Updates, Notes and Observations from the Quirky and Charming Rouen

.....With Her Many Moods and Personalities.
I'm not going to narrate here. I'm just going to let you look and see for yourselves.






ahh. lovely.

Now, I must fill you in, temporarily, on the life of Mati.
Here he is with one of his friends, Gustave Flaubert. We ran into him on one of our walks.


He'll be checking in with you all at a later date to fill you in about his adventures in the French academic beauracracy and then you'll have a break from the sappy but sincerely feminine sentiments of yours truly.

The translation work is starting to roll in for him now. He's working on a paper...wait I have to get the title...You're gonna love this...The Environment and People from Neolithic to Classical Times in Greece and Albania...???? He's working on it nightly. Twenty eight pages from French to English...Last night he asked me, wryly, if I was familiar with ..."the evolution of post glacial vegetation landscapes in Southern Greece..."? Needless to say, his brain is on overdrive.
Thanks, but I'll stick to writing poems on poo. : )

The university students are getting ready to come back to school next week. So our languid days of roaming the city streets and outskirts of town, looking for trouble are coming to and end.

While we have had the time this month, he's also been connecting to his manly home improvement roots by assembling our closet, drawers and bookshelves with few instructions, a swiss army knife and a creative stream of cuss words. He was very proud of his American-ness as he negotiated the work.
We found a cabinet for the kitchen and our TV stand in the recycling bins and we're proud of these acquisitions. They cleaned up beautifully!







We are getting into a nice routine centered around meals and walks. And isn't that how it should be?? : )
We seem to eat a lot and obviously we're rather impressed with our cuisine seeing as we're obsessed with documenting it.
As many of our friends know, we introduced a radical shift in our diet at the beginning of January in which we have, for the most part, cut out refined packaged and processed foods. We eat primarily vegetables, fruits, beans, nuts and seeds and some grains. We save the high quality animal products for special occasions and as you know, feasting days. I bring this up because I was told we would have a difficult time finding the things we're used to eating. But with the markets, we have been in heaven. It's been a amazing adventure for me cooking on two electric plates with one small saucepan and one bigger pot. I'm learning a great deal about the beauty of simple cooking. Tonight, though, we're going for Japenese food. : )












We're completely and totally plugged into technology in a way that we have never been before. It's magnificent and terrifying at the same time. We have TV with 79 cable channels, internet, a land line and a damn cell phone. This is all so crazy considering back in Long Beach, we had no land line, shared a cell phone and I usually had to stand next to our 14 inch TV with my elbow touching the rabbit ears at a 42 degree angle so Mati could actually see the ball land in the Nadal/Federer tennis match. I'm not exaggerating.
We have all this technology because its really cheap. We pay 29 euros a month for all this mind numbing goodness and we love it. I will say we'll have to start weaning ourselves and get back outside. I've noticed our walking, which was usually like 3 times a day to soak in as much of the sunlight as we could, is beginning to diminish considerably as we're heading back to the crib earlier these days so we can suckle the techno bottle.

We joined the boathouse here in the quirky little city. It's absolutely gorgeous. They told us it is the second oldest boathouse in France. Since Mati already knows how to row, I know he won't have any problems. I was learning to row before we left Long Beach and though I've been an athlete for the larger portion of my life, I wasn't learning as quickly as I'd hoped. Rowing is an extremely beautiful and difficult sport. On our last outing, I found myself gently crashing into one of the Long Beach docks and couldn't dislodge myself from between another boat and the dock and honestly have no idea how I could have gotten myself into that particular position. I got better as we went along but now I'm going to be learning with the Frenchies....who will be teaching my in FRENCH.. I don't speak French well yet, remember. (though i am getting much better) Add to that the butterflys of being someplace new with new people and a new sport... It should be ....interesting to say the least. Think of me on October 11th : )


I've managed to secure a job with a little French speaking Russian who will now learn English. Mati has been coming with me too since school has been rather slow. A couple of weeks ago I found a post at the English bookstore. We're on bit of a budget so we knew that if we want to travel around and see more of Europe, I had better get a job to supplement our modest income. Matt and I went back and forth about my teaching English..I couldn't wrap my brain around the idea of teaching English to the French. My confidence was low because of the little French I know and I was thinking the Frenchies who are learning English probably understand more about the grammar than I do...But then I found the perfect post. The woman wanted a Native English speaker to work with her 5 year old son. I knew that was the job for me and with Matt's help, we set it all up and now we fetch Eliot from school 3 days a week, feed him, play with him, teach him some English and put him to bed. It hasn't gone exactly like that so far - more like: we pick him up and walk home from school, give him a snack and he cries, ask a question and he cries, try to soothe him...louder crying...right up until the time when he flings himself onto his bed and cries some more....until he cries himself right to sleep.
Update: Since I wrote the last paragraph, Eliot, whom I now refer to affectionately, as Smelliot because he tends to toot a lot, has had a breakthrough. NO Crying! Some English sentences too....We play a lot of indoor football (soccer), which he loves and Mati taught him to say "I am ready. Kick the ball"
He also shares with us his small arsenal of weapons, consisting of 3 swords which he dangerously places 2 in his pants and the other through the handle of one of the swords exiting the front of his drawers, 1 colt 45, 1 shotgun and one other smokewagon I don't know the name of, an eyepatch - which, puts him at a definite disadvantage - and a pirate hat.
We're making progress. He now feels rather safe.


Next week, school commences for Mati and I begin my French intensive language study. On my own. I've committed to approximately 3 hours a day. While Matt teaches, I study. The french lessons here are very expensive and I figured I could do it on my own if I stay disciplined. Wish me luck!


Notes from the Observation Deck:

Title: Organisms adapt
Mati and I love Eckhart Tolle’s teachings. Regularly, over the last few years, we’ve been listening to his CD lectures, reading his books, and most recently participating in the web event he and Oprah produced about his book “A New Earth”. Tolle’s teachings on inhabiting each moment have influenced our lives in a powerful way and experimenting with this type of awareness continues to be a humbling, eye opening and rewarding practice.

As I was re-reading one of the original posts here from the beginning of September when I was in such an incredibly new and different landscape, I didn’t have a choice but to be powerfully present or perish – not literally, but that’s how the organism feels when attempting to buy fruit for the first time in France.

The minute we become accustomed to our surroundings even, just a tiny bit, that extreme alertness is no longer as necessary as it was in the first weeks of learning to survive in a new tribal land. The parasympathetic “rest and digest” nervous system takes over and we begin to relax. Staying in the wonderland of newness and awe of each of life’s moments then requires practice and discipline.

Life for humans is an intriquing paradox in this way.
We want to feel the newness of life, which forces us into that powerful presence and then with our natural primal instincts, we move swiftly to adapt.
Once we have adapted to the new environment –whatever that may be, living with an alert and powerful presence becomes a keenly more difficult practice.
Looking at the world with brand new eyes at the mundane takes discipline unless you participate in activities that naturally force you into this state.
This is why we love to travel.
Intuitively, we are familiar, at the organism level, with the rewards of being present and the ecstasy of time standing still – whether it be through raising children or traveling.

The newness fades though in the face of adaptation. We become comfortable with our routines and before you know it, we’re making lists of the things we must finish, or how we wished we’d said something different in that conversation/argument all the while ignoring the magnificent sun setting on a theatrical stage filled with dancing clouds and operatic colors – kind of like talking loudly on a cell phone while attending the symphony. How rude.

I had a reminder of my own organism adapting when I was walking home from the market this morning.
We found a health food store in the local square.
I like it there because its small and quiet when you shop.
When was the last time you entered a shopping arena and it was quiet? Whoa dude. It’s kinda weird at first and then its amazing.
Across the square from the health food store is the Intermarche. It was the market we felt most comfortable in when we first got here.
We bought our pillows and sheets and comforter there. We bought our first two tumblers to drink wine out of there.
We bought our produce and grains and spices there and the 2 pots to cook them in.
Our 2 spoons, 2 knives and a cutting board, a backpack for school – you know – the supplies you need most when you are glory camping in your French flat.
In any case, we set up our initial life from the Intermarche. It’s one of those places, that although it smells like a combination of bums (meaning backsides not beggars) and meats, it will always be held dear to our hearts.

Since then, we found the La Vie Claire. That’s the health food store. Its small, like I said and quiet and it smells good. And the produce is limited to organic and what's in season and the same two ladies are always working there and they think I understand French better than I do and they always comment on what I’m putting in my basket. I like it when one lady weighs the produce from the other end of the counter where the scale is inconveniently located and then tells the other lady the price and she enters it on the cash register at the other end. Totally inefficient. I like that. If you’re in a hurry, you definitely don’t want to shop French. And especially not the health food store. I’m not entirely convinced that one of my favorite cashier ladies isn’t stoned every time I shop there.

Like I was saying earlier, initially upon arriving at the square, I made my way diagnally across the large concrete block where the bigger than life open air market on Sundays takes up the space. During the other six days, the square is weakly occupied by a few hippie Frenchies talkin’ their French hippie smack (I don’t know if this is true…its just what I imagine when I see them and because most of the time French sounds a little like smack talkin’ impassioned banter – I can’t wait to learn it better!) or skaters or scooter riders or the open air mini markets that take a fraction of the space of the Sunday Mac Daddy market.

I walked into Intermarche and was immediately bombarded by the strange smells along with aromas of baking buttery breads and coffee from the boulangerie. And then the music. There’s always this music playing and usually in English. Typically, not my favorite English music either but I always have the songs playing in my head long after I leave the market – which feels a little like pollution in my brain. Nevertheless, I grabbed my little red basket and began my regular routine pathway through the store. The first couple of aisles have kitchenware and candles. I was thinking of other things as I made my way directly to the loose silverware. I know the silverware location since I’ve been here frequently enough. I’ve laid down the mental pathways and so it’s not new to me anymore. I’m comfortable and I know the layout and the policies. I know that I can use my US bank card here to purchase things. I know that when I choose my produce, I must place it in a plastic bag. “Thank you. tie the plastic bag”, the sign tells you in French. Then I must take my goods over to the produce guy who pulls himself, reluctantly, away from unpacking bananas and walks over to the weighing station to weigh the leeks and kiwis and puts a price sticker on the bag for me and off I go to the checkout line. That's how its done here in this store.

I know the produce routine because the first time I tried to buy garlic and onions – much necessary ingredients for the meal I was preparing – I left the store in tears because I went to the checkout line without weighing the produce and the checkout lady blurted out a long winded French question while holding out my individual garlic heads for me to see.

The checkout people sit in chairs rather than standing like they do at home, by the way. This creates an interesting environment in the line situation in France. The French don’t seem to mind waiting in line, which is wonderful except for the fact that I’ve been conditioned in the US where if we must wait for any extended period of time…say 2 to 3 minutes, we begin feeling the hostility rising from toes to nose of those waiting around us and shifting their weight from hip to hip and leering to the front of the line to see what the damn hold up is.

Of course I couldn’t understand the question she was asking and the sweat start to bead on my upper lip as I glanced at the long line of customers waiting behind me and imagined their impatience with my incompetence and American-ness. I remembered then reading something on a blog about having to get the weight and sticker and suddenly felt my foreign-ness weighing even heavier on my back.

“No, eeesse okay”. I said “essse okay” like “its okay” but with a Mexican/French accent.
I guess I thought she would understand me better if I spoke English with a French accent. And then it came out kinda Mexican. We finally negotiated that I would leave the onions and garlic behind – the very thing I went to the store for. I paid with my bank card which always throws the cashier off because in France, they have a Carte bleu, a bank card with a different kind of chip and reads their cards quickly. More waiting with the American. The cashier must figure out how to swipe the magnetic strip and that always requires a question to another cashier – who comes from her stand, leaving her customers (oh the pain of it!) and they collaborate looking at their card swiper machines and finally come to an agreement on how to swipe it. Then they always swipe too slowly. By this time, I’m a puddle of sweat and with my red apple cheeks I hand over what dignity I have left, to each one in line behind me, as an apology. The two cashiers then look to me. I gesture to swipe faster. It works. I sign. I leave. I cry. Exhilarting, painful presence. I adapt and grow and next time, I know the ropes.
As it turns out too, the Frenchies aren’t even annoyed by waiting in line. They chat and make good use of their line time. It seems they are used to the slow moving pace of the sitting cashier and the little obstacles of grocery shopping. Who knew??

But like I was saying before, on this particular day, many weeks later, no longer a rookie, I was planning other things in my head as I knowledgeably made my way directly to the loose silverware. I was searching for these particular forks that Mati loves the weight of. Then I was heading over to the produce section for bananas – we eat a lot of bananas and I’m obsessed with finding bananas without bruises when suddenly I realized I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t need to be because I had laid down other routine pathways as well. I know the route to and from home – a couple of different ways. I know that lovely health food store where its quiet and I can shop languidly amongst the frenchie granola ladies straight out of 1973, I know how to use the bank cards to shop and the basic phrases in French to get what I need. I routinely see the same faces of the people who work in the places I regularly go. At the internet café I see the same lovely woman and speak the routine lovely phrases. At the Sunday market, I make my way to the same cold and rugged farmer for spinach and chard each week. And each week, he gives me, with his stiff cracked large and handsome cold hands, the same delicious greens and writes the prices down on a paper and I pay him routinely.
I have grown comfortable, adapting to my surroundings.

The quiet of La Vie Claire was nice. I said my hellos to the ladies working and made my way to the grains, then the produce, and last stop for nut butter before my ritualistic slow check out process with my favorite stoner cashier and off down my routine path home. I go left out of La Vie Claire and make another left at the corner and then walk straight for a 6 or 7 blocks of cobblestone, past the church and through the square, another left and 2 more blocks or so before I’m home.
Organisms adapt.
I was reminded of this as I took my same path home with my health food store purchases.
My head was down and I was thinking about something outside the moment I was experiencing. It was important although I can’t remember what it was at this moment.
“Past the church”? The church is not just any ol’ church. It’s a huge old historic symbolic regal building that’s been around since the 1600’s and deserves a little more reverence than “past the church” but St. Maclou church, on my left, couldn’t get my attention today.
I’ve walked this path home for a month and half now.
I was lost in whatever thought I was lost in, when I moved my gaze from my shoe to the earphone wearing camera donning tourist in front of me, mouth agape and staring up in wonder, barely keeping his 73 year old balance on the old cobblestones in order to capture the majesty of this old church.
I stopped to look up at what he was seeing and instantly felt sheepish gazing into the electric blue sky and this intricate beanstalking architecture of a building climbing through the clouds. Seriously, how did they make them so tall? One of the gargoyles appeared to be glaring at me : )

We love to feel the newness of life. We travel, we raise children, we explore new relationships, roller coaster rides, bungi jump, Vegas, shoplift. Whatever. To feel more alive and awakened to life’s mysteries.
But we don’t necessarily want to experience the discomfort of that newness for very long.
I know this to be true. I have been in awe of my surroundings for the last month and have felt the true wonder I only remember feeling as a child. I have also been extraordinarily uncomfortable not knowing the language, the culture, the habits and the streets. You name it, its slightly different and uncomfortable at first. So, as quickly as possible, I watched closely and learned how things are done. I remembered the streets in order to get home and quickly learned to blend in more in order to feel comfortable.
Organisms are designed to adapt, which is important for our species' survival but not necessarily for the human soul and spirit.
I stopped and put my bags down and looked up at the church and remembered its age and nobility and I paid my respects before picking up my bags and getting myself lost on a new route towards home.

We purchased our first digital camera on August 13th.
We've been here, in France, since August 16th.
And Since then?
We've managed to shoot over 900 photos?? Huh?

This is along a walk in the country side in Ry. Our sweet hostess, Chantelle, who didn't even know us, took us for a ride so we could see some of the surrounding area.
I am consistently surprised and delighted by the kindness of strangers.



I took this one from the back seat of Chantelle's tiny little car...everyone drives a tiny little car.
I was astonished by the landscapes and could see why so many artists and writers were/are enamored with this country.
The skyscapes are surreal.



This one is at the top of a hill in an area called Bonsecours where our initial hosts, Chantelle and her husband Norbert live.
We stayed with them for 4 nights. Initially, we were only invited to stay two nights as the previous teaching assistant did not endear herself to her French hosts.



They were a little skeptical that we would run up the phone bill and overstay our welcome.
After a daily showing of gratitude, champagne, flower bouquets, chocolate and contributing a meal of steaming hot tomato soup from scratch made with herbs de Provence and goat cheese, scalloped potatoes, and a signature California salad , they invited us to stay a few days longer. A little American love goes a long way : )


Each day we would descend some 500 wooden stairs through a wooded area into the city of Rouen to search for a flat/apartment.


At the end of each day, we would not ascend the stairs. We took the bus with a baguette.


Observation: Each person carries his or her baguette like either a weapon or a musical instrument. I think its like Baguette Body Language or something. Probably you can tell a lot about a person by the way he carries his baguette. Huh?

Here are a few photos that give you an idea about the sky here, which changes its mood frequently.
Sometimes words are limiting when I look up and see the clarity and distinct colors.
And no air traffic anywhere.
This observation dawned on me suddenly around the third week we were here that I hadn't heard an airplane, helicopter or seen any type of aircraft whatsoever interfering with my view of the fast moving clouds.
Pretty cool, indeed.








For the next portion of this post: Reader Discretion is Advised - Toilet Humor to Follow.

This is a subject about which I've neglected to write.
There are a few of our friends to whom it might cause a fright.
But its been on my mind.
We've been discussing it with wine.
I thought it may be.
better to address it in a poem, you see.
It's the subject of poo.
Yes. We'll be discussing the doo.
So if the subject of doo,
makes you fret or feel blue,
perhaps we can suggest a more classical text for you.

But if you don't happen to reject
this oh-so-natural subject.
Then without further adieu,
Lemmee break it down for you.

(Read this next part with a avante garde jazz fusion rhythm or in the Gil Scott Heron tone)
(Maybe snap your fingers like the musical poet that you are.)
there's this city outside
with narrow sidewalks
an the people in the city
they're a hustlin' anna bustlin'
an there ain't much room
'tween the street an the sidewalk
an even less damn room 'tween the cafe tables
an the sidewalks
an justa wee bit bit 'o room 'tween the tables an the cars
drivin' down the sidewalks an the streets
an they parkin' their tiny little cars on the sidewalks on those narrow streets
and you can't walk with yo' baby 2 by 2
'cuz outside on the narrow city sidewalks
those frenchie speakin' people
are a hustlin' and bustlin' and they're doin' their thing - its the city life, man.
and its hard, man.
Cuz, there's doo-doo in France
Everywhere that you glance.
See you know you're in France
because you're scared as each foot plants
outside on the ground
when you walk around
and you narrowly escape
having to scrape
a pile of doo
from the bottom of your shoe
'cuz there's poo-poo in France
everywhere that you glance.
pile after smushed pile.
with a smell that can be vile
you're on a mission
to avoid the sound "gliissh" and
you're so lucky
that you missed that yucky
yucky
pile 'o poo.

outside outside
yes, you'll find
that avoidin' the poo will be on your mind
oh no, and it doesn't stop there - I'm afraid to declare
that inside our french flats too.
we must continue to address the poo
Let's see. How should I say this?
Well. You know you're in France
when the successful flush makes you dance.

Since when there's a 2
1 flush just won't do.
You must try again and again
cursing the fiber of your diet.....vegetarian.
You begin to understand
why they eat so little in this land.
The baguette, I regret,
and the cigarette
are the nutritional foundation
of this fashionable nation.
It's smart, I presume
to avoid the perfume
of the Reluctant evacuation
of the 2 on vacation
and its hangin' around
your flat's porcelain town.
Well, I think you understand
the subject at hand.
So, thank you for reading.
Upon visiting us, you'll be heeding,
the advice from your friends here.
Decrease your fiber
and dance if the water runs clear!

I heard the apartments were small and I did believe it. But after living in the cottage in Long Beach, I was sure we wouldn’t be surprised by the sizes and was confident we would find something we would be delighted with. Armed with a newspaper and the instructions given to us, we went to work pounding the pavement in search of a flat. After 32 phone calls with only 3 resulting in meetings to view apartments, we were getting discouraged. And of the 3 meetings we did have, we began to realize that if we found an apartment above ground with a small window without bars and a shower Mati could actually stand up straight in, we had better take it. Evidently, apartment hunting is very different here than in the U.S and doesn’t apply just to foreigners.

The fact that once someone is an occupant of an apartment, it is very difficult to evict them means the landlords, understandably, want to be certain the tenants are on the up and up. What the up and up includes is that you make 3 to 4 times the amount of rent per month and be able to show proof of that, pay 2 to 3 months rent in advance and in most cases, have a guarantor – someone to vouch for you and sign papers saying they will be responsible for the rent in the event that you can’t pay.

Mati would open the phone booth doors and come out like the oracle and speak to say the news of the Land Lords. No good. Rented. Rented. Rented.



Until Eric, that is. The last call of the Wednesday resulted in us meeting with Eric the landlord on the very same day we spoke to him. To our surprise, the space was big – ger and the kitchen was separate and the bathroom could be walked in and the shower could be stood up in and Eric wasn’t concerned that we didn’t make a million a year and he didn’t ask for a guarantor and we could afford it so we Took it.

Side note: that’s what you do here: you try to secure a series of appointments to See flats and if you make 10 appointments and the first one is “livable”, whatever that means to you and the land Lord will accept you – you Take it. No messin’ around with “Oh, I have a couple of other appointments today and I’ll see which one I like best”. We ditched that approach immediately.

So, after an exhausting search which didn’t seem to have an end in sight, it ended just as quickly…like in 10 minutes, we secured our apartment, paid a deposit and were scheduled to move in the next day. And now we have a space that is ours to sleep and eat in and play cards too. Its lovely and white walled and has a bit of light, not much, but enough, its clean with the exception of a bit of mold which we seem to be solving and accepting and the same time. The kitchen is big – ger without an oven but enough room to put a table and chairs and it actually has counter space with a two electric plate type stovetop.

Since Then…
We bought the bed.
Then the sheets, the pillows, the comforter.
The table and chairs were next.
And while we sat on the bench on our busy cross street awaiting the table and chair delivery from our new favorite store – Intermarche – I walked 2 blocks down to the kitchen store and bought the much awaited French Press coffee maker.
Now we’re seriously in business.

But can we discuss the coffee situation for a moment before I go on??
First, I’m not sure why they call it a French Press in that they’re hard to find and nobody in France seems to use them. I’ll report more as I collect the details.
Second, I don’t think I expected a coffee situation but I had one.
See, I was startled when I found the coffee only served in the baby espresso cups. I knew these espressos existed and have always been charmed by them and even intended to spend time drinking them myself. But I thought I would also have access to a small, medium or large cup of brew when I wanted one. No, this is not the case. I went in search of a Venti with absolutely no luck. Just endless cafes with copious quantities of the one size Thumbelina espressos.
Delicious, indeed. I just always found myself wanting more. Mati tried to help me by asking about getting a larger size and found out that I could order a café allonge or un grand café.
My hopes returned. But un grand café consisted of a Dixie size coffee with an inch more or so more than the original. Like a double espresso, essentially. I love the espresso and am definitely not complaining about the quality. But wiith our new French press in hand, I decided to end the venti search party and make bowl after bowl of delicious French pressed coffee at home.

We’ve been in our apartment for a couple of weeks and settling into the idea that we live here.
We sleep like babies after long days of figuring out how things work and doing so on foot.
We eat like bears after long days of figuring out how things work around here and doing so on foot.
We drink coffee now, out of regular sized coffee bowls instead of the Dixie cup size cups everyone fashionably sips espresso from.
What more do you need for a good life, I ask?

Since Then….
We found Carrefour.
A bus ride up the hill.
To the mother ship of all stores - like a combo of Costco, Target, Wallmart, Food 4 Less, Best Buy and Bev Mo'
The biggest.
More stuff we love and need.
We bought some drawers to store stuff in, a book shelf and our most recent aquistion, which will be delivered on Friday, is the armoir for our clothes. We can unpack our duffle bags.

We’ve been eating really good since the kitchen has been equipped. I’m learning to cook on the two electric plates and still come up with pretty tasty meals and we’re staying pretty close to the diet we’ve become accustomed to. I ventured to the market by myself and was able to get our greens for the week.

We’ve designated Sunday as feast day. On Sundays here, the city is quiet. Most businesses are closed and there few people on the streets at all really. The market is jammed packed with everything good and French. The flowers, the cheese, the meats, the moon-sized pans of couscous, paella, the bread, the fruit, the antiques, the fashion, the vegetables, the people, the surrounding cafes. The market is the place to be on Sunday around noon – evidently to be social and to get your goods. Then people go home and eat and relax. I like the market earlier though. That’s when all the older people are shopping the markets and the walkways are clear and you can pick anything you like without a line. And you can take your time if you’re a beginning French speaker as I am and make your order with clarity. Though I thought I asked for a bunch of bananas but came home with one. I still have my linguistic work cut out for me.

So, yes, we’ve designated Sunday as feast day. On Sundays, I will cook with butter if I like and we’ll cook a rabbit Frenchie style or buy a delicious chicken off the rotisserie like we had this past Sunday. An appetizer, the main meal with wine, salad, cheese and dessert with coffee. And that’s how we did it this past Sunday. Then we rested. And then we went to mass at the mass – ive church with the really loud acoustics and Mati got asked to take the basket around and I couldn’t understand the sermon. Its just such a grand and beautiful church and I was happy to be there.

Speaking of Church.....
I wouldn’t be honest if I said that everything has been perfect here while getting settled in a new country and getting comfortable. So much of me that really embraces the newness of what we’re experiencing while unpacking emotionally, spiritually and physically and finding a home here in Rouen is also scared and uncertain.

I embrace the idea that we haven’t been exposed to television and we haven’t had a phone and because we’re so new to the area, our lives are not inundated with the modern comforts we had in Long Beach.
After living in a place like Los Angeles County for 18 years, one has resources she’s taken for granted.
If there were a loud thunder, I’d commiserate with the neighbors and they would understand that I have fears of the world ending too soon.
If I were lonely, I’d call and ask a friend to meet me at a local place where we could drink wine and talk smart of things we really know very little about.
If anything at all went wrong, I had resources within minutes regardless of the concern.
My chiropractor is a genius, my friends and family are brilliant and loving and helpful and accessible.
My neighbors are kind and neighborly and available to congregate for fire pit drinks,
bar–b-ques, mail gatherings and to feed the cat if needed.
We had a real and foundational network despite our not planning for it that way.


It is strange to give yourself over to a country and its people with whom you have no connection and no effectively rapid way of making connections.
By this, I mean, I have had to address some of my rather deep fears about emergencies and other existentialist type issues.
I go out to the market by myself, which I’ve become brave enough to do, despite the language barrier.
(This would be a good place to tell you that before we left, I heard many people say over and over again about how everyone speaks English here)
No. They Don’t.
Like I was saying, if I go out alone, and something happened to me, how could Mati be notified? And visa versa.
If you take this topic and expand upon it again and again and go for all the questions you can extropolate from this topic, you will maybe work yourself into a frenzy similar to mine on a rainy but QUIET night with the Italian sleeping soundly next to me.
My dear friend gave me the most obvious and sound piece of advice once when I expressed some of my death ideas and fears like these at home. She said, in her Betty Boop voice,
“Well, don’t think about death, then.”
I ignored her in Long Beach too. : )
But here, these cerebral/spiritual voyages take on a whole new perspective.
I found myself praying.
Praying is an important subject to clarify because it has implications that may be religiously or politically confusing. I don’t belong to any official religion and don’t care to.
I don’t know what it is about being here.
It could be that the city is filled with churches. Old churches.
Churches made with powerful old stones.
It could be that I am here without any tangible safety net to speak of.
I don’t know exactly.
And I’m not going to try to figure it out.
So praying.
For much of my adult life, I’ve abandoned praying in the way I prayed when I was little.
I abandoned getting on my knees next to the couch bed my grandmother set up for me in her living room.
I abandoned the “our father"
I abandoned the “hail mary”
But not here.
One morning of few days ago, I woke up feeling very dizzy and got up anyway, headed out to the bakery to buy our favorite little loaf of bread chocked full ‘o nuts and seeds. As I headed out of the house, I became acutely aware of my physical discomfort. I had this weird type of dizziness. Not the kind of dizziness like if you had low blood pressure type dizziness but more like if you had sea sickness type vertigo. See I teach human anatomy and know just enough about pathophysiology to make me nervous about every small variation away from homeostasis. So this vertigo type observation made me nervous. I did not feel right at all.
And as anyone who knows me will atest, I have a tendency to make a mountain out of a mole hill when it comes health issues. I admit, I am a bit of an alarmist. I’m sorry. I’m working on it. I thought I might be having a cerebral vascular accident and was worried.
So as I was walking, this fear set in. What if I passed out on the street? How would the Frenchies get in touch with Mati? Where would they take me? What would happen when I came to and couldn’t tell them where I live and how to get in touch with my loved ones? On and on…
I managed to buy bread from my favorite baker lady and get myself home where I crawled back in bed and spent the next 4 hours snoozing.
I think I was just overstimulated, overexhausted and overthinking everything because after the extra hours of rest, I was feeling much better.
But as I lay in my vertigo stupor while Mati went to his meeting at school, I began to pray.
My vertigo, real or not, encouraged me to reclaim my relationship with the universe, God and angels.
Please help me, God. Help me to accept what I cannot control.
I prayed for God take care of Mati and I while we were away from home without loved ones nearby. I prayed for my family and friends, each one, specifically.
God, please let everyone be healthy and happy and please take care of everyone so we can love bomb them when we get home.
On and on, individual prayers for each loved one.
Please let your light shine on all that is valuable to us and let them know through you, that we love them.
I never made my holy communion.
And I don’t belong to any particular religion.
But being here has encouraged me to be faithful and to be powerfully present in every little activity I participate in. Because I am grateful.
Mati and I went to Mass on Sunday. The acoustics were powerful.
I could hear the Priest loud and clear.
But I didn’t understand a word of the French sermon. I didn’t need to.
I’m allowing myself to get comfortable with the lack of control and the lack of resources and to sink into the uncertainty about the nature of life and the safety nets we set up.
I am faithful.
I guess what I am saying is that when I was a child I went to church and I prayed.
Because of the nature of my life as a child, I felt safe there.
As I grew older, confident, skeptical and prejudiced, I abandoned the church building and praying. Maybe I was angry with things that happened in my life. I don’t care to go back and figure it out too much. What I am amazed by being here is my openness to try again.
Whether it be the old stable trusty churches, our being here without a safety net; maybe the vertigo, I don’t know but I’ve abandoned my own critical political voice begging me to define the nature of my praying.
I just pray. Unadulterated wishing for goodness in the world, in the lives of those I love and in my own life here with Mati, in a foreign land, different than anything I’ve ever known.
Goodnight moon.

"Vous Etes Ici"

The first 2 weeks of life in a new country.
"Vous Etes Ici"
You are here.
That's what the map said.

Phille to Charles De Gaulle, Paris

Paris to Hotel Batingnolles

Hotel Batingnolles to Chantelle's house.

Chantelle's House to Gerard's house.

Gerard's house to Eric's parent's house in the countryside.

Countryside heaven to Hotel Rebaucha freaking somethin or other.

Hotel blah blah french sounding R to our new Apartment on rue Des Bons Enfants.
The Street of Good children.



The following is an excerpt from my journal entry on one of the days we were travelling, giving a more visceral depiction of our experience.

From 8.19.08
“Did we die and go to heaven?”
“Are we alive?”
I’m not actually sure what time it is
Or what day it is for that matter. Although I know its linda’s birthday.
I think its Saturday.

We’re at Eric’s parents’ house in the countryside outside of Rouen.
Who’s Eric? That’s what I want to know.
And his panents? More questions I can’t really answer.
I do know who Eric is. He is the colleague of chantelle.
Chantelle is the mother of charlotte.
Charlotte is the classmate of Matthew.
Matthew is my husband.
Now that we have that straight.
Where is the countryside outside of Rouen?
I don’t know.

We woke up this morning at Gerard’s house. Who is Gerard? That’s what I want to know. No, really. I don’t know Gerard. Well I didn’t know Gerard, that is, until last night.

Gerard is the head of the police of Bonsecours? I don’t think that’s right. But he is rather an elected official and not much of what I’m going to say in the way of who’s who and what they do will be accurate because remember that I don’t speak French just yet and so many of the things I come up with may be direct from my own imagination.

Mati can’t translate for me every second. I nod my head A Lot. And I think even mati might think I understand more than I actually do.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned the fact that when I finally am able to come up with the words to ask a question, I can’t understand the answer I’m being given. Kind of a funny catch 22 don’t you think.

Needless to say, I can hardly wait to dive into studying French. I don’t think I realized how much I enjoy a good conversation and it seems like when the people I’m around are talking, they’re saying really really interesting things. It seems like really great banter I definitely want to be a part of but I can’t.

In any case, back to where we are tonight and where we were last night. Well, last night we were with Gerard. Like I mentioned, Gerard works with Chantelle, Charlotte’s mom – who by the way, has gone above and beyond helping us with our adjustments here. We happened to end up with Gerard last night because Norbert needs a break.

Yes, I know – who’s Norbert. Norbert is the husband of Chantelle and he can’t cope having company this weekend so we must leave. Charlotte, Mati’s classmate was so very kind when I was first introduced to her back in May. A banquet was held for the French students who excelled in their studies and Mati and I attended so he could give out awards to his beginning French students who were exceptional. When we were chatting with Charlotte, we discussed our being in Rouen for the year and Charlotte so charmingly and confidently informed us that we would be hosted by her parents in Rouen when we arrived and that they would love to have us and host us and this is the way it would be.

I was taken aback by her generosity and assumed she lived in the same house as her parents. We wouldn’t be in touch with Charlotte again, however, until just prior to our arriving in paris in August. Not because Mati hadn’t tried to be in touch. He had. But certainly life was very busy. Charlotte was moving from Long Beach back to France and tying up her own loose ends. We sent word that we were coming and Charlotte let us know that she and her family would be away the weekend we were arriving and so we would stay in Paris for the weekend before coming to Rouen.

Upon reflection, I am certain, this was a much needed time to adjust from being with lots and lots of people in California – especially when we’re used to spending a lot of time alone – to being with more people – this time one’s we don’t know – in France. We arrived in Paris on Saturday morning. Its so hard to even remember now. It seems we’ve been in the country much longer than we actually have.

So where am I right now? I’m sitting right now in the quietest place I think I’ve ever been. With the exception of my feverish typing and the soft breathing of the sleeping Italian mati next to me, it is the kind of silent that begs you to whisper and walk softly everywhere you go. We are in the country at Eric’s parents who are away on vacation. We can’t believe we are here in this indescribable beauty. Its almost insulting to begin to reach for words.The lighting is perfect. Every thing is perfect. Goodnight moon....."

Yes, so above is the retracing of our footsteps from the time we left the cozy cradle of loving
family and friends in California to the time I sit in here in a new and strangely lovely country where we have been
settin up a new life to live for one year while Mati teaches English at University.

In between the lines have been breathtaking sweet land and skyscapes, troubling observations of blatant nosepickers, dog draggers, toilet flushing and other other strange bathroom issues, whole grain bread finding adventures, vegetable buying, apartment finding triumphs and tribulations.

Every minute feels like a day.

Mati understands about 60% of what he hears and I understand about 1 out of every 2000 words.

But we are here.
"Vous Etes Ici"
Just like the map said.