web statistics

50/50

I have been meaning to post about moving back to UK for the last few weeks but finding  that  the lack of  words and time to describe my emotions have made this post a thing of *tomorrow*. “Tomorrow I will find the correct words that will seal my emotions and voice the   tributes  that I have been meaning to give: places, people  all the things that have made my experience here in La Rochelle a rich and unforgettable one.

When I moved here with my half British family (well  I am 100 % frog ,2 are 50/50 and  one hubby a 100% roastbeef )  I had no idea how I would react but most importantly how the rest of my family would adapt to MY country.

I will forever remember the first day of school for Ananas and Bein Ouai. Ananas  was asked her date of birth but  was unable to reply to her French teacher and burst into tears…how much I blamed myself  afterwards for not teaching her all these years!

Ben Ouai’s  teacher  shocked by his script writing…we did practice didn’t we?!

But the boy and girl worked hard. Now they are teaching me French grammar…

I am a very proud maman which takes the pain of leaving my country  for the second time to a bearable level. I am loving the fact that we can all understand each others culture fully. Before we came to France I was the isolated one who made the leap to join the intricate labyrinth of being a family in England. I questioned, disapproved, embraced,  but more often claimed every bits of French that I could in my kids while living in UK . I wanted them to understand me, my parents, my beautiful country, the lovely BDs, the saucisson, French cinema, fountain pens, no school on Wednesdays, poesies, bavette aloyau, tintin, titeuf, bad music, I wanted them to experience what it was like for me.

I feel so close to them right now that there is no sadness to be had going back to UK where our working life belongs, where our family and friends are waiting too…

The old market stall holder

arcimboldo.jpg

Every Saturdays I visit his stall, I buy whatever gorgeous celery or mache he has on display. It is never a quick affair. A brief glance at my watch and I take my space in the queue . I look at his hands. Big hands with half a finger missing. I watch him cut a cabbage with this rustic looking knife…probably the same one that cut his finger off all those years ago. His movements are slow and elegant, I am trying to guess his age, probably 80, his skin is thick like leather. He is now using an old fashion slate and chalk to add up . I should be looking at my watch, I should get the urge to leave but I stay enchanted and sad at the same time. When he stops, when it suddenly becomes too much for him I wonder who will be replacing him if anybody…

So good to be home

amelie.jpg

After a week away the house was empty. By empty I mean no food. Scanning the fridge and cupboard in the hope to find something remotely edible was …well, challenging.

I was lucky enough to gather enough grains for a fresh coffee and grabbed my basket.

How I love getting amongst the crowd! A mix of tourists ( oh look at these tomatoes! they actually smell like tomatoes!…how marvellous!!!), elderlies, tramps, students, housewives, sick leavers, unemployed, nutters ( literally straight out of asylum) and because it is summer, the odd music band.

This morning could have been a scene straight out of Amelie!

As I was waiting for my turn in various queues I learnt 3 things.

First was with this old lady who was telling me that she did not have the time to wait:” how dares that woman buy so much fruits!” she kept looking towards me and Ananas obviously expecting me to reply something like : “yeah I know, buying so many fruits on a fruit stall! It is really outrageous !!!… doesn’t she care how busy we are?!”

But I did not deliver and she went off in disgust. I do wonder how busy her life is and was surprised by my own patience…but I have to say the nectarine did look so juicy!

Then in an another queue…cucumber one I think.This 5.8″ goddess who did look a bit shaky shared her love life with well all of us waiting including the old folks behind. “Yes…5 years together totally thrown away…I am in pieces”

The poor girl…she nearly got me sobbing…

I am thinking about that gorgeous girl,she must be in a bad way for wanting to share it on a market stall. As I walk past my friendly olive man, Ananas stops and she won’t move until I buy olives. Here we discuss the inflation of the market, he is not impressed this morning: ” 18 euros for a kilo of handmade crisps that’s taking the piss!..I tell you what they have to be bloody good at that price!”

While paying I am so grateful his prices have not changed.

 

So this morning while shopping I learnt that:

 

  • I can be patient
  • It’s cheaper to discuss a breakdown with a market stall holder than a therapist
  • To be vigilant this summer if I don’t want to get ripped off.
Related Posts with Thumbnails

Get Adobe Flash playerPlugin by wpburn.com wordpress themes