How Did They Do That?

I have several blogs saved in 'My Favorites,' and it probably won't surprise you that many of those are about France. There are a couple that I read daily; others I check on once a week or so. Every one of them written by a person living in France at some time in their blog history relates the story of how they got to France and why they stayed. As I sit here in a state of possibility, their stories intrigue me. Would it be possible for me to live in France, full or part time? A handful of those bloggers married Frenchmen; that is probably NOT going to happen for me! Others moved businesses to France; some came for school and stayed. They all share a love for all things French, but I think it takes more than that to have a French life. I've read the information about visas and Carte de Sejour's; I know how difficult it is to move to France. Whether it's Paris or Provence or the Lot, it takes a lot of determination and a fair amount of financial resources to make life in France a reality. I'm totally open to ideas, though. Let me know what you think...how do you think I could make this possibility into a reality? If you live in France, I'm open to any insider tips you might have as well!

Roussillon in the Luberon, Provence

Along the Lot River from the Belgian Cross upstream from Cajarc.

Atop the Tree

I read Tongue in Cheek every day. Corey is a wonderful storyteller and her blog is always a fun read. This week she asked people to comment on her blog entry telling her what sits atop their Christmas tree; she randomly picked 5 comments and the winners will receive a red French beret! Alas, I didn't win a beret, but I did have a load of fun reading about other people's Christmas trees! Many readers have stars, angels, and bows as tree toppers; a few have more 'unique' things, like a bird's nest, American flags, snowflakes, a coil of pearls that looks like white grapes, a crown, a snakeskin (really!), C3PO from Star Wars, and feathers. One woman doesn't put up a tree; she hangs a 12-string guitar on the wall and decorates it with garland, lights and ornaments! This lovely Provencal dove from my favorite ceramist, Edith Fidler, is atop my tree this year. It blends nicely with my postcards from all over the world and ornaments purchased when I travel. What sits atop your tree this year? I'd love to know!

Could I Be in Provence?

I squint my eyes and view the landscape. Could I be in Provence? Look at that sea of yellow out there. Is it spring-blooming rapeseed? Summer-blooming sun flowers? The photo above was taken yesterday as I walked Lucie. The smaller one to the right was taken along a Provencal country road in April 2007. Can you spot the clue in the Iowa photo that tells you straight-away that you are in the Midwest and not in Provence??

There, a bit left of center, is a tall, slender stalk of grass silhouetted against the clear, blue sky.In this close-up you can see that it is a lovely example of the American native prairie grass called Big Bluestem. It's also known as 'Turkey Foot,' for the distinctive pattern of the upper seed heads that resemble a wild turkey track. My walk yesterday was not through the French countryside...but soon it will be! 8 days and counting down to my month in the Lot.

Corrections and Connections

First, the correction. In a previous blog post, I shared information with you about the artist who painted these pictures, Eugene Fidler. I gathered that information from the Internet and while it was correct, the conclusion that I drew from it was not. Eugene was married to a woman named Edith during WWII; they lived in Roussillon using false identity papers to protect them from the Nazis. The conclusion I drew was that the Edith Fidler whom I know as an artist and ceramicist in Provence was that Edith Fidler who was Eugene's wife during WWII. Now, here's the connection...I recently found out that she was not that woman! Last weekend I received an email from a woman, Catherine who lives in Nice, France. She corrected my mistake. The Edith Fidler of WWII was HER mother; the Edith Fidler whom I know was indeed Eugene's wife, but his SECOND wife. Catherine had been searching the Internet for references to her father and came upon my incorrect blog entry. Tres confusing that both of Eugene's wives had the same first name! Catherine and I exchanged a couple of emails, and she most graciously consented to let me tell this story and use her email. Here is some of the information that she shared with me:

"Fournier was the name that my parents used in the war, when they were hiding away from the Nazis, having left the Riviera in a hurry. They had forged documents that looked just like real ones, they had been provided by the mayor of their home village of Mougins. Of course it was convenient to have the same initials.
Everything else had been made up. This ID saved them. When in Roussillon, they worked together, as my mother was also a ceramicist at the time.
I have written a biography of my father (also in English) that I hope to be able to publish some time. I'll keep you posted, since you seem to be interested"


Another thing she shared was this link to her husband's website, lefebvre-linetzky.

I love these connections; they give me little shivers every time they happen. Without the wonder of the Internet, I would never have had the opportunity to correct an error and to meet someone who shares my passion for art, Provence and history! And I am certainly interested in Catherine's biography of her father. Put me on the list...I'll definitely buy a copy.

Tales from Provence

Sitting on the terrace at the Cafe de la Poste inspired much of my journaling in Provence. While my travel journal holds knick-knacks from Paris, it holds the essence of Provence...its stories. I'm puzzled why writers flock to Paris to write their novels. To me, Paris is much too frantic for careful contemplation of stories, ideas, great philosphies. I'm much more at ease and creative in Provence. My travel journal illustrates this perfectly in this entry from September 2005:

" Later...down the narrow stone-lined street Hugo stumbles and lurches forward. Silhouetted against the bright mid-afternoon sun, he stops for a moment to regain his balance. Tall and lanky by provencal standards, he wears boots, old work pants, and a red plaid, long-sleeved shirt. "Merde, but it's hot!" he mutters to himself. Neither clothes nor Hugo have seen soap and water for many weeks. His leathered and tanned face has seen the stones of the street many times, though--bruised and scarred, he could be the victim of a beating rather than the bottle. Every day it's the same...Hugo steps into the cafe for 'une petit cafe au lait.' Hmm...one glass of the rouge would clear the cobwebs from his cloudy head. One glass of the wine leads to several glasses of cheap pastis. Soon, it's mid-afternoon--no food, no work, and now, no money. Into the coolness of the village, Hugo makes his drunken way. "Chloe at the boulangerie...maybe she'll give me a croissant from yesterday's delivery. Perhaps Jules has a plate in the restaurant kitchen. Perhaps... I can't ask maman anymore." Ah, a doorway, a shuttered house, a place to rest. Hugo sinks to the threshold and...sleeps.

I wrote this sipping a glass of rose at the Cafe remembering a sorry-looking man I had seen earlier in one the villages we visited. A sad reminder that even in glorious Provence there is human sorrow, failing, and tragedy. I'm glad I have remembrances of both the glitz and glamour and the gritty stories of France.

Cafe de la Poste in Goult. Where inspiration happens!

Dentelle

I taste colors. I taste fragrances. I taste things that I touch. I taste the essences of place. Sometimes I even taste sounds. The rosy-gold of angel wings, the fragrance of freshly mown grass, the feel of old stone, the sound of cicadas whirring in the trees, the essence of Provence with its lush light and lovely langourous lifestyle....all there, lingering on my palate as I taste Jean-Marc's Dentelle, a young rose perfect on this summer's evening. How does one capture the terroir of the vineyard, the feelings and emotions of the vigneron and his family? How do the bright yellow sunflower and the scent of lavender find their way into the bottle? Why am I able to taste the laughter of the children and the tears of their mother in every sip? Does love linger in that sparkly finish as I swallow the wine? It doesn't matter what kind of food I pair this bright rose with; every sip evokes a warm dusk in Provence, listening to the wind rustle the leaves of the plane trees and knowing that life doesn't get any better than this.

Love in Another Time of Cholera

Searching for information about the plague for my last blog entry reminded me of another epidemic that marched across Provence in 1832. This time the disease was cholera, a bacterial infection that still causes death in many parts of the world. Spread primarily by contaminated water, it can be prevented by simply boiling or chlorinating the water supply and practicing good hygiene. We know that now, but in 1832 the citizens of Provence had no idea how to stop its spread or treat those ill with it. My French friend, Isabelle, recommended this movie, "The Horseman on the Roof," some months ago. I bought the DVD. Set in Provence during this time of cholera, the lovely French marquise played by Juliette Binoche teams up with the handsome Italian huzzard. Together they flee from both the plague and those set on murdering the Italian freedom fighter. Isabelle was right...it's a good movie...full of romance, sword fights, wonderful riding, beautiful scenery, and gorgeous actors punctuated with scenes of horrible death and hysteria. Isabelle just commented on my blog entry about Cucuron that this movie was filmed in part there. If you love Provence, history and swashbuckling movies, please brave the French with subtitles in English and watch this movie. It's a peek into romance in 'another time of cholera.'

Haunted

I continue to be haunted by Ste. Tulle's story. Maybe 'haunted' is a bit too strong a word, but she is a saint after all! Why can't I find any historical reference to her? Thank goodness for the internet...how did I ever satisfy my curiosity before its invention? Sleuthing with Google, I discovered that I had the wrong year for Ste. Tulle's plague. The year was actually 1720; it was truly the Plague, la Peste, that came ashore at Marseilles that year. There would be other epidemics, notably the cholera epidemic that swept through the area in 1832, but in 1720, la Peste struck fear into the hearts of villagers. So much fear that they built a wall to keep the plague from spreading north. I discovered a document in French that lists the mortality rates for Provence from the deadly epidemic. In Cucuron, the plague lasted from 1 October to 15 December 1720. The village population was 3,500 souls; of these 730 died from the plague. 20% of the village's inhabitants died; every household must have been touched. Kind of gives these empty old shoes I photographed sitting on a worn doorstep in Cucuron a poignancy that echoes across the centuries. My curiosity about the plague somewhat assuaged, I continued to search for references to Ste. Tulle. All I can find are variations on this: Ste. Tulle is the patron saint of Cucuron celebrated for protecting the village from the plague in 1720. Nothing about the woman, her Order if she was a nun, or how she supposedly did this protecting (not very well, I think, since over 700 people died inspite of her efforts!). I'll keep searching and get back to you.

A Saintly Connection

This is Sainte Tulle, patron saint of the tiny Luberon village of Cucuron. I took this photo in April 2007 when I visited the village and its 14th century church, Eglise Notre-Dame-de-Beaulieu. When I returned home, I searched in vain on every Catholic saint website I could find, trying to learn more about Ste. Tulle. She simply doesn't exist--officially--anywhere. But to the villagers of Cucuron, she is their patron saint who saved their village from the plague that ravaged the Luberon in 1720. I remembered her this evening at church when Elizabeth spoke of forgotten saints in reference to Matthias, the man chosen as an apostle to replace Judas. In researching her once again on the Internet to write tonight's blog entry at Dona Nobis Pacem, I was startled to see that today, May 23rd, is the day of her festival in Cucuron. Ste. Tulle seems to be speaking to me across the centuries...what is the connection I'm supposed to make of this? It's a mystery...and a fun one!

A Path to Adventure

While I took this photo of a steep, rocky path in Provence, it could be a path to adventure anywhere. It beckons me to follow, to see what's around the next bend or over the next rise. There are times when my wanderlust and love of adventure are overwhelming; this is one of those times! And to send me on my journey to 'wherever,' I've found the perfect blessing from John O'Donohue:

For New Beginnings

"...Awaken your spirit to adventure;

Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;

Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,

For your soul senses the world that awaits you."

Find the entire blessing in O'Donohue's book, To Bless the Space Between Us.

One More Step Towards My Dream

As you walk by Cafe de la Poste on your way to see the village windmill, you notice a woman 'of a certain age' sitting seul at a table, her face tilted to catch the afternoon sun. In front of her is a small, metallic blue mini-laptop. The woman sits quietly; you can tell that behind her tres chic dark glasses her eyes observe everything. She ponders, then begins tapping on the keyboard, a story spilling out. She takes a sip of her pastis and begins writing again. In the space of time it takes to stroll past the cafe, you know...this is a woman who is living her dream, a dream of a literary life in Provence. She is writing something important or entertaining or poignant; her publisher is eagerly awaiting this manuscript. Perhaps she is even writing about you!

That's the dream. This is one more step towards attaining it...my new Asus mini-laptop! I devoted part of my income tax return to its purchase, and I'm thrilled with it. It is wireless-ready, has the capability of both Skype and Bluetooth connections, has a built-in webcam and a word processing program. While it won't be good for storing a lot of photos or manuscripts, I can use it for both and then download onto a jump drive to save pictures and documents. It has a 6 cell battery with a 9 hour battery life. The screen is 10 inches, and it weighs a mere 3 pounds making it perfect for travel...it fits nicely in my luscious red Longchamps bag!

Here are the best parts about this lovely little gem...it was cheap and it seems to have been made especially for me!

A Piece of Provence

In a previous post, I wrote about the lovely holy water font collection that hangs on the living room wall in my favorite Provence B & B. Browsing the blog-o-sphere, I found a blog from Provence, Le Trip, whose author deals in brocante and antiques. I checked out her Etsy store which provided a way to email her, which I did. Long story short, I purchased this large holy water font from her. She mailed it to me during her recent Stateside visit and voila, here it is! It's 18 inches high by 10 inches wide. The red material is velvet...a little worn and rubbed, but beautiful. I tried it several places in my house, but it's big enough that it really needs its own wall, so here it hangs in my guest bedroom

Here's a close up of the detail. It's quite nice. I asked Jill about the provenance of the piece. She only knew that it came from the Aix-en-Provence area and looks to be from the 1800s. I'm very pleased with it.

This is #25 on my list of favorite things about Paris and Provence. Thanks for letting me enjoy them all with you!

Markets by Jientje

My blogger friend, Jientje, read Friday's blog entry and took pity on my whining about not having pictures from my favorite Provencal markets. She emailed me these to share with you. The first two are from Isle sur l"Sorgue where Jientje goes on holiday every summer. She and her husband rent the same place in Isle each summer and spend their vacation exploring the Luberon You can see some of the antique and brocante on display

The market winds along narrow side streets as

well as lining the banks of the Sorgue River. At full swing, the crowds are thick...one reason to go early even if it is Sunday!










This is Coustellet.
It's a much smaller market and more shopper friendly, I think. Look at those sunflowers! Arent' they gorgeous? My B & B hostess, Dani, always shops this Saturday morning market for her weekly groceries.

Do go visit Jientje at her blog, Heaven in Belgium. It's one of my very favorites; she always has beautiful photos to share.

Provencal Writers....Them and Me.

Don't these ancient stones and narrow passageways just cry out "write my story?" Can you feel the ghosts and spirits of times past lurking in the shadows, whispering their secrets in your ear? Another of my favorite things about Provence is the writings of those people who have heard 'the stories,' and put them into poetry and prose. Paris and its sidewalk cafes are usually the places that are said to inspire great literary and philosophical thought. Think Hemingway, Jean-Paul Sartre, F. Scott Fitzgerald. I found Paris too distracting, however, to be conducive to writing. Provence, on the other hand, inspired me...and many others. Obviously, anyone interested in Provence needs to read Peter Mayle, but there are others that I've found fascinating as well. Try "Provencal Cooking" by Mary Ann Caws or "Strangers in Paradise" by Paul Christensen for a very literary look at Provence. I've become intrigued with Provencal writers as well. Marcel Pagnol is on my 'to read' list after seeing the films based on his novels. And I'm currently reading the poet, Rene Char. Don't ask me to explain his poems; I'm still working hard at understanding them myself! But they evoke Provence in every line.

For me, sitting outside at Cafe de la Poste became an inspiration. My travel journal is filled with snippets of character sketches based on the villagers I watched go about their daily lives in Goult. I watch the village wake up while I sip my cafe creme. Madame X was just in. She's 'of a certain age' dressed in a chic cream sweater and long black skirt that sways as she walks with her cane. Mostly for looks? she seems to walk just fine. A quick petit cafe, some conversation with the locals at the bar and off she goes speaking softly to her little fluffy white dog, I'll call her "Lulu," and a bigger black mongrel, "Pierre." Across the square, disappearing down the tiny street into a 3-story stone house with soft blue shutters drawn on the east against the bright Provencal sun. Madame may be back this evening--a pastis, perhaps? or a petit balloon of rouge?

Writing about Provence...#21 on my list of favorite things.

Provencal Markets

Back to Provence for #20 on my favorite things list....markets! Every Provencal village has a market day where vendors set up much like our Farmer's Markets in the States. Every kind of fruit and vegetable in season is on display. There are vendors who sell meat, cheese, fish, sausage, spices, on and on. The bigger markets also include clothing, linens, shoes, almost anything you can imagine. The big Sunday market in Isle-sur-l'Sorgue is famous for its antiques; the Saturday market in Apt has something for everyone. Here's a tip: go early to find a parking place and the best selection; go late (nearer to noon when they pack up to leave) to find possible bargains. As intrigued as I was with every market I visited, I never took one picture! I had to rely on Google for this one. Next time.....

My Favorite Village

Back to Provence for more of my favorite things. I've already blogged at length about Goult, my favorite Provencal village. Each village is lovely in its own way; Goult speaks to my soul mainly because it's less touristy and more about real life in Provence, yet still retains all the charm of its more popular 'perched' neighbors. I also love the doors of Goult like this one. They are all beautiful and unique. Some have the year the doorway was built etched in the capstone; some are made of beautifully carved wood. This doorway is framed with gorgeous stonework. I've blogged about many of these doors in the past during Jientje's doors challenge, but this is one I didn't include. Here's another thing that fascinates about these old, beautiful doors...I just know they are the entryways into stories. Stories of old Provence, stories of lives lived inside. Stories of drama, intrigue, affairs, death, birth. I'm just itching to know those stories, aren't you? Writing about the doors and the secret stories they hide is one of my book ideas for that day when I am living a literary life in Provence. Would you buy a book about these stories?

Goult and doors....numbers #11 and # 12 on my list of favorites. If you like doors, check out these on Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/rhh/sets/72157600156909115/

Holy Water Fonts

We're here in Goult at La Treille, my favorite B & B. Dani and Michel have a lovely 19th century house furnished with a tasteful combination of modern and vintage furniture. There's a huge china hutch in the dining area that displays Dani's beautiful Provencal dishes. She also has a large collection of doll-size santons. But my favorite thing decorating the Marsat house is this collection of holy water fonts. I blogged about a particularly pretty one on Dona Nobis Pacem. I'm intrigued by their delicacy and their symbolic meaning. Three of them hold old rosaries. My French wasn't good enough to ask Michel about them...were they family heirlooms? did the rosaries belong to special people? So, that's an incentive to become more fluent. I'd love to hear their stories when I go back to Goult.

Today I made arrangements with an American woman living in Provence to buy a font from her antique/brocante business. I'm beginning my own collection! She visited my blog, I visited her website, and soon I'll be the proud owner of a 19th century piece of Provence. It should arrive the end of the month, and I'll make sure I do a blog posting on it complete with a picture. For now, know that these pretty antiques are my # 7 favorite things about Paris and Provence.

Favorite Things # 2 & # 3

Here are numbers 2 & 3 of my favorite things about Paris and Provence. Coming in at #2 is goat cheese. I adore goat cheese! and absolutely never ate it until my first trip to Provence. It has become an obsession. Alas, it's hard to find great goat cheese in Iowa. Are you surprised? What I can find is pretty bland. My favorite way to eat it in Provence is warm and runny over a great salad of mixed greens...yum! I have a Rick Steve's travel video about France. In one of the segments, a friend is showing him a fromagerie in Paris. "Goat cheese, goat cheese, goat cheese, everywhere goat cheese," she sings. "A Parisienne cannot live without goat cheese." She picks up a chunk, holds it to her nose and inhales deeply. "Ah," she sighs, "it smells like the feet of an angel." Hm-m-m!

This little watercolor by Paris Breakfasts illustrates #3 on my list...croissants. You haven't eaten a croissant until you've eaten one in France. They are fabulous! Try as I might, I cannot find anything anywhere close here in the States. After reading a recipe on how you make them, I'm not going to make my own either. Definitely a reason to return to France to eat one. I had croissants every day at my bed and breakfast in Goult. Michel ran across the street to the boulangerie every morning to bring me a fresh one. I'll never forget the very first morning I was there. As he stood watching, I took one from the serving plate and proceeded to butter it. Zut alor! you should have seen the look of horror on his face! "Non, non, Madame!" he implored. I immediately realized I'd committed some sort of American faux pax. One taste of that delicious, flaky roll provided me with the answer...they are plenty buttery enough! A bite of croissant, a sip of coffee...instant melting buttery flavor in my mouth. Ah!

Reality Check

Much as I like to blog only about non-whining things, this week I was slapped by a huge 'reality check,' so you are forewarned that I'm going to whine a bit. I'm trying really hard to get my ducks in the water. So, I started to gather information about the nuts and bolts of getting to France for a long term stay...you remember...it's my dream to live a literary life in the south of France? Well...here's reality. First, as an American citizen, I must apply for a long term visa. This applies for all visits to France for over 3 months. My passport alone is good enough for 90 days. In order to apply for this visa, I must go, in person, to the French Embassy in Chicago. So far...not too bad, eh? I'd love to spend some time in Chicago; I've never been there, could be fun. Here's what I have to provide the Embassy:

1. One long-stay application form per passport holder fully filled out and signed - Note that this form is only available in French and must be filled out in French. NO COPY required
2. 1 picture glued/stapled onto EACH application form + 1 picture left loose. All photographs must be recent, in color on a plain white background, of full front view, taken facing the camera. No side or angled view are acceptable. Chin to top of hair should measure about 1"
3. Questionnaire duly filled out in French
4. Passport valid for at least six months (make sure your passport has blank pages left to affix the visa)
5. Status in the US - If you are not a US citizen, copy of your green card or visa.
6. Recent Police Record to be obtained from the F.B.I. (even if blank record)
7. Letter promising not to engage in any employment in France (signature certified by a notary public)
8. Letter of employment in the US stating occupation and earnings
9. Proof of means of income - letter from the bank, investment certificates, pension slips, …
10. Proof of medical insurance
11. Marriage certificate or family book + Birth certificates for children
12. Proof of accommodation in France (title deeds, lease or rental agreement)
13. Processing fee
14. an "express mail envelope" from USPS, self addressed and stamped, for the return of your passport -if you allow the Consulate to keep the passport. If you need it to travel, you may send your passport to the Consulate when the visa process ends (we would contact you to let you know the process is over).

Yikes!! And all these documents have to be accompanied by a translation in French for each one.

Then....after arriving for my long term stay in France (provided they grant me the visa), I have to apply locally for a Carte de Sejour. The requirements are just as lengthy as for the original visa. If you want to see them, click here and scroll down to the part about non-EU citizens. When I googled images for the Carte de Sejour, I was amazed at how many pictures there were, many with their holders proudly showing them off to the camera. After reading through all the requirements to get one, I understood why those folks wanted it recorded for posterity to remember just how hard they worked for their little card! I emailed my cyber-acquaintance, Jo Anne, who spends several months each year living in Provence and asked her "Is this really as hard as it seems?" Her answer was a resounding YES! She did say she'd help me through the process if I decided to forge ahead, though.

I'm thinking this over; I'm not ready to give up my dream, but maybe I need to tweak it a bit. Maybe I need to work on other parts of it instead? Gettin' those duckies in the water is turning out to be harder than I thought.

An Award

I received an award today from Jientje at Heaven in Belgium! She gave me the lemonade award because we both love Provence and would love to share a lemonade at Cafe de la Poste in Goult. Or as Jientje said...maybe a pastis?? Unfortunately I don't have a photo of la Poste, so I had to resort to M. Google for one. Aha...a perfect reason to return to Goult..to take my own photo of one of my hangouts in Provence!