Be the Hero

Friday 27th August 2010.

One Christmas when Ciara was little she wanted a farm set so Santa brought her one. It was made by Play Mobil, which I just think must be a French company. The farm was part construction toy and part make-believe toy. But since Ciara wasn’t interested in construction the job of putting the farm buildings together fell to Denis or at a push to me. Anyway, one part of it always confused me.

Now I understand….

The farm set was made up of a two story barn with pulley system for lifting bags of grain; a farm house attached to the barn; a hen house and pens for the animals. There were cows, hens, sheep, a cat, a dog and two storks. There were window boxes and flowers to go into them. The thing that confused me was a wheel on the roof of the barn. It didn’t do anything. There was a little hook sticking up from it but I searched the instructions for details of what this might be for, to no avail. I couldn’t understand what a wheel would be doing on top of a barn. Turns out Ciara knew all along!

She discovered that one stork could fit onto the little hook and she used to put him up there. A stork on a wheel on top of a barn - crazy. Well, here in Munster there’s lots of storks and they build their nests on top of big wheels on barns and tall buildings!!

Go Ciara!

Friday 27th August.

On Tuesday it was raining in the morning but I wanted to get bread and croissants so I put on my rain mac and went to see Munster. It’s not very far to the shops and restaurants (as per our priorities) but there are lots of little streets to cross. I hadn’t gone very far when I started to feel uneasy. I couldn’t work out what it was, but it was getting worse the closer I got to the town. And then I realised…it was the traffic! The traffic was on the wrong side of the road!

I’m not kidding (or stupid ;-?), I always knew the French drove on the right but knowing it and KNOWING it are two different things. I know traffic, I grew up in Cashel, the seat of the kings of Munster (the other one), a town that had traffic jams in the 60’s (when Cork were playing in Thurles or Croke Park). On the main Cork to Dublin road every truck delivery between the two cities had to pass through our town. It could take me 10 minutes at the age of 8 to get across the road to the pub to buy loose mikado (biscuits, not drink!) and another 10 to get back. All that waiting and looking and false starting taught me well. Every part of the experience was ingrained in my psyche so that today I can cross any road with just a quick glance to check. Not here!

And I think I know why….

When we learn something we use previous learned experiences to build on and thus we don’t have to learn every task from the beginning again. We make assumptions and then build on them. So I learned and now assume that when I face a road the cars closest to me come from the right. I learned to look right first and if that was clear look left and if that was clear start to walk while paying most attention towards my right until the middle of the road and then shifting my attention to the left when I had reached the mid point. By the age of nine I was probably doing this automatically.

But here in France I am using the same old assumption and it is just not working. No wonder I feel disturbed! But now that I know, it should be fine, right? Well not yet….

When I stop to cross the road I automatically look right and I’m assuming if a car is coming on that side it will be coming towards me, but no, if there is a car on that side then it is moving away from me.

In the end I kept saying to myself “look left, look left”.

I was looking at a video about a guy who studies brains and computers. He says the measure for intelligence is not behaviour. He says the measure of a brain’s intelligence is it’s ability to predict what might happen next. And I think that’s why I was feeling uneasy. I have lost the ability to predict where the traffic is coming from or going to! So I’m going to take my time and look both ways and maybe ask a small child to help me cross!

Thursday 16th August 2010

On Wednesday we went to the Eco Muse, an outdoor park of old skills and crafts, a bit like Bunratty Park in Co. Clare. Because it’s outdoor, it reminded me of a different motorcycle trip where we visited the Atlantic Wall World War 2 site, in Belgium. An area along the coast that had been held by the Germans in the second world war. Very interesting but very uncomfortable for me. Not because of the topic, although that was a bit disturbing too, but because we had arrived by bike and I wore my bike gear all around the wall for the two hour trip in hot sun! But as always I had learned from this experience and vowed to never repeat an outdoor site visit in bike gear.

So yesterday we drove to Ungersheim (the towns around here sound more German that French, because the area has been owned by Germany, Switzerland and France at different times through history) where the Eco Musee is situated. We arrived about 5pm and the park closes about 9pm (or so we thought…). I put my helmet in the left pannier, my jacket in the right pannier and took my skirt and shoes from the top box and off we went. Denis doesn’t remember the Atlantic Wall episode in the same way as I do so he wore his bike gear.

We arrived at the ticket desk, but just before it there were some toilets so I went in to change. Denis had got a call so he was outside on his phone. I took off my heavy boots, my socks and then my protection filled trousers and put on my skirt and my crocs. Phew, but now I was ready for the walking and the heat, this was going to be a different experience. And it was….

When I came out Denis was just finishing his call, so we went over to the ticket desk. I asked for “billets pour deux person, s’il vous plait”, and she said something that I wasn’t expecting.

I need to explain. With my very limited language skills, I tend to use my other skills to aid in communication. I guess what someone might be saying! So if I ask for two tickets please I guess the next thing they will say is the price. And since I’ve already checked the price I guess they’re saying the amount I have in my head! Great, works really most times. But it wasn’t working here. So I said “pardon?” while raising my eyebrows in an upturned V. She said the same thing again and it still wasn’t the French equivalent of €26! Meanwhile, Denis who never paid attention in French class in school and has a far smaller vocabulary than I have was starting to converse with the lady!

And then he explained to me - they were closed. I know the word “ferme”- did she say it? Yep, she did, she said it again. Here I was in my cool skirt and my comfortable crocs and there was no where to go. I was crest fallen (I was thinking of another word but that will do). Denis tried to persuade her that we only wanted a little visit, but she was quite insistent.

There was nothing to do but go back to the toilets and get back into my bike gear. We took the scenic route home, through beautiful little villages and narrow winding tall pine tree bordered roads and by the time we arrived I felt much better. Who needs to see how they build the half-timbered houses or make cheese from raw milk, anyway. Well… me, I’d love to see it! Maybe we’ll try again tomorrow….

Ps. We went today! It was beautiful. Tours only in French and German but a lovely place to be.

Wednesday 25th August 2010.

Yesterday I went out to get our breakfast croissants and there was a market in the square. I love markets and they always make me nostalgic for the slower pace of life. Like I imagine it was in my Grandmother’s time? Where each day you went out for your groceries for that day. You went to the butcher for the meat, the greengrocer for the fruit and vegetables and the bakery for the bread.

Well it seems to me that the French still live like that. Or at least the older ones do. So I was very excited to get an experience of it. I bought tomatoes and lettuce and cucumber from the vegetable stall. And half a cooked chicken (with a ladle of chicken fat poured over, oops) from the rotisserie van. And some nougat from the sweet stall! And then I went to the boulangiere for bread and the croissants. And finally I went to the shop where you get pate (I cant find the little french hat to go over the e, it’s pat-tae I’m trying to say) and got some! My bags were full, my arms were aching and I was content.

In that one delightful experience breakfast was sorted (croissants),

lunch was sorted (salad, bread and pate) and dinner was sorted (cold chicken with a dribble of yummy chicken fat, salad and bread).

Could this be why food in France tastes so good? Is it possible I may come to like cooking?

Wednesday 25th August 2010.

Yesterday I woke very early, as I usually do for the first night in a new place. We’ll be staying here for five nights so I’ll get plenty of full nights sleep. As usual also, when I can’t sleep I write, sometimes it invigorates me, sometimes it makes me sleepy, either way it seems the natural thing to do.

I think it’s also a release. During my waking hours I talk to myself a lot, about what I see and what I want to do next and what I “must tell” someone. So it’s quite full in my head. Then I write and it all flows onto the page and it meets other thoughts that were stuck behind shopping lists and “have to” lists and “should do” lists. When they meet they have baby thoughts and more to say. Then they get a bit organised and I go “oh, ok I get it, isn’t that interesting”. So I guess I write to tidy my head.

I used to believe that it was very important to be thinking all the time. To make sure I knew what was going on, what might be going on, what might go on next, what might happen if ….. It was exhausting. When I stopped doing that……. not stopped thinking. Maybe it would be more accurate to say I didn’t stop thinking, I just stopped paying attention to the thoughts. I stopped believing they were important, that they had to be listened to, so I began to ignore them! But there are some useful thoughts going around in my head and when I write they pop out.

Of course I think everyone should write but if I was told I “should” write I’d never be able to pick up a pen. I only write when it’s the most natural thing in the world to be doing. Then my back relaxes my head feels warm and fuzzy and my stomach becomes as soft as a squishy pillow! My breathing stills and it all flows. It becomes easy. So I think everyone would want to get the opportunity to feel like this. What does it for you?

Here in the Alsace region of France on the third floor looking out on the cute little town of Munster, writing is the most natural thing in the world for me to be doing.

When I return to the east coast region of Ireland to the ground floor kitchen, looking out on some empty flower pots (unless Ciara has been watering them - every day Ciara, every day!) I may need to give myself a little nudge to remind myself that I love to write.

From sunny Munster to wherever you are can I give you a little nudge to do that thing that you love to do. Then when I get home you can give me a little nudge. Wouldn’t that be great? We’d all be relaxed and fuzzy and squishy! You do know it’s so much easier to put out the bins and clean up the dog poo and wash the dishes when you’re relaxed and fuzzy and squishy, don’t you?

Monday 23rd August 2010.

We spent most of the day travelling today to get to a town called Munster in the Alsace region. I can’t wait to work out how to say, in French, that we have a Munster in Ireland too!

Denis was very excited before we left home when he discovered a site called Airbnb.com (Air B and B) where people offer a room in their house (or their entire apartment or entire house) for holiday rent. Look it up, if nothing else you get to see into other people’s houses! I was a bit dubious at first because I though there might be only air beds, but the air seemingly refers to travelling (by air maybe?).

So we’d been trying since last Friday in Rouen to book a bed close to Reims. (That was the complication that led to our adventure in the Reims hotel). The problem is that room owners are doing this as an interest so they don’t always check their email and there’s no phone number. You pay with credit card on site and the owner has 36 hours to contact you and agree to take you in or disagree. If they don’t contact you, there’s no charge.

I hope you’re keeping up with this?

Anyway, we didn’t know about the 36 hours clause and booked the day before (24 hours) and waited for Elen (the owner) to contact us. We then drove to Reims (after Denis had an adventure with some Gendarmes, more later) and still no contact. It was hot and sticky, we needed a shower. So we checked into our Reims hotel, connected to the internet and cancelled the airbnb room.

But Denis really wanted to give it another try. For our second attempt, we started early - 48 hours before we were due to arrive - and waited for a reply. And waited. When 30 hours had passed I started looking up hotels on booking.com. Thanks to our friend the receptionist in Reims, you’ll remember, we have learned to book our hotels online before we arrive. Then I noticed this owner had included a website and on the website there was a phone number, yaa! And she spoke perfect English, yaa! It’s still the little things!

Denis has a way of sticking with something until he gets what he wants. He tries lots of different approaches but he doesn’t give up. It can look like he’s lucky, but it’s a luck he works for. It can look like he’s stubborn… Well he is, but it’s also very useful!

So it all worked out and we arrived at the apartment on the top floor of a three story house (again). The floors creak (again), the furniture’s old (again) and I love it!

Monday 23rd August 2010.

We had another brilliant idea about breakfast.

But first, what happened this morning (Monday) when we checked out? Well… As we came downstairs we noticed the original receptionist was on the desk (she hadn’t been around since we checked in). We carried our luggage to the bike and I pretended I had stuff to do out there in the secure courtyard so Denis went back, alone, to pay the bill. And the brave lad, when asked for his credit card replied “Could I just check the bill first, please?” Guess what? We got the second night for the internet price! Oh! we were so happy, it’s the little things that can bring so much joy!

Ok back to the brilliant idea about breakfast. Last night we decided since we were leaving Reims in the morning we’d beat the heat and travel early. And, we’d have breakfast on the way at one of those motorway restaurants. So we’d really get a head start on the day. So at 9am we were ready. My idea of early and Denis’ are poles apart. Never mind, we were off and as luck would have it rush hour has not been invent in Reims yet (or maybe it’s earlier?). We passed the first motorway stop after 20 minutes but as only wimpy motorbike riders take a break after a mere 20 minutes we kept going. Then there was a sign for the next stop, just forty km, perfect. I was getting a little peckish, thinking about croissants, maybe two today (even though I’m off wheat….) when I realised we had left the motorway. This is not good. There are no motorway restaurants OFF the motorway. Well hang on a minute, those restaurant are all that great anyway, some of them only have coffee machines and pre-wrapped croissants. We’d find a nice cafe/bar along the road with really good coffee (I don’t drink coffee, I was generously thinking of Denis) and fresh croissants.

So we drove on and on…

Finally I gave Denis the sign that I had to have food now (hitting him on the back while shouting through open helmet, “Food, Food” - we didn’t buy the latest blue tooth communication system, I prefer to spend the money on food and what would we talk about anyway?) and he took the road for the next signposted town.

And you’ll never believe what we found….. McDonald’s. Now I know there’s some among you who would not eat breakfast (or any meal) in Mc Donald’s, I was like you. I read the book Food Nation and I didn’t darken the doorstep. But.. like I said in Reims, French McDonald’s is different. Ok ok I was hungry and there was nowhere else! This was not a McCafe but they did have little pancakes.

So next time we’ll stop at the first motorway stop…. there’s something about this that reminds me of the Menu Board Dance……

Sunday 22nd August 2010.

Sub-Title: The Gendarmes have the bus.

Yesterday morning while we were enjoying our McCafe breakfast it started to rain. I had planned to do the “funny looking open-topped single decker red bus” tour of Reims. You have to, don’t you? But maybe not on a wet day? As I’d remembered to pack a raincoat and the rain was easing I decided to chance it. So, while Denis went back to the hotel to work I headed to the Cathedral where the bus would be. But it wasn’t. I was a little late and had been hoping they didn’t adhere too closely to the timetable. Anyway, I went into the tourist office to buy a ticket for the next bus.

Again, using my version of French I asked for a ticket for the bus. I’m not entirely sure but I think she said ” ..we don’t know when the tour will begin, the Gendarme have the bus”. I couldn’t believe my luck, who would think a bus tour could be so interesting? Then she asked me for something and since I didn’t have a clue what it might be, I gave up my charade of being a French speaker. So we reverted to English which she spoke beautifully. She had been asking for some photo identification so that she could give me an audio guide. It turned out she was Spanish and my drivers licence looked exactly the same as the Spanish version. Anyway, off she went to photocopy it. While she was there her colleague started talking to her in rapid French. Almost hypnotic to me and completely incomprehensible.

My new Spanish friend returned looking very apologetic, “em, there seems to be a problem with the audio guides, also, it may not function”. I assured her that it was not a problem, after all if the bus didn’t come I wouldn’t need it. She gave me a booklet in English and I went outside to sit on the wall and wait. The Cathedral was beautiful so I took some pictures.

And within minutes the bus arrived, and also thunder and lightening - I’m not making this up. Earlier I had wondered if there was a cover that went over the bus when it rained - there wasn’t. When the little group of people waiting got on the bus, the very friendly driver moved down the aisle handing out see-through umbrellas! I only wish I could have taken a picture of the bus speeding down the Rue de Mars with all of us passengers hanging onto our umbrellas. You’ll just have to imagine it…..

One of the practical things we learned so far has to do with breakfast. It’s much more sensible to go to the nearest cafe or bar than to eat at your hotel. For at least two reasons: it’s cheaper and you get to choose where to eat.

Actually the second reason isn’t always an advantage. At each food opportunity in a new city we (and many others) do the dance of the “menu board”. This involves walking confidently up to the board where menu options are displayed, outside a restaurant. A quick glance to discern if it’s in English. Then a more leisurely perusal as you wait for something to “grab” you (not literally). Then you turn to your partner and say either “well this seems ok”, or “nothing grabs me”, or (whispering) “much too expensive”. Your partner’s reply depends on how many menus you’ve seen for this meal. Less than 6: “ah no, let’s have a look at that one over there”. Between 6 and 10: “em, I think I like the one two streets ago better”. More than 10: “I’m so hungry, this’ll be fine”.

Today for breakfast we gave up the menu board dance…… and went to McDonald’s!

But French McDonald’s is not like Irish McDonald’s, they have espresso machines! And croissants and green tea. Well they do in their McCafe, anyway. Isn’t France great?

It’s day 4 of our Journey on a Bike in France and we seem to be landing in very beautiful cities. We finally said goodbye to Rouen and now we’re in the city of Reims. Very beautiful and at the moment very hot, 30 degrees.

We found our hotel on Booking.com but due to complications (!) we didn’t book it before we got here. So we arrived at the desk and asked in faulty French if they had a room with Internet access (first priority as Denis needs to work each day we are away); if there is secure parking for the motor bike (second priority, the bike is our horse and it needs stables); and if there are restaurants nearby (third priority, it’s no fun having to drive to dinner in full rain gear and heavy boots,so we want to walk to eat). And yes this hotel has everything but the price is €27 more expensive than the Booking.com price. The receptionists explains (in perfect English) that the cheaper price is only if you book on the Internet before you arrive but if you just turn up then you must pay the full price.

Ok, we understand, we are sad (;-)) but we can learn from this experience!

When we go upstairs the room is lovely, the shower is powerful and the Internet connection is strong and there is a great courtyard behind a huge locked gate for the bike. So we decide to stay a second night. And, learning from our previous experience this time we book online for the second night and get the cheaper price. Just in case there’s any problem, Denis goes downstairs to explain we are the people who have just booked online and we want to stay in the same room for the second night. It’s a new receptionist by now and although she looks confused, she says that’s fine (again in perfect english).
So tune in next time when we (you and I) find out what happens on Monday morning when we check out - will we get the cheaper price for the second night? Or will we have a different experience from which we can learn? Maybe about ourselves, or the French culture, or the hotel booking systems of Europe or how to remain calm in the lobby of a French hotel while the receptionist calls the Gendarmerie! No matter which scenario pans out we will have an experience and we will survive. For now the one I want is : the cheaper price for the second night. I’ll let you know…..