The difference between France and Poland, just as between England and France, is that I have never missed my life in Poland and I miss my life in France dearly - all aware that I am that I'm much better off in England, I can't help but miss my little appartment at the foot of a pinaide, the terrasse with a rusty table that has seen so many bottles of rose and so many good times, and so many other big and little things that I left behind.
So every time the plane starts to descend above the Marseille Provence airport, a big ball of nostalgia climbs into my throat and it feels like coming home (ah, difficult notion that of home, when you're me... but on that another time).
Then I spot Mount Sainte Victoire as the plane turns, then the first shock of the heat, the first gush of the Mistral, the ball in my throat keeps growing.
Then we get on the coach to Aix and I see all those place names, Pinchinades, Vitrolles, la Duranne, les Milles, names that were once new and full of promises now greet me like old friends making the ball in my throat grow even more. I does not matter that I have never been in many of them, I have read them, seen them, heard them, savoured the way their sounds rolled out of my mouth so many times...
Aix is still Aix.
The colours, the little streets, the blue shutters spotting the ochre facades of the bastides, the baguettes, the cheese, the wine, Pastis, the marketplace, Mamie's ratatouille, everything stopping for lunch, the cycadas driving you mad with their monotonous screeching, the oppressing heat, people stopping in the middle of a roundabout to get a newspaper, the bourgeoises riding their shopping trollies across your feet and failing to apologise... and Mount Sainte Victoire reigning overlooking all this madness and beauty, impassible and majestic.
Some friends are gone, some are still there. Some have drifted away a force de distances, the important ones greet me as if I had never left.
I still have my seat at the bar in Cafe le Verdun (although you can't smoke in there anymore) and Pat still accepts a glass of wine I pay him and then knocks a round off my bill.
Mamie and Papy are still Mamie and Papy, growing older without changing at all but each time I see them, I feel the painfully aware that they are not eternal.
And the house at the Roc Fleuri is still there too, with the pinaide behind it and the terrasse in front, the rusty table that has seen so many bottles of rose and good times...
Indeed, places where you were once happy should not be allowed to go on without you.
Showing posts with label France. Show all posts
Showing posts with label France. Show all posts
Saturday, 31 July 2010
Wednesday, 12 May 2010
Bletchley Park
Last weekend we took Paul's school French exchange partner, who's been staying with us for a week, to Bletchley Park. I had never been before but I knew about it of course, coming from a place as obsessed with the second world war as the Poland of my childhood was.
I was bracing myself a little anticipating a need to clench my teeth and say nothing, as yet another Polish contribution to something big was going to be ignored and buried under the local achievements. I was wrong - they even have a memorial to Polish ingeneers who started it all!
Highly refreshing after finding out about all those exceptional French people, such as Marie Curie-Sklodowska, Fryderyk Chopin and even Robert Korzeniowski.
(A big rant full of witty and sarcastic remarks could follow, but I'm afrait that if start, there will be no stopping me!)
I was bracing myself a little anticipating a need to clench my teeth and say nothing, as yet another Polish contribution to something big was going to be ignored and buried under the local achievements. I was wrong - they even have a memorial to Polish ingeneers who started it all!
Highly refreshing after finding out about all those exceptional French people, such as Marie Curie-Sklodowska, Fryderyk Chopin and even Robert Korzeniowski.
(A big rant full of witty and sarcastic remarks could follow, but I'm afrait that if start, there will be no stopping me!)
Saturday, 1 November 2008
English weather in the South of France
I’m back to Brum after a week of what was supposed to be sunshine, wine and cheese, and well, sunshine didn’t happen. Apparently the first weekend was glorious, but I missed it completely as I spent it dying in bed, cause as usual in the beginning of a holiday my body said ‘No more work? Letting go!’ and put me through all colds, migraines and stomach troubles it had bravely resisted through school time. Uh, oh.
I was going to put updates up regularly, but I found myself cut from the internet as my adoptive grandma’s computer died on her the day before our arrival. And now I’m at a loss, cause recounting everything would take pages and pages and so I should probably try to sum it up somehow, which is not easy at all.
It was blissful. In spite of the weather. Just seeing all those faces after having missed them so much!
Two huge emotional moments, first when spotting Sainte Victoire from the plane, then one evening at the dinner table, when I just wanted my life there back, but of course that is not possible and, of course, if I had not moved away, then… etc.
My still growing hair was a big hit, apparently it looks like a lion’s mane and I hide rainbows in it (as one can see on little Guillaume’s portrait of me, which he unfortunately refused to part with, cause wanted to remember me by).
Everyone was excited about meeting Paul, I was excited about everybody meeting Paul, Papi loved Paul absolutely which, if you know Papi, you know is not to be taken for granted.
And well, it was all smiling, hugging, making merry, talking, eating and drinking (uh, oh, body needs tea-totalling for a while now!).
All to be done all over again at Easter (cause it got somehow decided that we would be back at Easter and well, we did not protest too much) but hopefully in a better weather and in less of a hurry!
I was going to put updates up regularly, but I found myself cut from the internet as my adoptive grandma’s computer died on her the day before our arrival. And now I’m at a loss, cause recounting everything would take pages and pages and so I should probably try to sum it up somehow, which is not easy at all.
It was blissful. In spite of the weather. Just seeing all those faces after having missed them so much!
Two huge emotional moments, first when spotting Sainte Victoire from the plane, then one evening at the dinner table, when I just wanted my life there back, but of course that is not possible and, of course, if I had not moved away, then… etc.
My still growing hair was a big hit, apparently it looks like a lion’s mane and I hide rainbows in it (as one can see on little Guillaume’s portrait of me, which he unfortunately refused to part with, cause wanted to remember me by).
Everyone was excited about meeting Paul, I was excited about everybody meeting Paul, Papi loved Paul absolutely which, if you know Papi, you know is not to be taken for granted.
And well, it was all smiling, hugging, making merry, talking, eating and drinking (uh, oh, body needs tea-totalling for a while now!).
All to be done all over again at Easter (cause it got somehow decided that we would be back at Easter and well, we did not protest too much) but hopefully in a better weather and in less of a hurry!
Tuesday, 7 October 2008
I have been tagged!
It is always nice to find out that people read your musings – especially when the main reason for your blog is to stay in touch with all those people you love but are far away from, as it is the case for yours truly. Consequently, I was thrilled to find myself tagged by Tasha – I didn’t know she was reading, and now I do, and that makes me happy.
So first my 7 random facts:
1) I love random facts. Like that the Earth is 0.02 degrees hotter during full moon. Like that in France technically it is illegal for a woman to wear trousers (except when riding a horse or a bike) because of a law dated 1892 that was never abolished. Like that apparently coffee drinkers have sex more often than people who don’t drink coffee.
2) I share my birthday with, among others, John Coltrane, Ray Charles and Eurypides (although I sincerely do not know how did Wikipedia people manage to figure it out for that last one).
3) My very favourite place in the entire world are Tatra mountains in Poland (Zakopane). Any mountains make me happy, but there is just something about these particular peaks that makes it a true soul asylum for me. No demons can go there.
4) I sing most of the time. I try to keep it in my head when in public, but I quite often fail.
5) I love garlic sandwiches. One of the best things about being sick when I was little was my dad making them for me (cause garlic boosts up your defences and you’re sick in bed, so no one cares if you sweat it out and stink). Take a slice of bread, butter it, put chopped up raw garlic on it and finish off with some salt. Yum. (I have just made some for Manpreet, as she’s poorly and off work, she was sceptical at first but then loved them).
6) I can’t sleep without my stuffed dog. What can I say – a 25 years long habit is not easily lost. Not that I’ve tried though.
7) My favourite season is winter. Even if it is not snowing, although of course it is much better with snow. There is something about the crispness of the winter air that makes you feel more alive and makes everything sharper and more there. And then there are the evenings, dark and cold, which make your home and bed even cosier than usual.
And now for the tagging –
Tasha has already tagged some of the blogs I would have tagged, but there’s still one by an old friend of mine Ewelina and Carina’s culinary pages, and then some by people I don’t know but whose writing I enjoy: Annie Rhiannon, Morning Coffee, German Joys. I know it's not 7 but that's all I've got.
So first my 7 random facts:
1) I love random facts. Like that the Earth is 0.02 degrees hotter during full moon. Like that in France technically it is illegal for a woman to wear trousers (except when riding a horse or a bike) because of a law dated 1892 that was never abolished. Like that apparently coffee drinkers have sex more often than people who don’t drink coffee.
2) I share my birthday with, among others, John Coltrane, Ray Charles and Eurypides (although I sincerely do not know how did Wikipedia people manage to figure it out for that last one).
3) My very favourite place in the entire world are Tatra mountains in Poland (Zakopane). Any mountains make me happy, but there is just something about these particular peaks that makes it a true soul asylum for me. No demons can go there.
4) I sing most of the time. I try to keep it in my head when in public, but I quite often fail.
5) I love garlic sandwiches. One of the best things about being sick when I was little was my dad making them for me (cause garlic boosts up your defences and you’re sick in bed, so no one cares if you sweat it out and stink). Take a slice of bread, butter it, put chopped up raw garlic on it and finish off with some salt. Yum. (I have just made some for Manpreet, as she’s poorly and off work, she was sceptical at first but then loved them).
6) I can’t sleep without my stuffed dog. What can I say – a 25 years long habit is not easily lost. Not that I’ve tried though.
7) My favourite season is winter. Even if it is not snowing, although of course it is much better with snow. There is something about the crispness of the winter air that makes you feel more alive and makes everything sharper and more there. And then there are the evenings, dark and cold, which make your home and bed even cosier than usual.
And now for the tagging –
Tasha has already tagged some of the blogs I would have tagged, but there’s still one by an old friend of mine Ewelina and Carina’s culinary pages, and then some by people I don’t know but whose writing I enjoy: Annie Rhiannon, Morning Coffee, German Joys. I know it's not 7 but that's all I've got.
Friday, 26 September 2008
Thursday
1.
I got fed up with not knowing when the deadline for submitting my PhD for publication was, nor what other documents I had to provide and fed up with waiting for answers, so I decided to nag. This time the university press did reply (miracle!) and provided all information required, which I read with great care and attention and decided that was that. The deadline was on the 30th (that’s bloody Tuesday!), and yes, my edited text could be ready by then (if I didn’t do anything else until, but that was not going to happen) but they also needed a presentation of its academic values (which also could be done, even if I had no idea what I was supposed to write) and the endorsement of the Head of Faculty on the application letter. And there is no way in the world that one could be done within three working days I had left.
So that was that. I had blown it. I should have worked more. I should have nagged earlier. Now it was too late.
So I went down to the lounge, put the TV on and watched two episodes of Scrubs in total dumbness and resignation.
Then I went back upstairs and managed to get hold of my supervisor… who told me not to worry, she was going to take her copy of my PhD to the publishing committee’s meeting, fill in an application form and get the Head of Faculty to sign it.
“Oh…” I gasped with cautious half-relief “but your copy is not edited!”
“Don’t worry, you’ll do that once they’ve decided to publish.”
WHAT?! All these hours spent trying to make it on time, hard work, stress and all?! WHAT?!
“But, but… it’s more than 300 pages, you said 300…”
“You’ll just have to cut it down slightly to some 350 pages.” she said in the same time.
WHAT?! All those things I have already cut out with bleeding heart to get it under 300 pages, why? It already IS under 350 pages! WHAT?!
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. And relieved. Because after all I haven’t blown it. Because it’s still all on. But still. Seriously!
Anyway.
2.
After all that I was relieved but still shaky and there was no way I was getting back to work, not with all that information, and I needed to calm down first anyway, so I started surfing on the Internet, which eventually led me to the Times Educational Supplement website, where they publish all the job ads for teachers. I put in all my criteria without much hope, after all I had checked it the day before, and there it was: “French Teacher, permanent contract, secondary school… Milton Keynes.”
I had always thought that at one point I might have to consider moving to MK, I also said I was going to let life decide – apply for jobs both here and there and see what I get first.
But this made it real. There is a job running, I am of course going to apply, and then I might get it, and then I will have to move, to a place where Paul is the only person I know, and I’m not scared of turning my life upside down for my own fantasy, been there, done that, was fun, but this, this is scary!
At that point I could distinctly feel an impending panic crisis come down on me, so I went out, got a bottle of wine, poured myself a huge glass and just sat there waiting for Susanne to come around so that I could properly vent.
3.
Susanne was coming around cause we were going to the Yardbird for a jazz gig as part of my birthday celebrations. We had some dinner (I had forgotten lunch in all that upheaval), I had another glass of wine and we sat there talking, or rather I was talking, and gradually calming myself down. By 7.30 we were all ready to go and just waiting for a friend of mine who was going to give us a ride, and I had just decreed that if I had not had a heart attack today, I was probably safe for ever after, when the knock on the door came. So I went to open… and there stood Paul.
Apparently, my first reaction to my boyfriend’s surprise appearance was: “Oh fuck!”.
But it really was all about the tone of voice. Really.
4.
At the Yardbird I’ve managed to get drunk on two pints of beer.
After we got home I cried a bit and then had a full blown głupawka (which is that state where you get into fits of uncontrollable laughter over things that really are not that funny at all – no other language has a good word for it).
And then I lay sleepless next to my snoring boyfriend and tried not to start freaking out again.
But all is good.
Life knows what it’s doing.
At least I hope so.
I got fed up with not knowing when the deadline for submitting my PhD for publication was, nor what other documents I had to provide and fed up with waiting for answers, so I decided to nag. This time the university press did reply (miracle!) and provided all information required, which I read with great care and attention and decided that was that. The deadline was on the 30th (that’s bloody Tuesday!), and yes, my edited text could be ready by then (if I didn’t do anything else until, but that was not going to happen) but they also needed a presentation of its academic values (which also could be done, even if I had no idea what I was supposed to write) and the endorsement of the Head of Faculty on the application letter. And there is no way in the world that one could be done within three working days I had left.
So that was that. I had blown it. I should have worked more. I should have nagged earlier. Now it was too late.
So I went down to the lounge, put the TV on and watched two episodes of Scrubs in total dumbness and resignation.
Then I went back upstairs and managed to get hold of my supervisor… who told me not to worry, she was going to take her copy of my PhD to the publishing committee’s meeting, fill in an application form and get the Head of Faculty to sign it.
“Oh…” I gasped with cautious half-relief “but your copy is not edited!”
“Don’t worry, you’ll do that once they’ve decided to publish.”
WHAT?! All these hours spent trying to make it on time, hard work, stress and all?! WHAT?!
“But, but… it’s more than 300 pages, you said 300…”
“You’ll just have to cut it down slightly to some 350 pages.” she said in the same time.
WHAT?! All those things I have already cut out with bleeding heart to get it under 300 pages, why? It already IS under 350 pages! WHAT?!
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. And relieved. Because after all I haven’t blown it. Because it’s still all on. But still. Seriously!
Anyway.
2.
After all that I was relieved but still shaky and there was no way I was getting back to work, not with all that information, and I needed to calm down first anyway, so I started surfing on the Internet, which eventually led me to the Times Educational Supplement website, where they publish all the job ads for teachers. I put in all my criteria without much hope, after all I had checked it the day before, and there it was: “French Teacher, permanent contract, secondary school… Milton Keynes.”
I had always thought that at one point I might have to consider moving to MK, I also said I was going to let life decide – apply for jobs both here and there and see what I get first.
But this made it real. There is a job running, I am of course going to apply, and then I might get it, and then I will have to move, to a place where Paul is the only person I know, and I’m not scared of turning my life upside down for my own fantasy, been there, done that, was fun, but this, this is scary!
At that point I could distinctly feel an impending panic crisis come down on me, so I went out, got a bottle of wine, poured myself a huge glass and just sat there waiting for Susanne to come around so that I could properly vent.
3.
Susanne was coming around cause we were going to the Yardbird for a jazz gig as part of my birthday celebrations. We had some dinner (I had forgotten lunch in all that upheaval), I had another glass of wine and we sat there talking, or rather I was talking, and gradually calming myself down. By 7.30 we were all ready to go and just waiting for a friend of mine who was going to give us a ride, and I had just decreed that if I had not had a heart attack today, I was probably safe for ever after, when the knock on the door came. So I went to open… and there stood Paul.
Apparently, my first reaction to my boyfriend’s surprise appearance was: “Oh fuck!”.
But it really was all about the tone of voice. Really.
4.
At the Yardbird I’ve managed to get drunk on two pints of beer.
After we got home I cried a bit and then had a full blown głupawka (which is that state where you get into fits of uncontrollable laughter over things that really are not that funny at all – no other language has a good word for it).
And then I lay sleepless next to my snoring boyfriend and tried not to start freaking out again.
But all is good.
Life knows what it’s doing.
At least I hope so.
Monday, 25 August 2008
Ah, nostalgia…
A few weeks ago I received a letter from the University of Provence saying that if I wanted them to send me my PhD diploma, I had to provide the university office with a self addressed envelope with a 5,60 € stamp on it. They have of course not thought about the simple fact that getting stamps in euros in the UK might be slightly complicated if not impossible. Once again, James came to my rescue and offered to provide them with what they needed. The office was closed for the summer so he set on the mission only today. Here’s the e-mail he sent me afterwards:
“Hi Anna,
Well, unfortunately I wasn't able to drop your diploma envelope at doctoral studies office today. You no doubt remember how the university has a habit of loosing paperwork, but this time they outdid themselves. They lost the office. Depending on who you ask, Bureau 10 has moved, is moving, or will be moving, but no one knows when or to where. All anyone can agree on is that it's not open, if it's even still there at all. Some say it's destined to stay at the Schuman campus, other say it will re-open at the MMSH. We shall see. They said to call in a week or two, so I'll give them a ring in a while.
--James”
What can I say – there are some things I definitely do not miss about France.
“Hi Anna,
Well, unfortunately I wasn't able to drop your diploma envelope at doctoral studies office today. You no doubt remember how the university has a habit of loosing paperwork, but this time they outdid themselves. They lost the office. Depending on who you ask, Bureau 10 has moved, is moving, or will be moving, but no one knows when or to where. All anyone can agree on is that it's not open, if it's even still there at all. Some say it's destined to stay at the Schuman campus, other say it will re-open at the MMSH. We shall see. They said to call in a week or two, so I'll give them a ring in a while.
--James”
What can I say – there are some things I definitely do not miss about France.
Thursday, 3 April 2008
Nut day and my bits of Aix
I was having coffee with Hil this morning, and we were all happy and excited to be together again, and blabbering about what has happened, how life was and what was coming up when this elderly gentleman came up to our table and mainly told us off very vehemently for talking too loud when we had nothing to say. ‘All I can hear is your noise’ he said ‘and you have nothing to say’. My spontaneous reaction was to tell him that it wasn’t about the words coming out of our mouths but all the love behind them and that I was sorry he was to bitter to get that, but I bit my tongue. Why spoil his day? After all, being a Brit living in Frogland, he can’t have an opportunity to tell people off too often, so hey, cheers to you, hope it made you happy.
Then we wandered about the market and Hil bought a pear. The seller helper tried to put it in a bag for her, but the stall owner told her off for that cause you shouldn’t waste an expensive plastic bag for just one pear (she obviously thought we didn’t speak any French). That’s when we decided it was a nut day.
Anyway, off to buy some more bits of Provence and last drinks with friends.
Mantra changed to what Nick told me over a drink last Sat, when I was all whining about why the fuck did I leave and I want my life back: “Yes, you had a great life here, but it was going nowhere”.
Which doesn’t change the fact that I miss my life here.
And a final random thing: every time I walk into Cours Mirabeau heading for Rue Fabrot, I can’t help but turn my head and I can still see the Disappearing German waiting for me on the corner of Rue Thiers, and that smile, and the Dreamcatcher Hair, and Oh GOD. Beautiful memory it is indeed.
Then we wandered about the market and Hil bought a pear. The seller helper tried to put it in a bag for her, but the stall owner told her off for that cause you shouldn’t waste an expensive plastic bag for just one pear (she obviously thought we didn’t speak any French). That’s when we decided it was a nut day.
Anyway, off to buy some more bits of Provence and last drinks with friends.
Mantra changed to what Nick told me over a drink last Sat, when I was all whining about why the fuck did I leave and I want my life back: “Yes, you had a great life here, but it was going nowhere”.
Which doesn’t change the fact that I miss my life here.
And a final random thing: every time I walk into Cours Mirabeau heading for Rue Fabrot, I can’t help but turn my head and I can still see the Disappearing German waiting for me on the corner of Rue Thiers, and that smile, and the Dreamcatcher Hair, and Oh GOD. Beautiful memory it is indeed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
