Frenchitude Lesson #42: Rest On Your Laurels

Besides the move, a heat wave, and the wrenching au-revoirs, Clem woke up this morning with strep throat and a raging fever.

So for today's Frenchitude Lesson, please refer to last week's Frenchitude Lesson "Accept That On Ne Peut Pas Tout Faire".

You see, I'm learning!

Cinq Ans Passés

Moving is Hell.

I knew it before, and the past two weeks have confirmed it for me.

Yesterday afternoon when I was racing back from Beaune the digital temperature screen in Ladoix-Serrigny read 37.4 degrees Celsius. I knew Hell was supposed to be hot, but come on.

Moving is Hell because one's house looks like this;




And because of all the mess and open doors and dangerous stuff lying around the babies have to be put in The Prison (a.k.a the play park) a lot.

Surprise, surprise! Babies don't like being put in The Prison. And babies who don't like being put in The Prison BITE when they are put in The Prison yet again.



All of that is really hard. The exhausting, overwhelming kind of hard.

But harder still is taking your girls to their last day of school in France and realizing that on their very first day of school in France they looked like this;

And that on their last day of school in France, they look like this;

There is nothing else that quite as dramatically strikes home the fact that we are closing a chapter on five years of our lives.

And...what a minute....who is that interloper?

Hold on...has somebody shrunk Franck, changed his gender, and put him in a red and white striped dress?

Nope. That would be Clem. A little person who wasn't even around five years ago but who now takes up a Very Big Place in the Germain family (even when she's in The Prison).

After I took these photos I cried all the way up to Dijon where we had to go in the 35 degree heat to buy linoleum.

It is ridiculous really, because we will be coming back often, and I am truly very happy about moving back to Canada. I feel in my gut that it is the right time.

Still, I look at the photos above, and I cry some more.

Authentic France Travel Tip #38: Drink The Water

I have many, many guests ask me if the tap water here in Burgundy is okay to drink.

Rest assured, all tap water in France is very strictly regulated and subject to weekly testing and analysis. As a general rule, it is just as safe to drink as tap water back home.

The taste, however, can be very different from what you are used to, especially where we are around Beaune where the ground is unbelievably rich in limestone.

I know the water here in Villers-la-Faye tastes completely different from that back home in Victoria, which runs through granite before coming out our taps.

One gets used to the taste pretty quickly though. Besides, I go by the rule of thumb that if the limestone is good for Romanée-Conti grape vines, it is good enough for me.

The Healing Powers of Wine

Saturday morning I woke up not only with a very sore throat, but a very full day ahead of me. However, the first thing on my schedule was my annual rendezvous in Volnay with my friend Charlotte and this year with her equally lovely friend Stéphanie for the "Elégance de Volnay" women-only blind winetasting.

Sore throat be damned - I wasn't going to miss it.

Here is our table. I think we are looking pretty darn elegant for 10:30 in the morning.

Of course, it WAS a lot of hard work. We had to blind taste 8 different bottles of Volnay 2005 vintage (one of the best vintages over the last several years) then discuss the wine, make our own tasting notes, and then mark each wine individually out of 20.

It was exhausting.

And in the course of the two hours I spent tasting some of Burgundy's best wines, my sore throat completely disappeared (and so have the panic attacks for the time being).

Thank you Bourgogne.

Frenchitude Lesson #41: Accept that On Ne Peut Pas Tout Faire

Some nice calming poppies

The moving chaos had begun in earnest.

The painters have invaded La Maison des Chaumes to finish off the trim and the shutters and get rid of the candy floss pink walls in the girls bedroom.

We have yet to send off our boxes to Canada, I have a gazillion decorative projects I need to get done before the house is rentable for our first clients who arrive July 18th, and we are trying to do all of this with a 17 month old underfoot. Plus almost every night this past week one of the girls says to me around 7:00pm, "oh by the way Maman, I need a cake to bring for school tomorrow."

I just talked to my Mom on the phone, and told her to get the straight jacket ready for me on my return back to Canada.

The stress has gone over the edge from productive stress to just really wretched-feeling stress which for me means I am plagued with my old companion - the ubiquitous panic attack.

Just for the record, my panic attacks aren't the kind where you stop and think, "Gee whiz...I feel a little flustered. I wonder if that was a panic attack I just had?".

No sireeeee Bob.

My panic attacks are gold medal winners if there was such a thing (and maybe there should be) as a Panic Attack Olympics. They are the humdingers of panic attacks, the kind where one feels like they are suffocating, dying of terminal cancer, having a massive coronary, and going crazy all at the same time.

I have enough experience in the anxiety arena to know that they are a clear sign that my stress barometer has gone into the red zone.

Several times over the last week I have been rushing around like a fart in a mitt, trying to do five things at once (often in the midst of a panic attack), when Franck takes me by the shoulders and says, "Laura, on ne peut pas tout faire!"

I stare at him in incomprehension. What do you mean I can't do everything? I should be able to, for God's Sakes; I know that at least. I mean, I am supposed to be superhuman, aren't I?

And if I fail to tout faire, then it is essential to feel guilty about it rather than just shrug and put it out of my mind entirely like my husband and many other French people seem to be able to do.

But over the past few days I have begun to wonder...maybe this has something to do with why I am the one having the panic attacks in our house.

On ne peut pas tout faire. On ne peut pas tout faire. Maybe if I chant it enough times I may actually start to believe it.

If not, I can stare at this photo of our future bedroom in the house we will be renting when we arrive in Victoria. Oui, that's the ocean! I feel a bit calmer already.

Où Sommes-Nous?

Hint : It's in Burgundy, but not in Beaune.

This is a lucky thing, because I love the name and look of this place so much that if it were I might end up spending more time "Au Tonneau" than at home.

Authentic France Travel Tips: French Money Matters - Part 3

This week ties up my French Money Matters advice, and basically consists of three last miscellaneous points that...er...don't really fit anywhere else.

I suppose if I was more organised I could figure out a way to MAKE them fit, but with the painters here at La Maison des Chaumes Clem has been averaging about 40 minutes per nap. Gives me a huge chunk of time to get everything done, as I'm sure you can imagine...

Seeing as one of the painters just dropped his ladder and that as a result she will certainly be up again any second, here goes;

1. Leave your $100 dollar US bills at home

The counterfeiters have gone out and spoiled the fun for the rest of us! The $100 US bill is so frequently and convincingly faked that they are all but useless over here in France. Even the banks won't accept or exchange them. Leave them at home and bring your ATM and Visa or MasterCard instead.

2. Vendors at the Market generally only accept cash

Don't try paying for that artichoke with your Visa card if you don't want to become the butt of the jokes constantly being flung around between the market vendors. Bring a fistful of euros instead.

3. Realize that Money is as Close as it Comes to a Taboo Subject in France

I have found that North Americans talk about money much more freely and casually than the French. It is not uncommon to have people spin off the price they paid for a new home, or the price they sold their condominium for within the first few minutes of meeting them.

Keep in mind that the French are generally very closed-mouthed about finances, and consider money matters as first and foremost private matters.

If a French person confides in you the details of their personal finances they are either very atypical, or they trust you very much. In the latter case, you should feel flattered.

Le Caveau in Action

On Saturday night Franck finagled babysitting for the bevy and we went down to Beaune to meet several people for an apéritif at Le Caveau du Relais du Vieux Beaune.

Besides Franck and I, there were the Browns (who had just stayed at La Maison de la Vieille Vigne) and their friends who just so happened to be wine importers to the US, the Stones (who were staying at Le Relais du Vieux Beaune) and our friend Marjorie who runs the fabulous Cook's Atelier and her lovely friend from Arizona.

Here Franck is explaining something, probably my wife was so gracious about me having to work nights and weekends sandblasting this cellar while she looked after our bevy (Not).

More likely, it was something about our fantastique cooling system which is being installed next week.

We served Claire's wine (bien sûr) and everyone had a choice between a refined white and an elegant red. Marjorie claimed her spot for her and her daughter Kendall's wine.

I think our Saint Vincent over at his post on the far wall was very pleased. We even got a photo of Franck and I, a rare occurrence as usually I am always the one behind the camera.

In Vino Veritas!