It's Me, Sara Louise

It’s Me, Sara Louise

Hi! You might know me as C’est Moi, Sara Louise. Before that I was Sara in Le Petit Village. Now, It’s Me, Sara Louise. Hello again.

  • The End of the World

    There I was, home alone in my bedroom going about my business of settling in and unpacking when in the distance I could here a voice on a loudspeaker. Obviously the voice was in French and I wouldn’t be able to understand it but still I moved closer to the open window to have a listen and was surprised to hear the voice growing louder. It was a car, slowly driving through the village with one of those large megaphones attached to the top of it. The man’s voice seemed very serious and urgent. The car would stop, make the ‘urgent’ announcement, then drive a few more meters, stop again, and repeat. The only thing I could make out was the last word said each time, ‘fin’, in English, ‘end’. At this point I stood paralyzed absolutely certain that this loudspeaker was ordering an evacuation of the village because there was an imminent nuclear attack and the world was coming to an ‘end’.

    So I waited, sure that I would be the one person in the village vaporized because I can’t speak French.
    Nothing happened.
    I’m still unpacking.
    bisou

  • Le Big Mac


    After the flatpack furniture debacle, cooking dinner seemed too exhausting so we hopped in the Renault and drove 22 miles to a McDonalds. Whenever I think about McDonalds in Europe, I think about Vincent Vega’s speech in Pulp Fiction when he’s telling Jules about McDonalds in Paris; Le Big Mac, Royale with Cheese, fries drowned in mayonnaise, beer … you know what I’m talking about. So even though I was in Apt and not Paris, there was no way I was having a coke with my Le Big Mac. And you know what, that was a tasty beer.

    bisou

  • Naughty French Words

    Today I learned a bunch of new French words, all of them bad, and not fit for typing. The Boyfriend spent the better part of the day struggling with the flatpack furniture, shouting incoherent expletives, pacing the floor, and turning different shades of red. At least red is his color.

    bisou
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  • The Honey Van


    We took a trip to Avignon yesterday looking for furniture. Since a new couch wouldn’t fit in the Renault, we were lucky enough to borrow the Honey van. The Honey Van’s normal day job is transporting the Honey Family’s lavender honey. But yesterday, the honey was cleared out to make way for our new couch and flatpack furniture.

    The way to Avignon is through small, windy roads that the boyfriend likes to treat as his own personal rally track. Flying top speed down the road in the old honey van, with the sweet sticky honey smell stuck to the seats, is not the most pleasant way to travel but the countryside views and the handle on the ceiling that I held on to helped a bit. The only thing that would slow us down was the occasional Sarkozy Box (a grey box with speed camera inside).
     
    We made it to the first shop and had the couch, two dressers, and a nightstand picked out and purchased within 25 minutes. So far so good. On to the second, but first we had to find it.
    Even Frenchmen don’t ask for directions. It’s nice to know that that’s a gender trait and not ethnically specific.

    We spent over an hour looking for one shop. I suggested that we wait and go to our local outlet of the same shop later that afternoon after we got home but the boyfriend didn’t want to take the 20 minutes to drive there. Instead, he would rather circle Avignon for over an hour looking for either one of the three Avignon outlets. Just as he decided to give up, the shop appeared. It was like he discovered the lost city of gold. He was so pleased with himself that he almost didn’t mind when we saw that the shop was closed for lunch.

    P.S. Mr. Honey – why was there a Cascada CD in the stereo?
    bisou
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  • Learning by Osmosis

    I’m a big fan of learning by osmosis. As a method, I’m pretty sure that it has not been approved by any educational bodies, but none the less, I’m it’s number one proponent. I figure if I surround myself with French textbooks and dictionaries, French television, and my French boyfriend, it will all just seep in and one day…voila! Je parle Francais! Honestly, it’s not going too well so far.

    bisou
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