Les Practicalités de la Vie en France

A beautiful full moon lit the countryside last night. A full moon never fails to delight and to leave me with a sense of awe. The magic was gone this morning. When we looked out the window, we saw rain.

Rain is beautiful in its own way. It revives the earth (and brings mushrooms back to the market, we hope). It presents its own melancholy beauty. It encourages you to slow down, to have an extra cup of tea, to read just a little longer, perhaps spend some time in reflection. And, of course, there is the pleasure of a rainy day nap. But it also puts a damper on planned outdoor activities; our bike ride was definitely put on hold today. Soooo, this is my opportunity to talk about a few practicalities of traveling in France.

First, there's money. In Europe, size matters. In the U.S., we're beginning what is sure to be a long and frustrating discussion of whether we should size our money. In Europe, they've been doing it for a long time. The bigger the bill or coin, the greater the value. I love it! There is one interesting quirk to the Euro. European coins in order of size/value: 2 Euro, 1 Euro, 50 cents, 20 cents, 5 CENTS, 10 CENTS, 2 cents, 1 cent. What is it about nickels and dimes?

But what I really wanted to comment on is how easy it is to spend euros! There's something about being on vacation in Europe and having this cool play money. A glass of wine may be only 3 euros; a delicious crêpe, only 2. A yummy three-course lunch may be only 15 euros. Give the waiter a tiny blue five-euro note and that bigger pinkish ten. It's really easy. And the ATMs spit out euros as easily as they spit out dollars in the U.S.

I'm sure you see the logical step I'm omitting. But it's so easy to just ignore the fact that the 15 euro lunch is really costing me way more dollars. (About 1.5 times as much) But never mind. I'll worry about that later.

What did bring me up short however was the first time I filled the gas tank on my fuel efficient little Peugeot! Never mind what I paid! I don't want to talk about it! I don't even want to think about it! On the bright side, the price per liter was a measley 1.37! Such a deal! I love the euro and the metric system.

Now, a word about the language. Settling into a place for a full month has been interesting. I don't know if my French has gotten any better, but I do know that I have from the outset been nearly fearless about speaking it. I'm sure I've amused more than one local with the enthusiasm with which I've mangled their language. The thing is - I smile when I speak and somehow I manage to get my point across. And they smile back and speak a little slower for me. (I'd like some of you at home to remember that, please.) Some merchants in town have gotten to recognize me, notably the women in my favorite patisserie and the guy in the wine store (hmmmm ). We talk a little longer; they volunteer a little about their product. It's fun.

But you have to be careful! I asked Ellen before we left the Netherlands how to say, "I'm sorry." I wanted to be ready to win hearts and minds in case I told some lady her baby looks like a schnauzer, or some such blunder. "It's 'je suis faché,' isn't it?" I asked, wanting to show my daughter that I remembered a lot from high school French. "Not exactly," she replied. "You just said, 'I'm angry.' " She told me the correct phrase, and I practiced "Je suis desolé" on the train. Happily, I have not had to tell anyone here that I am "desolé," or "faché" for that matter.

And finally...

Lightbulbs! The bulb in the light above burned out yesterday, so rather than bother Jean-Pierre, we just bought a pack of two at the supermarket. Well, it's not quite that simple in France. We correctly figured out that you unscrew the bottom of the globe to get access to the bulb, but that was the end of our success. Carol, with the smaller hand, could just barely reach in to get hold of the bulb. She could not unscrew it. Something wasn't right here. So, before we shattered the globe or pulled the assembly out of the ceiling, we carefully put it all back together. Then I went next door and bothered Jean-Pierre.

Of course, he said, he would be right over. Five minutes later, the owner of the house and the lights was scratching his head. I'll be right back, he said. He came back with a screwdriver and, while I held a flashlight, he unscrewed the top of the assembly from the ceiling, disconnected the electric wires, took down the entire globe, then removed the bulb, which was not even a screw-in type of bulb. It had two little pins that you slip into two little slots before giving the bulb a little quarter turn. Jean-Pierre said simply that in France they have two kinds of bulbs. We're French, he explained with a shrug of his shoulders and an abashed smile. (This wasn't the first time he offered this explanation during our stay.) He replaced the bulb and hung everything back up. "Turn on the switch please, Marc," he said. I did, and voilá! Nothing happened. So he took it all apart again and carried the entire assembly to his house. He returned a half hour later and we repeated the operation. "Turn on the switch please, Marc," he said and this time - yes! Light!

I hope the sink doesn't back up before we leave.