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!

What We Did on November 19

We, like everyone else who lives here, are amazed by the weather. All plans for the day went out the window on Thursday when we discovered that it would be sunny and 17 degrees. Time for another long hike.
There are many surprises about French life and one of them is the great interest in hiking. There are hiking trails criss-crossing the country, well maintained we are told, by various municipalities and clubs. All around La Rochelle are various randonnées and we have tried out several of them. By taking a city bus to the end of the line, we can begin the walk, following the sometimes confusing directions from our little book. Last month we did what is now called The Long March. We became completely confused by the directions but carried on as it was so beautiful. It was only when we returned home that we discovered our mistake. We had missed the correct bus stop and had begun much further away than planned. In fact, we had walked 14 kilometres. Even our French friends were impressed!
We started out on Thursday with bus map, randonnée directions, sun screen and snacks to the Place de Verdun for the bus to an ancient village called Nieul sur Mer. It was the week of the Rights of the Child and it seems that many French children were being schooled in the French art of the "manifestation".

A very quick bus ride and we arrived at the Mairie, the centre of administrative life in all French towns. Often in grand buildings, Nieul sur Mer is no exception. Their marie is in an 18th century mansion once owned by an Irish member of the French army!

The town, about 8 km. from La Rochelle began its life over a thousand years ago, much closer to the sea than it is now. A combination of natural sedimentation and land recovery has pushed the ocean back. The swamps that were once used for salt recovery are now oyster beds. The once verdant wine fields were decimated in 1880 by the scourge from North America, phylloxera and never recovered. Now the village seems sleepier than ever and is a bedroom community for La Rochelle as well as a summer place for people from away.

We set off through the narrow streets, past all sorts of interesting houses and strange doorways. 

This was a stone over the doorway of a rebuilt wall. One can guess what the trade of the ancient owner was.

 And then it was time for un bon café crème at a curiously named café, that has sat on the main square since 1923. We were amused but tempted by its decidedly non Tex-Mex menu. I went inside to use the washroom and was confronted by a little group of elderly men, working out their bets for the PMU (pari mutuel urbain) the horse racing betting forms. They all looked as worried as students writing final exams as they licked their pencils and frowned furiously at the newspapers. The actual toilet will be a blog for later!!

 

We walked on out of the village, along a lovely lane, running beside a stream, called strangely the Gô. Lots of signs of wild life, some pretty swans and ducks and very few people. 

Suddenly the ocean was before us, a gentle wind off the land, the sound of the waves hitting the limestone cliffs.

 We carried on along these cliffs for several kilometres, past some old oyster beds 

until we stopped for a small picnic. As we were munching, another hiking couple approached. "Bon appétit!" they called. They may have thought that apples and cheese weren't quite up to scratch for a proper lunch!

The path doubled back to the old village of Lauzières. Here there was evidence of the continuing importance of oyster farming: many cultivated beds and signs for fresh oysters for sale as well as the other uses for the shells.

 To our delight, we also found 

so named because the paving stones, now covered by asphalt, were the ballast of 17th century sailing ships from Canada.  Further on, we felt for the poor WWI soldier whose legs, made of the local calcite stone, have been eaten away by the weather. He looks as though he has monumental varicose veins.

 And after five hours (and 10 km.), we were back again at the Mairie and the bus stop, blessed with this day of peace and adventure.

I Could Never Do That! Part II

More information about our preparations for this year.   
                         Packing/shipping  
This was easy! Comparing the cost of extra baggage on the plane, shipping companies like Purolator, moving companies and Canada Post, we chose Canada Post. The long experience of my daughter led us to use large Rubbermaid tubs (lighter than suitcases, sturdier than cardboard boxes) for our plane baggage as well as for shipping. We drilled holes along the edges and used heavy plastic ties to secure the lids (along with great Canadian duct tape). All the boxes arrived intact. The one cardboard box we sent at the last minute looked very sad with the sides split. It was fairly well repaired by one of the post offices but we would now always use plastic boxes.

Health Care
In Ontario, as in all provinces in Canada, most of our health care is paid for by taxes. However, payment for treatment outside Canada is low and you are encouraged to buy personal health insurance. In Ontario, if you are away more than six months there can be a delay in obtaining coverage when you return. If you are not leaving for work or studies, you may leave Ontario for one year without this penalty only twice in your lifetime. You must register at a Ministry of Health office where you will receive a document stating that you are "eligible to be eligible" to receive provincial benefits immediately upon your return. We strongly suggest that you do this. It makes a difference in the amount that you will be charged for your out-of-country health insurance. In the event of a serious health problem while abroad, the insurance company is then able fly you home where you will be covered by provincial insurance. We have heard that you can find medical coverage in France once you arrive. However, since health insurance was a major requirement of the Long Stay Visa, this avenue may not be open to you.  


Housing in France
Most of the books we read had idyllic descriptions of living in a village and we were attracted by the idea. However, the more we thought about it the more we realized that only a city would give us what we wanted--some cultural activities, access to French learning, the possibility of making friends with people who shared our interests in music, art, hiking and the outdoors. We also wanted to be able to live without a car. Investigation into various rural transit systems made us realize that we could be isolated in a village, dependent on bus systems that may run only in the morning and evenings for working people. Finding a rental apartment for one year is difficult in France as generally leases are for a minimum of three years. Additionally, most rental apartments are "bare bones" without kitchen appliances and sometimes even lacking kitchen cupboards. Furnished apartments are also quite rare. We looked first at university towns, thinking that student accommodation might be the answer and then, in a stroke of brilliance, wondered about tourist rentals. What do people do with their apartments after the summer tourists leave? We figured that "tourist landlords" might be more flexible and open to what we wanted used as they are to people coming and going. I called 27 landlords in La Rochelle. Most were very pleasant, interested in our adventure and open to the idea of long term rental. In the end, we had a short list of eight potential places. With the help of our friends, Gery and Marie, we narrowed it down and finally decided on Rue des Bonnes Femmes. Now that we have been able to see the others on our short list, we know we made the right decision.  

Visa Application 
The visa application was not a piece of cake! The Consulate of France in Toronto has a very good web site. Having read and been told about the strict adherence to process by French bureaucrats, we followed the instructions on the web site religiously. We also heeded some advice we had been given to put together documents that were not on the list, just in case they asked for them. We took the contract we had worked out with my daughter, the lease for the basement apartment, a letter from our investment adviser to prove that we had the resources to look after ourselves in France. Taking heed of the web site admonition that processing a Long Stay Visa (for a period of 6 months to a year) is a lengthy process, even longer through the summer, we collected all our documents (in triplicate) and made a date for the "Appointment of Personal Appearance" in May for our departure in September. We arrived with the idea that we would be interviewed by some urbane French diplomat who would be judging our suitability (as well as our Personal Appearance!) for French life. We arrived dressed to the nines to discover that the urbane French diplomat was a very nice, very young French clerk dressed in jeans. Imagine our disappointment when she sent us away with instructions to return much later as their computer system will only process departure dates that are two months away. The instructions on the web site are just to get one going and not have an expectation that visas will be issued willy-nilly. Our second visit was problem free. We had our document file organized in the order in which they are listed on the web site, which impressed her! She went through the financial and health care documents with a fine toothed comb, asked for lots of information to clarify each of these, smiled and told us we could return to pick up our visas in 10 days. What celebration when we left the office! Our adventure was really beginning!

Top Ten Tips
1. Start early--it took us over two years.

2. Research, research, research! Use the internet, libraries and bookstores for information on the places you are considering.

3. Talk to everyone you know about your plan. They have ideas and their circle of friends might be helpful. We met several people through friends who had very helpful advice.

4. Very early on, work on a budget. If you have debts, get rid of them.

5. Realize that you will get frustrated and wonder whether it will ever happen. This is normal and will occur at least every two months!

6. Stay positive! Look on the bright side when red tape seems endless.

7. If you are going as a couple, talk about how it will be for you to be the only people in each others lives. How will you manage this? What problems are likely to arise?

8. Start learning or improving your language skills as soon as you decide where you are going. It will make an enormous difference to you when you arrive.

9. Listen to the naysayers. They are irritating but often make you think of some problem you may have overlooked.

10. Imagine, daydream, spin stories. This will help you work out what sort of place you want to be in and how you might like to spend your time. It will also keep your dream alive through the planning and organizing.

Helpful Internet Sites
www.transitionsabroad.co
www.expatsforum.com 
www.escapeartist.com
www.transitionsabroad.com
www.internationalliving.com

. . . and Books 
French or Foe? Polly Plat 
Sixty Million Frenchmen Can't Be Wrong Jean Benoit-Nadeau, Julie Barlow
International Living magazine
Belonging Isabel Huggan 
Paris to the Moon Adam Gopnik 
On Rue Tatin: Living and Cooking in a French Town Susan Loomis 
I'll Never be French (No Matter What I Do): Living in a Small Village in Brittany Mark Greenside 
Chasing Matisse: A Year in France Living My Dream James Morgan

Remembrance Day

While Angela Merkel and Nicholas Sarkozy were making history in Paris, David and I decided to attend the Remembrance Day ceremonies in La Rochelle. The city was occupied and heavily fortified by the Germans early in the Second World War. We have come across relics of the fortifications in our walks. A large German submarine base continues to be a topic of dissension--raze it (very expensive to do) or turn it into a museum? La Rochelle was also one of the last places in France to be liberated, on the 8th of May, 1945. There is a large cenotaph to all the wars as well as a memorial to the resistance and, scattered around the city, there are small plaques of remembrance to those who died in the resistance. One of our friends was a small girl during the war. She talked to us one day about her experiences: watching as Jews were seized by the Germans, of not having enough to eat and the frenzy when French troops arrived on the 8th of May. For all these reasons, we felt that the world wars must be much closer to people's lives here and that Remembrance Day might have a different flavour. There was a small clue that this might not be so in the difficulty we had discovering where and when the ceremony might take place. But we set off  to the cenotaph, planning to arrive around 10:30. It is located at the end of the Mail, a wide boulevard, laid out at the end of the 19th century. The ocean is on one side, grand homes on the other and down the middle, grass and flower beds. Very impressive!
We found a very small but mixed crowd: a lot of elderly people, a few people with small children and some middle-aged. In formation in front of the cenotaph were soldiers from the 519th Regiment, Elèves Sous- Officiers, and the highway patrol on motorcycles. A speech was followed by the laying of wreaths and a moving moment when a group of young children laid single white roses on the cenotaph. Then the trumpet sounded out the Last Post. We were perplexed as it was not eleven AM. However,  there was a brief moment of silence ended by several bars of the Marseillaise played by a brass band. It seemed to be 11 minutes to 11 but we have found no reference to this being the French custom. We should have asked questions!
Then the soldiers marched off down the road and everyone milled about. We noticed a red carpet by the side of the road and discovered that there would be a march past. Across from the VIPs, stood a row of veterans with flags of the various regiments, associations etc. Sadly, the brass band packed up and left and the march past took place to canned martial music. The 519th regiment, stationed in La Rochelle marched by in their camouflage battledress with neat white cravats. I did notice that their pants were much better cut and fit much tighter than anything I have seen on a Canadian soldier. There was a sprinkling of women in the ranks and among the VIPs. The navy wins the uniform prize for women: a stylish skirt and shorter jacket make it look like it was actually designed for women.  The highway patrol took the best uniform prize: navy trousers with a white strip, long navy blue jackets with the sides caught up with buttons showing a red lining, very impressive as they sat on shiny blue BMW motorcycles.
Interestingly, there were no poppies anywhere. A few old soldiers were collecting money and gave out a sticker in return for your coins.
We walked back along the sea wall to have coffee at the Cafe de la Paix. A building put to many uses until the 1890s when it became a large cafe/restaurant, decorated in wonderful art nouveau style. Strong coffee and a croissant were satisfying after the cold walk. We watched a group of people come in and settle themselves at a table nearby. Imagine our amazement when one of the women took a small ginger kitten out of the front of her coat and put it on the table. The waiter didn't bat an eye. Only the Canadians were open-mouthed! We have become used to people bringing their dogs into restaurants but this was another first in the story of the French and their animals.
Sadly, the day is no longer a complete holiday. Garbage collection took place and some creeping North American consumerism was in evidence with some of the larger stores opening in the afternoon. One of our neighbourhood restaurants closed and took Thursday off --"un petit weekend", they called it. So it seems that the holiday here is no longer about remembrance but has become a day off work. In fact, judging from the media coverage in Canada in various cities large and small where few people have the day off, the crowds at the cenotaphs seemed to be larger. I was moved by the story from Ottawa of onlookers spontaneously covering the the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier with their poppies. So we began to wonder. If we really want to remember, perhaps that happens more effectively when people are organized in their workplace to do so. Is having a holiday to remember an effective way to make this happen?