Beaujolais Neuv'owww'

If you are talking to anyone from Lyon this weekend, be gentle and speak softly, as the Lyonnais are showing their annual ability to never let bad wine get between them and a good party.
Yes, Le Nouveau est arrivé.

It is said that Lyon has 3 rivers - the Saône, the Rhône and the Beaujolais, and celebrations are being held all weekend.
Officially it was released just after midnight yesterday, though it was available from the shops on Wednesday. When I asked about this I was told that you're not supposed to open it till after midnight. Hmmmm.
I have to admit it is a great piece of marketing, everyone knows about the Nouveau, and there are special menus, degustations, even chocolates.  It is exported around the world, Japan imports large quantities and in the US it is drunk with many a Thanksgiving meal, there are cross Channel races and even a marathon around 11 of the Beaujolais villages but the undeniable fact remains that it is a bad wine.

So last night I was given a teeny, tiny glass to taste. I was happy to stop after one sip but Guillaume made me drink it all and because of that, I have an amazing hangover today. (Which, indecently, has nothing to do with the vodkas, mojitos and shooters I consumed till the wee small hours of the mornings.)

Dressing Up

One thing the French do really well is dressing up.
At the crèche we have numerous dressing up days - the Carnival on Mardi Gras, animals for African week, Halloween, Christmas etc. Also there tends to be a theme and everyone sticks to it, no Buzz Lightyears turned up on the animal dressing up day!

It isn't just for children either.
In Lyon, Halloween is a big event for adults too. I think it is greatly helped by the fact that the 1st Nov is always a bank holiday, which means everyone goes out on the night itself. This year I was invited to 4 different events (I was impressed with myself that I got to 3 of them!)
The first was a Zombie March - an apero at a friends' before marching, en mass, to the bar. I spent a while zombiefying myself chez moi, before walking 3 mins down the road to their apartment. I was unimpressed though, as several people walked passed me and no one made any comments, they must have been blind!
The party was in full swing when I arrived with, zombies everywhere. I took loads of photos and honestly, it looks as if we were all at the most depressing party ever, because we were all practicing our 'dead' faces, not a smile to be seen.
After a few drinks and pumpkin cupcakes, it was approaching midnight, so the march began. Armed with the remaining drinks from the fridge, we set of to the bar, stopping for a quick photo call on the way. This time we were noticed, well 20 odd zombies (and some of us were very odd - a male, zombie nun for starters) walking along the street is hard to miss.

The mood in the bar was good, with plenty of other zombies, witches, wizards, vampires, ghouls and ghosts socializing over a drink or 3. There was a ghost buster but fortunately he seemed powerless after a couple of drinks. What I loved was that everyone had a Halloween theme and ok, apart from a couple of girls in cat suits, everyone was embracing the 'horror' element of the theme.
Most of the bars in Vieux Lyon had some Halloween theme going on and people were wandering between them all on some sort of ghost pub crawl. There were spider's webs and carved pumpkins everywhere and a fantastic party atmosphere. The band playing at the bar did a few 'spooky' songs at the end of their set and finished with a fine rendition of ''Ighway to 'ell' that had the whole place jumping.
After the bar closed, we went upstairs to another party (with the remainder of the bottles from the fridge). I was proudly shown the kegs of beer and beer pumps they had set up - well they do live above a bar, and the partying continued. Around 3.30 we called it a night and started off home. Although there were only a couple of us wandering along the river, and our make up was wearing off, we still caused amusement and fear on our way!

Never piss off a physiotherapist.

So, as well as a bucket load of painkillers for my poorly back, the Dr also prescribed sessions with the physio.
Being me, I asked around for recommendations, ignored them all and went to the cabinet de kinésithérapie on the ground floor of my block of flats. The Kiné I got appointed is a tiny little thing, all of 5 foot nothing in her Birkenstocks. The first session, she asked what I had done and then got me to lie on the bed and gave me a massage. it was the first time ever I have been on a massage bed that then got lowered rather than raised to the physio's hight. The next couple of times I got the same massage treatment and comments on how my back muscles were loosening up nicely.
Then I must have pissed her off somehow. Maybe it was because I was a little late - in my defense it is hard to judge the volume of traffic on the staircase, because when I turned up, she didn't let me go into her room, oh no, she pointed me in the direction of the gym room. Before I knew it, I was lying on my back and being made to do weird and impossible things with a huge gym ball. This was not helped by the fact I was wearing jeans.
While this half hour of progressively more difficult exercises progressed, I couldn't help but notice 3 people sitting in a jacuzzi in the adjoining room. Part of me wanted to burst in there and demand what sort of injury needed rehab that involved sitting in a hot tub for half an hour, but I was to frightened of upsetting my Kiné any further in case she decided to make me suffer even more.
So I meekly made another appointment for another session and any hopes of it involving a nice back rub were dashed when I was walking out the door and she called after me to wear some sports clothes next time.

Drug Lessons 2

When you have been given a whole heap of drugs for a sore back, including codeine for the pain, and then find yourself hosting a new online group coaching course, don't chat to the 1st client who comes online (that you know well, who also lives in France and knows that Dr's give you loads of strong medication) about feeling doped out - which leads to banter between the two of you about other drugs including the words 'coke' and 'LSD', as you then may hear another little voice saying 'Hello?' as a new, completely unknown client joins the call.
Your professional image flies out of the window.

Drug Lessons 1

When you have been given a whole heap of drugs for a sore back, including one to be taken 1st thing in the morning and one to be taken last thing at night, make sure you take them at the right time, or you could find yourself falling asleep in the waiting room at the cabinet de radiologie.

Extreme Pavements

The Montée de la Grande Côte does what it says on the tin and leads you in a rather straight and steep route up the side of the hill to the Croix Rousse plateau. A plaque at the bottom helpfully informs us that it used to have a huge sewer running down the middle of it when it was the major route up the hill to the silk weaving district but, be reassured, it has been tarted up a lot since then and has even got funky new pavements.

In the seventies there was a great uproar when several Medival and Renaissance buildings were deemed beyond repair and pulled down. This area (near the top) has been made into a park area, with views down the hill. However the demolition sparked a major restoration project both on the Croix Rousse hill and in Vieux Lyon and this eventually led to the designation of a UNESCO world heritage site in 1998.
Nowadays you can see wonderful architecture as you go up and down a pedestrianized street, there are a couple of bars and cafes, as well as plenty of boutiques and workshops that help reflect the history of the area. On a weekend, red faced and slightly sweaty tourists plod up the hill, in fact it is so steep that there are parts of it that are staircases and other parts that have steps cut into the pavement.

It was one of these sections that caused me soooo much pain today.

There I was innocently going to work at 6.50 in the morning, when I noticed the street cleaners were washing the pavement with gallons of water. Being aware of this I slowed my pace, not wanting to slip in the rivers of water washing down the hill. I reached a relatively dry bit and needed to take a road on the left, observed a stream of water and thought to myself 'Avoid that bit, it will be slippy' but somehow still ended up on my arse anyway.

So a scream alerted the 2 cleaners and a passing pedestrian that I was on my bum and in a tiny bit of discomfort and they came over to assist.
When asked if I was ok, I said that my knee and foot were hurting. I rolled up my jeans and showed an impressive cut on my knee and one of them said 'C'est vrai.' If I hadn't have been in so much pain, this would have annoyed me. Did he really think that I had artfully arranged the contents of handbag across the pavement, then sat millimeters from a stream of running water, sprinkled water on my jeans and then cried out as I was some sort of Munchausens suffer?
One of the cleaners then cheerfully informed that lots of people had slipped on these new paving stones but the Ville de Lyon was not replacing them as it was 'Trop cher'. I eventually made it down the hill and into work.
Then the adrenaline wore off and my back started aching, combined with the fact that the swelling on my knee kept on swelling and the realization that it was very difficult to bend over and place a baby in his cot, made me acknowledge that I had done some serious damage.

This being France it counts as an 'accident de travail' (as i was on my way to work), so everyone has been buzzing around trying to make sure that I'm ok. The Dr gave me a truckload of medicine (including one that may make me vomit blood), an appointment for an xray and a prescription for the physio to give me back massages.
I was fortunate enough to get an appointment tonight with the physio who made me twist and turn and basically inflict torture on me before she relented and gave me a back massage. She after reminding me to breathe as she worked on the more painful bits and watching me struggle to get off the couch, she remarked that the muscles in my back were tender. Why else did she think I was there??

So, my advice for today, if you're going to slip on a pavement, do it on your way to work, but be prepared for people stating the bloody obvious.

Le bus change

Anyone living in Lyon will have noticed the signs that have been up since the beginning of the summer informing us that on the 29th Aug the bus routes are changing. To be fair, there have been a lot of signs informing us these changes will be happening however very little in the way of information about what the changes will be.

The week before the big change, I noticed a little stall set up by the Croix Rousse metro, all decked out in red and manned by a couple of people wearing fetching 'Le Bus Change' red T-shirts. It was about 8 in the morning and as I was on the way to the gym I didn't stop. Fortunately it was still there on my way back, this time manned by 4 people. I had a little laugh to myself thinking that only in France could they think that 2 people could cope with the rush hour commuters and 4 people with the day time shoppers.
I went over and was asked if they could help. I requested a new map of the bus routes. This was met with some pursing of lips and a suggestion that she could tell me information on specific bus routes (and even recharge my monthly travel card) but she didn't have a map to give me. I pointed that it would be good to have a map that I could refer to when needed and she went off and asked the supervisor, who had a thick timetable of all the bus routes for his own personal use, but no maps. The only suggestion they had was if I wanted one 'urgently' I could go to the nearest travel office in Hotel de Ville. (The travel office in Croix Rousse being helpfully closed during the summer 'Vacances scolaires'.) I pointed out that it seemed a little bit strange that they had a stall offering verbal information but no maps or time tables and, in true French fashion, received a shrug in reply.

I was not really sure what they meant by 'urgent' but as it was only a few days till the big change, the next time I was passing an open travel office I picked up a map and, after studying it, found out that the bus I used the most often (the no 18 for anyone who is interested) as it formed part of my route to work, was having it's route cut and is no longer of any use to me. Hmmm
Since then I have noticed more of these little information stalls outside of metro stations and major bus stops and now they seem to be equipped with a steady supply of maps and relevant bus timetables. Obviously I was not the only one who found their method of information distribution rather odd and there have been changes.

Then the other day I received in my letter box, a new map and 4 free tickets. Fantastic. The only thing is, I got these on the 2nd September, a full 5 days after the new changes came into place..... ?????

Feeling hot, hot, hot!

It has been hot in Lyon ever since I got back from my holiday and I have not been able to much more than moan about how hot it is and debate whether I should move into the fridge.

A good indicator of the temperature is the chicken man in the Croix Rousse market. He has one of those rotisserie stalls that you buy ready roasted chickens from. In the winter he is Mr Popular amongst the other stallholders who seem to all drop by and have a chat with him. I'm sure the length of the chat is in direct ratio as to how cold it is. However if you walk past the stall in the summer it appears to be unmanned. Then you notice him about 3 stalls down having a chat with the cheese man or the fish man, who have refrigerated trailers for their products! Yesterday he appeared to be having a long chat with one of the meat guys so it must have been hot.

The French seem to have an aversion to aircon though and maybe for good reason as it is always rumoured that the machines are great breeding grounds for nasty things that can make you ill. 'La clim' is a constant source of debate in the gym between those who want it and those who don't. However doing Body Pump or Zumba when it's 37° without aircon is most unpleasant, so you can make an educated guess as to which side I am on!

This afternoon my friend and I met at the ice cream place in Place Sathonay to cool down with an ice cream and catch up on the summer news. We managed to cool down a lot because as we sat and chatted(and had our ice creams) the clouds rolled in, the wind picked up and the rain started to fall.

Parlez-vous espanaise?

Whenever I go abroad my brain registers that I need to go into foreign language mode and due to a 6 month stint of working in Madrid when I was 20, the default language used to be Spanish. Since moving to France it has obviously become French and Spanish no longer gets a look in. Also since moving to France my holidays have mainly been going back to the UK and a trip to Morocco, where the default setting of French worked well for me, the friends I was with (Can you get them to sort out our aircon please? Can you ask the waiter if we can buy a bottle of wine to take back to the hotel?) and the locals.

However this default setting proved to be hard to overcome when traveling round Central America. I would start in Spanish and then end up in French, as well as try and pronounce Spanish words with a French accent. Towards the end of my trip I went to a lovely beach town and was looking for accommodation. I came across a promising looking place and asked (in Spanish) if there were any rooms available. The charming man showed me round and while we were negotiating a price for a week long stay and I thought to myself “Wow, well done, you’ve been conducting this whole conversation in Spanish!” Then came the realization that actually we were both talking in French. So much for my improved language skills!

His name was Franck and he was from Vichy.

I never thought I'd say this but....

… there are times when I do miss France!

At the moment I am on holiday in Central America and to get here meant transiting through the USA. I had a 3 hour wait at Houston, and decided to get something to eat as a) I was hungry and b) I thought it would kill some time.

There wasn’t much choice beyond fast food so I ended up at a themed American Diner restuarant and was welcomed by Cindy, who showed me to my table. I was then greeted by Sandra who explained she would be my server as she handed me my menu. She left me to make my choice but was back within seconds to see what drinks I wanted. I asked for a beer and continued to look at the menu. She came back shortly with my beer and asked if I was ready to order. I felt a bit rushed but told her what wanted.

In no time at all Sandra was back with my food and hoped I would enjoy my meal. I was still hunting through my enormous plate to see if the chef had decided to put any lettuce leaves in with the salad dressing when she was back asking me if everything was ok and did I want anything else? To be honest it was all getting a bit intimidating and I just wanted to be left in peace to eat. However she returned a couple more times to check the food was ok and top my water.

As soon as I had put my knife and fork down, she was back asking if I wanted dessert. I couldn’t take the constant attention, so beat a hasty retreat. All in all I was in the restaurant for 30 mins top, so much for killing time.



It was a strange meal experience and not only was I amazed by the difference in quality and quantity of the American ‘food’ but I really missed the complete and utter indifference of French waiting staff.

Caught any good sins recently?

Not my story but too good not to post!

My friend was telling me that he had answered the phone recently and it was obviously someone trying to sell something as they were asking him about his household composition.
They then asked
'Has anyone fished recently?'
to which he replied
'No, it's not something that interests us.'
Said goodbye and put the phone down.

He later realized what they had actually asked and is pleased that he confused a Jehovah's Witnesses!

péché - sin
pêche - fishing

The day before La Fête Nationale

Now I know it had been a tough day at the crèche:
- it had been raining, so couldn’t get the children outside
- a leaving party, where all the parents seem to have contributed sweets
- being short staffed
- settling 2 new babies
- my yearly meeting with my boss, where I had to justify any potential payrise
However I didn’t expect to see 4 tanks (I think APC is the correct term) and 2 missile launchers pull up outside.
Top marks for the French army for being so thoughtful!

Back to Bac

The Baccalauréat results were out last Tuesday, commonly know as le Bac, and taken at the end of the Lycée, they are actually university entrance exams. I learnt a lot about them this year as two of the staff at work had children who were waiting for their results.
I won’t go into long facts about the exams as there is helpful page on wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baccalauréat

However there was great relief from Parent 1 when her son called to say that he had got his Bac. She immediately texted all known relatives and friends to pass on this news and was promptly inundated with congratulatory messages. Her son was ‘Mon cheri’ and could do no wrong.
During the lunch break the conversation turned to everyone’s Bacs and what marks they had got and in what subjects. Here I learnt the interesting fact that French exams are scored out of 20 and to pass le Bac you have to get a 10. This mark is the average of all the exams taken.
I was then asked to explain the UK exam and university entrance system. This was interrupted by the son calling his mum to ask if his celebrating friends could stay over that night. The son could still do no wrong and was told yes, of course they could. To which one of my colleagues dryly commented to Parent 1 that she should start getting prepared and put a sick bowl by each of the beds.

This whole conversation was watched by Parent 2, whose daughter had to wait till the evening to find out her results. This meant that Parent 2 could not take part in any of the glory of having a child who had got their Bac, though she did get as many comments in as she could about how confident her daughter was about passing.
We had staff meeting that night and Parent 2 arrived late and as our Directrice was in full flow, resorted to gesturing to everyone that her daughter had got her Bac too. Our Directrice still did not seem to think that this was a reasonable enough excuse for being late to the meeting though.

One thing about the results is that they are pinned on notice boards (or onto windows in the case of the Lycée up the road from me) for everyone to see. I think (being someone who struggled with dyslexia at school) that I prefer the envelope system, though that didn’t stop me having a look the list of results on my way to the market this weekend.
I have to admit to being impressed by the speed with which the results came back. The exams were taken during June around the same time as the UK ones, but the students (and parents) don’t have to wait so long in a state of anxiety as we had to (mid August). In a very a very French way, I guess this is so the students (and their parents) can go off and enjoy their long holidays in a state of glory or for the unlucky few – in the doghouse.

La fête de la Musique

Now please understand, I was hoping to be writing this entry about yesterday’s ‘La fête de la Musique.’ I was thinking that I would be able to tell you how Lyon (and all of France plus 100 or so other countries around the world) was a wall of different sounds celebrating the diversity of music. And that all of this music is free.

I thought I might be able to tell you how I was able to wonder around the town on my way home from work and stumble across different venues and performances. On this street corner there was a group of French rappers, round the corner a blues band was playing outside a restaurant, further up the road a rock band was playing on the terrace of a local bar, in the big places stages had been set up with official running orders of bands and DJ’s covering all types of music – world, classical, choirs, orchestras. Buskers had set themselves up on street corners. The huge brass band (that regularly entertains the weekend shoppers at the Croix Rousse market) was wondering around the streets of Vieux Lyon, creating noise wherever they went. That there was music by the rivers, music on the hills, music in the parks, in fact music everywhere.

I would have loved to have told you about all the enterprising people who had set up makeshift stalls on rickety tables, selling hotdogs, flatbreads and pizzas to the crowds. The bars and pubs who had set up outside beer taps and were selling cold drinks at outrageous prices. It would have been fun to let you know that all the bars were actually empty but the terraces and streets were packed with crowds of people listening to this huge outdoor concert. It would have been great to comment on the variety of people in the crowds, the young, the old, the children, the couples, the families, the grandparents, the groups of friends. I’d loved to have told you that I meet up with my friends and we wondered from place to place and that I saw some friends of mine play in a bar and how great they were. (I have seen them play before and they are great.)

It would have been informative to let you know that la fête de la musique started in France in 1982 and has been going strong ever since. Every city, town and village holds some event to celebrate the day. It is held on June 21st, being the 1st day of summer in the Northern hemisphere. It has gradually caught on internationally and is celebrated in countries as diverse as Vietnam and Namibia. Though some countries move it to the weekend, here in France it is always held on the actual day itself. The first one I celebrated a few years back was on a Saturday, which allowed great fun to be had by all into the early hours. I am also in no doubt that there are the diehard few who celebrate into the early hours every year!

But unfortunately I can’t tell you about any of this because due to the following disasterous combination I didn’t go.
I was on the late shift at work
I was on the silly o’clock, early shift this morning
It was pouring with rain and there were thunderstorms.
The rain didn’t stop everyone and I take my hat off to you if you did brave it out, party till the early hours and go to work this morning! Me, guess I’ll just have to wait another year.

Wedding Bells

I was fortunate enough to attend a French wedding last weekend. Actually, I’ll rephrase that, it was an international wedding held in France. As with all weddings it was a great day, the sun shone and the bride looked stunning and the groom looked dapper and everyone had a great time.

One lovely aspect of it was just how international it all was. The bride was half French, half Irish. The groom was French of Belgian descent. The witnesses were German, Canadian, English and ‘Un vrai Lyonnais’! The guests added even more to this hotchpotch of nationalities.

It was a very relaxed service and the mayoress explained about the tradition of weddings in France and how the doors had to remain open as the mairie is considered a public place and everyone is allowed to enter. She also explained about the wedding contract the couple had chosen to enter. It is like a pre-nup and a wedding rolled into one. (This has been a new concept to me and I first came across it when some English parents at work were telling me the difficulty that had had when buying a house. They had been asked which type of wedding contract they had and they had to explain to the notaire that they were just married, full stop.) During the service friends provided translations of what was happening for the non French speaking guests, which had its own comic moments. Then the bride and groom were married and we were released into the sunshine and the subsequent photo taking.

Apparently there was only one difference of opinion in the organisation of this wedding and that was over exactly what a 'wedding apero’ should be. Traditionally in France after the wedding at the mairie, you can then choose to have a church blessing (France being a secular country) and then there is the wedding apero, to which all the guests are invited. After an hour or so, the main wedding party leaves and goes and has a meal. This is in direct contrast to an English wedding, where the select few attend the meal first, then the big shindig is after that and goes on till late evening.
This wedding was slightly unusual in that the meal was first and then the apero in the evening and this is what lead to the apero’tiff’, as the bride later referred to the argument. The groom was convinced that everyone would respect that it was a wedding apero and leave after a couple of hours. The bride was insistent that various guests, including the Irish contingent and her anglophone friends in Lyon, would be expecting to party to the wee small hours.

Anyway, it was a fantastic evening, everyone partied to the wee small hours and there were hangovers aplenty the next day.
I was going to give a word of warning about partying with Irish and paying for it the next day but have remembered it was actually a Scotsman who was buying everyone the evil Chartreuse that caused the worst of the hangovers.

Hangover Hell

Chartreuse is evil. Fact.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chartreuse_(liqueur)

Making the Bridge

I have been very busy this weekend – making a bridge. Though you won’t be able to see any physical evidence of this bridge….

France has plenty of public holidays and a quick flick through the calendar will reveal 11 of them. Not bad going, but then you realise that one is Easter Sunday. Then (unlike the UK) you find out that they are taken on the day itself, so if it falls at a weekend it is not transferred to the nearest weekday.
Spring is a good time for holidays and May normally has 4 days of holidays and is normally considered to be the start of the summer wind down with the thought that if a project isn’t finished by the end of April, you haven’t got a chance of it being completed in May.

This year however is a bad year for public holidays in France. For a start both Christmas Day and New Year’s Day fall on a Sunday. Then, shock horror, there were no weekdays off in May!!!! This was due to a devastating combination of the 1st (May day) and the 8th (VE day) both being on a Sunday and the really late Easter that pushed Ascension and Pentecost into June.

Which brings us to the French tradition to Faire Le Pont. The literal translation is to make a bridge. If a public Holiday falls on a Tuesday or a Thursday, then traditionally people take a days holiday on the Monday or the Friday to make a bridge to the weekend.

So this weekend was the second weekday holiday of the year and the first in which it was possible to make a bridge and most people seem to have taken that opportunity. The crèche was closed for the long weekend and though a few of the parents made pointed comments along the line of ‘Enjoy your long weekend.’ most of them were also taking time off work.
I was on the closing shift and a couple of parents were late picking up their children and said that the roads in the town were gridlocked with everyone leaving.

So I have enjoyed a long weekend and noted the fact that there are plenty of parking spaces available on the streets. Back to work on Monday. And before anyone from the UK goes on about the French having lots of public holidays, please remember that back at the end of April we had to put with you all gloating about your two 4 day weekends in a row.

Gym Hamster

Firstly I would like to thank Catherine for the term gym hamster, it was too good not use!

I joined a gym the other day and again have begun to experience a lot of differences and similarities from my days as a gym bunny in the UK.
For a start I didn’t really get much of a hard sell from Grégory, who seemed more interested in showing off his English and conducted a tour of the gym in Franglais. As we strolled around the gym and a wave of the left hand showed me the cardio area and a wave of the right hand showed me where the weight machines could be found and a pointed finger showed me where the changing rooms were. We wondered upstairs to the free weight area and he decided that it was the men’s area, so we wondered back down again. In my previous incarnation I would have got angry with this, but as I probably won’t frequent the free weight area, I couldn’t be bothered to get uptight.
When I joined a gym in the UK I was shown every area in detail, the state of artness of the machines was explained in great detail, the qualifications of the gym personnel was highlighted, the cleanliness of the changing areas emphasised in an amazing sales pitch.

So anyway, I signed up, paid by writing a series of cheques (no direct debits here, thank you!) and started to turn up for some classes.
I was intrigued to see how these would compare and again similarities and differences. Les Mills has taken over the world so the ‘Body’ classes are here too. I went to body pump, curious to know what the French called a dead row and was disappointed to find out that I couldn’t hear. The male instructors have the music turned up high and microphone turned low, so I was watching to follow along. Eventually (after a class with a female instructor) I find out it just ‘Tirez’ – pull. So disappointed.
In one class I had zoned out and was mortified to realise that the instructor had been trying to talk to me and was eventually saying ‘You do speak English, don’t you?’ Apparently my knees were too far apart.
The one big difference with these classes is that in the UK the instructors tend to mix and match the music from older routines, here they stick strictly to the entire latest release. Possibly the French obeying the instructions to the letter, whereas the UK instructors think to themselves that Les himself is unlikely to walk in and they have a bit of freedom.

I also seem to be the only person who goes into the steam room, but that suits me fine and the only major criticism is that the sauna seems a bit on the warm side rather than hot side. It is a small gym and the staff are friendly and do seem to know all the members and hopefully, over the next few weeks I’ll eventually be able to call myself a gym bunny again!

Living in an aviary

For a few weeks each spring the swallows come to town. In vast numbers. Then one of the advantages of living in a tall building, with large windows and on a steep hill comes to the fore. Every evening the swallows fly around looking for insects and because we are so high up they come swooping past the windows. They look so beautiful as they fly through the sky, reeling and changing direction as if in some kind of dance. The sky provides a magnificent backdrop as it slowly changes from blue to a pinky-orange in yet another glorious sunset. With the windows open and the rush hour over, you can hear them calling and singing to each other. It really is like living in an aviary, nature at its best. I do miss them when they go and look forward to them coming back each year.

Tis the season to eat cherries, fa la la la la la la la la!

The market is inundated with summer fruits. There are piles of strawberries and now the cherries have arrived! A few early peaches and nectarines are appearing as well a couple of cantaloupe melons…yum.

It has been over a week since I was last able to go to the market in Croix Rousse and a rare weekday off work and I was able to wander through the Tuesday market today and the changes in the produce on sale seem very dramatic.
It is lovely shopping in a seasonal market and you can get very smug and all eco friendly about it. There are some market stalls run by local producers – these are easily identifiable as the produce tends to be unwashed, limited and displayed in old wooden crates. By buying from these farmers you know that what you are getting has been locally produced and has low food miles and therefore low carbon footprints. However you do get to a point in mid February when you have been looking at the same fruit and veg for several months (potatoes, pumpkin, leeks, apples, pears and quinces) and being eco friendly isn’t so attractive.
Then suddenly there is a splash of red amongst the browns and oranges of winter and the first strawberries have arrived. OK, so they come from Spain, but that is only over the Pyrenees, what the heck and you just have to buy them.

Now the soft fruit season is really getting started. There will be cherries galore for the next few weeks, which you can even buy in various states of ripeness, as well as French kiwis (which seems an odd thing to write), strawberries and raspberries. Then as the cherry season wanes the peaches, nectarines and finally the apricots will arrive. The French still make a lot of jams and preserves and will buy kilos of fruit and the supermarkets will sell preserving kits and kilner jars. One enterprising stallholder has a clafoutis recipe written on a tatty piece of cardboard box proudly displayed next to her cherries.

Then seemingly, within a blink of an eye, it will all be over and as the weather turns cooler, pumpkins and other autumn foods will start making a reappearance and apples will seem a novelty and worth buying again.

Anyway, today I brought some cherries and I may make a clafoutis, provided I don’t eat them all first.

Village Life

Though it may seem a strange thing to say, although I live in a city, at times it feels as if I live in a village. Croix Rousse is an area of Lyon and is perched onto of a hill. This is quite a steep hill and has a psychological effect on most people, who end up thinking that to get here is really difficult (despite good metro connection and several buses.) This effect means that Croix Rousse has kept its identity and is quite a distinct area of Lyon.


It started as a village outside of the old city walls and has gradually been incorporated into the city itself. It was the first area of Lyon I discovered as I stayed with a friend here on my first trip to the city. It has a daily street market, little street cafes, small boutique type shops, as well as artisan bakers, butchers etc. There is a maze of narrow one way streets (why didn’t those 18th Century builders put in garages and wide streets?) designed to confuse the newly arrived. The majority of buildings are tall Canut workshops – built to house the silk workers and their looms, so ceilings are nearly 4 metres high. These have been converted into some amazing loft style apartments.
As it feels like quite an isolated area, you get to know and recognise everyone quite quickly. When I see my neighbours in the street or the market we always say ‘bonjour’. I have my favourite stalls in the market and my regular shops I go to. It is strange to out in the area and not bump into someone you know and have a little chat. My sister used to live in a small village in the UK and told me that you know you have been accepted into a village, when it takes you half an hour to do a 10 minute task eg. Popping out to the shop. I now know what she means. It does however make the area friendly and welcoming. The story in Lyon is that some people stay on the hill for months at a time, everything you need is here, and I do know some who only leave it for work.


I also live in another village, though this one is spread out over the city. It is the expat community village. Although Lyon has a large expat community, it does feel quite small at times. I was chatting to a Spanish guy once night, and the next day was asked how my Spanish was by a friend who hadn’t been there!
I also work in a bilingual crèche and often find that some of the families are friends of my friends. You have to get used to being talked about a lot, fortunately most of this seems to be in a good way! You also get used to hearing about people that you haven’t meet (yet) and get to feel that they are friends of yours already. Then you go to a party, start talking to someone and realise that you know all about them, and they know all about you….

Royal Wedding Blues

I'm not a particularly ardent royalist, I don't bother them and they don't bother me. I could have quite happily let the whole wedding thing pass me by, unfortunately the French (after having beheaded their own monarchy) press decided to take an interest in the whole thing. I also regularly log onto the BBC website and was also surprised to find that wedding fever seemed to have taken over the whole of that site too. It really did feel as if all the media was jumping on the bandwagon, 'If such and such a channel are covering it, then we must too!' Not exactly a mark of good quality news reporting.

A lot of the bars in Lyon also suddenly put up posters saying that they would be showing the wedding (some even opening early to do so).
Then on the day, loads of Facebook comments from friends both in the UK and here in France about it. There seemed to be two distinct camps, a whole sort of Marmite thing - you either loved it or hated it. One Facebook friend was going around condemning anyone who made the slightest bit of a mockery out of it to the tower, while another was writing pointed comments about the snooker. (Both were male.)
I started off by not being fussed about it but began to grow to resent it. In fact it all got annoying and I'm glad it is all over.

Hopefully the last word was had at the gym this morning, when I collected my new card, the receptionist asked if I had 'watched the wedding', I really didn't understand what he was talking about (being more concerned about what my photo just taken on the webcam would look like) and my look of puzzlement must have showed, so he said the royal wedding. My 'pfft' and dismissive wave of my hand instantly helped make me new friends.

La chaudière

From time to time I get the opportunity to suddenly learn a whole new vocabulary. Sometimes it the result of an emergency. The latest started when at 11pm one night water started pouring out of the bottom of my boiler.

After a moment of being frozen in sheer horror at was happening, I managed to fly into action and do constructive things like turn of the mains tap and find buckets. I was actually quite calm about the whole thing, as apart from a wet floor in the mezzanine, the water hadn't caused any damage and, as I live in rented accommodation relief, that it would be my landlord's responsibility to sort things out.
The next morning though, I discovered that he was out of the country and he cheerfully gave me full permission to sort it out and send the bill to him. When I got to work the learning curve began. The French staff talked to me abut it and I started learning words like 'plombier', 'fuite' and of course 'chaudière'. I have a couple of friends who are builders and hoped one of them would be able to fix it, unfortunately they both had too much work on. Fortunately another friend lives next to a plumber.

It took a while, a quick home visit to restore cold water supplies, some interesting phone calls (to what felt like his entire family) and the discovery that 'le début de la semaine' actually means Friday and my flat was taken over by 3 guys in matching T-shirts fully equipped with tools and a very large box containing a new boiler.
They were I have to say, brilliant and besides the odd 'putain', polite and charming. They cleaned up after themselves and asked permission to use things.

A situation by situation basis probably a good way to learn a language. For a short while you intensively use the words and formations and it goes into your head and stays there. A German client of mine, with 2 children born in France, cheerfully admitted that she had no idea what some of the words and phrases that she learnt during her pregnancy actually are in German.

Pleased as I am with my new boiler (it's much quieter for a start) and all the new words I have learnt, I'm hoping it will be a while yet before another emergency vocab learning session happens.

azerty

Lyonlottie would like to apologise for the break in service and any difficulties that this may have caused you.

I had major computer problems, well it wouldn't start and in the end it was kinder to all involved to send it off to the great big recycling centre in the sky. I would also like to take this opportunity to thank all my (slightly more computer savvy than me) friends who put up with my phonecalls and comments along the lines of 'But it won't let me do that', 'What dialogue box?' 'Oh, hang on it's... oh, no, that didn't work.' and 'Nope, it's gone back to blue screen again.'

My old computer was an English PC that I brought over with me and to be fair, gave a good 7 years of service. Once I realised that he and I would no longer be working together and had mourned his passing, I treated myself to a swish new laptop that even makes the same sort of clicky noise when you tap the keys as you hear in the films. It starts really quickly in seconds, rather than the time it takes to make a cup of tea and makes my desk look positively spacious.

It is however and quite obviously, a French computer and has a French keyboard, hence the azerty combination on the top row. I think I have now got my head round the new layout and am grateful that I never learnt to touch type. Occasionally I will replace 'a's with 'q's and one time it switched itself to an English keyboard setting and I needed to zork out hoz to chqnge the keyboqrd lqnguqgue bqck to French. But we are getting along fine now and I can do really zappy things like write French words with accents in the right place. This really helps when use words like crèche a lot and that your facebook friends realise you are talking about wine and not flowers when you write that you would 'really like a rosé right now.'

It is kind of interesting to think that if I get another qwerty keyboard in the future will I have to retrain myself again? And will I enjoy throwing accents around that I'd stick with a azerty one? Time will tell.