Wasn't the Chyrsler building built before the Empire State?" Big mistake. it was completely ignored. (I was right). I then repeated this mistake with a question on which UN members vetoed sanctions by saying - "Oh, it could be Turkey as that would explain a headline I saw on the BBC website." The two journalists (who had not been working that day, nor it appears, been anywhere near a newspaper or the internet) went for Burma and North Korea (I was right).
I did get slight victory for the question "Which tournament started in August 2007, with a match between Tahiti and New Caledonia, which New Caledonia won 1-0." After much pursing of lips and deep frowning, especially from the sports journalist, I chipped in with "Is it the World Cup? Don't the qualifying rounds start years before?" This was initially greeted with negative comments and more frowning as they tried desperately to think of any other tournament - possibly some french DOM-TOM tournament, and probably because each week I cheerfully admit to my lack of sporting knowledge, before they admitted defeat and wrote down 'World cup 2010', as "We've got no other answer."
I guess the solution is to be the one who writes the answers on the quiz sheets, as then you have ultimate control and can put down whatever you want, which I did one week when they were debating whether it was the Jules Rimet or not. I just wrote down 'Oscar', as that was the right answer and left them bickering amongst themselves.
Sunday 30 May 2010
I was going to write about the performances in the Eurovision song contest, but, well, we all saw it....
What has been interesting is different people's (and nationalities) views on it.
The British seem to be bored by the whole thing and who can blame us when we have terrible 'poppy' entries that are quite frankly emabarassing and completely out performed by the Turkish nu-metal entry. I think the apparent lack of interest is a self defense mechanism.
An Irish friend was so happy that a trip back home would coincide with the final as he would be able to party with his friends. They all seem to enjoy the kitschness of the show.
A Swedish friend said how last year she had gone round the bars in Lyon, convinced that they would be broadcasting the competition and was disapointed in her quest.
The French girls at work have made no comment on it at all.
The commentry on the French TV was fantastic and wonderfully biased. I tuned in slightly late and so wasn't exactly sure who they were, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves. From the begining they were actively telling the viewers to call their French friends in other countries and get them to vote for the French entry (which incidently had to win the prize for the most Classic Eurovision Lyrics) informing everyone it was song number 18 and the singer was 'Adorable!' Then there was a big debate on the gender of the Serbian singer and who can blame them? They were disapointed with the number of entries singing in English so gave high praise to those who sang in their own languages - especially the Portugese entry (they seemed to like her a lot), and were beside themselves when the Icelandic song contained French phrases.
One of them obviously spoke English and was translating, he did well on the prounciation of the Belgium singer's surname - Dice, though his colleague insisted on 'dix', but they both struggled with Niamh Kavanagh.
In true Terry Wogan style they moaned throughout the voting and talked about a 'Jeux Political' and everytime an obvious 10 or 12 points went to a neighbouring country it was accompanied with a 'eh voila!' Then they were in fits of giggles over one results presenter's dress, which they didn't recover from for 3 more sets of results.
For me personanlly the moment of the night wasn't Most Weird Costume - the Belarus butterflies or the Most Outrageous Use of Hair Extensions - Amenia, but seeing Graham Norton surrounded by Union Jacks. So European!
What has been interesting is different people's (and nationalities) views on it.
The British seem to be bored by the whole thing and who can blame us when we have terrible 'poppy' entries that are quite frankly emabarassing and completely out performed by the Turkish nu-metal entry. I think the apparent lack of interest is a self defense mechanism.
An Irish friend was so happy that a trip back home would coincide with the final as he would be able to party with his friends. They all seem to enjoy the kitschness of the show.
A Swedish friend said how last year she had gone round the bars in Lyon, convinced that they would be broadcasting the competition and was disapointed in her quest.
The French girls at work have made no comment on it at all.
The commentry on the French TV was fantastic and wonderfully biased. I tuned in slightly late and so wasn't exactly sure who they were, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves. From the begining they were actively telling the viewers to call their French friends in other countries and get them to vote for the French entry (which incidently had to win the prize for the most Classic Eurovision Lyrics) informing everyone it was song number 18 and the singer was 'Adorable!' Then there was a big debate on the gender of the Serbian singer and who can blame them? They were disapointed with the number of entries singing in English so gave high praise to those who sang in their own languages - especially the Portugese entry (they seemed to like her a lot), and were beside themselves when the Icelandic song contained French phrases.
One of them obviously spoke English and was translating, he did well on the prounciation of the Belgium singer's surname - Dice, though his colleague insisted on 'dix', but they both struggled with Niamh Kavanagh.
In true Terry Wogan style they moaned throughout the voting and talked about a 'Jeux Political' and everytime an obvious 10 or 12 points went to a neighbouring country it was accompanied with a 'eh voila!' Then they were in fits of giggles over one results presenter's dress, which they didn't recover from for 3 more sets of results.
For me personanlly the moment of the night wasn't Most Weird Costume - the Belarus butterflies or the Most Outrageous Use of Hair Extensions - Amenia, but seeing Graham Norton surrounded by Union Jacks. So European!
Monday 24 May 2010
It is a lovely day here today and it seemed that all of Lyon were out and about. I was picnicing in the local park and watched with fascination a couple of different events that were going on.
Directly in front of us a family had strung up a tight rope and they were all practising hard, Mamon, Papa and their two daughters. It was quite amazing. There appears to be a technique just to get up and stand on the rope. After a couple of hours it appeared that the father and the older daughter had this sussed. Then to walk along the rope seemed to involve some manovre with the big toe but I wasn't close enough to see exactly what.
To my left there was a group of families with children in the 3-5 year age range and one bike. Yep, it was that time of teaching the children to ride without stabilisers. I really don't remember this episode of my childhood at all but I must have done it at some point as I now ride my bike around the streets all the time and don't worry about falling over. There seemed to be about 3 children taking in turns to 'ride' with various parents running alongside and shouting encouraging words 'Allez, ma puce!' 'C'est superb' etc. The parents also looked incredibly hot and sweaty (well it was about 26c). It amused me to think that the two sets of parents who did not own the bike, were probably cursing one set who had brought the bike along.
The thing that I did get from it all though was how easy it is for us to try something new, fail at it and walk away and yet all these people were showing me how important and how much pleasure you get from persisting and then succeeding - a little lesson I need in my life right now!
Directly in front of us a family had strung up a tight rope and they were all practising hard, Mamon, Papa and their two daughters. It was quite amazing. There appears to be a technique just to get up and stand on the rope. After a couple of hours it appeared that the father and the older daughter had this sussed. Then to walk along the rope seemed to involve some manovre with the big toe but I wasn't close enough to see exactly what.
To my left there was a group of families with children in the 3-5 year age range and one bike. Yep, it was that time of teaching the children to ride without stabilisers. I really don't remember this episode of my childhood at all but I must have done it at some point as I now ride my bike around the streets all the time and don't worry about falling over. There seemed to be about 3 children taking in turns to 'ride' with various parents running alongside and shouting encouraging words 'Allez, ma puce!' 'C'est superb' etc. The parents also looked incredibly hot and sweaty (well it was about 26c). It amused me to think that the two sets of parents who did not own the bike, were probably cursing one set who had brought the bike along.
The thing that I did get from it all though was how easy it is for us to try something new, fail at it and walk away and yet all these people were showing me how important and how much pleasure you get from persisting and then succeeding - a little lesson I need in my life right now!
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