Reflections on Our First Three Months

We are in a pleasant way suspended in time. The lives we lived in Toronto are on hold, our responsibilities there are looked after, here they are few and we have unlimited time to do whatever we wish. It is a heady experience and much of the past three months has had a champagne feel to it. Our classes at the Toronto School of Philosophy helped us arrive in La Rochelle without dreams or preconceived notions of what life would be like. We have tried hard to live in the moment here and that has helped us savour experiences to their limit. Indeed, we can honestly say that every day has been an adventure. However, we are finding that being here has both the advantage and the inconvenience of shining a light on our lives at home. Now that we are settled, there is more time for thought and reflection. I am beginning to wonder how it was that life in Toronto so often felt stressed and hassled, that I slept badly and that there was never enough time. Was this something about me, something about life in a big city or perhaps a combination of the two? A big question and one that will take time and thought to answer. Over the past three months I have frequently been outside my comfort zone but the experiences have been so intense there hasn't been the energy for thinking this through. Now that we are settled, there will be more time to reflect and perhaps notice more changes.

On a somewhat easier plane, we have realized that there is a lot we don't know about our own country: how various processes actually work, the details of history and geography and most difficult, regional differences. I was enthusiastically describing "Canada's health care system" one day when I was interrupted (apparently not a faux pas in French conversation. They do it to each other all the time!!) with a personal story of abysmal care in rural Quebec. "Ah, yes, well, "I stumbled, "of course, health care is a provincial matter . . ." I was describing Ontario health care and possibly only Toronto health care. Federalism is a difficult concept to explain to French people. They are so firmly governed from Paris and seem amazed and somewhat horrified that standards and services could be different from province to province. Another time, someone told us they had read that divorce rates in Canada were spiraling out of control. It sounded untrue but thank goodness for the internet so we could show that in fact they are just a bit lower than in France! My indignation at our trip to the OFII  made me realize that I know very little about how this experience would be for someone arriving in Canada. We know that we are seen as representatives of Canada and want to make sure that we do it well.

We knew that being away from home would bring lots of opportunities for learning about France, the French language, ourselves and our relationship. It is interesting to see what presents itself to us. We seem to swan along and then quite suddenly be hit by a difference or a custom that we don't understand or think is senseless. Sometimes we disagree between us as to what is senseless and have quite heated discussions! I think closing for lunch for at least an hour and a half is very civilized, David thinks it must contribute to much lower productivity.We both agree that dogs shouldn't be in restaurants and that their owners should be rigorously fined for not "scooping" the sidewalks. David continues to try to get his head and his mouth around "cheveux" and "chevaux" and I continue to be annoyed by people telling me I have a cute accent. I am beginning to think that I have a new French persona, "Madame Jeanette Broone" is different from Ms. Jeanette Browne. We both struggle with our different ways of handling new situations, sometimes admiring of and sometimes irritated by the other. We are surprised by how well we have managed the strain of really being each others only friend. 

So here we are still smiling after three months!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! 

May the New Year bring you health and happiness.

We are off to the Pyrenees for Christmas. No more posts until January 4, 2010.

Warning!! The Following Post will Contain Critical Commentary

  "You are lucky, said the young woman in the Toronto Consulate as she gave us our Visas, "all you have to do is mail in this form when you get to France. The rules have changed." We did feel lucky, as we had read about the previous lengthy and bureaucratic procedures required if you wanted to live in France more than three months. How innocent we were! How could a country full of bureaucrats not continue with bureaucracy and if possible add more?
We dutifully sent in the form to the Office Français de l’Immigration et de l’Intégration (OFII) and thought no more. BUT, back came a form letter asking us for three more documents. Even then we didn't become suspicious. We were discomfited by the demand for proof of marital status. We finally sent our income tax form with a snippy mention that in Canada identity documents do not contain such information. Imagine our shock and indignation when a few weeks later two very fat envelopes fell through the door. They contained:
•    an appointment for X-rays in La Rochelle
•    an appointment in Poitiers at 8:30 AM
•    the information that in Poitiers we would each have a medical exam
•    the even more surprising information that we would each need to bring 300 €  in special government stamps, only available at certain government offices, and in bold "Failure to comply with this formality will make you liable for prosecution as a person without legal papers."
We happened to mention this surprising development to a new friend, Dany who works for an immigrant and refugee advocacy organization. She was outraged and insisted on finding out more. We spent several hours with her as she read the new law and made phone calls but all to no avail. We had to go. She and her colleagues were of the opinion that the type of visitors visa we have is so rare that the bureaucrats didn't know how to process it and lumped it in with immigrants who are planning to make their lives in France.
And so we set out for Poitiers at 6 AM since it is an hour and a half by train from La Rochelle. It was  a pleasant walk to our fine railway station, it's interior grandeur sadly spoiled by a long row of modern kiosks. However we were glad of the kiosk selling petit déjeuners!

Dear Dany was waiting for us at the Poitiers station and we drove quite a long way to the OFII. "So," I muttered, "not only are you expected to arrive at the crack of dawn but you have to figure out how to take a bus or pay for a taxi to get here!" We were greeted by an unsmiling receptionist who told us to wait. We were finally ushered into the Salle de Reception where an orientation to the regular immigration procedure was taking place . It was a mixed group--2 Muslim women wearing headscarves, 2 mixed race couples, 3 Anglo-Saxons. They were watching a film outlining the rights and responsibilities for a titre de séjour, the document that allows you to stay in France. Four training programs must be attended by all new immigrants: French language training (up to 400 hours), day long--lunch included, and here that would not mean cold sandwiches and a Coke!!-- programs on French culture, politics and daily living and a half day on job search skills. Afterwards, a young Vietnamese woman elaborated on the information in the film. At the end of each training day, participants are issued with a coloured certificate that they must guard carefully as they will be asked to produce the original when they go next year to renew their titre de séjour. I found her language difficult and her attitude condescending and wondered how the others, looking as though they were from France's former colonies felt. Had they actually understood what she said! We already knew that for some reason these programs weren't for us, even though we were involved in the same process and had paid the same amount of money. Too bad, as the language training would have been helpful and the programs about France interesting.
"Monsieur Core-keel" called a woman in a white coat, for the first step of the medical exam. She was very pleasant, measured and weighed David, gave him a sight test, a blood test for diabetes, asked about any serious illnesses in his life--since birth she said--and then back to the waiting room. Same thing for me although as David pointed out I cheated by not revealing my contact lenses when I took the sight test! This was not a deliberate cheat. I just forgot and she didn't ask. More waiting and chatting . . . The others came and went, taking their French placement test and having their documents examined. Then I went off to the doctor. She asked a few questions about familial health, took my blood pressure, listened to my chest and that was it. Both these women were very friendly and quite warm, unlike the receptionist and the film leader. The visit to the bureaucrat's office was the last stage--by now it was 11:15. She seemed far more severe than the others and examined all the papers VERY carefully, checking passport and visa numbers out loud. She was a bit worried about the residence proof I had brought--the lease for the apartment, wanting something else, a bill for instance. Since all our bills are paid by the landlord or on line, I explained that that would be impossible. Finally . . . she began to warm a little and confessed that she has always wanted to visit Canada and (unlike most people we have met) go across the whole country. I then warmed to her too and the end of the interview was much better. She carefully glued all the 300 € of special stamps into the file, stuck a large yellow label (what a strange colour to choose with all the memories of yellow stars) into my passport and carefully covered it with plastic laminate. "Voila" she said "your visa is now validated. It is worth nothing without this page." A still surprising piece of information which made me wonder what all the work in Toronto had been about! While I didn't believe that anything could go wrong in this process, I was nevertheless relieved and felt my shoulders unclench. How must it feel when you have fled a homeland and know you will be in danger if you are sent back? And when those visas are validated, does the bureaucrat seem a bit more congratulatory and welcoming? I returned to the waiting room just as "Monsieur Core--keel" was called out by the severe Vietnamese woman. He returned with a strange expression on his face. They had lost his yellow label. It was nowhere to be found. Paris had been called!! and even they couldn't account for this bureaucratic mess!!! David said she was very embarrassed but had reassured him. He wasn't to worry, it was no problem. Dany was not at all happy about this. Since I had been told that the visa was "worth nothing" without the yellow label I was worried too. This was two days before the three month expiry. The bureaucratic Vietnamese woman was not at all happy in being confronted by Dany and engaged in a variety of stalling and condescending tactics. We finally left with nothing but her name and her assurance that all would be well. She said to Dany:"Eh bien, they are what, Americans, Australians? There will be no problem with them." Publicly!! In the waiting area!! We celebrated with a real French Bistro lunch--steak, frites, salad and a lovely glass of Burgundy. Now we wait to see how long this tangle will take to be resolved.

The happy "legal"

The "illegal" with Dany

                                                                                                                 

Joining In

This has been a week of activity! Suddenly lots of opportunities to join in Rochelais life presented themselves and we took them all on.

Thé  Dansant--we saw little ads in the local What's On and wondered. My mother spoke about thé dansants  at the Chateau Laurier in the 1920s and they are sometimes mentioned in novels of that era. What could they be in France in the 21st century? Last Sunday afternoon we set out for the Tasdon community hall with our friends,  Géry and Marie. As we entered, this is what we saw.  

                                    

"Oh no, not line dancing," I thought. It was indeed line dancing but of an ancient Bayonne variety, a folk dance really. The hall was large, with a stage on which a two man band was working at full blast. We arrived about a half hour after the designated start time and they had to scramble to find us a place. Clearly, the rest of the participants were enthusiastic dancers and had arrived on the stroke of 4 PM or 16:00 as I am learning to say. And what dancers most of them were! The band played folk dances, Strauss waltzes, tangos. It was really a joy to watch most couples artfully dancing these complicated steps. Mostly seniors with a sprinkling of middle-aged folk, the women especially were dressed to the nines, some of them in cocktail dresses. People watching was great fun. My favourite couple had to be in their eighties but they were on the floor constantly, moving together flawlessly, gently smiling, as I imagined they have through many, many years of marriage. There  were many women dancing together and we were intrigued by a very elegantly dressed couple who looked like sisters. They spun around with enormous skill, obviously enjoying themselves. We left with a new resolution to find a dancing school and learn how to waltz properly!

We have been impressed by the creativity and innovations in La Rochelle. We were intrigued when we read about the first public meeting to discuss the new plan 2010-2020 and decided to go. Imagine our amazement when we arrived only slightly late to find the 780 seat auditorium completely full with people standing at the back. We crept in and found places sitting on the stairs. After the introductions of the chairs of committees and the mayor, they showed a very slick film, outlining the goals of the plan: biodiversity, the economy and social issues. After a further explanation of each one, the floor was open to questions and some heated debate took place. Concerns similar to those in any western community were raised--housing, transit, access to services. Some of the questions were fun. One young woman wanted to know if the mayor could arrange for the over-abundance of storks and swans in an outlying community to be transported into  La Rochelle. Another man was one of those frequent types who come to grind an axe about a development he has been trying to initiate on protected wetlands. It was clear that he had gone head to head with the mayor in the past. Our mayor's body language was something to behold! He reminded me of Pierre Trudeau. His replies were articulate and well organized and then there was his quintessentially French shrug.We were impressed by the thoughtfulness of the plan and the clear interest of the large number of people who attended.

And then there were the Christmas concerts. All over France, there are small bands called les Orchestres d'Harmonie. Their origins go back beyond Napoléon and now they are supported by local governments. They are made up of amateur musicians of all ages. It is a charming mix of very young children, adolescents and adults who are obviously long retired. We attended two of these concerts. Both of them took place in old--and cold--buildings! The audiences were just like home: adoring parents, grandparents and partners. Lots of  cameras flashing and loud applause for every number. Our friend Géry was performing for the first time in his new role as sax player so we were part of his adoring and impressed audience.

By the end of the week, we felt that we were really beginning to see into some parts of French life in small cities. These events, like much of our life here, raised questions for us about Canada. We wondered: why is dancing so much more a part of French life than Canadian, who supports events for seniors, what sort of plan is there for the future of Toronto to 2020 and how many people would attend a meeting about it, are there local bands in Canada and who supports them financially? And I wondered, why can French men dance so well while their buddies in Canada can't (aside from David, of course!)?

The Pas de Deux of English and French

What is the Académie Francaise thinking of? The Quebec Office de la Langue Française would never allow the creeping degradation of the French language like this! It is a curious contradiction that this country that is so proud of its language and so reluctant to speak English increasingly uses English words in everyday vocabulary. Of course, they aren't really English words anymore. You can choose to look at this phenomenon in two ways: they are either mispronounced English words or new French words that look like English words. Some examples:

I had my first French haircut a while ago. I was mindful of the warning that there are often hidden charges involved so that innocent questions such as "would you like some conditioner/hairspray?" end up as charges on the bill. When the very talented Severine (to whom I will definitely return) asked if I would like a "braw-sheen", of course I asked for an explanation. First, she said she would dry my hair so I said you mean "sécher?" "Oui, she replied," mais avec la brosse." "So you are going to dry my hair using the brush?" "Mais oui, le braw-sheen!" Ah hah--the brushing that I had seen written on the window of the salon--a blow dry!!!!
David and I are running regularly in the lovely Parc Charruyer. He will inevitably change this to jogging as he doesn't think we go fast enough for it to be considered running. I figure anything faster than walking is running! It is beginning to be a bit cold in the mornings and we know the winter rain is coming. I set out to buy some sort of light windbreaker. Since the La Rochelle Marathon took place on Sunday, I knew the word for this was "coupe-vent" as all the finishers received one. However, when I went to the sports store and confidently asked for a coupe-vent, she looked at me with curiosity and said:"Vous voulez dire un "kaa-wee"? Hm . . .  She took me off to see where these mysterious items were located. What did we see--windbreakers. "Voila, she said "les kaa-wee". When we finally sorted this one out, she was saying K-Way!!!

And then there is le pray-seen spelt pressing. Of course, this means dry cleaning! And le dew-vay which is the Dewey decimal system. And eess-tay or iced tea. And les bahs-kettes or running shoes (spelled baskets) And finally, le pled pronounced to rhyme with sled, written as plaid--a small blanket.
The strange thing behind this is the cultural imperative to speak beautiful and perfect French. French students receive far more instruction in the mechanics of their native language than we do in Canada. Speaking and writing correctly is enormously important. Every Wednesday afternoon, we spend time with a friend exchanging English and French lessons. One week, she asked for clear instruction on verb tenses, how the English tenses relate to French ones, their names etc. David and I suggested that it may not be that important, that eventually, with practise, such difficulties will fall into place. We suggested that speaking, even if incorrectly is more helpful than remaining silent while figuring out the perfect sentence. She became quite cool after that. Later, I thought about how much this idea would go against her beliefs about language so asked her about it the following week. "Mais bien sûr, she said, vous m'avez choquée." She was shocked that we didn't take our language seriously. Many of the people we have met are happy that I speak French but have no problem correcting me. I have been described to others as someone who speaks French "un peu/assez bien/avec un peu de difficulté" whereas I thought I was far in advance of these adjectives! At first, I was insulted but then realized that until I speak perfect French, these terms will continue to apply to me. The Canadian book "60 Million Frenchmen Can't be Wrong" has a very helpful chapter on the history of language in France. According to its authours, "Anglo-Americans consider their language a tool, but the French regard it as an accomplishment, even a work of art." In its early history, France was fragmented into provinces, each having its own language or dialects. Early on, standardizing the language became an instrument of the State to extend power and unite the country. Hand in hand with this, came the development of standards of use "le bon usage", the Académie Française (established in 1635, by the same Cardinal Richelieu who destroyed La Rochelle) and the eradication of dialects. Now, people like our friend regret the loss of all these regional languages but are convinced of the need for everyone to speak good French. Perhaps the only place that heated discussions about the English language take place is in the letters section of The Times of London. In France, it is a common and everyday occurrence. Much air time and newsprint is taken up discussing the measures needed to fend off the creeping anglicisms into French. Strangely it wasn't until the 1990s that the French government followed the lead of Quebec by instituting language laws that attempt to limit the use of English. Clearly, they aren't working!
Yesterday we went to a thé dansant. If you are au courant with the customs of the 30s, you will know what this is. You might have dressed in your chic décolleté couture dress to go to it. Perhaps you might have had an apéritif while having a tête-à-tête with your fiancé. So this exchange of language isn't new. For English speakers it has been happening for centuries and our language is the richer for it. For the French, it seems a newer phenomenon. But as we say in English and in French:"Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose."

Mal du Pays

It came upon me unexpectedly, in a flash, like those moments of grief when someone who has died is suddenly in your mind. Of course, there were signs that I should have recognized: the emotional reaction to the Jardin des Cousins, the somewhat obsessive investigation of my email inbox, the petty irritations over not being able to find tea, oatmeal, of wanting my own duvet and other small comforts of life in Canada. Homesickness:  that feeling of disconnection, of longing for things to be the same as before, for the comfort of people who know you well, where you can begin in the middle instead of always at the beginning.
That was it, that is what I was feeling as I stood at the edge of the blowing sea and thought: "They're all so far away, over there, beyond this ocean--all the people I love."  I'm not sure why it was so unexpected. I knew from experience that I would experience that feeling of loss. The past two and a half months have been so full of excitement and discovery, of intense feelings of great good luck and happiness at being able to fulfill this dream that I thought perhaps I had escaped, but no. I think when we leave home for any extended period, we take all that is good and comforting with us, leaving behind the petty irritations of that life. And that is what we remember when we are away. You are all bathed in a glow of perfection. We are blessed to have ready access to the internet, wonderful Skype and the camera phone, the telephone itself. But we can't just pick up the phone without planning. 1 or 2 AM our time is definitely the best for you but obviously not for us!!
And there are parts of life here that are difficult. It is hard not to be able to express myself completely. Although my facility in French is improving, I still can't discuss some kinds of concepts in any depth--politics, psychology--because I don't have the vocabulary. I feel as though I am speaking in a child's voice and must sound a bit dim. It is different for David I think, as no one expects him to be able to add to such conversations in French. He is at liberty to speak in English where it is possible. Of course, then he wonders if they have understood him, as our friends suffer from the same problem in English as I do in French. And it is hard work to listen so carefully, to try to catch the nuances as well as the correct meaning. It is why I often fall into bed very early and very tired. The good news is that David has had some dreams in French. "Il fait des progrès." everyone tells him.

Yes, I am making some progress in French, mainly now able to comprehend flyers and signs. I have been working on juvenile discovery books of France from the library. My greatest frustration is with hardware type things: if there was only a Canadian Tire. Maybe this is guiding me away from my usual escape into doing things to more thoughtful activities. More living life in my right brain.

I have found some good strong tea, we "imported" some oatmeal from England; now that it is cooling off at night, the apartment duvet doesn't feel so hot and heavy.

And the Jardin des Cousins, rather than making me cry, gives me comfort. We discovered it one morning while jogging in the extensive park near our home. The Parc Charruyer runs the length of the city centre and was a donation by Mlle. Charruyer of her family domain, along with money to keep it in good order.  The sign describes how the city developed this garden in 2008 to commemorate the founding of Québec by Champlain who came from a small town nearby. The garden is full of shrubs and trees from "les immenses étendues boisées du Canada". There are maple trees and hemlock, poplars and elders and . . . goldenrod! We watched the maple tree carefully to see if it would produce red leaves but apparently in this climate, it can only manage a yellowy-gold.

I am also comforted by the Rue du Canada near here and all the ones that have appeared in the small villages we have visited. The Rochelais I meet around and about, detecting an accent in my French, ask me if I am "anglaise" and I reply: "Non, canadienne". Without exception, at that moment a large smile appears and they say in such a friendly and enthusiastic way: "Aaah, canadienne! Mais vous êtes une cousine!" All these moments contribute to a feeling of being at home here too and help to alleviate the feeling of being a "stranger in a strange land".

But mainly, there are all of you who keep in touch so we know we aren't forgotten--the lovely emails, the ability to participate in discussion groups at home via Skype, the wonderful package of drawings from grandchildren (that now has a place of honour in our gallery of family photos), the planned visits from some of you in the spring. All this is comforting.

It seems Marcel Proust said: "The real voyage of discovery is not in discovering new lands, but in seeing with new eyes." This year was meant to be one of discovery, not just of France but also of our ability to cope with change, newness and difference. So this burst of homesickness is part of that, of learning what I can do without and what is really important.

But just in case it happens again, here is another quote from a very early TV show:"Keep those cards and letters coming!"

Les Beetelles and Les Eegulles

Imagine the Beatles and Eagles (now pronounced Les Beetelles and Les Eegulles) with Maurice Chevalier accents and you have the fun of last night.  After dinner at our place with three French friends, we all went off to a tiny theatre just down the street, Le Théâtre St. Martin, to hear a band play the music of our youth. Called Dièse (the French word for the musical symbol sharp) Revival, the band were together as teenagers, went their ways in other professions and this year reunited after 40 years.
Once through the theatre entrance, we found ourselves in a large and elegant bar, full of people of a "certain age", many quite elegantly dressed. Beyond the bar was the theatre, about 200 red velvet seats with a small stage. As it filled up, there was an atmosphere of neighbourhood with lots of hand shaking and bisous on both cheeks. A few 30 somethings appeared, probably brought along by their parents. Much confusion as the theatre manager, a silver haired impresario in a suit, tried to find seats for everyone as they wandered in from the bar. Finally, he climbed up on the stage, announced the band to great applause. Then, to our amusement, he began to pull ropes to open the curtain and became entangled in the red plush material. The seven band members, keyboards, drums, bass guitar, three lead guitars and lead singer, wearing the requisite jeans and running shoes immediately launched into their tribute to the Eagles. It seemed clear by their skill and the amount of musical equipment on the stage that they had all maintained their interest in rock music over the intervening years. It was also clear that they were all having a great time together, lots of smiles and gestures.  I was reminded of several friends who do this and then thought of my talented nephew, wondering if he will still be playing with his friends 40 years from now.
Their music was really very good. The drummer (his drums are called the batterie in French) was like all rock drummers, off in a world of his own, rather loud and seeming to try very hard to impress from way backstage. David thinks of it as the "Short Man Syndrome".The enthusiastic singer had a nice voice and a very French accent! "Zere will be an answer. Let eet bee."   " 'otel Caleeforneeah"   and David's favorite "easaaaay" sung over and over with much feeling and with rapt appreciation from the swaying crowd. We were momentarily perplexed by the announcement of one of the few songs written by "Georjjjes Arr ee son" until we realized who it was!
We all had a great time, singing along and clapping to the music, led by the band who gave us many opportunities to sing along. When it was finally over at 12:15 we made our way through the happy crowd finally spilling into the street. There was such a feeling of joie de vivre. Our group left, still singing and we discovered that the echo in the arcades definitely improves your voice!

La Rochelle

La Rochelle is a gem. I am amazed by how close it is to what we had imagined and wanted. The city publicity bears the tagline:"La Rochelle . . . belle et rebelle."  It has a long history of rebelling. In the 16th and 17th centuries it was a Protestant stronghold and payed dearly for those convictions: the city was destroyed during a long seige by the king and a large percentage of the population died. Now its rebellion is along environmental lines. By great, good chance the Rochelais elected a charismatic, visionary mayor, Michel Crépeau in 1971. Referred to by our friend Valérie as "notre chèr maire", he remained in power until his sudden death in 1999. He pushed La Rochelle forward with great creativity. This was the first city in France to have both bicycle (1976) and electric car rental (1995) programs. Maire Crépeau blocked development along the seaside, increased the amount of green space and developed pedestrian walkways in the old city as well as one of the first recycling programs in France. He also successfully lobbied for the establishment of the university. "While others were building freeways, we were introducing bicycles.", the current mayor said recently. Now there are solar powered boats and buses, all part of the large integrated "agglomeration" that takes in 18 different communities. 

Because of its harbour, La Rochelle has been for centuries a rich, trading city. This accounts for the large and beautiful homes and general prosperity over the years. All this history seems to be in the blood of the rochelais who hold their heads high, and as one person said to me, act like they're rich and powerful even though they are not.

 







The old part of the city is remarkably well preserved with lots of renovation and restoration happening inside the old facades. We wonder about the permit regulations! Care is being taken to preserve the old buildings or at the very least their facades. In spite of the economic downturn, there is lots of construction going on. M. Grue (see View from the Top) is helping to build 34 new apartments inside the walls of an old convent. At our corner, the inside of a building has been gutted and is slowly being renovated. Every walk we take is full of beautiful, unusual or funny sights. One great delight is the arcades. We have been told that La Rochelle developed differently from most towns, without a market square and so merchants began building wooden roofs outside their shops to display their wares. As this custom developed, they began to be joined together into arcades. Then as the city became more prosperous, the wooden arcades were replaced with the stone ones we see today.  

Sprinkled through the city are old timbered houses that in the past anchored the wooden arcades. Some of the very old massive beams are still contained above the “new” stone ones. We can walk almost everywhere under cover. So it makes me wonder why the Rochelais neglected to take this clever architectural detail with them to New France—the Toronto PATH revised and much prettier! 

There are some very grand “hôtels particuliers” concealed behind massive gates and stone walls. Once family homes of prosperous merchants, they are now mostly offices or divided into apartments. Once in a while the gates are open and we can peer into the courtyards, cobbled and now used for parking. Only a few are enhanced with flowers and trees in pots. Generally, the doors to most people's living space open directly onto the sidewalk. Sometimes the door opens into a hallway like ours but we have also noticed long passages that lead to small courtyards well hidden from the street. It seems that the population density is high judging from the number of doorbells beside most of the doors!


The pace of life here is slow and casual. I find myself still racing--in La Rochelle terms--down the sidewalk passing everyone else. The cafés are always full, people actually sit on the benches in the parks and enjoy the views. The man who owns the local bicycle shop has just returned from visiting his son in New Jersey. He said when he got back to Paris, he found it cool and slow and La Rochelle? . . .  "Eh bien . . ." and then, the Gallic shrug!