This dog drives me up the wall.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m a dog person. I love dogs, and dogs love me. I love how they show you affection immediately on cue. I love how they value loyalty. I love how they each have their own little quirks.
But THIS dog, no way.
Now, it’s not exactly the dog’s fault for possessing these unruly qualities. The majority, if not all, of his problems arise from the complete lack of attention, care, and training by this family (winning one point for the ‘Nurture’ team in the endless battle of ‘Nature vs. Nurture’). He roams outside, jumps up on everyone with his long, unkempt claws, escapes to the road with unseemly ambition, and eats anything and everything in sight. Once a day, someone remembers to stuff food in a small tin bowl outside. He drinks water from the leaky hose.
As much as I feel bad for this neglected creature, I can’t help but loathe it. My one escape during the day, one that I treasure, is my morning run. Yesterday, after opening the large gate just wide enough so I could squeeze through, Vixie (said canine) pushed and rammed his body repeatedly into me so that he too could leave the cage of a house.
As I ran, tossing aside all care about Vixie getting lost or run over by a car, I realized that he was following me. This was not difficult to notice, as he ran directly in front of me, causing me to either run on the grass, or find another spot to run. He also cut repeatedly across my path unexpectedly. I almost fell twice, and then the third time he bolted straight into my right side, causing my to turn my ankle and topple over on the concrete. He came back only to chew on my shoes. I hobbled back home with a badly sprained ankle. Seriously, in more way that one that dog is a dangerous hazard. Did I mention he eats little kittens? C’est vrai, if you can believe it. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.
Despite having a sprained ankle, I decided to go to the gym. The same attractive Frenchman was working, and we flirted for a little bit (I had made sure to look cute for just this occasion) and he lowered the price by 110 euros. And that’s how it’s done.
Margarette continues to be a wonderful companion. She invited me to her house today, and told me I was welcome whenever I needed somewhere to go. She pulled out a reclining chair and I sat in the sun for a couple hours. She also bought me some snack type foods to hide in my room, as she knows that the family orders me to eat certain things at certain times. Then, she told me that she has a cell phone that I can have, and she is going to inquire about a card tomorrow at the store. Honestly, she is more family to me than that which I live with.
Today, the kids threw peas and beef at each other during dinner, gave each other the finger consistently, and shouted “ZE-ZE-OO” (which apparently means Penis and Vagina) while simultaneously making extremely sexual and inappropriate hand gestures in this regard. I felt like I wanted to cry, but instead I told them to 'stop!' and 'eat!' to no avail. Since this had absolutely no effect, not even facial recognition that I had been heard, I too the liberty of adding a few things of my own in English. Good thing they don't speak my language.
When I asked Margarette if the previous au pairs of the family had experienced the same problems (horrendous children, lonely days, lack of inclusion, care, and attention) she replied that, yes, they did. The first au pair had a great time, the second was worse, and then all the way up to me, the seventh, it’s been a long haul. She does what she can for the poor girls. I'm sure that many ex-au pairs are very greatful to her, as I most certainly am.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Coffee Surprise and Unlikely Friendships
The past few days have been quite nice for a change! Friday, I was planning to take Arthur (5) to school, go running, and follow the same routine that I’ve taken to these past weeks. However, to my surprise, Margarette invited me to have breakfast with her after dropping the kids off, and then to meet her friend who wanted to help me with my French.
Really, there is nothing like a spontaneous change in plans that fill me up with energy and life. After dropping off the kids, we parked in downtown Langy and shopped together around the market. It was really nice! Margarette bought some fresh rhubarb from a vendor, then some fresh pain and a few croissants from a baker. Then, we headed back to her house.
She lived very near the centre ville, and her house was a nice sized place. She had a beautiful garden out back, where she gardened in her free time, and did an excellent job of it. In her small kitchen, she pulled a table out from the wall, and I sat with her amicable husband and talked. We all enjoyed coffee and my first French croissant. We discussed politics, music, and the barrier between rich and “poor” in France. She brought this up, not I. She talked about how she had worked for the family for so long, and still she was not considered part of it. She had brought the kids over one time, and the parents were furious when they found out. They did not want their kids mixing with “that kind” of people. I couldn’t believe my ears. It was as if everything I was feeling was justified and made sense. Since this conversation, I have been much more at ease with my situation.
After breakfast, Margarette and I headed over to the other side of town to meet with her friend, Marie-Lucie. Marie lived also in a nice house with a beautiful garden. She was in her 70s, and could speak English. We decided that what I really needed was to work on my French conversation. We conversed for about 2 hours, discussing family, future plans, past ventures, likes and dislikes, and current affairs. In her small living room filled with books and grandmother-ly trinkets, I felt so happy, for the first time here. Margarette had show me such great kindness, and there was no way that I could really express this to her. I left Marie’s house, promising to meet on Thursday for another lesson.
Then I headed off in search of a gym. I had a coupon for Curves and vague directions given by Arnaud. Where Curves was supposed to be, there was nothing, but, by fortunate accident, I discovered another gym, called Aqua Loft. After obtaining the price and getting a tour of the premises by a un homme très attirant, I headed to the other gym at Val D’Europe, the big shopping mall, only to find the price double than Aqua Loft. It had better hours, new and more numerous equipment, but 500 euros for 3 months? I don’t think so. Tomorrow, I’m going to join the other gym. Very excited!
Saturday, the kids had a fête à l’école all day. I had the house to myself, again. I couldn’t take the car anywhere, because the family had forgotten to fill it up with gas (and I most certainly am not filling it up!). I lounged around, watched Rocky II and Whose Line on my computer. At 7:30, I headed over to Margarette’s house, as she had invited me to a concert. At first, I was not going to go. I felt like a failure; I know no people my age to hang out with or go out with at night. However, I realized that it doesn’t really matter. Friendships across the ages are very special in their own way. I enjoyed the choir concert immensely, clapping along with the English songs, and singing silently with a nice rendition of “Seasons of Love”. All in all, I was very glad that I went, and very glad to have Margarette as a loving companion. Along with your health, friends and family are one thing that you don’t know the true value of until you lose them.
Tuesday I’m meeting another au pair in Paris for lunch, so we’ll see how that goes! I’m glad that I am finally making some contact with other people. I just wish that this family had taken some more initiative in this matter. Oh well, I am only here for 10 weeks more.
Really, there is nothing like a spontaneous change in plans that fill me up with energy and life. After dropping off the kids, we parked in downtown Langy and shopped together around the market. It was really nice! Margarette bought some fresh rhubarb from a vendor, then some fresh pain and a few croissants from a baker. Then, we headed back to her house.
She lived very near the centre ville, and her house was a nice sized place. She had a beautiful garden out back, where she gardened in her free time, and did an excellent job of it. In her small kitchen, she pulled a table out from the wall, and I sat with her amicable husband and talked. We all enjoyed coffee and my first French croissant. We discussed politics, music, and the barrier between rich and “poor” in France. She brought this up, not I. She talked about how she had worked for the family for so long, and still she was not considered part of it. She had brought the kids over one time, and the parents were furious when they found out. They did not want their kids mixing with “that kind” of people. I couldn’t believe my ears. It was as if everything I was feeling was justified and made sense. Since this conversation, I have been much more at ease with my situation.
After breakfast, Margarette and I headed over to the other side of town to meet with her friend, Marie-Lucie. Marie lived also in a nice house with a beautiful garden. She was in her 70s, and could speak English. We decided that what I really needed was to work on my French conversation. We conversed for about 2 hours, discussing family, future plans, past ventures, likes and dislikes, and current affairs. In her small living room filled with books and grandmother-ly trinkets, I felt so happy, for the first time here. Margarette had show me such great kindness, and there was no way that I could really express this to her. I left Marie’s house, promising to meet on Thursday for another lesson.
Then I headed off in search of a gym. I had a coupon for Curves and vague directions given by Arnaud. Where Curves was supposed to be, there was nothing, but, by fortunate accident, I discovered another gym, called Aqua Loft. After obtaining the price and getting a tour of the premises by a un homme très attirant, I headed to the other gym at Val D’Europe, the big shopping mall, only to find the price double than Aqua Loft. It had better hours, new and more numerous equipment, but 500 euros for 3 months? I don’t think so. Tomorrow, I’m going to join the other gym. Very excited!
Saturday, the kids had a fête à l’école all day. I had the house to myself, again. I couldn’t take the car anywhere, because the family had forgotten to fill it up with gas (and I most certainly am not filling it up!). I lounged around, watched Rocky II and Whose Line on my computer. At 7:30, I headed over to Margarette’s house, as she had invited me to a concert. At first, I was not going to go. I felt like a failure; I know no people my age to hang out with or go out with at night. However, I realized that it doesn’t really matter. Friendships across the ages are very special in their own way. I enjoyed the choir concert immensely, clapping along with the English songs, and singing silently with a nice rendition of “Seasons of Love”. All in all, I was very glad that I went, and very glad to have Margarette as a loving companion. Along with your health, friends and family are one thing that you don’t know the true value of until you lose them.
Tuesday I’m meeting another au pair in Paris for lunch, so we’ll see how that goes! I’m glad that I am finally making some contact with other people. I just wish that this family had taken some more initiative in this matter. Oh well, I am only here for 10 weeks more.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Wanted: Sunlight, A Tale of Two Cities, and a Genuine Challenge
After two sun kissed, breezy, simply spectacular days (in terms of weather, that is), today was a dreary disappointment. The weather has again regressed to that dull, depressing, damp period of desiccated sunlight hardly qualifying as a day. Not to overdose on alliteration, but it really is dismal.
Today I realized how weak I am to the mighty influence of our atmosphere. Sunlight grants me endless energy and optimism; bright blue skies and breezes fill me up with the love of life. Grey clouds, cold rain, and that unexpected nippy edge of chill in the air take away my will to do, well, anything. I’d rather watch movies all day and forget about life. Which, truly, is very unhealthy and depressing.
What else do I have to do here? I have no money yet, as I get paid at the end of June. I don’t know anyone, and I don’t have any work when the kids aren’t around. I wish that I had brought my scrap booking stuff, so that I could busy myself in the business of decorating memories and releasing the creative energy that is pent up inside of my brain. I also wish I had brought a library’s worth of books, because I would love to catch up on the classics that I have yet to discover.
I think I will ask my family if there is a gym around here. I’m sure there is, somewhere in this cigarette-obsessed country. I do dearly miss the gym. Running outside, although nice, just isn’t the same as a jam session on the elliptical, distracted by television and secretly competing with the person next to you. Maybe that’s what I need: a place to have fake, one-sided contests. I do love a good challenge.
All in all, I think the most difficult thing about this experience is feeling like I do not have a purpose. I am not working to achieve anything, or really working at all. I have nothing that I need to do. While some might think this euphoria, it might, quite honestly, drive me crazy. I am a person that needs a job. I need a challenge; I need a goal. Watching Friends reruns and Ratatouille in French with Spanish subtitles (redefining boredom to something more like desperation) will not make me a better or wiser person, believe it or not.
Thankfully, yesterday the other “servant”, Margaret (a 60ish Swiss woman holding the revered title of housekeeper), mentioned that one of the previous Au Pairs of the family is still in Paris, and is considered a good friend. She loves learning languages, and Margaret said that I should join them for lunch sometime. They will help me to advance in my French skills. In return, I will help them learn some English. At least, that’s what I got from the exchange. All I know is that it sounds like a good opportunity. Goodness knows I need some grown-up time.
Today I realized how weak I am to the mighty influence of our atmosphere. Sunlight grants me endless energy and optimism; bright blue skies and breezes fill me up with the love of life. Grey clouds, cold rain, and that unexpected nippy edge of chill in the air take away my will to do, well, anything. I’d rather watch movies all day and forget about life. Which, truly, is very unhealthy and depressing.
What else do I have to do here? I have no money yet, as I get paid at the end of June. I don’t know anyone, and I don’t have any work when the kids aren’t around. I wish that I had brought my scrap booking stuff, so that I could busy myself in the business of decorating memories and releasing the creative energy that is pent up inside of my brain. I also wish I had brought a library’s worth of books, because I would love to catch up on the classics that I have yet to discover.
I think I will ask my family if there is a gym around here. I’m sure there is, somewhere in this cigarette-obsessed country. I do dearly miss the gym. Running outside, although nice, just isn’t the same as a jam session on the elliptical, distracted by television and secretly competing with the person next to you. Maybe that’s what I need: a place to have fake, one-sided contests. I do love a good challenge.
All in all, I think the most difficult thing about this experience is feeling like I do not have a purpose. I am not working to achieve anything, or really working at all. I have nothing that I need to do. While some might think this euphoria, it might, quite honestly, drive me crazy. I am a person that needs a job. I need a challenge; I need a goal. Watching Friends reruns and Ratatouille in French with Spanish subtitles (redefining boredom to something more like desperation) will not make me a better or wiser person, believe it or not.
Thankfully, yesterday the other “servant”, Margaret (a 60ish Swiss woman holding the revered title of housekeeper), mentioned that one of the previous Au Pairs of the family is still in Paris, and is considered a good friend. She loves learning languages, and Margaret said that I should join them for lunch sometime. They will help me to advance in my French skills. In return, I will help them learn some English. At least, that’s what I got from the exchange. All I know is that it sounds like a good opportunity. Goodness knows I need some grown-up time.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Leaky Vents and Sunny Side Up
This weekend, I learned a lot about this family, and, in turn, myself.
Saturday morning, before we left town to go to Rouen, I got up to go running. For me, as for many other, perfectly sane people, working out is a way of shaking off the stress and screwing one’s head back on straight. When I showed up in the kitchen to grab some coffee right before I left, Arnaud (Dad) was eating breakfast with Geraldine (Mom). I was decked out in spandex, a tee shirt, elastic headband and ipod, ready for action. I smiled and offered a cordial ‘bonjour’. Geraldine looked up from her breakfast and smiled, while Arnaud took in my attire and, in a grand gesture, turned smirked incredulously at his wife. I wanted to slap him, seriously. The thing that I hate the most is when people do that smirk, that mocking, see-through, horrible signal to someone else that says, ‘see? See what I’m talking about?’ I’m sorry that I like to run, but I really don’t see anything absurd or laughable about it.
Not to be spiteful, but this is my counter-smirk for all of the times he is ill mannered and pompous.
I smirk when you steal have of your child’s dessert before he’s had a bite.
I smirk when you sneeze and neglect of cover your mouth at the dinner table.
I smirk when you exit the car after a short trip and, instead of stepping inside the house, you step outside the gate and pee on the street, in broad daylight, in front of your whole family.
I apologize for seeming a bit frazzled, but this weekend was not so great.
Saturday (after my marvelous run, listening to the Rocky theme and punching the daylights out of my invisible opponent, who shall remain anonymous), we ate a lunch of seriously RAW beef. She put the beef into patties, put them in the pan for 10 seconds each side, and then they were “done”. The outside was the lightest of browns, and the inside was so under cooked that it was still cold. I ate half and couldn’t mentally bring myself to eat the rest. We left in the afternoon for Rouen. Rouen is the historical capital of Normandy, which is a region in northern France. I was excited, as I’d looked it up on the Internet, and it looked gorgeous! However, We got there at 7pm, and pulled oven to get the kids dinner… at McDonalds. Apparently, I was staying in the hotel with Arthur (5), Enzo (5), and Mateur (2), while the rest when to the big birthday bash of one uncle. After a disappointing dinner of chicken nuggets and fries (they didn’t have any chicken sandwiches! My favorite!), the parents left me there with the kids so they could get ready. The night at the hotel was fine, though boring, and they finally got home at 4 in the morning. The next day I was up at 9am with Philippine (9) as instructed. After waiting for another hour and a half, the parents were finally ready to go to breakfast. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they were clearly hung over.
We ate until 12, and then headed off to the uncle’s house, which was nearby. We parked, knocked at the door of a beautiful home, and were welcomed in by a large-ish man that spoke impeccable English. On cue, he casually mentioned he owned a home in Palm Beach, and asked if I liked his chauffeur. I replied politely, and that was that. There were a lot of people in his house, and the family made their rounds, saying hello, smiling, chatting, and hoards of small talk. I hung silently in a corner while the family forgot about me, the awkwardness of the situation enveloping me like a pressure over my whole body. We then headed over to his country club (again, GOREGEOUS!) to eat lunch. There were about 30 people there, all from the family. They stood outside and caught up for about and hour, and then headed inside for a long lunch.
Not ONCE did the family introduce me. Can you imagine coming with a friend to a party, where everyone knows each other very well, and your friend wanders off and has a grand old time, leaving you to, well, do what you can? And did I mention that no one at this party speaks English? And no one seems even remotely interested in acknowledging your existence, let alone conversing with you?
Now, I consider myself a very social person. I generally get along with everyone, and have no problems meeting new people or making new friends. This afternoon was absolutely the most awkward and embarrassing experience of my life. I couldn’t believe that the parents lacked the courtesy to introduce me at all, or include me in one of their conversations. I even looked really cute that day!
Anyway, after about 4 hours of that, we went (just the family) to downtown Rouen, and walked around. I got some pictures, and had a nice time talking to Geraldine. Best 30 minutes of the weekend.
I’m beginning to see what I am to these people. They work for their family company, which is extremely successful. It is 100 years old, and has a huge income. The grandfather (with the weekend house full of the stuffed dead animals) is the current president of said company. These are Trust-Fund-Folks. They’ve had a job waiting for them, along with a rather large sum of money, since they were born. I am nothing but their servant. They don’t care about my feelings, and they certainly do not see me as an equal.
This is so hard because I know I am their equal. I am just as educated as they are, if not more, and I am just as smart. Just because I choose to work for them this summer to learn and experience another culture does not mean I am beneath them. This engrained sense of class and superiority is something that really hits a nerve in me. Maybe it’s my American spirit, that “All men are created equal” and “Land of Opportunity” kind of thing.
I have decided to brush this aside, and for three months, worry about nothing except learning French, saving some money, and maybe getting a tan. After all, it’s sunny outside, the house is empty, and the Beach Boys are playing of my iTunes radio. Sunny side up, and I’ll survive.
Saturday morning, before we left town to go to Rouen, I got up to go running. For me, as for many other, perfectly sane people, working out is a way of shaking off the stress and screwing one’s head back on straight. When I showed up in the kitchen to grab some coffee right before I left, Arnaud (Dad) was eating breakfast with Geraldine (Mom). I was decked out in spandex, a tee shirt, elastic headband and ipod, ready for action. I smiled and offered a cordial ‘bonjour’. Geraldine looked up from her breakfast and smiled, while Arnaud took in my attire and, in a grand gesture, turned smirked incredulously at his wife. I wanted to slap him, seriously. The thing that I hate the most is when people do that smirk, that mocking, see-through, horrible signal to someone else that says, ‘see? See what I’m talking about?’ I’m sorry that I like to run, but I really don’t see anything absurd or laughable about it.
Not to be spiteful, but this is my counter-smirk for all of the times he is ill mannered and pompous.
I smirk when you steal have of your child’s dessert before he’s had a bite.
I smirk when you sneeze and neglect of cover your mouth at the dinner table.
I smirk when you exit the car after a short trip and, instead of stepping inside the house, you step outside the gate and pee on the street, in broad daylight, in front of your whole family.
I apologize for seeming a bit frazzled, but this weekend was not so great.
Saturday (after my marvelous run, listening to the Rocky theme and punching the daylights out of my invisible opponent, who shall remain anonymous), we ate a lunch of seriously RAW beef. She put the beef into patties, put them in the pan for 10 seconds each side, and then they were “done”. The outside was the lightest of browns, and the inside was so under cooked that it was still cold. I ate half and couldn’t mentally bring myself to eat the rest. We left in the afternoon for Rouen. Rouen is the historical capital of Normandy, which is a region in northern France. I was excited, as I’d looked it up on the Internet, and it looked gorgeous! However, We got there at 7pm, and pulled oven to get the kids dinner… at McDonalds. Apparently, I was staying in the hotel with Arthur (5), Enzo (5), and Mateur (2), while the rest when to the big birthday bash of one uncle. After a disappointing dinner of chicken nuggets and fries (they didn’t have any chicken sandwiches! My favorite!), the parents left me there with the kids so they could get ready. The night at the hotel was fine, though boring, and they finally got home at 4 in the morning. The next day I was up at 9am with Philippine (9) as instructed. After waiting for another hour and a half, the parents were finally ready to go to breakfast. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they were clearly hung over.
We ate until 12, and then headed off to the uncle’s house, which was nearby. We parked, knocked at the door of a beautiful home, and were welcomed in by a large-ish man that spoke impeccable English. On cue, he casually mentioned he owned a home in Palm Beach, and asked if I liked his chauffeur. I replied politely, and that was that. There were a lot of people in his house, and the family made their rounds, saying hello, smiling, chatting, and hoards of small talk. I hung silently in a corner while the family forgot about me, the awkwardness of the situation enveloping me like a pressure over my whole body. We then headed over to his country club (again, GOREGEOUS!) to eat lunch. There were about 30 people there, all from the family. They stood outside and caught up for about and hour, and then headed inside for a long lunch.
Not ONCE did the family introduce me. Can you imagine coming with a friend to a party, where everyone knows each other very well, and your friend wanders off and has a grand old time, leaving you to, well, do what you can? And did I mention that no one at this party speaks English? And no one seems even remotely interested in acknowledging your existence, let alone conversing with you?
Now, I consider myself a very social person. I generally get along with everyone, and have no problems meeting new people or making new friends. This afternoon was absolutely the most awkward and embarrassing experience of my life. I couldn’t believe that the parents lacked the courtesy to introduce me at all, or include me in one of their conversations. I even looked really cute that day!
Anyway, after about 4 hours of that, we went (just the family) to downtown Rouen, and walked around. I got some pictures, and had a nice time talking to Geraldine. Best 30 minutes of the weekend.
I’m beginning to see what I am to these people. They work for their family company, which is extremely successful. It is 100 years old, and has a huge income. The grandfather (with the weekend house full of the stuffed dead animals) is the current president of said company. These are Trust-Fund-Folks. They’ve had a job waiting for them, along with a rather large sum of money, since they were born. I am nothing but their servant. They don’t care about my feelings, and they certainly do not see me as an equal.
This is so hard because I know I am their equal. I am just as educated as they are, if not more, and I am just as smart. Just because I choose to work for them this summer to learn and experience another culture does not mean I am beneath them. This engrained sense of class and superiority is something that really hits a nerve in me. Maybe it’s my American spirit, that “All men are created equal” and “Land of Opportunity” kind of thing.
I have decided to brush this aside, and for three months, worry about nothing except learning French, saving some money, and maybe getting a tan. After all, it’s sunny outside, the house is empty, and the Beach Boys are playing of my iTunes radio. Sunny side up, and I’ll survive.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Well, we are going away again this weekend, so don’t expect to hear from me until Monday. There is some sort of birthday celebration in Rouen, which, until I googled it, wasn’t too exciting. Seems like Rouen, in northwestern France, is the historical capital of Normandy! There’s plenty of gorgeous pictures; take a look for yourself! This trip will hopefully be just as exciting and surprising as my last trip to ze hunting lodge.
Unfortunately, I’ve been battling a bit of homesickness. Fairly normal after a week and a half. I think I’ll get over it in another week or so.
I have to go… the kids are up and will tear the house apart if I don’t intervene.
Bon Weekend!
Unfortunately, I’ve been battling a bit of homesickness. Fairly normal after a week and a half. I think I’ll get over it in another week or so.
I have to go… the kids are up and will tear the house apart if I don’t intervene.
Bon Weekend!
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Roasted Alive, Phantom Odors, and All Sans Alarm
I cannot believe that I got up on time this morning. Seriously, life without an alarm clock is an erratic, nail-biting, anything-can-happen kind of existence: an existence in which I would much prefer not to dwell. Tomorrow, I seek an end in Val D’europe, a large shopping mall in which there will certainly be an alarm clock of some sort.
Last night, for the first time in my life, I cooked a roast chicken. I’ve seen it done many times, so this was rather simple. However, the parents were not home at 7 (kids’ dinner time), and I realized that I had to carve it. After sizing up my opponent for a few moments, I spotted something I hadn’t seen before on a roast chicken: a long neck, and a head. The eyes were burnt shut, and the hair on its chin was crispy from oil. I almost lost my lunch, yuck.
I promptly recovered, and began to cut. I got the legs off by snapping them off (who knew there was such a tough joint there!) and then cut the meat off the top. The bones underneath revealed a full body’s worth of organs. The liver (I think) fell out as I
cut some more meat off, and later I found something that looked like poop in the pan. When I had done as much as I could without feeding the kids parts that have never been eaten, I set down the knife. It was a rather messy ordeal, and the meat was not nearly as clean cut as the meat I’ve had before. However, in the end, chicken is chicken, and the kids gobbled it up. I was so proud of myself, my first chicken! I smiled down at the toasted beak, and ate some ham for dinner.
Later, I went for another practice drive with Arnaud (Dad). Things were much easier this time. I still have difficulty with the oddly placed stoplights, however. When we exited the car, I distinctly smelled chocolate cake in the air. No one was cooking in the house. I thought I was going crazy… why else would I smell chocolate cake so strongly in the middle of this woodsy, sparsely inhabited neighborhood! I mentioned this to Geraldine (Mom), and she nearly fell over laughing. She told me there was a small bakery across the street that made cookies. She imitated me, frantically sniffing, trying to figure out why I smelled chocolate cookies in the middle of the woods. Hysterical! I really do enjoy her company.
I also received an email from the au pair agency containing the names of others in my area. There are four girls: an American, two Finnish, and one Swiss girl. I think I’ll email them and see if we can get together in Paris.
Your daily dose of cultural enhancement:
Yaogur- Yogurt, eaten as a dessert after every meal. Plain yogurt is often mixed with jelly or cane sugar, but flavored yogurt is eaten alone.
Flush- the flush on a toilet is a small button on the top of the toilet. Also, during the night, no one flushes the toilet, resulting in a rather nasty odor/ sight. I, however, do not adhere to this custom.
Be Cool- a phrase the French use all the time, along with ‘Alors’, ‘D’accord’, and ‘Okay’.
Boxed- Milk is stored in a 1L box in the cabinet at room temperature for as long as 2 months. When it is opened, it is then put in the réfrigérateur.
Pictures are up! View them here.
Last night, for the first time in my life, I cooked a roast chicken. I’ve seen it done many times, so this was rather simple. However, the parents were not home at 7 (kids’ dinner time), and I realized that I had to carve it. After sizing up my opponent for a few moments, I spotted something I hadn’t seen before on a roast chicken: a long neck, and a head. The eyes were burnt shut, and the hair on its chin was crispy from oil. I almost lost my lunch, yuck.
I promptly recovered, and began to cut. I got the legs off by snapping them off (who knew there was such a tough joint there!) and then cut the meat off the top. The bones underneath revealed a full body’s worth of organs. The liver (I think) fell out as I
cut some more meat off, and later I found something that looked like poop in the pan. When I had done as much as I could without feeding the kids parts that have never been eaten, I set down the knife. It was a rather messy ordeal, and the meat was not nearly as clean cut as the meat I’ve had before. However, in the end, chicken is chicken, and the kids gobbled it up. I was so proud of myself, my first chicken! I smiled down at the toasted beak, and ate some ham for dinner.
Later, I went for another practice drive with Arnaud (Dad). Things were much easier this time. I still have difficulty with the oddly placed stoplights, however. When we exited the car, I distinctly smelled chocolate cake in the air. No one was cooking in the house. I thought I was going crazy… why else would I smell chocolate cake so strongly in the middle of this woodsy, sparsely inhabited neighborhood! I mentioned this to Geraldine (Mom), and she nearly fell over laughing. She told me there was a small bakery across the street that made cookies. She imitated me, frantically sniffing, trying to figure out why I smelled chocolate cookies in the middle of the woods. Hysterical! I really do enjoy her company.
I also received an email from the au pair agency containing the names of others in my area. There are four girls: an American, two Finnish, and one Swiss girl. I think I’ll email them and see if we can get together in Paris.
Your daily dose of cultural enhancement:
Yaogur- Yogurt, eaten as a dessert after every meal. Plain yogurt is often mixed with jelly or cane sugar, but flavored yogurt is eaten alone.
Flush- the flush on a toilet is a small button on the top of the toilet. Also, during the night, no one flushes the toilet, resulting in a rather nasty odor/ sight. I, however, do not adhere to this custom.
Be Cool- a phrase the French use all the time, along with ‘Alors’, ‘D’accord’, and ‘Okay’.
Boxed- Milk is stored in a 1L box in the cabinet at room temperature for as long as 2 months. When it is opened, it is then put in the réfrigérateur.
Pictures are up! View them here.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Rain, Cats, Dogs, and Paris greens
Things have been quite hectic around here lately! I have had many conflicting emotions, changed my mind about numerous things time and time again, and braved the outside yard where the mad dog roams free.
That’s right, mad. This dog, the family’s 5-year-old Dalmatian, lives outside in the yard. Each morning, someone dumps some food into his bowl, and another bowl sits under the leaky hose, collecting water for him to drink. The only human interaction he gets is when someone exits the house, at which time the kick him repeatedly and yell. He routinely sits on the deck by the kitchen window, staring wistfully inside. The family informed me nonchalantly that he bites. He also jumps all over me, scratching me with his over grown nails, and nipping at my shoes.
Needless to say, this aggressive, neglected animal scares me. “Scares” is too soft of a word. I go outside to open the gate (with an electronic remote control: without it, one cannot exit at all. It just so happens that the one I was given was out of batteries, and for the last week, excluding 2 days, I was not able to leave the house.) Having been bitten twice by dogs before, I retain a little of that fear, especially in the presence of clearly volatile animals such as this one. I even sunk as low as to follow suit and kick it, but it didn’t work. It was more like a nudge with the shoe, but I couldn’t bring myself to do more. Poor, horrible dog.
The cat, on the other hand, is the best cat I have ever met (no offense, Chris, but Paco doesn’t do it for me). It is an uber-fluffy British Long hair, and the most playful, attentive, obedient, loving, beautiful, funny cat I have ever met. Geraldine, Mom, tells me everyone loves Cashmere (which is undoubtedly true, on both counts), even if they prefer dogs. Living here, I most certainly prefer cats.
Anyway, Monday evening I drove for the first time around Chanteloup and Langy (pronounced Lannie, rhymes with Annie). Although the basics were the same, there were poignant differences. Stoplights rarely exist in these maze like streets, and normal intersections number less than circle drives, uneven crossings, and other bizarre layouts. The stoplights are always perched on the right side of the road, about 10-15 meters BEFORE the cross walk. This is by far the hardest thing to get used to. The lights are by the sidewalk, low to the ground, and occur even before I begin to look for them. I think after a few days, however, I shall get used to it. The family says that I can take the car wherever I want. I think that Friday (my free day) I will venture to Val D’Europe: the nearby mall. I simply adore shopping.
Speaking of shopping, you’ll never guess what I did Tuesday. Well, you could probably get it in 2 guesses. I went to Paris! I was so excited that I could barely sleep the night before, which came in handy the next morning when there was no alarm to wake me up. I hitched a ride to Arthur’s school (Pre-School) with Margarette (Maid/ Child Help), and the walked a half mile across the Marne River and over to the train station. I bought a ticked for 5 euro (one way) and, once on the train, I was in Paris in 20 minutes.
I must say, the whole thing was very anticlimactic. I’ve wanted to go to Paris for so long that when I finally got there, I thought, ‘this is it?’ Not that it wasn’t gorgeous (though cloudy), or full of history, class, and culture, because it was. I think that I’ve just read too much about it, heard too much of it’s praise, and dreamt for so long about going that the real thing just didn’t surmount to my expectation. Perhaps it was the missing Love-Of-My-Life at my side that left the City of Love feeling a little barren.
That being said, I laid a long day out for myself. For my first day, I wanted to hit my 3 favorite tourist destinations: le Tour Eiffel, le Arc de Triomphe, and the Seine river. Wanting to avoid using public transportation at all costs, I proposed to walk all the way from the Gare l’Est (east train station) to le Tour Eiffel, crossing the Seine during the process. The Arc is due north of the Tour, so I propositioned to then venture there, and pour fin I would return back to the Gare to go home.
On the map, I saw that the Gare L’est was in the far northeast part of Paris, while the Eiffel Tower was much more south and much more west, where the Seine curves south. Now, I enjoy walking, so this was not a problem. Exiting the Gare L’est with a map, a camera, a dictionary (my best friend these days), and a plan, I set off in a southern direction to encounter the Seine.
The city was very beautiful. There were more coiffures (hair salons) and clothing stores than I had ever seen. The buildings were of traditional French architecture, and exuded age and personality. Trees lined the sidewalks and intersections, while flowers poured from windows, fences, and bushes. Now I know why it rains so much here. How else can you keep this city so green?
I passed the Louvre (a gargantuan mass of buildings), les Halles (Paris’ main outdoor food market), and the Eglise de Sant'Eustache. Finally, after 2 hours, I reached the Seine. It was gorgeous, even on a cloudy day. A multitude of bikers rode the riverside route, and even more walkers did the same. I joined them, watching the boats chug by and the gold posts on the bridges shimmer.
On the other side of the Seine, I passed the Musee D’Orsay, another popular attraction. I then ventured through the narrow streets, in and out of small shops of various specialties, in the direction of the Eiffel Tower. An hour later, I found it (not a difficult task). It was wonderful! There was a mass of tourists standing in line to climb it (a mass I was not about to join), and fully uniformed and fully armed soldiers (think giant machine guns). I walked out into the green area before the tower and snapped some pictures. Then, I turned on my heel: one more stop to go.
Heading north, through a more financial district of the city, I stumbled upon the Champs Élyseés, and the famous circle intersection. It intersects around 12 streets! It was a nightmare to cross, a joy to watch, and all very green and lush at the same time.
Now, I did not realize that the Champs Élyseés was a shopper’s haven. But oh, my oh my, it was a haven. I ate a great sandwich on the road side half way down the street toward the Arc, now visible in the near distance: sautéed zucchini, ham, some kind of cheese, toasted tomato, and a sesame bun. Delicious.
I revisited some of my former haunts in Spain, like Promod, Zara, and Mango. I looked inside Louis Vuitton, as if I intended to buy, which I did not. By the time I reached the Arc, I was exhausted. After snapping some pictures, I realized that I had about and hour to get back to the station. This was not enough time to walk, and I certain could not walk any farther if it was. I caught a bus, hopped on the train, and met Arthur as he got out of school. When we got home, I did my two hours work before the parents got home, and then collapsed from exhaustion.
I’ll get the pictures up tonight or tomorrow. Bon journeé!
That’s right, mad. This dog, the family’s 5-year-old Dalmatian, lives outside in the yard. Each morning, someone dumps some food into his bowl, and another bowl sits under the leaky hose, collecting water for him to drink. The only human interaction he gets is when someone exits the house, at which time the kick him repeatedly and yell. He routinely sits on the deck by the kitchen window, staring wistfully inside. The family informed me nonchalantly that he bites. He also jumps all over me, scratching me with his over grown nails, and nipping at my shoes.
Needless to say, this aggressive, neglected animal scares me. “Scares” is too soft of a word. I go outside to open the gate (with an electronic remote control: without it, one cannot exit at all. It just so happens that the one I was given was out of batteries, and for the last week, excluding 2 days, I was not able to leave the house.) Having been bitten twice by dogs before, I retain a little of that fear, especially in the presence of clearly volatile animals such as this one. I even sunk as low as to follow suit and kick it, but it didn’t work. It was more like a nudge with the shoe, but I couldn’t bring myself to do more. Poor, horrible dog.
The cat, on the other hand, is the best cat I have ever met (no offense, Chris, but Paco doesn’t do it for me). It is an uber-fluffy British Long hair, and the most playful, attentive, obedient, loving, beautiful, funny cat I have ever met. Geraldine, Mom, tells me everyone loves Cashmere (which is undoubtedly true, on both counts), even if they prefer dogs. Living here, I most certainly prefer cats.
Anyway, Monday evening I drove for the first time around Chanteloup and Langy (pronounced Lannie, rhymes with Annie). Although the basics were the same, there were poignant differences. Stoplights rarely exist in these maze like streets, and normal intersections number less than circle drives, uneven crossings, and other bizarre layouts. The stoplights are always perched on the right side of the road, about 10-15 meters BEFORE the cross walk. This is by far the hardest thing to get used to. The lights are by the sidewalk, low to the ground, and occur even before I begin to look for them. I think after a few days, however, I shall get used to it. The family says that I can take the car wherever I want. I think that Friday (my free day) I will venture to Val D’Europe: the nearby mall. I simply adore shopping.
Speaking of shopping, you’ll never guess what I did Tuesday. Well, you could probably get it in 2 guesses. I went to Paris! I was so excited that I could barely sleep the night before, which came in handy the next morning when there was no alarm to wake me up. I hitched a ride to Arthur’s school (Pre-School) with Margarette (Maid/ Child Help), and the walked a half mile across the Marne River and over to the train station. I bought a ticked for 5 euro (one way) and, once on the train, I was in Paris in 20 minutes.
I must say, the whole thing was very anticlimactic. I’ve wanted to go to Paris for so long that when I finally got there, I thought, ‘this is it?’ Not that it wasn’t gorgeous (though cloudy), or full of history, class, and culture, because it was. I think that I’ve just read too much about it, heard too much of it’s praise, and dreamt for so long about going that the real thing just didn’t surmount to my expectation. Perhaps it was the missing Love-Of-My-Life at my side that left the City of Love feeling a little barren.
That being said, I laid a long day out for myself. For my first day, I wanted to hit my 3 favorite tourist destinations: le Tour Eiffel, le Arc de Triomphe, and the Seine river. Wanting to avoid using public transportation at all costs, I proposed to walk all the way from the Gare l’Est (east train station) to le Tour Eiffel, crossing the Seine during the process. The Arc is due north of the Tour, so I propositioned to then venture there, and pour fin I would return back to the Gare to go home.
On the map, I saw that the Gare L’est was in the far northeast part of Paris, while the Eiffel Tower was much more south and much more west, where the Seine curves south. Now, I enjoy walking, so this was not a problem. Exiting the Gare L’est with a map, a camera, a dictionary (my best friend these days), and a plan, I set off in a southern direction to encounter the Seine.
The city was very beautiful. There were more coiffures (hair salons) and clothing stores than I had ever seen. The buildings were of traditional French architecture, and exuded age and personality. Trees lined the sidewalks and intersections, while flowers poured from windows, fences, and bushes. Now I know why it rains so much here. How else can you keep this city so green?
I passed the Louvre (a gargantuan mass of buildings), les Halles (Paris’ main outdoor food market), and the Eglise de Sant'Eustache. Finally, after 2 hours, I reached the Seine. It was gorgeous, even on a cloudy day. A multitude of bikers rode the riverside route, and even more walkers did the same. I joined them, watching the boats chug by and the gold posts on the bridges shimmer.
On the other side of the Seine, I passed the Musee D’Orsay, another popular attraction. I then ventured through the narrow streets, in and out of small shops of various specialties, in the direction of the Eiffel Tower. An hour later, I found it (not a difficult task). It was wonderful! There was a mass of tourists standing in line to climb it (a mass I was not about to join), and fully uniformed and fully armed soldiers (think giant machine guns). I walked out into the green area before the tower and snapped some pictures. Then, I turned on my heel: one more stop to go.
Heading north, through a more financial district of the city, I stumbled upon the Champs Élyseés, and the famous circle intersection. It intersects around 12 streets! It was a nightmare to cross, a joy to watch, and all very green and lush at the same time.
Now, I did not realize that the Champs Élyseés was a shopper’s haven. But oh, my oh my, it was a haven. I ate a great sandwich on the road side half way down the street toward the Arc, now visible in the near distance: sautéed zucchini, ham, some kind of cheese, toasted tomato, and a sesame bun. Delicious.
I revisited some of my former haunts in Spain, like Promod, Zara, and Mango. I looked inside Louis Vuitton, as if I intended to buy, which I did not. By the time I reached the Arc, I was exhausted. After snapping some pictures, I realized that I had about and hour to get back to the station. This was not enough time to walk, and I certain could not walk any farther if it was. I caught a bus, hopped on the train, and met Arthur as he got out of school. When we got home, I did my two hours work before the parents got home, and then collapsed from exhaustion.
I’ll get the pictures up tonight or tomorrow. Bon journeé!
Monday, June 2, 2008
Yvoy-le-Marron, Dead Animals, and Bad Manners
Grab a comfy seat, a refreshing drink, and perhaps something to snack on. This will be a long entry! For this was quite an eventful weekend.
Friday morning, Geraldine (Mom), informed me that we would be leaving at 7pm for the campangne. When the kids got home from school at 5pm, I realized that I had to pack them for the trip. For about an hour, I chased them around the house, trying to get them to pack. They hit each other, screamed at each other for the littlest things, cried, ransacked my room for the peanut butter (skillfully hidden), and then finally conceded to pack (while doing all of these same things).
That said, I am sorry to admit that these are not the best of kids. They hit each other frequently (resulting in the other hitting back, screaming, and/ or crying) and have even hit me. When the oldest, Antoine, hit me (which he thought was funny), I was infuriated. However, there was nothing that I could say to him in French. It made me so angry that he could be so disrespectful.
I thought that perhaps is was just these kids not being raised right (by nannies or their parents), but this weekend I changed my mind. Geraldine’s sister, Fanny, has a 2-year-old son named Mateur. After she would not open the door to an off-limits room, he screamed and slapped her (hard) on the arm. Sitting across from her on the table, I gasped. I expected her to look him in the eye, yell something about his misbehavior, and punish him.
She frowned, and spanked him back. He did not flinch, nor shed a tear. She went on with her conversation. I was floored. Do I expect too much out of children, or is this a bit out of the ordinary?
Anyways, la campagne. We left around 10pm (due to the cliché French punctuality). Not once did the kids complain about being hungry for dinner on the 2-hour drive. They watched Les Indestructibles (The Incredibles to you and me) on DVD, with English subtitles pour moi. We drove through mostly green, foresty areas. It was very beautiful. During the drive, Geraldine informed me that her father (whose house we were going to) had a passion for hunting; So much a passion that he had imported lions from Africa into his woods, where he hunted and killed them. He also liked to stuff his prizes, which he displayed in a room in the house.
Okay, I thought. A little odd, but everyone has a hobby. Then, Arnaud (Dad) sneezed a huge sneeze, looked at the hand that had covered his nose, and proceeded to lick his fingers. This reminded me that there are worse things than dead, stuffed animals.
When we arrived at the house, I was shocked. I was expecting a medium sized house, a little pool (the kids informed me there was one), and a little lot where the kids could play in the woods. Not even close.
We pulled into the driveway of a sprawling hunting lodge mansion in the town of Yvoy-le-Marron, located in the center of France, in the Loire-et-Cher region. Talk about passion. This was your traditional hunting lodge, version 100.0. The main part had 2 wings. There was a giant kitchen, a huge living area, equipped with a very well stocked bar and espresso machine, pool table (without pockets. The French play a different version), and multiple couches. There was a T.V. room, with the biggest flat screen T.V. I have ever seen. There were at least 10 other rooms I didn’t even get to go in. There was an outdoor walk-in freezer and refrigerator. There was a garage with 2 Jeeps, a Land Rover, and 2 sports cars. The second house, presumably the guesthouse, was the size of my house in Libertyville. Probably 6 bedrooms, 3 baths, and a kitchen and living area as well. An Olympic sized pool finished off the resort they called home.
Actually, they only called it home for the weekend, and for short amounts of time in the summer. Their home for the week is in Paris.
We ate a fancy midnight dinner of halibut, salad with vinaigrette dressing, and bread, halfway through which Arnaud ate dessert before everyone else and left the room. We headed off to unpack and to get ready for bed at around 1am. We passed Arnaud, fast asleep on the living room couch, shoe-d feet perched on the expensive wooden coffee table. I slept in a room, not on the couch, with a teddy bear comforter, next to a creepy headless mannequin dressed in a traditional black dress that would surely give me nightmares.
The parents, and to my surprise, the grandparents, left the next morning for their marriage dans Bordeaux. Another woman, Danielle, had arrived and would be watching after the kids with me. Danielle, a friendly French woman in her early 60s, was so wonderful. She helped me with everything, and shared my viewpoint in all aspects. The kids watched T.V. and played Wii with their cousins (the parents having dropped them off for our enjoyment, so that they could have alone time) for the majority of the day. Matuer, 2, and Enzo (a named reminiscent of Sesame Street), 5, played well with the others. Philippine, in a rare calm and friendly state, played Cluedo (Clue), Bataille (War), and Skip-Bo with Danielle and I. It was nice.
Danielle and I cooked together as well. That night, she informed me that she would be making crepes. I told her that I have never made or had real crepes before, and she immediately took me under her wing. We prepared the dough-like mixture, and then heated up the pans. Danielle took the stove top on the right, and I the left. I poured a ladle into the round skillet, tipped and swirled it around to cover the whole surface, and then scraped the edges from the pan. Danielle did the same. Then, she shook the crepe so it loosened from the pan, and FLIP! Perfect flip! I squealed in delight, like a 4 year old. We laughed as I turned to do the same… and FLIP! Perfect flip on the first try! I set the pan on the stove, and began to dance and hoot triumphantly around the kitchen. We were both nearly on the floor with surprise and laughter. It is a moment I will remember forever.
After completing the crepes, we made the actual dinner crepes with ham and cheese and, for some, egg. The rest were for dessert. The kids gobbled them up, putting jam, Nutella (a chocolate butter, with the same texture as peanut butter), or just plain sugar on them. Each kid ate an average of 7. They called me the Crepe Champion.
The kids were eager to show me the room with the stuffed animals. I had seen enough stuffed animals already; the walls displayed multitudes of stuffed birds hanging upside down from iron nails, giant deer and moose heads protruding from the walls, and tableside rabbits, mid hop. As Danielle unlocked the door to le chamber des animeaux, I stood for a moment in shock.
It was not only one room, but four interconnected rooms. They were filled to the brim with real stuffed animals, posed in a re-creation of their natural habitat. There were deer, male and female. There were multiple bears, snarling with their mouths hanging open. There were five lions, perched on a rock. Giraffes, cheetahs, a rhinoceros, fox, and more that I cannot remember. Heads emerged from the walls, monkeys hung from the rafters, and others prowled the ground. It was the most frightening room I had ever been in. One of the kids hid behind a bear and breathed heavily, causing me to scream in fright and run from the room. I cannot even describe to you how bizarre I felt inside, with this stuffed, life-like, yet dead zoo all around me.
In addition to the animals, there was a huge, and, again, fully stocked bar bordering a wall packed with hunting plaques and rewards. With the kids running around and slapping each other, and the animals staring down at me with sharp teeth and dead eyes, I about popped open a bottle of rum and chugged.
Due to my tremendous self-constraint I managed, sans rum, to herd the children out of the room (no pun intended), all the while avoiding eye contact with my animal friends, Putting together my new friendship with Danielle, the discovery of my God-given talent for crepe flipping, and this, I would say that Saturday was a successful day.
Sunday the parents arrived around noon. They all looked tired, and Geraldine told me that they had been up till 3am dancing (and drinking) and got up at 8 to have lunch with us. Lunch was salad and a full chicken that had been sitting on the counter all morning, fresh from the freezer. I was handed a leg, and followed suit by cutting the meat off the bone. It is so much harder than it sounds. Meanwhile, Arnaud finished first, and began to pick salad leaves out of the communal bowl with his fingers.
Apparently Geraldine’s sister, Fanny, was coming over soon with a cake for Philippine’s belated birthday, and we would leave right after. Three hours later, she arrived and we all ate a delicious yogurt mousse-strawberry topped cake. Seriously, the French are obsessed with yogurt. I wonder what the osteoporosis rates are.
Anyway, after that, the grandfather took the kids for a ride in one of the cars. The mom told me we were leaving in 5 minutes. I put the luggage in the car, and waited around awkwardly (for, although the grandparents and sister were kind to me, they did not speak to me the entire time. I sense an underlying sense of class here; they are rich, and I am a servant, not an equal. They treat me with humane kindness, but not a smile further).
Around 5:30, we left the house. I let Philippine listen to my iPod with me. Taylor swift, Billy Joel, and Coldplay made the drive pass quickly. We got home, and I watched a movie in my room, “Baby Mama” was more entertaining than the reviews gave it credit for.
This morning, the tiny alarm clock Arnaud (Dad) lent me did not go off. I was ready for that, however: my internal clock possesses an every present distrust of electronic ones. Perhaps this is why the time adjustment has been rather difficult.
Friday morning, Geraldine (Mom), informed me that we would be leaving at 7pm for the campangne. When the kids got home from school at 5pm, I realized that I had to pack them for the trip. For about an hour, I chased them around the house, trying to get them to pack. They hit each other, screamed at each other for the littlest things, cried, ransacked my room for the peanut butter (skillfully hidden), and then finally conceded to pack (while doing all of these same things).
That said, I am sorry to admit that these are not the best of kids. They hit each other frequently (resulting in the other hitting back, screaming, and/ or crying) and have even hit me. When the oldest, Antoine, hit me (which he thought was funny), I was infuriated. However, there was nothing that I could say to him in French. It made me so angry that he could be so disrespectful.
I thought that perhaps is was just these kids not being raised right (by nannies or their parents), but this weekend I changed my mind. Geraldine’s sister, Fanny, has a 2-year-old son named Mateur. After she would not open the door to an off-limits room, he screamed and slapped her (hard) on the arm. Sitting across from her on the table, I gasped. I expected her to look him in the eye, yell something about his misbehavior, and punish him.
She frowned, and spanked him back. He did not flinch, nor shed a tear. She went on with her conversation. I was floored. Do I expect too much out of children, or is this a bit out of the ordinary?
Anyways, la campagne. We left around 10pm (due to the cliché French punctuality). Not once did the kids complain about being hungry for dinner on the 2-hour drive. They watched Les Indestructibles (The Incredibles to you and me) on DVD, with English subtitles pour moi. We drove through mostly green, foresty areas. It was very beautiful. During the drive, Geraldine informed me that her father (whose house we were going to) had a passion for hunting; So much a passion that he had imported lions from Africa into his woods, where he hunted and killed them. He also liked to stuff his prizes, which he displayed in a room in the house.
Okay, I thought. A little odd, but everyone has a hobby. Then, Arnaud (Dad) sneezed a huge sneeze, looked at the hand that had covered his nose, and proceeded to lick his fingers. This reminded me that there are worse things than dead, stuffed animals.
When we arrived at the house, I was shocked. I was expecting a medium sized house, a little pool (the kids informed me there was one), and a little lot where the kids could play in the woods. Not even close.
We pulled into the driveway of a sprawling hunting lodge mansion in the town of Yvoy-le-Marron, located in the center of France, in the Loire-et-Cher region. Talk about passion. This was your traditional hunting lodge, version 100.0. The main part had 2 wings. There was a giant kitchen, a huge living area, equipped with a very well stocked bar and espresso machine, pool table (without pockets. The French play a different version), and multiple couches. There was a T.V. room, with the biggest flat screen T.V. I have ever seen. There were at least 10 other rooms I didn’t even get to go in. There was an outdoor walk-in freezer and refrigerator. There was a garage with 2 Jeeps, a Land Rover, and 2 sports cars. The second house, presumably the guesthouse, was the size of my house in Libertyville. Probably 6 bedrooms, 3 baths, and a kitchen and living area as well. An Olympic sized pool finished off the resort they called home.
Actually, they only called it home for the weekend, and for short amounts of time in the summer. Their home for the week is in Paris.
We ate a fancy midnight dinner of halibut, salad with vinaigrette dressing, and bread, halfway through which Arnaud ate dessert before everyone else and left the room. We headed off to unpack and to get ready for bed at around 1am. We passed Arnaud, fast asleep on the living room couch, shoe-d feet perched on the expensive wooden coffee table. I slept in a room, not on the couch, with a teddy bear comforter, next to a creepy headless mannequin dressed in a traditional black dress that would surely give me nightmares.
The parents, and to my surprise, the grandparents, left the next morning for their marriage dans Bordeaux. Another woman, Danielle, had arrived and would be watching after the kids with me. Danielle, a friendly French woman in her early 60s, was so wonderful. She helped me with everything, and shared my viewpoint in all aspects. The kids watched T.V. and played Wii with their cousins (the parents having dropped them off for our enjoyment, so that they could have alone time) for the majority of the day. Matuer, 2, and Enzo (a named reminiscent of Sesame Street), 5, played well with the others. Philippine, in a rare calm and friendly state, played Cluedo (Clue), Bataille (War), and Skip-Bo with Danielle and I. It was nice.
Danielle and I cooked together as well. That night, she informed me that she would be making crepes. I told her that I have never made or had real crepes before, and she immediately took me under her wing. We prepared the dough-like mixture, and then heated up the pans. Danielle took the stove top on the right, and I the left. I poured a ladle into the round skillet, tipped and swirled it around to cover the whole surface, and then scraped the edges from the pan. Danielle did the same. Then, she shook the crepe so it loosened from the pan, and FLIP! Perfect flip! I squealed in delight, like a 4 year old. We laughed as I turned to do the same… and FLIP! Perfect flip on the first try! I set the pan on the stove, and began to dance and hoot triumphantly around the kitchen. We were both nearly on the floor with surprise and laughter. It is a moment I will remember forever.
After completing the crepes, we made the actual dinner crepes with ham and cheese and, for some, egg. The rest were for dessert. The kids gobbled them up, putting jam, Nutella (a chocolate butter, with the same texture as peanut butter), or just plain sugar on them. Each kid ate an average of 7. They called me the Crepe Champion.
The kids were eager to show me the room with the stuffed animals. I had seen enough stuffed animals already; the walls displayed multitudes of stuffed birds hanging upside down from iron nails, giant deer and moose heads protruding from the walls, and tableside rabbits, mid hop. As Danielle unlocked the door to le chamber des animeaux, I stood for a moment in shock.
It was not only one room, but four interconnected rooms. They were filled to the brim with real stuffed animals, posed in a re-creation of their natural habitat. There were deer, male and female. There were multiple bears, snarling with their mouths hanging open. There were five lions, perched on a rock. Giraffes, cheetahs, a rhinoceros, fox, and more that I cannot remember. Heads emerged from the walls, monkeys hung from the rafters, and others prowled the ground. It was the most frightening room I had ever been in. One of the kids hid behind a bear and breathed heavily, causing me to scream in fright and run from the room. I cannot even describe to you how bizarre I felt inside, with this stuffed, life-like, yet dead zoo all around me.
In addition to the animals, there was a huge, and, again, fully stocked bar bordering a wall packed with hunting plaques and rewards. With the kids running around and slapping each other, and the animals staring down at me with sharp teeth and dead eyes, I about popped open a bottle of rum and chugged.
Due to my tremendous self-constraint I managed, sans rum, to herd the children out of the room (no pun intended), all the while avoiding eye contact with my animal friends, Putting together my new friendship with Danielle, the discovery of my God-given talent for crepe flipping, and this, I would say that Saturday was a successful day.
Sunday the parents arrived around noon. They all looked tired, and Geraldine told me that they had been up till 3am dancing (and drinking) and got up at 8 to have lunch with us. Lunch was salad and a full chicken that had been sitting on the counter all morning, fresh from the freezer. I was handed a leg, and followed suit by cutting the meat off the bone. It is so much harder than it sounds. Meanwhile, Arnaud finished first, and began to pick salad leaves out of the communal bowl with his fingers.
Apparently Geraldine’s sister, Fanny, was coming over soon with a cake for Philippine’s belated birthday, and we would leave right after. Three hours later, she arrived and we all ate a delicious yogurt mousse-strawberry topped cake. Seriously, the French are obsessed with yogurt. I wonder what the osteoporosis rates are.
Anyway, after that, the grandfather took the kids for a ride in one of the cars. The mom told me we were leaving in 5 minutes. I put the luggage in the car, and waited around awkwardly (for, although the grandparents and sister were kind to me, they did not speak to me the entire time. I sense an underlying sense of class here; they are rich, and I am a servant, not an equal. They treat me with humane kindness, but not a smile further).
Around 5:30, we left the house. I let Philippine listen to my iPod with me. Taylor swift, Billy Joel, and Coldplay made the drive pass quickly. We got home, and I watched a movie in my room, “Baby Mama” was more entertaining than the reviews gave it credit for.
This morning, the tiny alarm clock Arnaud (Dad) lent me did not go off. I was ready for that, however: my internal clock possesses an every present distrust of electronic ones. Perhaps this is why the time adjustment has been rather difficult.
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