yesterday evening
I knew Apt was a small town, but never quite realised the full extent of until coming back this week. Having arrived with brown hair and not blonde hair, I realised as I walk through town, through the groups of high school children and past the Bar L'Aptois, in the main Place, there is a collective hush, frantic muttering to work out what has changed and then the whispered realisation behing me- 'ahhh- c'est le cheveux!' (it's the hair!) It's both unnerving and amusing to live in place where I know no one, yet they know me from hair colour alone. At school it makes me laugh; throughout this week the children have come into class and then done a double take- and of course the boys were utterly stumped as to what the difference could be, and one or two have come up and asked me, 'tu as changé?', 'quelquechose est different', but the girls rolled their eyes and explained in exasperation, 'c'est le cheveux!'
For once, I have been busy, and am finally sitting down to blog about it now. Normally Wednesday is my day off- along with Friday, Saturday and Sunday. But now, I have two rendezvous arranged once a week on a Wednesday- lunch with Sabine (a teacher at École St-Éxupery) and her family, and then in the evening I tutor the two eldest daughters of Marie (another teacher at St-Éx) and have been invited to stay the evening each week and eat with her family. Both small things perhaps, but so important for me to have the opportunity to be a part of the french culture, rather than a spectator.
First, the house of Sabine is a beautiful- a very old traditional perched house on the edge of Saignon, overlooking the Luberon valley, and here I met the smallest dog I have ever met, a miniature Yorkshire Terrier called 'Tristee', who was very happy to have company and sit on my lap while Sabine prepared the lunch. We ate a traditional provençal salad of lettuce and walnuts, drenched in olive oil, and mopped up with bread, and then had beef with roasted vegetables. Then they brought out the 'Galette des Rois' (The King Cake) which is a tradition in France, to eat a circular cake of either brioche or frangipan, with candied fruit on the top. They eat it through the month of January but it is the tradition of the 6th of January when the Kings arrived at the birth of Jesus, (hence the name). The tradition goes that the youngest person in the family has to close their eyes, and dictate as each slice is cut who it goes to. Then each person eats their cake- and whoever finds the little king figure, has luck throughout the year. It was delicious and they served it with a glass of cider, to follow the wine we had with the meal.
Tristee
So later, when I arrived at the house of Marie, feeling well fed and full, the whole ritual of the meal time started again, and between the family we all helped prepare the vegetables, and we all sat to eat the evening meal. First was the aperatif- an anchovy, garlic, and olive oil dressing and raw vegetables- très provençal, très bizarre, and that was complimented with white wine. After we had 'Daube de Boeuf' which is offcuts of beef, cooked slowly in red wine, onions, carrots, bacon, olives, tomatoes and spiced slightly, and served with fresh pasta. Concentrating on the conversation I ate slower than everyone else, and in both courses, found myself with three quarters of a plate left when everyone else had finished. The 'Daube de Boeuf' came with red wine and then they brought out the 'pièce de résistance', the dessert which was...'la galette des rois', which of course I pretended I had never tried. Antonin, the youngest boy of the family and one of my youngest class, likes to make more of a spectacle of the tradition and crawled under the table to call out his instructions of who received which piece. I got the king and got to wear the gold crown for the rest of the meal. After the galette we had coffee and fruit, and altogether the meal took around two and a half hours. So different from the custom in England- two and a half hours spent talking 'en famille', and that's just for dinner. It was lovely to be so welcomed, and share cultures and customs. They asked me a lot about York and Yorkshire, and I tried to explain to them the Yorkshire pudding; I'd got as far as 'it's a bowl of batter', and trailed off, struggling with vocabulary. They looked confused. 'But what's inside?!' They obviously missed the point. Antonin had to go to bed at nine which he didn't much like but came for a kiss from each of us, even me!
evening Apt
Thursday I woke up reluctantly, having been very sleepy from all the wine and conversation and went off to school, where I was greeted with warmth and the traditional three kisses of Provence to wish me a happy new year. Again there were moments of difficulty, as ever, particularly when I asked one class to answer the question- 'how many brothers and sisters do you have?'. One girl, who never stops talking for a second, put her hand up, and said, 'mais maîtresse, j'avais deux soeurs, mais une soeur est mort'. (Literally; but miss, I had two sisters, but one of them died). As nonchalant as if she was talking about having two guinea pigs. Later, in my last class, one boy pointed at my tartan dress and asked me- 'are you wearing a dress from Scotland?' I also got this gift from a little boy who had saved it from Christmas- though I have no idea what it is.
After school I went to meet Sylviane, the french woman with whom I practise my French, in return for her practising English with me. I arrived and she kissed me three times for the New Year and said, 'now, do you want tea, and have you ever tried la galette de rois.....?'
my third galette des rois, with tea, and this one was frangipan rather than brioche- much nicer!
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