The Good Samaritan

I'm not much of a church go-er. I was baptized a catholic and for most of my life have followed that faith but for right or for wrong I haven't always seen the need to go to church, especially not any old church just for the sake of it. This changed when I moved to France for the first time. I felt lonely being away from my family and going into the church to pray or listen to the service was a comfort to me. I never understood the words of the service, I could recognize more or less the order of service but I couldn't really follow the words and there were no mass books available. During my first year in France, going to church became part of my Sunday ritual, especially as there was little else to do on a Sunday but more particularly because I found a really nice church near where I used to live. It was quite a modern building but the congregation was quite mature. However, the service was vamped up a bit, for example one day, after the gospel reading and a very short homily, the congregation was told to get into little groups and to discuss what the gospel had meant to them. I was invited into a little group of ladies who started talking enthusiastically about what their interpretation of the gospel was. My French was not very good so the best I could do was nod and smile and say "je suis d'accord". I agree. Despite the fact that I couldn't contribute much to the conversation the ladies were very nice and welcoming. I liked the service in this church even though I didn't understand much of it but I still enjoyed being part of it. My Sunday ritual was therefore: go to church, pick up hot croissant and pain au chocolat, as well as a baguette (which I learnt to pronounce as 'peng' it being the south of France and all); go home eat breakfast, go to launderette to do the week's laundry, make weekly telephone call to parents, then maybe once all that was done go for a wander around town. This helped to make Sunday's pass quickly and ease the solitude somewhat.

One cold Sunday in October I realized that I had no clean socks to go to church in. Also although I'd packed a few winter items, I had arrived in France at the end of August and until then had been able to wear light summery clothes. I didn't think anyone would notice and anyway I was going to do my laundry a bit later so I got dressed, put on a warm winter coat and went off to church wearing no socks. At church I sat down next to a little old lady. During the service the basket for the offerings came round. I put in a couple of francs (it was in 2001, France changed to the euro a few months afterwards) and passed the basket down the pew. The little old lady who had been sat near me threw a few francs and I took the basket back to hand over to the eucharistic minister. Once the basket had been taken off me the old lady grabbed my hand, instinctively I held her hand back because I thought she was looking for support, but instead she pressed a 50 franc note into my hand (the equivalent of 5 pounds sterling at the time). I looked at her in astonishment "C'est pour que vous puissiez vous acheter les chausettes Mademoiselle" she said pointing at my bare feet which were showing above my shoes and below my trousers. I tried to protest and explain to her that I was in no need of money to buy socks and that I would be doing my laundry later that day but despite my protests she refused to take the money back. I felt so touched but didn't quite know what to do with the money. I just smiled at the lady and thanked her for her generosity. I had two choices, either to pass the charitable act along and give the money to charity, or accept the gift as she intended it and go and buy myself some socks. And that was what I did later that week. I bought socks!

Being an English Rose

Being an English rose, and by that I make no allusion to my beauty (or lack thereof) but simply to the fact that I am pale skinned and have a typical English rose complexion, is not easy regardless of which country you live in. In England we are ashamed of our pale complexions, "pale is interesting" is not something that has ever taken off no matter how much we would like to believe it! When I go back to the UK all I see is tanned beauties, albeit the tan has come from the local highstreet tanning centre or a bottle of St Tropez, but nonetheless the typical pale English skin has been duly covered up. In France, being blond haired and blue eyed is interesting and attractive. Another thing is that most women I see wear very little face makeup and, as they tan naturally, fake tan can be seen a mile off (or a kilometre away if we're going metric!) so I wouldn't dare to try and use fake tan for fear of being ridiculed. Therefore I see no point in hiding the fact that I'm pale, even on the beach. Yes I hear things like "Ah c'est les anglais" when I dare to get into a bikini and show myself on a beach. They seem to think I have just jumped off the ferry whereas I have been living here for near on 5 years and over several summers I have tried desperately to make my skin change colour, alas to no avail (it will go pink or red but never a hint of tan!). In fact, I'm rather impressed at the way French women live with their skin. Whatever their skin problem they do not try to cover it up. Having suffered acne during my teenage years and early twenties, I've always been used to troweling on the make-up, but in France I noticed that people are often very discreetly made up. If there is something you do notice on French women, it is a tendency to emphasise their eyes and their lips with eyeliner and lip-gloss or lipstick respectively. I find myself studying French women on the metro (discreetly of course because my Mother taught me it is rude to stare!) but I fail to see any evidence of foundation and in fact many of them are infuriatingly naturally beautiful. This is probably due to the vast range of skincare they have available to them as well as the fact that one can oh-so-easily go and see a dermatologist simply by calling and making an appointment and not have to be referred by your normal doctor. I went through the NHS system and did see a dermatologist for a while (I was on the god awful Roacutane!) but could only ever get an appointment every six months. During my teenage years I had always believed that I had greasy skin and therefore used every industrially strong anti-bacterial product I could find to disinfect my skin. The result of this was that after the Roaccutane and the acne, my nose and cheeks were still rather red. I usually put this down to sunburn, cold weather, warm weather, a cold, heyfever or any other excuse I could find. This was especially amusing when I taught because children have a charming fashion of lacking totally in tact.

One day when I had just finished class and was waiting until after playtime to take the other class I decided to sit down in the playground and enjoy the warm weather. I was very soon surrounded by some of the girls from my class who came to chat to me and show me how well they could skip. One of the girls sat up on window ledge behind where I was sitting and began playing with my hair. 'Vous êtes belle et vous avez les cheveux doux Miss Rose' (pronounced Miss Roz),
'Why thank you Claudia'
'Pourquoi votre nez est rouge par contre?'
There it was. Straight to the point.
'Well' I began 'probably because it is quite warm today' I said, reaching for the famous excuse.
'Moi mon nez n'est pas rouge' she said matter-of-factly
'Yes, you are lucky. But also we have different coloured skin' I said, rolling up a sleeve to show my pale bare arm.
'You have lovely brown skin because you are French, I have white, pinky skin because I am English'
'Donc votre nez est rouge parce que vous êtes anglaise' said Claudia, pleased with her conclusion.
I decided not to continue the discussion.

This blunt and direct way of talking does not restrict itself to the children. Whenever I decided to venture into places like Galerie Lafayette to check out the skin care range I usually got pounced on by one of the shop assistants. When I tried to explain to them in French what I was after they immediately start contradicting me and headed over to the green cream section saying that I have to put on a green base to counter the redness. The result of this is two things, one I would look like Shrek and two I would have to trowel on even more foundation to cover the green stuff! No thank you!

After having been in France for a while and having finally sorted out my medical insurance, I decided to go and see a Dermatologist to see if she could sort out my skin. She took one look at me and declared that I had sensitive skin, that I should be using only the gentlest of products and that the fact that my nose and cheeks were red was not because I was English but because I had rosacea. She sent me off to the nearest pharmacist with a list of skin friendly lotions that I ought to buy as well as a prescription. From that day on, my skin and I have been friends, and I threw away all the industrial strength anti-bacterial face wash and replaced it with soft cotton and cleansing lotion. My skin routine drastically changed. Thanks to the same dermatologist, I was also able to have access to laser treatment at a fairly reasonable price. Three sessions later and my skin was transformed. My foundation was subsequently thrown out. I could show my real skin in public once again. Yes, I would always be an English rose, yes my face flushes when I'm happy, when I'm angry, when I'm tipsy, when I'm embarrassed, in fact my face is still a barometer for my emotions, but I now take a leaf out of French womens' books and I let my real skin show. Pale and interesting? Pale and proud!

Le Trench

Sat at the table, eating breakfast this morning, listening to the weather report on the radio. The weather report announced a chance of rain, ah I thought, time to put on my trench-coat. The trench-coat, or le trench as the French call it, is a Parisian must! As soon as there is a slightest hint of rain everyone will be out in their trench-coats. Traditionally trench-coats are supposed to be waterproof but most of the ones I have seen recently are anything but waterproof, yet for some reason when it rains, waterproof or not, a trench-coat must be worn. The trench-coat is a timeless classic, it has been a fashion item for years, which explains why it is so popular with French women. French women like classic clothes and the average French woman tends not to want to stick out from the crowds. More importantly they like to be chic and a trench-coat is chic! Most of the people I see on the metro wear black or beige trench-coats, which also explains its popularity with French women, le beige, a favourite, inconspicuous colour. However, this morning whilst observing my fellow trench-coat wearers, among the beiges and the blacks, I observed a chocolate brown trench-coat and even a red trench-coat, very daring! I have a beige trench-coat. For years I have fought the beige in France, as it washes me out somewhat, although I buckled and severely succumbed to black! But I had to have a beige trench-coat as I have several kinds of black coats and jackets. Whenever I hear that it will rain I'm almost excited to be able to wear my trench-coat and know that I'll be sophisticated and fashionable. So on a rainy morning, before leaving the house, I put on my trench-coat, place my Longchamps bag in the crux of my slightly bent arm, slick a bit of lip-gloss on to emphasise the pout, grab my umbrella and trot off to the metro, VOILA!!

Tu le kiffe ou quoi?*

When faced with the choice of watching a French film or a British/American film (ie English spoken) I will opt for the second eight times out of ten. When a British or American film is showing on the cinema I obviously refuse to watch it dubbed over in French and will only watch it in VO (Version originale – original version). The reason for my aversion to French films is that generally they are boring, I don't get the plot line, or more precisely I don't see the point in the plotline even if I DO understand it. When it comes to French comedies, the difficulty is that most of the comedy value will be in the use of words or the play on words, which even after all these years learning French, I have problems understanding. There have been a couple of French comedies which I have enjoyed but nonetheless I would still much rather see a British or American comedy. In spite of all this, from time to time I have fallen upon a French film, either by flicking through on television or when a French friend recommends a particular film when we go to the cinema, and I have to say I have been surprised and have found the film to be really enjoyable. The storylines were good, (I like happy films so when I say they were good, I mean they were heartwarming "feel-good" films), the acting was good, music, even a touch of comedy, everything!! Here are a few of my favourites:

1) Monsieur Batignole – a film by Gérard Jugot, he also stars in the film,
2) Comme une image – by Agnès Jaoui, she also stars in the film, along with Marilou Barry who I also like as she starred in another of my favourite French films…
3) La première fois que j'ai eu 20 ans
4) Jeux d'enfants – with Marion Cotillard who has recently starred in "La Vie en Rose" and I think is set to become Hollywood's next French star,
5) Je vais bien, ne t'en fais pas – by Philippe Lioret, starring Mélanie Laurent, - LOVED THIS FILM!! Has a twist at the end à la The Sixth Sense, although it is not at all a scary film!

So last night, when deciding what to watch (note that television in France is decidedly crap! If there is something decent to watch like a film or a television series it will of course be dubbed) I had the choice of Men in Black I (dubbed of course – Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones just don't translate as well!), an American police series, a French film for television, or a documentary on Grace Kelly. I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that Men in Black was the best option and was just flicking through the channels during the adverts before the film started when I fell upon the channel Arte. Arte is part German part French and is generally watched by those with a slightly more artistic taste, it is considered to be for the intellectuals. The film last night was called 'L'esquive" by Abdellatif Kechiche starring young actors Osman Elkharraz, Sabrina Ouazani and Sara Forestier. Firstly when I happened upon it I almost couldn't understand the French at all. The film is set in "les banlieues" ie the suburbs of Paris which are in fact more like a ghetto. It was in les banlieues where the riots began in 2005 making the rest of the world think that France was burning whereas in fact there were just a few riots. These are the areas which are very deprived and where most of France's second generation immigrant families live. Think Toxeth or Brixton in the 1980s and you get the picture! Anyway, this film is about a group of teenagers who decide to act out a play which they are learning in their French class. The play is by an old French playwright (Marivaux) and written in old French. The students' language when they are rehearsing the play contrasts with the way they speak in real life. Generally it is a film about a young boy who falls in love with a girl at school and becomes interested in the play in order to impress her. The story is interesting, touching and well interpreted by the actors. The film is filmed simply, almost like a documentary, as if the cameraman was simply watching these teenagers talking to each other, there is no back ground music, no special effects. At first I decided to watch the film to try and see exactly how much of the street-French I actually understood. Imagine if you will a foreign person trying to understand a think Glaswegian, Scouse, Mancunien or Brummy accent and you'll understand why it is not easy to understand banlieusian French. I was actually quite impressed by exactly how much I did understand which is either proof of how well I'm integrated or simply proof that I've been hanging out with people who speak a lot of slang! I intended to change channels but found myself drawn in by the story and fascinated by this view into life in les banlieues. In the film, the teenagers from the banlieues acted all tough when in the streets but really enjoyed rehearsing for the play and taking on the roles of lords and ladies. It reminded me of the children I used to teach who were from deprived areas of Bordeaux and similarly acted tough when in the playground or in the street but when in the classroom it was clear how much they enjoyed the activities and were really happy when they accomplished something or received a good mark. The story in the film focuses on the preparation of the play but also illustrates themes like love, friendship, poverty, police brutality, hardship. I'm no film critic but personally I rather liked "l'esquive" and would recommend it to others or in the words of one of the actors "Ouais, je le kiffe quoi!"

(kiffe= to like, *"Do you like it?)

La Rentrée

Children get so excited about "Going back to school". As the end of the summer holidays approaches they are already talking about which year they are moving up to and who their teacher is likely to be. When I was a teacher, this time of year was filled with excitement and expectation. Whether it was in the schools or at university, there was a buzz in the air and you couldn't help but get wrapped up in it. Everyone was excited to be back, to be with their friends, refreshed after the holidays. Whereas twenty years ago I would have been admiring my shiny new patent shoes, my nice new school uniform and my new school pens and pencils, this year, despite being much more "grown up", I find that I still enjoy this time of year even though I now work in an office. France literally shuts down over the month of August. Even in Paris, either people go away for around 3 weeks or, those who do not take their holidays at this time cannot do very much as most people are away over August. This may seem ridiculous to the rest of the world, indeed I confess I found it a bit strange myself, but it is one of the things one must accept when one lives in France and there is no point getting annoyed about it you may as well enjoy it. On the one hand, you can wonder about the missed business opportunities, being able to cash-in during the holidays, especially when you see that businesses, shops and restaurants are real sticklers for having their "congès annuelles" but on the other hand, the French may not necessarily be wrong about taking a proper break over summer, thus preparing them for the workload over winter. There is a nice atmosphere when people come back from holidays, they tour the offices and say hi to people and relate how their holidays went. Everyone looks happier. Everyone, (except me as I have very English un-tanable skin!) has a nice tan and it is clear that the weeks spent in the south of France doing very little has done them the world of good. Yes, not a lot of work will get done whilst people get used to being back, yes the happy holiday atmosphere will fade after around a week and yes in the public sector the days when they will be striking are already being planned, but for the time being I say, VIVE LA RENTREE!!