Liminal Space

Years ago, I was introduced to the concept of liminal space by Camilla Gryski, a wonderful therapeutic clown. She spoke about the play of children as taking place in a liminal space--not the regular life of the child but not altogether fantasy either. It appealed to me as an idea: that you could be in a sort of 'space in-between', where perhaps some of the normal limits are dissolved, where life is more ambiguous and you are more open to what the world is offering. It seems to me that David and I are in a kind of liminal space here in La Rochelle. We are settled in this one lovely place, making a life here and being quite successful at it. But we know it will end on July 23rd. We know we will return to Toronto in September and pick up the threads of what I sometimes think of as our 'real' life. We do live a 'real' life here: we go about the daily activities of living--shopping for food, using the bank machine, going to the gym but somehow it has taken on a sense of adventure. In spite of the fact that we know it will end, this interlude seems to stretch immeasureably in front of us. Everyday errands and tasks take longer, we spend more time talking to people and asking questions, walk more slowly because we are looking more carefully. Even life's irritations are different. Because we are in France, instead of getting angry and then forgetting about it, we tend to analyze the irritation: is this something that happens all over the country? why did it irritate us? what could be the reason behind this behaviour?

It was like that with banking. We had enormous difficulty while still in Canada, finding a French bank that would allow us to open an account before we arrived. Finally, David discovered the wonderful Patricia at the Banque Populaire Occitane. There are Banques Populaire everywhere in France so we thought this was a good choice. Patricia was very helpful from afar and her fluency in English was a big bonus. However, the effort to open this account was enormous, required an amount of documentation and hassle unheard of in Canada. It has not been without problems since. They are byzantine rules about when, where and how much money you can withdraw from a bank machine. The Banque Populaire Occitane which is in the south west of France has nothing much to do with the Banque Populaire Atlantique (the area where we live). This means that we cannot deposit into our account here and have the balance increase immediately. Non--it is as though we are doing a transfer from different bank altogether and it takes 3-5 working days. However, now that we are clients of the Banque there are many benefits to us that are easier to access than they would be in Canada like borrowing money for a house or a car. Our Banque experience is much like the bisous: life in France is organized in a way that is new to us. There are lots of rules: explicit ones like the Banque and implicit ones like the bisou. The various levels of goverment influence daily life more than in Canada and people expect more from the State than we do. On the other hand, there is a contradictory attitude that rails against the rules and looks for ways to contravene them whenever possible. As a foreigner, it is very difficult to work out where the line falls and even what the rules are. It is one of the unnerving but also exciting parts of living here.

This feeling of 'in-between space' colours how we live in ways we keep discovering. It has been such an interesting experience to make new friends. Everyone we meet is a stranger. Although they probably have assumptions about us, we are free to reinvent ourselves. And so, I have become a slightly different person as the La Rochelle Jeanette than I am as the Toronto Jeanette. I think I am less serious, more animated in French; I talk with my hands and I hear my voice intonations changing more often. I find it easier to be funny or in some way, my sense of humour appeals to French people. I am now a chocolate enthusiast and my daughter has pointed out that I seem to be holding my alcohol better due to long meals with lots of wine! I will never again dare to leave the house wearing sweat pants! I am also friendlier. I talk with anyone and start conversations in shops and in the street in a way I never would do as the Toronto Jeanette. It is sad, perhaps, that I have little interest in the thoughts and opinions of my compatriots but find whatever a French person has to say to be rivetting. This is only partly about the ever present need I have to keep practicing so talking to anyone is an exercise of learning French. It is more than that. By having these conversations I learn a little each time about how French people think and it adds to our knowledge. More importantly, I think I have become  less judgmental and more willing to try to understand the reasons behind whatever is happening.

And so the question is: have I really become the slowed-down, more understanding person that I seem to be in this liminal space? When we return to Toronto, will the La Rochelle Jeanette become the Toronto Jeanette? I hope so.

Visit to Royan

Royan? It seems everyone we know thinks it is either interesting or ugly. There is no in-between with this city. We spent the day exploring Royan and its surroundings with our landlords, Josiane and Christian. Christian, born on the corner of Rue des Bonnes Femmes, has lived in Royan since he was a small boy. Josiane is a transplant from Savoie, the mountainous east of France. She has been in Royan for 16 years. We set out from La Rochelle on the bus—the only customers for the complete one and a half hour journey. The sun was out and we enjoyed seeing more of the countryside. There were two stops in Rochefort, the city built by Louis XIV to house his navy. It is full of beautiful buildings of that period, so full in fact, that some of them seem to be falling into ruin.
Royan was a sleepy little village on the Atlantic coast until sea bathing became popular in the 19^th century. Because of its excellent climate and wide, long beaches, Royan soon became a favourite with the bourgeois of Bordeaux. They began arriving in the 1830's after a steamer company launched a direct route from Bordeaux. Soon little 'bathing machines' were springing out of the  beach and large, lovely homes began to occupy the sea front. Before long, a casino was operating and with the advent of railway lines, the city began to welcome crowds of tourists. Emile Zola was a frequent visitor; here he fell in love with his wife's laundry maid and discovered photography. Picasso fled from Paris in 1939. He stayed a year, during which he painted 'Cafe des Bains'.

And so it went until WW II. By April 1945, when the rest of France was mostly liberated, there were still German soldiers grimly holding onto pockets along the Atlantic coast. One of these pockets was Royan and the Allied Forces were told that only Germans and collaborators remained in the city. As well, the Allies had a new weapon they wanted to use: napalm. So, on January 5, 1945 the centre of the city was bombed into rubble, using conventional bombs and the new napalm. In fact, nearly all the German soldiers had left and a message informing the Allies of this had been sent. However it was in French; the American signalman could not understand it. By the time the message was translated into English, the city was destroyed and 1500 French citizens were dead.

Faced with rebuilding most of the city, the Ministry of Reconstruction decided to turn the site into a laboratory of modern architecture and town planning, using the Athens Charter as a guide. This Charter set out the principles of the modern city, namely the concept of independent zones for four 'functions': living, working, recreation, and traffic. In spite of this rigid approach, Royan is quite beautiful. All the buildings are made of Béton (poured concrete) but there is a lightness of design, a use of colour and a diversity to the construction that saves it from looking sterile and boring. By great good luck, some of the 19^th century summer villas remained standing and small details on the 1950s buildings mirror the sumptuous decor of that era. And these large, elaborate villas seem to fit happily among the strong lines of the modern buildings.

And then it was off to see two small villages, in total contrast to the modern town. Meschers and Talmont sur Mer are both fishing villages turned tourist attractions. Luckily for us, the tourists haven't yet arrived: the villages were still clean and uncrowded. Of course, this also meant that everything was closed—no shops, no cafés so it was a bit of a ghost town experience. Meschers is built high above the sea and is known for its caves, carved out over centuries into the limestone cliffs. They have sheltered humans for as long as they have been there and they still do. Some of them are actual homes, lived in during the summer when the cool air of the cave must alleviate the heat. We noticed that one person had built a stairway down to the sea with a small deck. Christian said that at high tide they can dive off the deck into the sea. Others of the caves have been turned into restaurants and bars. Sadly, they were closed. We will have to return! Talmont is still a fishing port. A charming little village with a wonderful Romanesque church dedicated to Ste. Radégonde. She was an impressive woman of the 6th century. A princess, she was captured by the French king Choltar. She was educated at court and eventually married the king. However, her religiosity which included sleeping on the stone floor instead of with her husband led the king to complain. She left him to become a nun and founded the convent of the Holy Cross in Poitiers where she is buried. I was intrigued by this woman of so long ago, educated, with a mind of her own who actually got what she wanted! The Talmont church had been left in ruins until after the war when it was reconstructed by some of Christian's family who worked for many years for the Ministry of Historical Monuments. We talked together about the difficulties and the burden of being a country with many old and important buildings. How to decide where to spend the money when there is never enough to fix everything? I mentioned the beautiful buildings we had noticed in Rochefort, being left to the elements. Christian shrugged in true Gallic fashion: "But what to do ? History is everywhere in France!" We have been struck by this during our time here. Not only is the country full of history but so are its people. I have begun think this becomes a burden, something that  Canadians won't understand for another few hundred years. We have heard of French families almost ruining themselves by desperately trying to keep the old family house going. It has been passed from generation to generation for centuries, so it is impossible to give it up, just impossible. Christian told us how difficult it was for him and Josiane to decide which of the two family homes he inherited would be kept. And we have read about the resurgence of villages in France, fuelled by the return of people to their roots, where they buy second homes. It is wonderful and exciting for us to be part of this, to be able to see our roots in this area and learn more about the people who settled Canada. We see that in Canada we often have been too quick to demolish the old in favour of the new. I am glad that, however toothless they seem at times, we are beginning to develop protection laws for our old buildings and that more money is being dedicated to their upkeep. On the other hand, we can see how being a new country reduces the weight of the past: We look more readily to the future, are more easily able to adapt to change than European countries. Somehow these old stones are a heavy burden on their owners, dragging their spirits into the past whether they wish it or not.

French Women Don't Get Fat

Have we all been traumatized by Mireille Guiliano and French Women Don't Get Fat? The idea of the chic French woman has been in existence for centuries. When I lived in Paris for a glorious year at the age of 20, I arrived with a new wardrobe for the experience. None of it was quite right. The French women of the time were dressed in a chic uniform: pale grey coats, plain black shoes with small heels, their hair in a chignon and, even back then, a scarf arranged in a cunning fashion. Under the coat things were a bit more diverse but the clothes were always classic, conservative and in black, grey, cream and white.

Some of you will remember my stressed out state before I left Canada, wondering what kind of clothes would be appropriate. What to take so I wouldn't be immediately branded as an unfashionable hick? French women have such a reputation for chic that it is hard not to be intimidated. And yet, the truth is they are not all chic or thin. Because we believe they are, we look at them differently and at first glance, we only see the ones who are dressed with flair. Now that I have been here a while, I am beginning to see (with some relief) that there are lots of women who are a bit overweight and who are not dressed in the latest styles. But the difference seems to be that 95% of French women take care. When you see Canadian women out shopping on a Saturday in their jeans and fleece, they often look as if they just got out of bed; as if they haven't given their appearance a thought. Is this perhaps the result of feminism in North America, that we think it is unnecessary to care about how we look? Or is it that the cult of casual and comfort has taken over the fashion landscape? Otherwise, how can it be that the country that invented jeans looks so awful in them and here, jeans are the uniform of choice of almost everyone and they look wonderful? I think the difference might be that French women think about looking good and sexy most of the time. There are hairdressers everywhere: within two blocks of this apartment, there are at least 10 and they all have customers. There are little spa salons and nail shops galore and lingerie boutiques in abundance. And of course, there are many choices for buying creams and cosmetics. Pharmacies sell all sorts of special skin creams and the pharmacist will consult with you on the best one for your type of skin. There are endless numbers of body creams for cellullite, special herbal capsules for weight loss. I wonder if this notion of looking after yourself, caring about yourself is the reason for this je ne sais quoi of French women?  The idea that "I am worth spending time and money on" may in fact inspire confidence? And that confidence then makes her present herself to the world differently? Whatever it is, it is impressive.

Underwear shops are full of lacy, sexy underwear. French women do not buy these 'for good'. They wear them every day. I can say this with authourity now that I belong to Women Fitness. I am amazed and impressed with what is underneath the clothes of these women. The older women who belong are equally decked out in frilly things. This week, Laurence, who is my age or older, was wearing bright orange matching bra and little pants under her jeans and sweater. I had to comment! At first, she seemed surprised that I would find this unusual, "Mais, c'est normale!" she replied. But she also shared with me where to buy good quality and beautiful underwear like hers.

The fashion scene has clearly changed and loosened up a bit since I was 20 in Paris. However, the idea of uniform still seems to exist. In La Rochelle, women are wearing skinny jeans tucked into high boots, thigh length jackets and of course, the scarf tied in many clever ways. Long skirts have been popular this winter, usually with asymetrical or pouffed hems, also worn with boots, sometimes ankle height, sometimes high. So after Christmas I went off to buy new boots at the wonderful 'soldes'. I do not think of myself as thin and in comparison with some French women, I am downright fat! However, I have always thought my ankles and calves were shapely and attractive. Imagine my horror upon discovering that I couldn't fit my calves, let alone my calves AND my jeans, into any of the boots on offer! I felt like Cinderella's sisters as I struggled with boot after boot. Then I felt worse as the store clerks searched for something with wide elastic inserts. I returned home completely undone. Finally, I found a pair but I don't really like them. I think I will sell them to the second hand clothing store before I leave.

So, it's not true that French Women Don't Get Fat, or that they are uniformly chic and well put together. However, my impression is that they spend more time thinking about and working on their appearance than Canadian women. Is this a good thing or a bad thing?

Goodbye to Géry and Marie

"We need to do something to say goodbye to Géry and Marie", I said to David one day in February. He agreed as we both wanted to celebrate two people who had made our lives in La Rochelle so much fun. David knows these throw-away comments can be dangerous to his peaceful life so he murmured quietly and I continued to think about what we could do. As we have met many of their friends, the idea began to germinate into some sort of party. They have lots of friends so perhaps a kind of cocktail party? Or an afternoon tea party? And then, somehow it became lunch for 12 people. Now you must understand that lunch in France is NOT a sandwich, a salad or a burger. Lunch in France is a proper meal and when you are celebrating it is LUNCH. There is something about feeding the French that inspires one's nerves to tense! This country, with its reputation for excellent food and attention to detail, can reduce you to a puddle of anxiety if you contemplate what you are about to do! And this one was important. We wanted to make it very special. To soothe ourselves, we began to plan and make lists. First off, the menu. It would have to include the requisite 5-6 courses so would we be able to find enough dishes and cutlery? Then, how to seat 12 people? Definitely no buffet style meals here. And finally, how to make the day seem festive and fun?
The menu gradually developed. We decided to have a mixture of French, Béninois and Canadian food. Because the Marchant's friends are generous, like them, various people offered to bring parts of the meal. So here is what we ate:

The amuse-gueules were the appetizers: smoked salmon, sweet potato pancakes, nuts and olives. Sweet potato pancakes are Béninois. Sweet potatoes are a new addition to French grocery stores. Often the check-out clerks ask us what it is. No one had ever eaten them when we made Thanksgiving dinner. In the end, the smoked salmon was the only Canadian item on the menu. I had planned to make Butter Tarts but the abundance of desserts made them de trop. We had two apple tarts, one pear and apple crumble and a strawberry pie.Then, imagine, that in this rented apartment we actually have a dinner service for 12!! Of course, there had to be a bit of juggling and washing of plates to accommodate the number of courses. But we only had to use paper plates for the cheese. We even had enough chairs! David made lovely place cards with the emblem of a Béninois king on each one. Then to add to our stress, I decided we should propose a toast—in French. As a result, we went about the house for a few days muttering our lines!

 We bought balloons, a frieze of parrots, photocopied French, Bénin and Canadian flags. Two friends, Pascale and Guy arrived early to help with the decorations and setting the tables and wonder of wonders, it all came together.

                              

And what a wonderful afternoon it was. Friends came from Nîmes, Nantes and Cholet as well as La Rochelle. At the last minute, one guest asked to bring her sister so we ended up with 13. Thank goodness for Guy and Pascale who brought extra place settings and told us that while French superstition sees 13 as bad luck, it can also be a good luck charm. They also suggested that a 14^th place is often set where no one sits but is supposed to be given to the poor. We felt that was challenging our limits of space and equipment so decided to go for the good luck charm story. As is typical here, our lunch began at 12:30 and ended around 5:30.

                                        

       



There was lots of talking and laughter; everyone helped and dear Pascale and Guy stayed for another hour to clean up. Best of all, Marie and Géry were touched by the warmth and celebration.   

                          

 

During the afternoon, a new plan was conceived: New Year's Eve 2011 in Kandi, Bénin and in 2012 in Toronto, Canada. I have already begun to plan as you all know what Le Réveillon is like in France (see New Year's Eve in La Rochelle)!! Start practising your dancing! I will begin to lay in a supply of foie gras!

What is Mi-Carême?

Having been raised an Anglican, I thought I knew all about the major celebrations of the Catholic Church but I have never heard of Mi-Carême. We were perplexed on our last visit to a large supermarket to see all sorts of costumes and masks for sale. We couldn't find any staff to ask about them (some things are the same the world over!) and forgot about it. Then last Saturday I went out in the afternoon and found . . . chaos! Loud noisy marching bands, floats, lots of singing and shouting and what looked like confetti floating in the wind. As I got closer, I realized that many people, children and adults, were wearing costumes and masks. "What is going on?" I asked someone. "Mais, it is the Mi-Carême celebration, bien sûr," they replied. I ran back to the apartment to get the camera and David. Together we might figure it out. The other two people I asked about the origins of this celebration were no wiser than the first so we enjoyed it and went to the internet when we returned. It seems that Mi-Carême began as a bit of a release from the rigours of Lent. For one day, people were allowed to eat, drink and celebrate before returning to their fast. One source suggested that it really had to with the shelf life of eggs which long ago were on the proscribed list of foods. It seems that eggs would last about 20 days before going bad. 20 days—mid way through Lent—a festival to use them up on cakes and crêpes. Why not? Then came the dressing up as a sort of re-creation of Mardi Gras. Imagine my surprise to discover that Mi-Carême is still celebrated in a few places in Quebec and New Brunswick. There, it lasts for five days. The women make elaborate costumes for the men.

They then go out every evening in their disguises to visit the neighbours where they are given food and drink. It sounds a bit like Halloween for adults. Here in La Rochelle, it was only one afternoon and a bit later than mid-way through Lent. However, everyone was enjoying themselves and afterwards the cafés were full.

Some people were eating fish-shaped cakes and chocolates. We discovered another old feature of French life—les poissons d'avril. This tradition may have originated in 1564 when King Charles IX decided that the new year should begin on the 1^st of January instead of the customary 1^st of April. It took time for this to be accepted and people continued to give each other New Year's' gifts on April 1st. These gifts were often food and as it was still Lent, fish was a favourite offering. As the practice of New Year's on January 1^st took hold, the April 1^st gifts turned into jokes played on those who were silly enough to be following the old custom. Today in France, children still pin paper fish on people's backs and shout out:"Poisson d'avril!" And the shops are full of fish in all sorts of different creations. Some are made of bread.

Here are the chocolate fish we bought at our favourite chocolatier.

Bonne Fêtes de Mi-Carême, Poissons d'Avril et Pâcques à vous tous !

Friendship in a Foreign Land

Just over a year ago, we decided on La Rochelle and began to look for housing. As we trolled through the available apartments, I was struck by the lack of comfortable seating in most living rooms. Until I discovered a charming house with two Ikea Poang chairs. I have always loved the design and comfort of these chairs so this house rose to the top of our list. We emailed the owners who replied promptly letting us know that the house was unavailable as they were returning to live in it themselves. The email ended by saying: "If there is anything we can do to help you, please let us know." There was something about the tone of the email that made us believe that this was not a throw-away line but that it came from people who really meant it. We took them up on it and asked for advice. And so began a gift of friendship that we will treasure long past our time in La Rochelle. The presence of Géry and Marie Marchant in our lives has helped to make this experience richer, more fun and more interesting than it ever would have been without them.
Over the months before we left we emailed over 200 times and talked on Skype. We all wondered about each other and whether when we finally met, we would have much in common. Now it feels as though we have known each other for years. We have hung out together, helped each other, had coffee and walks together. They have shown us where to shop, interesting places in the city, encouraged us in our French. They have introduced us to many people and given us experiences we would never have had without them.

So who are these people who have made such a difference in our lives? Marie is chic, animated and very funny. She listens with great attention and interest,one of the reasons why she has been an effective counsellor in a variety of settings. She is energetic, extroverted and a risk-taker.
Géry is tall and lanky with a shock of blond curly hair that makes him look much younger than his 60 years. His bright blue eyes reflect what he is thinking. He is quieter and outwardly more serious than Marie, slower to express himself. However, he is quick to laugh and when he speaks it is worth listening to. Married in their forties, they are each other's best friend.

They come from different parts of France,  but share childhoods in large families. They readily give credit to their families for some of the characteristics that drive them. Marie's eldest brother was born with severe disabilities. Everyone in the family was needed to care for him as both parents worked. While sometimes difficult, she thinks this has made her sensitive to the needs of others and drove her to choose professions (teacher and psychologist) where she could put this skill to use. Géry grew up on a farm in the north of France. He says his work ethic comes from his father's influence as does his interest in learning new things. He is a student pilot and sailor. Both are musicians. Marie is an accomplished pianist, Géry, a new student of the saxophone.

Most of all, they are honest and true people. They are steadfast and loyal. We know that if ever we needed help in a hurry, they would arrive at our door no matter the time of day. They are true believers in "paying it forward". And that is what they are about to do. They leave for Africa on April 6 for four years. Géry will be working for an NGO in Bénin, a small country in West Africa, formerly the French colony Dahomey. In true Marchant fashion, they are excited to be going on a new adventure, passionate about the country that is to be their new home and committed to the difference they hope to make in the lives of the Béninois.

We will miss them during the months that remain for us in La Rochelle. But we are sure that we will meet again: in Africa, in Canada or once more in France. Meanwhile, our friendship will continue as it began via email and Skype.

Chers Marie et Géry, bon courage! Vous serez toujours dans nos pensées et nos cœurs.

The Joys of Exercise

There is a funny chapter in Adam Gopnik's book Paris to the Moon (a wonderful read) about his difficulties in finding a gym in Paris; French Women Don't Get Fat (Mireille Guiliano) proposes that French women are reluctant to do any kind of exercise other than walking. We are often told that La Rochelle is different from other French cities so perhaps the women here are different too. The fact is we see many women jogging and there are lots of gyms advertising to women. Last November, David discovered an ad, offering 'promotions' for a new gym for women only and I went off to investigate. I was greeted by two enthusiastic and good-looking men, Laurent and Ludovic who sold me on Women Fitness, yes, another example of Franglais! Only a ten minute walk away, I can  get there, do my séance and be home in just over an hour, a little more if I have a shower or dawdle on the way home. The concept of Women Fitness is similar to Curves.  The idea is to move around a circuit of resistance machines, spending two minutes at each one. They exercise major muscle groups as well as giving you a cardio workout in 30 minutes. Women Fitness is the same. The differences? The audio "director" who calls out 'changement de poste' when the two minutes are up and this massage machine.

Every woman in the gym uses this. It is supposed to rub the fat away! I'm not sure about that but it feels good after a workout and it can't hurt! The other difference is the hours: Monday to Friday 9:00 to 14:00 and 15:30-20:00; closed on the weekends. Note the closing for lunch every day. The timing is different from the rest of the city, allowing women to come during their lunch hours but still giving Ludovic time for his. So far, he says, they have not had much demand for weekend opening.

Like most gyms in Toronto, the Women Fitness members are a diverse group: young and old, working and retired, single and in relationships. They also come in many different shapes and sizes. Some are there to lose weight, others to do what they call 'le sport'. This expression may support Mireille Guiliano if going to this type of gym qualifies as sport! They are a friendly group and I have had some interesting chats as we exercise together. Laurent has now returned to Blois where he runs the club there and Ludovic, Ludo for short, is now the 'responsable' for this branch.  He is a charming and thoughtful young man. He knows everyone's name and makes it his business to greet us as we arrive. He supervises the gym, gives consultations and encourages us all as we sweat away on the machines: "Allez, allez!", he calls out, clapping his hands in time to the music. The club was flooded during the big storm and was closed for a week. The day it reopened was International Women's Day and Ludo had roses, each one wrapped and tied with a ribbon, for everyone who came that day. Altogether, I am enjoying this French gym experience.

The only successful gym experiences in my life have been ones in which the gym was very close to home or work, where getting there was not an effort. Going to Women Fitness, even in the cold or rain, is a delight. I will so miss this walk when we leave La Rochelle. I set out from home and head down the street towards the market, through the Arsenal that used to house the army and now houses some of the city government as well as a parking lot for the public and for the rental bicycles and electric cars owned by the city.

I cross the canal and head around the lake. On the other side of the lake, you can see part of the old city wall.

On my way back, I often go up the Rue St. Nicholas. This area dates from the 12^th century. It was, for a long time, the disreputable haunt of sailors. Our friend, Valérie was not allowed near there as a young girl! It is now full of boutiques, restaurants and bars. It is a narrow cobbled street and I like using it for the view of the city that suddenly appears at its end.

I know I will go back to exercising with Norma at the East York Community Centre and that I will enjoy it. But I will miss Ludo and the Women Fitness women. And I will crave the beauty of this walk through La Rochelle.