Here are a few random pictures from my trip to the grocery store yesterday. Yes, that’s lingeré there. What can I say? It’s France. But do me a favor… Scroll down to the picture of the boxes of “Zoop’s” cookies. Start at the bottom. The cookies with the picture of a lion on the box have a lion on them. The cookies with the picture of a pirate on the box have a pirate on them. The cookies with the picture of a kid and his big red school bag have a picture of…? What IS that?
I have several things to say about this shirt. First of all… Dude, you are the co-owner of the new Thai restaurant in Lourmarin, so if you really are part of some far-reaching conspiracy, you have created an excellent cover for yourself. Well done, indeed. Also, your seafood in green curry sauce is delicious. But you have sort of blown your cover by wearing this shirt. You see, when you’re part of a conspiracy of any kind, it’s really the type of enterprise in which the participants shouldn’t wear uniforms, name tags or any type of clothing that identifies them as part of the secret plot. That’s how the guy who shot Kennedy got away: Not wearing a t-shirt that said “I just shot JFK.” That’s common knowledge. All you need to do to remedy the situation is take a seam-ripper to the back of your shirt and remove the lettering. It may look a little ragged. And as a garment, it will still violate several fashion regulations. But you can’t get arrested for that. But then again, this is France. Maybe you can.
In the very heart of France lies a village that considers itself love’s hometown: Saint Valentin. Every February, the population of 285 welcomes 10,000 visitors for the Fête des Amoureux (festival of lovers). Held the weekend closest to St. Valentine’s Day and on the 14th itself, the celebration attracts visitors from all over the world who come to Saint Valentin to propose, renew their vows or celebrate their anniversaries.
Lovers spend the weekend strolling the streets of the tiny village, which are filled with music, dancing, art and flower displays, romantic gifts and souvenirs. Other lovers’ activities include the Saturday night dîner-spectacle (dinner and a show), followed by an evening of dancing into the wee hours. There is also a special Sunday Mass featuring the renowned boys’ choir of St. Sylvain.
Marriage ceremonies are held at the church of Saint Valentin and couples celebrating special anniversaries (25, 30, 40 years, etc.) can request to be included in a ceremony blessing their union. Singles make the pilgrimage to the altar of love as well, hoping to meet someone special during the festivities or to hang a heart-shaped wish on the wishing tree in the Jardin des Amoureux (garden of lovers). The Saint Valentin post office even offers a specially designed stamp and a postmark featuring two interlocking hearts, both of which are coveted by stamp collectors and said to be good luck on wedding invitations.
Sightseeing
Don’t miss the chance to fall in love with the surrounding area. Saint Valentin is located in the southern tip of the Loire Valley, known as the “Garden of France” and is famous for its vineyards, castles, monuments and mouth-watering cuisine.
Eight villages in t
he Loire have been designated among the “100 Most Beautiful Villages in France.” 134 of the region’s 800 castles are open for touring, including the spectacular Château du Clos Lucé, where Leonardo da Vinci spent his final days. For those who prefer the outdoors, there are more than 200 parks perfect for picnicking, 30 golf courses, 115 m2 of lakes, 155 m2 of river (the Loire) and more than 75 water sports centers. Always wanted to bike through the wine country? The Loire boasts 186 miles of scenic bike trails, including “green paths” made of an environmentally friendly type of beige cement.
Where to Stay
La Cognette is a small but exquisite three-star hotel and gourmet restaurant just 7 miles outside the village of St. Valentin. Enjoy a gourmet five-course meal, breakfast in bed and weekend packages featuring a deluxe room and complimentary bottle of Champagne upon your arrival. Rates start at $140. Book at www.la-cognette.com or +33.02.54.03.59.59
Getting There
· Fly Air France to Paris and take the train to Chateauroux via Tours.
· Fly British Airways to London. Discount airline Ryanair (www.ryanair.com) offers daily flights from London Stanstead airport to Tours (sometimes for as little as pennies, plus airport tax).
· Car rental in Tours and Chateauroux available from Avis (www.avis.com) and Europcar (www.europcar.com).
Regional Attractions
Amboise: Château du Clos Lucé, where Leonardo da Vinci spent his final days
Blois: The unofficial heart of the French Renaissance
Bourges: Legend says Caesar deemed it the most beautiful town in all of Gaul
Chartres: Medieval cooking at the Château de Châteaudun
Chaumont-sur-Loire: International Garden Festival (April-October)
Cher: 400 timber-framed houses from the Middle Ages, 100 Romanesque churches
Vendôme: Balzac’s childhood home
Find out more at: www.loirevalleytourism.com
Today, on my way home from yoga, I passed a group of 30 or so hikers descending a dirt track on our land. They were serious hikers, with real boots and metal walking sticks and everything. They looked like they were really enjoying the weather and the scenery.
As I smiled and waved at them, the ridiculousness of it all hit me. These people saved up their money and vacation days and came all the way to Provence from who knows where just to walk around on our property. We are their holiday destination! I live in a tourist attraction! I realized that I need to make this official and start a list:
Ways in Which My Life Is Similar to the Late Princess Diana’s:
1. Blond hair
2. Blue eyes
3. Both really excited about her wedding in 1981
4. Married into a royal family
5. Live inside tourist attraction
6. Wave at crowds as we drive by
As long as the subject of stereotypes has been broached (it was, briefly, in yesterday’s post) there’s a French stereotype about Americans I thought you would find amusing. French people are under the impression that the most popular drink in the United States is whiskey.* And because they think it’s a very cool, American thing to drink, they all drink it. Every French household has a bottle of whiskey behind the bar.
It’s amusing to witness their confusion when I politely decline a whiskey on the rocks in favor of a nice white wine or a rosé during cocktail hour. “But Americans love whiskey,” they say with absolute certainty. “You really don’t want one?” They usually seem puzzled, then consult the label and assure me that it’s very good whiskey and ask me once again if I am very, very sure that I don’t want one. Non, merci.
This misconception is so common that there is kind of a standard exchange when I go to get a drink at the bar of any wedding, anniversary party or village fête. First, they spot my accent and ask if I am British. I tell them that I am actually an American and then apologize quickly for the Bush years. The person manning the bar then says, “American! So you’ll be wanting a whiskey then, right?” I say, no thank you, and order something else. The bartender then repeats, in an amazed tone of voice that is usually reserved for scenarios in which people are being told that the world is coming to an end unless they rescue a cheerleader, “Not a whiskey?” I assure them calmly that I don’t want a whiskey and then try to leave with the drink I ordered before the temptation to mess with their heads and tell them that I can fly or travel through time becomes too great.
Through careful questioning over the years, though, I have finally discovered the root of this misconception. It is, unsurprisingly, telelvision. Some of the most popular American entertainment here in France has featured either whiskey-drinking fatcats: Dallas, Dynasty; whiskey-drinking detectives: The Untouchables (the series starring Robert Stack) or whiskey-drinking cowboys: anything by Sergio Leone or starring Clint Eastwood. With this being what French people are using to base their assumptions about American drinking habits on, you can see how confusion has resulted. Given that American series are notoriously slow to make it to French television, I fear for their opinions of us when the current batch of new programming makes it over here. Will 30 Rock have the French offering me hot dogs for breakfast? Will old episodes of Survivor have them daring me to eat bugs? Will Scrubs finally popularize the apple martini? Top Chef is going to confuse the hell out of them! Just the thought of it is making me want a drink. Maybe I’ll have that whiskey after all, please.
*I’m spelling it the Irish way in honor of our upcoming trip to Ireland. If we ever make plans to go to Scotland, I will spell it “whisky.”
One of the stereotypes about the French that is actually true is their passion for life, or joie de vivre, as the French themselves would say. There’s no occasion too small, no historical figure too obscure, no food so insignificant that it doesn’t qualify as a reason to celebrate. One of the most spectacular celebrations of this kind is the Fête du Citron (or Lemon Festival), held every February in the seaside city of Menton.
During this two-week event, which is known as the Carnival of the Mediterranean, the virtues of the simple citrus fruit are celebrated with citrus monuments and life-sized scenes (like this one of New Orleans, pictured at right) as well as a parade of floats constructed using oranges, lemons, grapefruit and limes. 200,000 visitors descend on Menton during the festival to see the sights, cheer on the parade and taste the fare at the many stalls offering everything from fresh orange juice and lemonade to crepes, pies, jam, candy, liqueur and even olive oil made with citrus fruits. There are also bath and body products and candles with a citrus scent to enjoy at home.
Why citrus fruit? Why here? Menton is home to a micro-climate that allows its delicate lemon and orange trees to bear fruit year-round. As the story goes, in 1929 a hotelier tired of the February tourism slump had the bright idea of organizing an elaborate display of flowers and citrus fruit in Menton’s public garden to attract out-of-towners. It was such a runaway success that the Fête du Citron is now celebrating its 75th year as an offical celebration.
As stunning as this was to witness, I couldn’t stop thinking about what a waste of lovely fruit it was. And no one we asked seemed to know what happened to all the fruit when the festivites were over, but “fed to animals” was a popular guess. This festival is definitely worth a visit if you are ever in southern France in February, though! More pictures are at right, under “Photos.”
If there’s one thing French people love, apart from wine, rich sauces and long lunches, it’s spicing things up with a bit of English. Unfortunately, this isn’t always done with the savoir-faire that the French are known for. More often than not, they only have the faintest idea what their t-shirt, business name or bumper sticker actually means. And charmingly, this doesn’t seem to bother them much, as is evidenced by the boy in the jacket pictured. That’s Vincent, Johann’s cousin, and when we asked him if he knew what his jacket said, he admitted that he didn’t. So we explained it to him. That was three years ago. He’s still wearing the jacket. Why? He doesn’t care what it says and nobody he knows understands it, anyway.
You gotta love that.
I have a lot of policies that I live by. Rules, so to speak, that govern the way I navigate life. You couldn’t really call them morals or ethics, because they apply to things that are too trivial to be governed by such lofty ideals. No, they’re definitely “policies.” For instance, one of my policies is that I will not purchase anything from a store with a name that involves improper spelling, punctuation or grammar. For example, there’s a lovely furniture shop between Aix and Marseille that I won’t allow myself to buy anything from (even though everything in it is gorgeous) because it’s called “Interior’s.” To purchase an ottoman at this store would just be encouraging misuse of the possesive, I feel.
Anyway, I broke one of my policies today. I have a strict policy against buying any magazine with a picture of Paris Hilton on the cover, and not just because I can’t stand to have her horsey face staring vacantly at me from the magazine rack. It’s because I want mankind to get over its obsession with the fact that this completely useless human being is needlessly famous. It’s a self-fulfiling prophecy, people! You’re making her more famous by writing articles about how pointless she is! I feel like I do my part to discourage this behavior by not reading anything that’s written about her. So you can imagine my disappointment with the people at Intelligent Life when I saw the cover pictured above.
What’s up with this, Intelligent Life? You’re a subsidiary of The Economist! Shame on you. And don’t get me started on the photo… You actually expect me to believe Paris Hilton is reading a BOOK? Let alone a book by Tolstoy? You’re not fooling anybody, Intelligent Life. Her EYES ARE CLOSED, for crying out loud! Yes, I realize that a photo of Paris Hilton reading a book is meant to be ironic to everyone but Paris Hilton, who likely thinks that “irony” is an adjective describing a shirt someone has just pressed for her. But anyone not temporarily blinded by the weight of her own false eyelashes can see that your cover still features a photo of a grown woman who is wearing eyeshadow and lipgloss with glitter in it. And that’s beneath you. In fact, it demeans us all.
So why did I buy this, then? I needed two watch batteries replaced, and the only shop in town that does this is the newsagent. I had to spend a minimum of €10 to use my credit card, so I had to buy something. This was the only magazine they had in English. You see, I also have a policy against being late for things (it’s inconsiderate) so I really needed the watch batteries. But it’s clear now that I need to create a policy for situations where my policies conflict with one another. I’ll let you know when I come up with one.
Lost In Provence 