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France: What's Been Going Down
via I rarely blog about current events in France unless something big is happening, like an election, or that time strikes were threatening to keep me stuck in The LPV without any gasoline to escape.
This time there isn’t one thing happening but a few things that are lending to a strange energy in France, it’s as if the air has gone static with discontent, and the mood has not gone unnoticed by the world’s media. According to this BBC article, “there is a pre-insurrectional mood in the country.” Hmmm… ‘pre-insurrectional’… interesting, I wonder if they were saying the same thing back in 1792? Let’s break it down.
Disclaimer: I am by no means a current affairs or political expert, I am merely a casual observer and these are my observations.
Racism: Let’s get the nastiest out of the way first, shall we? France is having some racial issues at the moment. Here’s the deal, in France there is a far-right political party called the National Front or Front National (FN) that due to some of the ‘rhetoric’ it spews, has an aura of racism surrounding it. Anyway, last month one of their candidates posted a rather racist photo on Facbook likening the black Justice Minister, Christiane Taubira, to a monkey. Ay yai yai.
Taubira fired back at the FN by saying, “We know what the FN thinks: the blacks in the branches of trees, Arabs in the sea, homosexuals in the Seine, Jews in the ovens and so on.” Ay yai yai.
And then if this wasn’t all bad enough, a far-right magazine, put Taubira on it’s cover, with the caption, “Clever as a monkey, Taubira gets her banana back“ (WTF IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE?!) As you can imagine this has all caused quite the emotional outrage. Ay yai yai indeed.
Iran: (This one is actually a good thing except for the fact that Iran is now referring to France as ‘Little Satan’.) Currently, there is a nuclear agreement with Iran being hammered out and long story short, things seemed to be going swimmingly until France decided it was a bad deal due to different points in the agreement and lack of guarantees and so France put its big boys pants on, and blocked it resulting in this response…
President Hollande: Oh François, François, François, we’re not having a good time as of late, are we? France’s President has recently been deemed the least popular president in French history and was even booed on Armistice Day as he lay flowers at the tomb of the unknown soldier… that’s bad (and very disrespectful). His approval rating has dipped to an all time low of 15% (I wonder what Louis XVI’s approval rating was???). Let’s think about that for a second, 15%, that’s not low, that’s crazy low, that’s it might be time to quit your job, change your name, dye your hair and move to a new country kind of low.
One of the driving forces behind Hollande’s lack of approval are the taxes (in fairness, he is head of the Parti Socialiste, so I don’t know what people thought was going to happen) and let me tell you people, they are OUT OF CONTROL. Put it this way, at my house we got a tax bill last month that is a 120% (no, you didn’t read that wrong, not 12%… 120%) increase on last year’s same bill and it’s due the day after Christmas. It isn’t exactly filling me with the Christmas spirit.The Red Hats: Back in the 17th century, Bretons (people from Brittany) wore red caps as they protested a stamp tax Louis XIV was imposing. Today, the red hats are out in full force again, this time protesting the eco-tax and let me tell you, they are not messing around. On a lighter note, can I just say, I love that in France, civil unrest is accessorized.
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Sara in Le Petit Village: The Anthology
Let’s say you’re new here, and you wanted to know a bit more about me, or Gregory, or Fifty, or anyone of the Le Petit Village cast of characters for that matter, and you have no idea where to start… well then this post is for you! Or even if you’re not so new here and you’re just a curious cat who might have missed something, then this post is also for you!
Today I bring you, The Complete Guide to Sara in Le Petit Village, or Sara in Le Petit Village For Dummies, I haven’t figured out which name I like more yet (not that I think any of you are dummies, I’m simply referencing those yellow books they sell about every topic under the sun). Either way, they’re all of the posts that should hopefully fill in the gaps and provide those ‘ohhh lightbulb’ kind of moments (or so I’m hoping anyway). I’ve broken the posts up into four categories; Gregory, Fifty and me, Les Villagers & Co., Life in Le Petit Village, and Life in France. I think that should cover everything. Allons-y!
Gregory, Fifty, and Moi. . . . . . . . . .// Me… the backstory and where I’m from// Fifty… the backstory// When I found out that you guys have the biggest hearts and are more supportive than I ever could have imagined// The reason I’m scared of wild mushrooms// The day we brought Fifty home// We got married (and by ‘we’ I mean Gregory and me)// Gregory’s huffing and puffing habit// Gregory has never seen a single Star Wars or eaten a PB&J// Some more Gregory tidbits and his vlog (Is it just me or does that sound a little naughty?)// The day Gregory came out of the closet (hee hee)// The reason I don’t have any nice china and crystal anymore// My big fat (almost) Gypsy life// The story of how Harry Potter rescued GregoryLes Villagers & Co.. . . . . . . . . .// Moonshining is a perfectly acceptable hobby here// Where Nazi Ghost Zombies come from// The first time I met Gregory’s mother// The first time Honey Jr moved in next door// The second time Honey Jr moved in next door// Why La Petite is extra special to me// We have been known to hang out with Gypsies on occasion// The day Gregory met Mr. London (and fell in love)// The day Mr. London won the Heineken Cup and became a champion of Europe (it’s kind of a big deal)// My mother is an author and yes, I really, really think you should buy her book
Le Petit Village Life. . . . . . . . . .// The introduction of Pizza Night
// On why I cannot seem to get a Martini in The LPV
// Why we celebrate Brazil in Le Petit Village
// Reason number 32482 I’m happy The Parisian sold Le Petit Bar
// Le Petit Bar got a new owner
// How to throw a BBQ in The LPV
// Yes, we make our own pâté (well not exactly ‘me’)
French Life. . . . . . . . . .// What in the world is a Raclette?// How to host a Raclette party// What in the world is a Tartiflette?// How presidential elections in France work// The story behind my ‘Holiday Eyes’ posts -
Behind the Photos IX
Ahhh… summer in Provence. There are few things that make my heart sing the way summer in Provence does. Le Petit Village comes alive with the sun and we all move outside in celebration. (The following photos are from Summer 2010.)
Here’s me celebrating the arrival of the season as it should be, with Rosé. I look happy. This photo was taken at a restaurant in the nearby village of Cereste. I had only returned from two weeks in Dublin the day before and I was anxious to feel the sun beating down on me. See that white watch on my wrist? I bought it on the airplane on the way back to France. Just thought I’d throw that out there.
Here I am, happy again. This time I’m with Brother-in-Law, Child Bride and Gregory. It was Gregory’s birthday. I feel like we all look a lot younger here. I also feel like I got a little heavy handed with the Touche Eclat.
And here’s Monsieur Fifty celebrating his daddy’s birthday. Doesn’t he look dapper? He’s smiling.
Here’s a little ‘Behind the Photos’ trivia for you… Fifty thinks he’s a lapdog. It was easily forgiven when he was a pup like in this photo, but not so much now. It still doesn’t stop him from curling into an available lap whenever the opportunity presents itself.
He also thinks he’s a rugby player. Here’s Fifty playing with Vicky against Gregory. These were great days… Gregory would take Fifty and Vicky out to the field in the village (well he’d take Fifty and of course Vicky would show up), and they’d run around for an hour. They’d be tuckered out for the rest of the afternoon and I’d get some peace. Bliss.
The perfect snapshot of summer relaxation courtesy of Honey Jr. I want to dive into that photo. I remember when this was taken… it was a Sunday afternoon. We had just spent all weekend cleaning and moving into our new homes. Notice how I said, ‘homes’. For those of you who don’t know the story… we found a new house to move into, and it turned out to be right next door to the house Honey Jr had decided to rent. Supposedly, this wasn’t a coincidence according to Gregory. ‘Supposedly‘.
A couple of days earlier Gregory was getting ready to get his cleaning on. I guess the gloves were to protect his dainty hands from all of the yucky muckiness. We lived in this house for two years. I didn’t like it at all. The bathroom was horrible, the kitchen almost non-existent, and our bedroom could only fit a queen-sized bed and a nightstand in it… that’s it. You basically dove into the bed because there wasn’t enough room on the side of it to get into bed like a normal person. But, it was fun sharing a back garden with Honey Jr. Fifty loved it!
Of course it didn’t take long for Vicky to find us in our new home. I’d wake up in the morning, go downstairs, and there she’d be, waiting to come along on Fifty’s walk. Man I miss that dog, she was a good girl, I only wish she had been mine.
And this is me thinking I’m way too cool for school on a mini-motor bike. I don’t remember who owned it, but I remember wanting it, badly. I could whip around the village, running down all who dared get in my path, and maybe even start up my own mini-motor bike gang. Oh, that would be fun! All I need is a bunch of mini-motor bikes, some willing participants, and a badass mini-motor bike gang name… who’s coming with me???
But no matter how cool I am cruising around on a mini-motor bike, I could never, ever be as cool as this guy.
Bisous! -
Avignon {wining + dining}
Before going to see Les Luminessences d’Avignon, we decided to treat ourselves to dinner and drinks in the city (this country mouse needs to get a dose of city living every now and then). As I walked around, I tried to really pay attention and soak all of Avignon in. I wasn’t in quite full on Holiday Eyes mode, but I wasn’t being completely blasé about it all either, so when I came across something that took my fancy, I snapped a picture, or in this case, Gregory snapped one.
It should be noted that Gregory is a worse photographer than I am. Whereas my shabbiness lies in lack of skill, his is lack of patience. He holds up a camera and snaps so quickly that nine times of of ten, the photo usually comes out all sorts of fuzzy.
I came across this dapper gentleman hanging out outside of a toy shop and decided he deserved a shot. He’s very shiny.For the first time in the however many visits I’ve made to Avignon, I looked up at the buildings and spotted the small statues that adorn them.
Do you see that copper pot hanging there? Does anyone know what it means? I’ve seen it a few times over here, there was even one hanging outside my house when we moved in, but I haven’t a clue what it’s all about.
We stopped into my favorite wine bar in the city, Avitus. Mrs. London and I opted for white. There’s a Sancerre there and a Bourgogne Blanc. They got switched though and neither one of us could tell which was which. Oh well, they were both delicious.Dinner was at Le 26, a restaurant that has moved right to the top of my I heart Avignon list. (Seriously, if you are in Avignon, eat there. Oh, and don’t forgot to call me so I can join you.)
A bottle of Cairrane, fois gras, and a steak swimming in a creamy morel mushroom sauce and served on a puff pastry bun… oh la la! Bring on the gout!As we we made our way to the Palais des Papes for the light show, we passed by an elegant courtyard, hidden behind a baroque fence. Being the nosy creatures we are, we stuck our heads through to have a look. Sure enough, it was just as quaint and charming as we’d imagined.“I’d like to live here” I said. And then Mrs. London pointed out the plaque hanging on the door next to it and replied, “Me too.“
Barbie can keep her dream house, me, I’ll take the House of Wine.Bisous! -
expat escapades {round 11}
Fall has fully and totally arrived in The LPV. After a relatively warm October, November has brought the cold, and the grey, and the blahs. That cheery, crisp, sunny, blue sky Autumn feeling has left me and now I find myself mourning the loss of my Provençal summer, and all of the things I loved about it. So you can imagine how I perked up when I saw that not only did Anna visit one of my favorite summertime spots, Cassis, but she ate in one of my favorite summertime restaurants… Bouillabaisse at Bonaparte’s… I miss you so!
It appears it’s not only me who has been missing summer, Lily reminisced about her summer days boating in Amsterdam… floating along the canal, the sunshine beating on your face, glass of wine in hand… bliss!(I just made the mistake of glancing out my window and saw nothing but greyness staring back at me… BLECH.)
All of this summertime talk is actually making my blahs worse so let’s turn the topic to something that makes me happy… wine!
Jess, who can normally be found in Malta, popped on over to Sicily for a holiday (as one does) and instead of staying at a normal old hotel, checked into a vineyard. A VINEYARD! Jess, you are a girl after my own heart.
But Jess wasn’t the only one getting her wine on, Ella Coquine spent the weekend in Champagne. No, not swimming in a bottle (although that does sound fantastic), but in the actual place, Champagne. Gosh I love this country. And Danielle went to a festival in Paris which “honors the harvest of Clos Montmartre, the last remaining vineyard in the former village.” Now doesn’t that sound all kinds of civilized?
You know what’s not civilized but ridiculously fun? Having dinner with Jérémie. I know that sounds all sorts of confusing, but you just have to trust me on this one… click on over to Gwan’s blog, and read her post about dinner with some random guy named Jérémie. You won’t regret it, I promise.
In other news… Selena visited Titanic Belfast which is something I’m dying to do (blame it on Leo), Deanna let us know why grocery shopping in Germany will drive you to drink, and Tina wrote a post about what it’s like to be an expat, that had me nodding right along.
So that’s what has been happening lately with some of my favorite expats. Good stuff. Now let me ask you, who are some of your favorite expat bloggers? I feel like broadening my horizons.
Bisous! -
Bright Lights, Small City
A few weeks back, Baby Cousin mentioned to Gregory that he had taken his girlfriend to see a 3D light show inside Le Palais des Papes. When Gregory told me, my ears perked up immediately… 3D light show? Avignon? The Popes Palace? Oui, oui, and oui.France loves it’s light shows. Every year, Lyon puts on it’s fête des lumières in December, and Le Petit Village even tried to get in the act. But since I haven’t seen the show in Lyon yet, and Le Petit Village’s went off in true LPV style (as in it failed with a capital F), there was no way I was missing out on a light show in my favorite city.
We grabbed Honey Jr, Honey’s Honey, and Mrs. London and took off to Avignon, just in time to see the last showing of Les Luminessences d’Avignon of the season.
The show took place inside the courtyard of the palace. When we arrived for the second show of the night, the square in front was already bustling with people. After picking up our tickets, we walked through the palace’s archway and waited for the show to begin.
Les Luminessences d’Avignon tells the history of the Pope’s Palace and Avignon from BC to the 20th Century by projecting spectacular images on the palace walls inside the cour d’Honneur. Considering the immense history of the city, it’s quite the story to tell.
Les Luminessences d’Avignon was without a doubt one of the most fantastic events I’ve ever seen and I can’t think of a better way to have bid au revoir to summer in Provence (unless of course it had been Les Luminessences de Le Petit Village). -
this week
How was every one’s All Hallows’ Eve? I hope your sugar rush come downs weren’t too shaky. Mine was sugar free… no tricks or treats, just a lazy night on the couch watching Disney’s old Legend of Sleepy Hollow followed by the Johnny Depp one (We’re on a bit of a Headless Horseman kick around here).
On All Hallows’ Eve Eve, Honey Jr and Honey’s Honey came over for dinner (I made this Chicken Piccata pasta). Fifty was so excited, he wore his Halloween t-shirt a day early because they wouldn’t get to see him on the actual day. Missing Fifty in his Boo t-shirt is an absolute no-no. (Honey Jr and Honey’s Honey spent Halloween night at an electric dance party in Marseille. Back in my day we called this, a Rave. Sweet Lord I’m old.)
Honey Jr deserved to get out their and shake his bon-bon… last Sunday he ran the Marseille-Cassis marathon for the third year in a row and finished in one hour-forty, and Brother-in-Law ran it for his first time and came in at a respectable two hours-five. I’m proud of them both. Me, you couldn’t catch me running up and down those steep hills fighting the Mistral, no-siree-bob, not me.
So here we are, another Friday in The LPV, except this one won’t be in The LPV. In a couple of hours, we’re hitting the road south to Toulon. Honey Jr and Honey’s Honey will be meeting us down there and after some parrot Mojitos on the port, we’ll watch Mr. London do his thing against Bordeaux (I love Bordeaux’s rugby uniforms… they’re the color of wine! Never have rugby players looked so delicious… well that’s not entirely true.) and then I’m sure we’ll go out and get up to no good because that’s what Fridays are for. À bientôt mes amis et bon weekend!
Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do… better yet, don’t do anything I would…Bisous! -
Samhaim
When I was a kid, I loved Halloween, like capital L-oved it. It wasn’t just the dressing up, or the candy, it was the whole vibe of it. It was that for one night we were allowed to run wild like faeries, waiting for that veil between the living and the dead to come tumbling down with screaming banshees hot on our heels. Childhood me, always thought there was a banshee not far behind… a tad morbid I know. I blame my Gaelic roots on that one. After all, the history of Halloween lays deep in the Celtic lands.
And maybe the generations of spookiness in Ireland are what fueled my family’s love of Halloween and ghost stories. With All Hallow’s Eve only a day away, I thought that I’d take a break from Le Petit Village and tell you all about some of the creepy history that make up Halloween.
Pumpkin-mania hits the U.S. every fall, and part of the pumpkin fun is carving them into Jack O’Lanterns. But even Jack O’Lanterns have a creepy past… It all started with Stingy Jack. Stingy Jack asked the Devil to have a drink with him (as you do) and Stingy Jack being stingy, didn’t want to pay for his drink. (He didn’t have the nickname ‘Stingy’ for nothing). Somehow Jack convinced the Devil to turn himself into a coin that he could use to pay the tab, but as soon as the Devil did, Jack decided to keep the coin instead and he put it in his pocket next to a cross he carried. Since crosses work magic against evil, the Devil couldn’t switch back into his normal devil self. One day Jack got tired of carrying around a Devil coin in his pocket, so he told him he’d free him but only if the Devil wouldn’t bother him from one whole year.
The next year, somehow Jack tricked the Devil again (How gullible is the Devil by the way???). This time into climbing a tree to pick some fruit. While the Devil was up in the tree, Jack carved a sign of the cross into the bark so that the Devil couldn’t come down. Jack made the Devil promise him that he would leave him alone for another ten years.
And then Jack died. Since there was no-way-jose the good Lord was letting Stingy Jack into heaven, he passed him along to the Devil, but the Devil didn’t want him either, so he sent Jack off into the dark night to roam about for eternity. But being not entirely uncool, the Devil gave Jack a bit of burning coal so he could see. Fashioning a makeshift lantern, Jack put the coal into a carved-out pumpkin and that’s how his name changed from ‘Stingy Jack’ to ‘Jack of the Lantern’, and eventually to, Jack O’Lantern. (He is Irish after all).
Then there’s the whole fun of dressing up and going door to door looking for treats, that has a wicked history too… Way back in the day, winter was scary. The days were short and the dark nights long with hardly the means to light them up. And on Halloween, the one day of the year when the spirits were free to come back and roam the earth, people were more than a little scared to go outside, but sometimes you just have to. Those that did have to venture out, took to donning masks in an attempt to trick the ghosts into thinking that they were fellow ghosts and goblins. So that’s where the dressing up came from. (I don’t know if this would work with some of the costumes you see today though… lingerie + mouse ears… hmmm…)
The treats part of it all comes from when people would place bowls of food outside their homes hoping that the ghosts would be happy with the offering and would leave them alone and not play any naughty tricks on them, you know like scaring the bejeezus out of them causing heart attacks and what not. And there you go… Trick or Treat. (But back in the day it was probably more like, Trick or Bowl of Porridge).
Spooky Bisous! -
tartiflette
Today I’m going to do something that I’ve never done before… a recipe post. You see what happened was this; on Saturday afternoon, we were watching the rugby on telly (Clermont was battling Brive in one doozy of a match), when Gregory suddenly sat up, looked and me and exclaimed, “I want Tartiflette.” (These food epiphanies occur more often than not in my house.)Because I aim to please, I said I would make Tartiflette for Sunday lunch and since Tartiflette is a French dish, I thought that maybe I’d attempt to take some photos of the process and share it with you.
Disclaimer: The following photos are far, far from food blogger territory, but practice makes perfect, right?
If summers in Provence belong to barbecues, Aioli and Rosé, the colder weather calls for much heavier, stick to your ribs kind of fare, most of it laden with cheese, like Tartiflette.
First you start by peeling potatoes, about 1kg/ 2.2lbs of them. Boil them until they are soft enough to stick a knife through, and then drain them, letting them cool.
While the potatoes are boiling, slice a medium sized onion, and saute it with 200g of lardons. (Lardons are small cubes of pork, if you don’t have lardons, you can use pancetta, Canadian bacon, or regular old bacon as a substitute. And that poses a question to any of my Canadian readers… do you just call bacon, bacon, or do you call it Canadian bacon? I have always wanted to know that.)
While that is sauteing, butter a casserole dish and set aside. When the potatoes are cool enough, slice them, and cover the bottom of the dish with a layer of about half of them. Oh, and you can go ahead and turn on the oven now too if you’d like, 235°C/ 455°F.
When the onions are soft and the lardons have rendered their fat, top the layer of potatoes with half of them like so.
Throw the other half of the potatoes on top (maybe not ‘throw’, layer nicely).
Then add the last of the lardons and onions on top of that. And now it’s time for the goodness… spoon dollops of crème fraîche across it.
I’m going to go ahead and tell you this now, this was not enough crème fraîche. After Gregory had tasted the finished Tartiflette, I asked him if there was anything about the recipe that I should tweak for next time and he said, more cream. So there you go, don’t be stingy with the crème fraîche.
Le fromage… the pièce de résistance. Traditionally, Tartiflette calls for Reblochon cheese but if you can’t get your hands on any of that, you can use Brie or a mixture of Gruyere and Muenster. Slice about 250g – 500g of it, depending on how cheesy you want to get (I used about 300g), and lay it across the top. (There are lots of debates about how it should be sliced; whether it should be sliced in wide pieces, rind on or off, but it’s really up to you, after all, you’re the one eating it.) If you’d like, you can go ahead and pour some white wine over it, but you don’t have to, it’s totally optional (I did. Of course I did.)
Pop it in the oven, sit down and relax for a bit with an apéro and let the Tartiflette get all golden and bubbly, about twenty minutes or so.
Serve it with a simple salad in a light vinaigrette, nothing heavy. The presence of greens on your plate will make you feel a lot less guilty about the pile of delicious carbs and sinful cheese and cream sitting next to it.
Et voila! Sit back and enjoy the scrumptiousness and the brownie points with a bottle of crisp white wine if you are so inclined, I know I am. Bon Appétit!
Bisous! -
expat escapades {round 10}
It’s been a month of milestones in expat world. From big birthdays to weddings, births, and anniversaries, it’s all happening!
The best place to start today’s round up is to start at the very beginning… life! Honey welcomed her brand new baby girl into the world earlier this month. And since little Oswin was born in Switzerland but lives in France, at only a couple of weeks old, she’s already quite the traveler!
There were celebrations galore in England… Sarah turned thirty in London and celebrated with The Beatles (that’s right, THE BEATLES… alright, so they were impersonators… potatoes, potahtoes), while Jessica celebrated her wedding at Britain’s oldest brewery. (How is that for a cool wedding venue?)
And in France, Danielle celebrated 5.5 years of blogging and traveling. (I love that Danielle celebrated a .5 milestone. I’m a huge fan of doing that. I threw myself a 30.5 birthday party once. Scratch that, I meant a 29.5 birthday party. Whatever. Busted.)Back to regular, old, non-celebratory real life… Megan is knee deep into the French immigration process (FUN!), which means sitting in class watching films about the French Revolution and learning all about French laws (FUN!) and Kim has been decluttering her basement in Paris. I know that decluttering a basement pretty much sounds like the dullest of the dull, but it’s not when it results in the post: ‘Absolute Necessities’ For Moving to France (so pay attention all you future Francophiles, this post is for you).
Sticking to Paris… Shannon snapped the Eiffel Tower from Trocadero which she thinks is the best place to do so and judging from her photos, I think she may be right. And down the road, Ksam was having another lost in translation moment with her French husband (I actually don’t know it it’s down the road or not, but since both the Eiffel Tower and Ksam are in Paris, I’m going with it).
. . . (Those three dots to the left mean I couldn’t think of a way to connect that last bit with this next bit.)
Michel took us on a tour of some spots where the film, A Good Year was shot. If you haven’t seen it and you’re a Russell Crowe fan, or a Provence fan you should, it’s beautiful and not too far from The LPV. So watch it or better yet, come and visit and we’ll go together.Another movie spot I’d love to visit is Platfrom 9 and 3/4 from Harry Potter. Bonnie went and she and her family all took photos of themselves running into the wall with the suitcase loaded trolley. If I was a little kid, that would definitely have to be up there on my bucket list. (Who am I kidding? I’m not a little kid and it’s up there.)
When Bonnie isn’t pushing trolleys into train station walls, she’s a Girl Gone International. If you’d like to be a Girl Gone International too, click here, and Bonnie will tell you all about it.
Bisous!
John McCain
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It's Me, Sara Louise 