I've just got back to work after one week looking after my two kids. They are four and nineteen months. It's great to spend quality time with them, but boy is it hard work! I've finally accepted that I can do nothing else when they are around. If I leave them for longer than five minutes, the battle starts: usually one or the other taking the toy or book that their sibling is playing with. I must confess to having stuck them in front of a cartoon while I had a 30- minute telephone lesson with a student. I am also a little disappointed to say, that the addictive power of TV kept them quiet for the full 30 minutes. The danger now is that I will use it again to get some peace while I do something else.
One of the difficulties is that there is so little to do with small kids. Tours of the local duck pond can get tedious. The museums are not adapted to their age, and they are not really ready to hit the ski slopes. We generally take a walk in the morning, followed by lunch and a nap. I suppose I shouldn't complain because nap time can give me two full hours to myself. If they sleep! In the afternoon, we might do some shopping, or another walk, or if the weather is bad some cooking. Generally about 6pm tempers become frayed. I've run out of activities, I want to start preparing dinner, and the kids want mummy. So when my poor wife walks through the door, after a full days work, she is mobbed.
Of course any woman reading this will smile and say, 'Now you see how it is for women!' I have been looking after my kids every Wednesday since my daughter was born in 2004. In France fathers can do this and, as there is no school on Wednesday it saves on child care. Despite the difficulties I am glad I did it and grateful that my work enables me to look after them.
Monday 23 February 2009
Monday 16 February 2009
Valentine's meal
“Excuse me”, said the guy at the next table, as the elderly waitress rushed past, “Could I have some salt?” The waitress paused long enough to say, “You’ll have to ask the lady looking after your table.”, before brushing through the swing doors to the kitchen, situated just next to his table. The reaction was one of consternation, not just at his table, but also at other tables within earshot. This insignificant exchange summed up our Valentine’s dinner.
Disappointed with the quality of restaurants in our town, we still venture out from time to time, with hope in our hearts, to try a new venue. So, I had booked a table at a hotel we had passed a few times. By coincidence it was the 14 of February. On the telephone, I had been told there was a special Valentine’s menu. The hotel from the outside looks old, with its large sash windows and turn of the century architecture, but it had recently undergone a renovation, so we were keen to give it a try.
Our arrival was not auspicious, we missed the button by the front door which had to be pressed to gain entry. A guest opened the door from the inside, when he spotted us struggling. The reception area was empty, so we passed through into a bar. Some antique, and very uncomfortable looking hi- backed chairs were arranged around two marble topped, and equally old looking tables. Several couples were in the bar, drinking and nibbling crisps. The conversation was hushed, like a funeral. Suddenly a tall, thin and rather fraught looking woman appeared and welcomed us. “We’ve booked a table”, my wife told her. “Oh, is it eight o’clock already?” was her response. I had not been given a time when booking, but it appeared that we were early. She installed us on two of the, we were able to confirm, uncomfortable chairs and gave us a drink and bowl of crisps. We chatted and took in our surroundings. The hotel had clearly had a lick of paint, but the high, cracked ceilings, with candelabras and mouldings gave away its age. Gradually more people began to filter in until, at what must have been eight a clock, there was a rush towards the doors at the end of the bar. No signal had been given, but this was clearly the moment to grab your table. We followed the mass into a room packed with tables, mostly for two people. A musical duo was installed at one end of the room and had started playing their repertoire of classic French easy listening. We were informed that we could choose where to sit, and judiciously headed away from the band.
There must have been thirty, or so, tables in the room with not a lot of space in between for the waitresses, or intimacy. We were served a second champagne cocktail and another bowl of crisps. We then witnessed a debate, between two waitresses, about who was serving which part of the room. This was conducted over the heads of a couple, which represented the dividing line between the two territories. We were unfortunately consigned to the older of the two waitresses who, we soon realised, was out of her depth. First, she forgot who she had served aperitif drinks to, then, she handed out the wine menus and began taking orders from those closest to the kitchen doors. We were lucky not to have chosen a table further from the kitchen While others had still not been served their aperitif, she made empty handed trips to and from the kitchen. She wrote down wine orders but left the menu on the table instead of handing it to another couple. The other waitress had meanwhile grabbed a tray from which to serve the aperitif, instead of two at a time like ours. Everyone in her section was soon served. There was however no loyalty, and she did not come to the aid of our hapless waitress. This performance was made all the more amusing as the menu was set, and the only choice we had was the wine. Our wine arrived very cold, and we were not offered the chance to taste the wine. As the evening wore on, she became more nervous, muttering to herself and seemed truly lost. The unhappy, salt demanding, couple were offered a compensatory glass of champagne by their waitress. Some brave souls from our sector asked for more bread, which when it finally arrived was completely different from the bread we had eaten before, and so hot it had obviously just been defrosted.
The antics of the waiting staff would have been amusing if the food had been good, sadly the foie gras was too cold and the beef too tough. The overall impression was of a restaurant out of its depth. There were sixty five people in all, many of who had paid for a package, with a night in the hotel. I just hope their rooms were good. As soon as we had finished we scuttled out the door, as many other couples did, while the duo played their easy listening mix. All in all a Valentine’s to remember, and I forgot to get any flowers!
Disappointed with the quality of restaurants in our town, we still venture out from time to time, with hope in our hearts, to try a new venue. So, I had booked a table at a hotel we had passed a few times. By coincidence it was the 14 of February. On the telephone, I had been told there was a special Valentine’s menu. The hotel from the outside looks old, with its large sash windows and turn of the century architecture, but it had recently undergone a renovation, so we were keen to give it a try.
Our arrival was not auspicious, we missed the button by the front door which had to be pressed to gain entry. A guest opened the door from the inside, when he spotted us struggling. The reception area was empty, so we passed through into a bar. Some antique, and very uncomfortable looking hi- backed chairs were arranged around two marble topped, and equally old looking tables. Several couples were in the bar, drinking and nibbling crisps. The conversation was hushed, like a funeral. Suddenly a tall, thin and rather fraught looking woman appeared and welcomed us. “We’ve booked a table”, my wife told her. “Oh, is it eight o’clock already?” was her response. I had not been given a time when booking, but it appeared that we were early. She installed us on two of the, we were able to confirm, uncomfortable chairs and gave us a drink and bowl of crisps. We chatted and took in our surroundings. The hotel had clearly had a lick of paint, but the high, cracked ceilings, with candelabras and mouldings gave away its age. Gradually more people began to filter in until, at what must have been eight a clock, there was a rush towards the doors at the end of the bar. No signal had been given, but this was clearly the moment to grab your table. We followed the mass into a room packed with tables, mostly for two people. A musical duo was installed at one end of the room and had started playing their repertoire of classic French easy listening. We were informed that we could choose where to sit, and judiciously headed away from the band.
There must have been thirty, or so, tables in the room with not a lot of space in between for the waitresses, or intimacy. We were served a second champagne cocktail and another bowl of crisps. We then witnessed a debate, between two waitresses, about who was serving which part of the room. This was conducted over the heads of a couple, which represented the dividing line between the two territories. We were unfortunately consigned to the older of the two waitresses who, we soon realised, was out of her depth. First, she forgot who she had served aperitif drinks to, then, she handed out the wine menus and began taking orders from those closest to the kitchen doors. We were lucky not to have chosen a table further from the kitchen While others had still not been served their aperitif, she made empty handed trips to and from the kitchen. She wrote down wine orders but left the menu on the table instead of handing it to another couple. The other waitress had meanwhile grabbed a tray from which to serve the aperitif, instead of two at a time like ours. Everyone in her section was soon served. There was however no loyalty, and she did not come to the aid of our hapless waitress. This performance was made all the more amusing as the menu was set, and the only choice we had was the wine. Our wine arrived very cold, and we were not offered the chance to taste the wine. As the evening wore on, she became more nervous, muttering to herself and seemed truly lost. The unhappy, salt demanding, couple were offered a compensatory glass of champagne by their waitress. Some brave souls from our sector asked for more bread, which when it finally arrived was completely different from the bread we had eaten before, and so hot it had obviously just been defrosted.
The antics of the waiting staff would have been amusing if the food had been good, sadly the foie gras was too cold and the beef too tough. The overall impression was of a restaurant out of its depth. There were sixty five people in all, many of who had paid for a package, with a night in the hotel. I just hope their rooms were good. As soon as we had finished we scuttled out the door, as many other couples did, while the duo played their easy listening mix. All in all a Valentine’s to remember, and I forgot to get any flowers!
Friday 13 February 2009
Impressions of France
I received a questionnaire, this week, from the site www.expatica.com asking about my impressions of France. The first question asked for my first impressions, not easy to answer after 8 years of living here. A lot of water has passed under the bridge and my vision is affected by hindsight. However, I do remember being struck by the beauty of the Alps. Today, the mountains have become a banal feature of my daily commute to work. What about the food? the questionnaire demanded. Of course, like all foreigners, I enjoy French food, even snails! What has struck me though, is despite French mocking of English cooking, our two countries have a lot in common. The French 'boudin' is just a version of English black pudding. When my French in-laws describe raising, and then killing their own pig in the back garden in Normandy, I could be listening to my Grandmother describing rural life in Leicstershire. It is true, the French have a greater respect for their food than the English, and fast food isn't so prevalent, but our traditions are the same.
What would I like to change about France? Well, it seems that the changes I would like are already taking place. France, and the French, are very proud of themselves. They have the best public service, education and health. Many French never set foot outside the country as, according to one of my first students, they have everything in France. We all know their food is the best, etc, etc. However, today the French are beginning to realise that they are part of a global system, and that their are other models, and they could learn from them. The transformation will be painful, and centuries of tradition will have to be swept aside but the result will be better for all of us.
What would I like to change about France? Well, it seems that the changes I would like are already taking place. France, and the French, are very proud of themselves. They have the best public service, education and health. Many French never set foot outside the country as, according to one of my first students, they have everything in France. We all know their food is the best, etc, etc. However, today the French are beginning to realise that they are part of a global system, and that their are other models, and they could learn from them. The transformation will be painful, and centuries of tradition will have to be swept aside but the result will be better for all of us.
Monday 9 February 2009
Sarkozy
You've got love him! 15 million French people tuned in to his interview last Thursday. Okay, the journalists were handpicked, but they asked him some difficult questions ,and he had an answer to everyone. Okay, he probably scripted the whole thing, but he did look good. The so called opposition is so busy writing bitchy books about each other that Sarkozy has an easy ride.
This interview was supposed to address the worries of those who took to the streets the week before. Sarkozy was confident and promised to make the changes France needs. The so called general strike was less general than predicted, the usual suspects were there, teachers and railway workers. However, these groups strike so regularly nobody really takes any notice anymore. And what was this strike about? The global economic crisis! Note the word global, just what they thought they would achieve by striking against a global phenomenon is debatable. Okay, they are worried, well we're all worried. Okay, money is being handed out. But what do they expect, a brown envelope of cash through their letterboxes! Sarkozy has proposed a number of public works; TGV lines, nuclear powerstations, which will create jobs. The money is not directly in our pockets but it will filter down.
What really angers the trade unions here in France, is his reform of the public sector, which effects their members. But it's not the public sector who will be hit the hardest in this recession, it's the private sector workers who didn't strike. Those working in manufacturing who know the score. I like to think of them as the silent majority who voted for Sarkozy, and who still have confidence in him in absence of any realistic alternative. It's not time for strikes, it's time to hunker down and weather out the storm. Sarkozy may not be perfect but he's the best hope the French have today.
This interview was supposed to address the worries of those who took to the streets the week before. Sarkozy was confident and promised to make the changes France needs. The so called general strike was less general than predicted, the usual suspects were there, teachers and railway workers. However, these groups strike so regularly nobody really takes any notice anymore. And what was this strike about? The global economic crisis! Note the word global, just what they thought they would achieve by striking against a global phenomenon is debatable. Okay, they are worried, well we're all worried. Okay, money is being handed out. But what do they expect, a brown envelope of cash through their letterboxes! Sarkozy has proposed a number of public works; TGV lines, nuclear powerstations, which will create jobs. The money is not directly in our pockets but it will filter down.
What really angers the trade unions here in France, is his reform of the public sector, which effects their members. But it's not the public sector who will be hit the hardest in this recession, it's the private sector workers who didn't strike. Those working in manufacturing who know the score. I like to think of them as the silent majority who voted for Sarkozy, and who still have confidence in him in absence of any realistic alternative. It's not time for strikes, it's time to hunker down and weather out the storm. Sarkozy may not be perfect but he's the best hope the French have today.
Monday 2 February 2009
Walking in the mountains
As a treat, for my birthday, my wife booked me and her, without the kids, into a 'Gite d'étape' in the mountains, not far from our village. A 'Gite d'étape' is like any other except that it is usually on or close to a walking trail. The one we chose is set on the ski pistes at the Sept Laux, in Isere (http://rando7laux.free.fr/refuge.htm). We spent a pleasent evening in the company of Anita, after a short walk up from the station of Pleynet (http://www.les7laux.com/). Our objective was to walk, with our snow shoes, from Pleynet along a mountain ridge to the 'Cret du Poulet'. It is not a particularly arduous walk between 3 and 4 hours, over approximately 15 kms, with an ascension of about 300m. Of course, like all ridges you go up and down a fair bit. It is a safe walk, as there is no avalanche risk, and it is hard to get lost with the tracks of other walkers.
The Gite was very pleasent, a converted sheperds hut, which serves as skiers restaurant as well as Gite. The rooms were clean and warm. We ate our 'Tartifette', a traditional dish of potatoes, ham and cheese, in front of a fire. As we were the only guests the dining room took some time to warm. However, we were able to have a good chat with Anita the manager. She has lived in our village for a long time and runs the 'Refuge of the Cret du Poulet', our destination during the summer months.
Unfortunately, Anita was fairly disenchanted with the attitude of our local town hall, the owner of the 'Refuge du cret du Poulet', not least because after 15 years of loyal service, they had put the management of the 'Refuge' out to tender. We talked about tourism in the region; the influx of foreign visitors to these small, low mountain stations; and the difficulties faced by the service providers. It seems there is a lack of coordiantion which doesn't always encourage development.
The next morning, after a breakfast of coffee and croissants, we made our way under a menacing sky to the ridge. The views from the ridge are spectacular, to the right is the ridge running down from the 'Pic de Belle Etoile'. This part of the moutains is very dangerous with its numerous avalanche corridors. Far below we can see the villages and hamlets of the 'valley du Breda', a true alpine valley. On the left the scenery is gentler with the foothills of the Belledonne range giving way to the Gresivaudan valley and Grenoble. Then rising suddenly to the ramparts of the Chartreuse. Unfortunately, for us the snow clouds blocked our view to Grenoble and the Vercors beyond. We walked rapidly as, although the walk is safe, it is best not to be caught in the fog on this ridge.
Most of the walk is exposed, except the final portion following a marked snow shoe track through the trees to the picturesque 'Refuge du cret du Poulet, set in it's own clearing. The clearing is a junction for cross country skiing tracks. It is a an ideal place to stop and have a bite to eat, inside if the weather is bad or outside in the sun. The 'refuge' offers walkers meals and hot drinks. It is also possible to spend a night here. We finished our walk here and returned home to the kids, tired but relaxed.
The walk we did is only one section of a walk called the 'tour de pays d'Allevard' (http://rando7laux.free.fr/tpa.htm). We hope, when the kids are older, to complete some of the other sections.
The Gite was very pleasent, a converted sheperds hut, which serves as skiers restaurant as well as Gite. The rooms were clean and warm. We ate our 'Tartifette', a traditional dish of potatoes, ham and cheese, in front of a fire. As we were the only guests the dining room took some time to warm. However, we were able to have a good chat with Anita the manager. She has lived in our village for a long time and runs the 'Refuge of the Cret du Poulet', our destination during the summer months.
Unfortunately, Anita was fairly disenchanted with the attitude of our local town hall, the owner of the 'Refuge du cret du Poulet', not least because after 15 years of loyal service, they had put the management of the 'Refuge' out to tender. We talked about tourism in the region; the influx of foreign visitors to these small, low mountain stations; and the difficulties faced by the service providers. It seems there is a lack of coordiantion which doesn't always encourage development.
The next morning, after a breakfast of coffee and croissants, we made our way under a menacing sky to the ridge. The views from the ridge are spectacular, to the right is the ridge running down from the 'Pic de Belle Etoile'. This part of the moutains is very dangerous with its numerous avalanche corridors. Far below we can see the villages and hamlets of the 'valley du Breda', a true alpine valley. On the left the scenery is gentler with the foothills of the Belledonne range giving way to the Gresivaudan valley and Grenoble. Then rising suddenly to the ramparts of the Chartreuse. Unfortunately, for us the snow clouds blocked our view to Grenoble and the Vercors beyond. We walked rapidly as, although the walk is safe, it is best not to be caught in the fog on this ridge.
Most of the walk is exposed, except the final portion following a marked snow shoe track through the trees to the picturesque 'Refuge du cret du Poulet, set in it's own clearing. The clearing is a junction for cross country skiing tracks. It is a an ideal place to stop and have a bite to eat, inside if the weather is bad or outside in the sun. The 'refuge' offers walkers meals and hot drinks. It is also possible to spend a night here. We finished our walk here and returned home to the kids, tired but relaxed.
The walk we did is only one section of a walk called the 'tour de pays d'Allevard' (http://rando7laux.free.fr/tpa.htm). We hope, when the kids are older, to complete some of the other sections.
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