Halfway to Heaven

We are currently taking care of our friend’s dog while he is in England for the week. As we talked about places to walk with the dog, our neighbor Jane suggested a walk up to a beautiful little chapel located in the Drome – the county (French “department”) next to ours. We loaded up her car and then drove about 20 kilometers from here. As we got close, I could see the chapel St. Jean d’Ollon on top of a very high hill. We parked in the valley and started our climb.

The chapel, from the valley

The picture may not capture how spectacular it looks from the valley below, but the little yellow building to the left of the tree with its fall leaves is the chapel. The day was sunny but cold (when in the shade). We had to cross a small stream twice as we started up the hill. With the rains that we have had, the stream was pretty high, so we did our best to jump from big rock to big rock. The walk itself was fairly easy as the path circled the summit. Plus, Ellen had little Cesar – the very energetic English Cocker Spaniel – to pull her up the hill. 


Once at the top, the sun was warm and the vistas were awesome.

St. Jean d'Ollon

One can go around to the back of the chapel and enter a small room from which you can see the interior of the chapel.

According to information that I found when I looked up the chapel on Google, it was built in the 12^th century and then renovated in the 19^th century. I am always amazed by the craftsmanship and the feats of engineering of old buildings here. First, who decided that they should build a chapel on the top of the hill? (I am guessing that the person who chose the sight thought it would be nice to have a chapel halfway to heaven.) Second, did this person believe that it would be a good place for the congregation to gather for mass? Third, how did they manage to tote all of the building materials to the site? And, of course, how long did it take to construct the chapel? Pretty amazing.

It is equally amazing how often I use the word “spectacular” to describe the vistas. I have stood in a valley below a limestone cliff gleaming in white and gray and yellow and thought: “This must be the most beautiful spot in Provence.” Then I go another kilometer/turn another corner and think: “No, this must be the most beautiful spot in Provence.” Our friend, Brian talked about enjoying the art of the impressionists – especially those who lived and painted in Provence – but he thought that they must have used a lot of imagination in choosing the colors for their landscapes. Then, he came here and discovered that the colors are real!

Quelle belle région!

Strikes in France

cWhen John et al. were here, we had conversations about the French strikes, French lifestyle and the meaning of life (which usually means having had too much wine). We talked about the frustration (for Americans) of ordering a coffee and then spending the next 30 minutes trying to get the attention of the waiter to bring the bill so that we could pay it and leave. In Vaison la Romaine unlike most restaurants in the states, there is absolutely no pressure to “turn a table,” so you can sit at the café as long as you want. This is antithetical to Americans who want to keep a schedule and are frustrated that their commitment to a schedule is not shared by their French wait staff. Life moves along more slowly in France. In France, most stores are closed between noon and 2:30 PM for lunch. In the US, lunch “hours” are rarely that – more often 30 minutes.

As we discussed the differences, Arleen, who has collected data on the millennial generation, told us about the different approach to life and work of the new American workforce. Her comparisons between our generation and the millennial generation reminded me of the old Japanese film “Woman in the Dunes” in which the protagonist asks: “Do we live to shovel sand or do we shovel sand to live?” (The answer for the millennial generation is: ‘We will work – and we will be productive while multi-tasking while working – if it doesn’t interfere with life.’)

The question in “Woman in the Dunes” is, of course, a parable of life anywhere but Americans of my generation view work as life-defining whereas it seems that the French view work as a means to support their lifestyles.

These are very essential differences. Americans celebrate individualism and believe that everyone can become a success if one works hard enough. The French prefer looking at life as “the tide raises all boats” and work to keep the tide rising. Even though times have changed, the differences between individualism and the collective provided an insight for me as to why the French put up with daily life-crippling strikes and demonstrations. The French believe that collectively they have the capacity to develop surprisingly strong and demonstrative changes through strikes and demonstrations. On the down side, it also appears that at the individual level, there are some who use this “collective umbrella” to manifest personal discontent through vandalism such as breaking car windows, setting fires, etc.

The strikes and demonstrations across France have mostly ended but friends in the states remain concerned about how safe it is in France. From my narrow view of the world, the strikes and demonstrations were never a threat to our safety. True, there were a few violent incidents that attracted a lot of press coverage. Unfortunately, the press picked up on these incidents and made the focus of the stories about violence. In reality, people across France were angry but showed their anger in peaceful demonstrations and strikes. The unions managed the strikes and demonstrations so that they had the maximum impact without violence or injury. Two years ago, the president of France had dismissed strikes as unimportant and of no consequence. “Désormais, quand il y a une grève en France, plus personne ne s'en aperçoit", s'était amusé Nicolas Sarkozy le 6 juillet 2008 devant des militants UMP (Le Monde, 5 novembre 2010).

The French people participated in and/or supported the strikes because they were upset not only about the plan to change the age of retirement eligibility; they were equally angry about how the Sarkozy-led government has changed national policies, leaving French low and middle class people exasperated by increasing inequalities with the upper classes in taxes, salaries and employment as well as by Sarkozy’s nepotism scandal. (Even teenagers have demonstrated against the new retirement rules, something about which teens usually don’t think until they are in the workforce.)

Our friend sent me a wonderful description of her perspective on the strikes. I have included much of what she wrote because I think that she does a good job of describing the situation. (I have also shown this to a few French friends to be sure that I was not guilty of “disinformation” à la Reagan administration.)

“The media coverage has been a bit simplistic and overly dramatic. Our daily lives have been unaffected by the strikes and the political turmoil. We have to go out of our way to see a demonstration, and we have not seen any violence. My husband takes the metro to his French classes and his commute has not been disturbed at all. There were some problems with garbage pickup in Marseille and other cities. There have been a few travel delays on trains, but that seems to be over. I think that some teenagers burned a car in a suburb of Paris. That footage has played over and over making it look like the city is on fire. There is real frustration among many segments of the society, and the strikes give people an opportunity to voice that frustration. 

“There has also been coverage of the long lines at the gas stations.  Refinery workers and some truck drivers were on strike, but that is over.  We rented a car for four days to drive to Alsace, and the longest we waited in line for gasoline was about five minutes.  An innkeeper in Alsace told me that the exaggerated media coverage had hurt his business because clients from Germany or Belgium saw the news and think that France is in a civil war.

“The media also make it sound like the “lazy” French don't want to work past 60. The age to get the minimum retirement benefits will be raised from 60 to 62. That is like me taking my Social Security at 62, and not getting full benefits. The age for full benefits has been raised from 65 to 67. The number that I find to be truly amazing is that now in France one must work for 41 years to qualify for full government benefits. I know a lot of Americans that take their Social Security that have not worked for 41 years. If a doctor manages to finish his or her training and begin to work by age 29, he or she would have to work to age 70 to get full pension benefits. Of course, people who earn middle to high incomes can invest in private retirement funds, but many people cannot afford to do that.

“The unemployment rate in France has been between 8% and 10.5% for decades.  Just as in the US, unemployment tends to hit the youngest and the oldest workers the most, as well as workers in certain industries.  The lower-paid workers, who cannot afford a private pension, may lose out on full government benefits due to extended periods of unemployment.  A worker who is laid off or down-sized after age 50 does not have a good chance of finding another full-time job and may never be able to log 41 years of work.

“Due to some tax policies 20 to 30 years ago that encouraged people to have a third child, France is one of the few developed countries that has enough young people of working age to support the retirement system.  With a high rate of unemployment, many of those younger people cannot find work until the older workers retire.”

The major protests are over. The French Senate approved the Sarkozy plan to change retirement ages as proposed.  President Sarkozy signed the bill into law on November 10, 2010. The Left has pledged to continue the pressure against what many in France consider their birthright. (In 1982, the Mitterand government established the retirement age at 60.) The Left will focus their demonstrations and strikes on generating the sentiments necessary to overthrow the Sarkozy government in 2012 and reverse the policy.

I thought the differences between France and the US were significant but then I read the press release on the “deficit-reduction committee” recommendations. It seems as if “equality” gets trumped (again!) by liberty. The Americans and the French have similar items on the national agenda. The difference is that the French plan to use collective action to do something about it.

Another half-year in Provence

Leaving Lansing was bittersweet. I was ready to leave but we had so much fun at the gatherings of friends prior to our departure. I was happy to see that our deerhounds continue to defy the odds and live on but also know that they really are not immortal… On the other hand, we left the dogs in the care of two wonderful folks who will give them more attention than they deserve.

Alors, it’s back in France for another six months. The strikes and demonstrations did little to prevent our return. We are now comfortably settled in our village of Vaison la Romaine and enjoying the company of wonderful American friends John and Arleen and their friends Betty and Cecilia. It has been cooler than I remember from years past but on sunny days, the beauty of Provence shines through (and the temperature climbs to the 70s.)

Friends were really concerned about our return because of the strikes. They had seen photos in the American papers of burning automobiles and angry demonstrators and expressed concerns about our safety. While the strikes were frequent and included interrupting public transportation, we were lucky enough to arrive without a hitch. Our friends reported similar successes in coming from the states (though John and Arleen did have to wait several hours in Frankfurt after a flight was cancelled because of fog.)

From my perspective, the strikes and demonstrations in France are “le pipi du chat” (small potatoes) compared to the machinations going on with the mid-term elections in the United States. From what closet did all of these crazies emerge? – One of Ellen’s regrets about returning to France was that we were going to miss the John Stewart/Stephen Colbert rallies in Washington this weekend. I can think of no other time in my life’s history when the distinctions between equality and liberty have been so clear and so far apart. – and I used to think that Halloween was scary!

At times like these, one finds security in things that don’t change.

• ·   Our apartment is just as small as when we left – but feels like there is more space.
• ·   The village is about to begin the renovations to Place Monfort – just as they were about to begin when we left.
• ·   Our friends here appear the same – maybe happier – or may be it is I who am happier to see them?
• ·   I recognize a bunch of kids at the crèche. Some of the older kids must have not been old enough to move to Ecole Maternelle.
• ·   Our French class is again on Thursday and again taught by the wonderful Mme Paris.
• ·   The village workers have begun pruning the plane (sycamore) trees by cutting all of the branches that have leaves back to a knarly stub of a main branch.
• ·   The bakeries have not forgotten how to make baguettes – though there was not one to be found on Wednesday afternoon…
• ·   Mont Ventoux appeared to have snow on it – though it was just being as “bald” as usual.
• ·   The church bells that ring hourly still start ringing five minutes before the hour.
• ·   The vendors on market day have not changed their locations so I can still find the olive vendor that I like, the fruit vendor who sells the BEST pears, the cheese lady…

All in all, life returns to normal – and continues to be wonderful. It is good to be back!

HAPPY...

We are going to Cairo for the holidays. We have heard that the reindeer there look more like camels than caribou but they will help guide us in delivering our sincere holiday wishes to everyone.

Joyeux Noël

Merry Christmas

Happy Hanukah

Happy Solstice

Bonne Année

May 2010 be filled with peace and love.

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Our good friends, Margaret and Phil, took us to the opening of the truffle market in Richerenches. The small village is the center of the truffle trade in Provence. I read that it is considered to be the most important truffle market in France.

When we got out of the car, it felt like we had stepped into a Marcel Pagnol movie set. (Marcel Pagnol was a French film maker from Marseille. He directed “the trilogy” of French films: Marius, Fanny and Caesar. Hollywood made Fanny from a compilation of the trilogy with Charles Boyer, Maurice Chevalier and Leslie Caron.) Even the street music – from two men who played concertina, violin, piccolo and tin whistle (not all at the same time) - was reminiscent of the music from Pagnol’s films.

The people at the truffle market seemed to be extras from a Pagnol film. Old, unshaven men with berets and work jackets that they have worn for farming, herding, car repairs, and hunting since the jackets were new – generations ago. Several men had the remains of a cigarette stuck to their lips so well attached that they were able to continue their animated conversations without losing the cigarette.

The day started with a procession of men and women wearing long black capes, Camargue-style (large brim) black felt hats and gold medallions hung from gold ribbons around their necks. One man carried his truffle-hunting dog with him during the procession. (The dog had its own gold sash.) They walked from the town square and then preceded around the town ending at a platform stage set up in front of the mayor’s office. The procession reminded me of church processions without the incense – unless cigarette smoke is a modern replacement for incense. All of the black-caped parade marchers with their black hats and gold sashes joined the leaders of the truffle market on stage who offered their best wishes to the truffle hunters (trufflers) and to the truffle merchants. (Ellen got some great pictures of the events and as soon as I can figure out how to get them off of her phone/camera, I will post them.)

After the well-wishing ended, the two young children in the procession cut the ribbon to open the market officially. Meanwhile, on the other side of the main street, men and a few women were already elbow-deep in the truffle trade. The trufflers brought their “black diamonds” in bags/boxes/sacks to the merchants to see what price they would get. The merchants had scales set up in the trunks of their cars or on the beds of their pick-up trucks. Most of the vehicles were well-worn old farm vehicles, but in the middle of the row was a brand new, shiny, sporty, black Mercedes. The man behind the steering wheel wore a suit and tie. His colleague, standing at the trunk, wore a black leather jacket (truffle merchants from Paris ?). The merchants looked over the contents, inspected a few, smelled them and then offered a price. The truffler could accept the price – at which point the contents were weighed – or reject the price and go to another merchant/car trunk/truck bed to see if s/he could do better. If the merchant and the truffler agreed on the price, the truffler would move from the back of the vehicle to the front where a second person, often sitting in the driver’s seat, would pay for the truffles. It was all very orderly but reminded me of descriptions of drug buys in the states.

“…seventy-five-year-old Pébeyre Sr. was on his way home from the Wednesday truffle market in Richerenches, in Provence, when his car was forced into a field by a big BMW. No sooner had he gotten back on the road when another car pulled in front, blocking his passage. Six thieves piled out and, while Pébeyre’s wife watched in horror, forced him out of the car. They made him open the trunk, then fled with 150 pounds of truffles worth thirty-eight thousand dollars.” (Sanders, M. From here you can’t see Paris: seasons of a French village and its restaurant. New York: Perennial, 2003, p. 204)

At around noon, Margaret, Phil, Ellen and I joined hundreds of others at the “salle de fêtes” (community hall) where the village was serving a truffle lunch in a church-basement-style room of long tables with very narrow aisles between the rows of tables. We had truffle omelets, bread, salad with goat cheese, ice cream and coffee. (Red table wine complemented the meal.) We enjoyed the foods but, even more, we enjoyed meeting the people to our left and right. There were three couples from les Baux (50 miles to the south) seated beside Ellen and Phil. The couples seated by Margaret and me were locals from Richerenches.

We got back to Vaison in time to go to the English-language film (London River) showing at the theater and then to enjoy “Bouillabaisse” that Margaret had made. We returned to our little apartment at the end of the evening, tired but happy to be part of this little corner of Provence.

YEAR 2. With you again (via blog notes)

Hello again from Provence! We have returned to our home, our «pied à terre». It is so good to be back (says he). The Mistral winds have been blowing hard since we arrived and it has been chilly. Our friends say that we must have stirred up the weather as it was still summer until the day before we arrived.
For those of you who wondered where “chez Sullivan” had gone for the summer, you probably failed to notice that the title of the blog was “Adventures in Retirement by Mark and Ellen… A half year in Provence…” That doesn’t mean that I stopped thinking about these posts. In fact, many of you inquired as to where the blog posts had gone. (I thank you all for your encouragement and for your support.) If you have thoughts to add about the summer, please send comments – or texts – to me and I will post them. I hope that John sends some comments but he has started his own blog at http://listen-learning-community.blogspot.com/. If you are not a blog follower, I encourage you to subscribe so that new posts get forwarded to you automatically. I also encourage you to become a follower. Neither action will result in junk mail/special offers, etc from me.

I was talking with our American friend/former Chad Peace Corps volunteer/part-time French resident Tom and was trying to explain how much fun writing the blog has been. I should have explained how much more fun reading/hearing your comments has been. I don’t think that my blog will be picked up as a book and turned into a movie as Julie Powell’s blog-book-movie (“Julie and Julia”) about Julia Child recipes was, but if it does, I definitely want Amy Adams to play Ellen. My goal was simply to write down some thoughts so that you could understand why I love France and want to be here. Alright, my REAL goals were to write as humorously as Schmidty does and, for once in my life, create a sentence as clever as Ellen’s cousin Steve does on a regular basis. (Since I will never achieve my real goals, I will try to include more pictures in my posts this year…)

Three things kept me from writing this summer: being back in the US, television and deferred maintenance.

In the US of A…

One of the first questions that friends ask is how we adjusted to life in the states after our time in France. I am surprised at how easy it was to drop into the life patterns there. I think one of the reasons is that life in the US has a very seductive nature. We are seduced into a comfort level that is at once wonderful and at the same time induces laziness. It is so easy to forget the local stores when there are superstores offering everything from apples (from Argentina) to tools from China – and to go to the store by jumping in the car and again driving someplace for whatever you might have forgotten.

We used to be amazed at what Mark and Dan considered walking destinations (most often driving destinations for us). In reality, many destinations are easily within walking distance. We don’t have a good neighborhood grocery in our Lansing neighborhood but retail stores, post office, library, and other destinations are near enough.

One other practice that increases our laziness is leaving shopping carts in the parking lots of stores. In France (and apparently at Aldi in the US), everyone returns their shopping carts to the cart corral because they want to get back the euro they needed to deposit when they took the shopping cart. The coins-for-carts rental system in France is similar to asking customers to bring their own shopping bags – because the stores do not supply them anymore – saving the environment and saving overhead costs since the stores don’t need bags or baggers OR cart wranglers…

One can get lazy in terms of menu planning. We can buy fruits and vegetables all of the time – they must be in season somewhere. We accept their lack of flavor as a compromise for availability. Flavor belonged to earlier generations but if we want to have peaches in February, they must come from a southern hemisphere country and must be picked long before they are ripe – thus never ripening – but easy to get. Year-round availability will never equal a ripe in season fruit or vegetable.

In France, I need to have ALL of my sensors working all of the time, therefore there’s little time to be lazy. I have to listen carefully to conversations. I can’t listen to the French newscast on the radio and work the crossword puzzle at the same time. Going to the supermarket to find an herb (for which we didn’t know the name) meant looking at the herb rack and trying to find a picture of the herb I wanted or knowing how the dried herb looked or smelled. Ellen made a cake using her American recipe which called for buttermilk. I looked at every type of dairy product and finally discovered that “fermented” milk is what they call buttermilk in France. The cuts of meat are different and have different names. You can find something that looks similar to flank steak but it is not quite the same. If you know a lot about meats and cuts, I am sure that you will fare well. I, on the other hand, have a very limited working knowledge of meat cuts and an even more limited understanding of where the cuts might be found “on the hoof.”

Americans also look more comfortable. (Maybe this observation comes from living in the Midwest.) At a store or shopping center or in a restaurant, I am often reminded of the comment that Jerry Seinfeld made about Americans wearing sweat clothes. To paraphrase, the person who is wearing sweats outside of the gym is announcing that s/he has given up on trying to look good.

On the other hand (how many hands do I have?), the most comforting – and comfortable – aspect of being in the States is being among long-time friends and relatives. In addition to reconnecting with our neighbors (we live in the BEST, friendliest neighborhood in the US), being in the States this summer permitted us to see relatives. We got to see all of my sisters, my nieces and nephew and their families. We got to attend the wedding of our nephew/Godson and see Ellen’s siblings, their spouses, cousins, and others at the wedding. We got to see Lynne and Harold in Vermont. We attended Donna’s and Larry’s wedding and got to encounter other friends there. We saw Margaret and Gary in SC and Mark and Dan on a visit to New York and a subsequent visit to Michigan. We got to spend a weekend with John who flew in from Colorado. Friends and family are important to us and we value them above all.

TV

Before I retired, Ellen asked what I saw myself doing when we lived in France. I told her that I wanted to sit in our apartment in my underwear and watch cooking programs on French television. (Maybe that is why we do not have a TV in France.)

I admit that I am a TV junkie. Put me within a remote’s reach of a TV and I will sit and watch almost anything that appears. As far as American TV goes, I find that few programs are really good. I did like watching Tom Delay perform his public penance on Dancing with the Stars. I liked watching President Obama – especially when I tried to imagine how he would be perceived in France, in Europe, and around the world. I can’t do simultaneous translations but those who can must have been challenged by the high-level rhetoric of the president. Of course, my balloon of optimism and pride was usually burst when I went to play tennis and the locker room TV was tuned to Fox News. (Shouldn’t it be called “Fox Views”?)

Deferred maintenance

It was a GREAT summer for home chores – chores that I had put off during the latter period of my working years. With the loan of Dick Baker’s ladder, I completed painting the south and east sides of our house, including caulking and glazing windows. There was also the work of taking the basement family room apart and putting it back together again after the interior waterproofing system was finished. In addition to deferred maintenance there was regular maintenance of the lawn; planting, weeding and picking produce from the garden; and all the daily chores that a 2400-square foot house requires that a 400-square foot apartment does not. Each has its charms.

Anyway, we are back in France where the ’09 wine grape harvest is in and, in some cellars, already in oak. We went to find some wine that Brian had recommended and ended up tasting wines in Chateauneuf du Pape--Never a bad experience! We drank a bottle of Domaine de Nalys CdP 2006 because we were afraid that having left it in the apartment might have “cooked” it over the very hot 2009 summer. Luckily, it was just fine and could have been cellared for some years—if we had a cellar. The wine makers are predicting that 2009 will be a great year – as it was hot and dry from June through August.

We are back in French class and Ellen is again competing to be “chou chou” (teacher’s pet). She doesn’t have much competition as her reading and speaking skills have improved enormously. [Note from Ellen: The last part is true (improvement), the first is not (competing).]

And next week, I will start volunteering at the crèche again. I hope to learn more stories like “Le Grand Méchant Loup et les Trois Petits Cochons” (The Big Bad Wolf and the Three Little Pigs.) And so life resumes for Another Half Year in Provence, the new sub-title of our blog. Stay tuned!