Quiet Evening

It's 10 p.m. here in Hyeres, 4 p.m. in NY, 1 p.m. in Seattle. I keep making this conversion in my head over and over again. It won't cease to be strange to me, I think, that everyone I love (excepting the three here in this apartment with me now) is half a world and nearly one full day away. When I tried to explain the time difference to Finn today he said, "France is winning!" -- as if time is a race, and whoever gets through the day first is the victor. I, on the other hand, feel so much more removed from "home" than usual (something that would have seemed an impossibility to me a couple of days ago, given how terribly sharply I already feel my distance from our families when we're in NY). How odd to think that as we are eating dinner their day in WA is just beginning. How strange (and, really, disconcerting) to go to pick up the phone and remember I can't call, it's the middle of the night there.

Time aside, however, the language here is also holding me at a bit of a distance from everyone we meet. I really thought my French would be quite passable, but am disappointed to find that I'm completely non-conversational. It will get better, I'm sure, but I understand about a third of what I hear, and I can say about a hundredth of what I wish to say in French. The language is lovely--so unlike English in its soft syllables and fleshy vowels. I heard a couple of young men arguing today on the street, and even what were clearly curse words sounded so charming. (This is, I realize, probably just a romantic reaction to being surrounded by difference, but, nevertheless, I was charmed.)

Poor Finn is feeling this barrier too. He runs up to nearly every young child we see and says an enthusiastic "Bonjour!", but most of the kids either look at him blankly or quickly say hello in return and then scamper off. He really would like to connect with someone his own age--to have a playmate--and that seems unlikely to happen. But I find his continued and undeterred efforts admirable; he's a model for his parents in this way right now.

He's incredibly hungry here, too -- a result of all of the walking we're doing, I think, and not (I hope) a sign that he'll be five feet tall when we return home! He ate a square six meals today and was still asking for another slice of bread before bed. He's also adventurous with his plate in a way I find amazing (as I certainly won't be so bold with mine). His sister, on the other hand, is eschewing all French everything. So far, about all she'll eat is the one American string cheese we could find and Danon yogurt. (She ate five sticks of cheese today.) That and Nutella. (Smart girl.) In an effort to coax her to eat more widely, I cooked tonight in our little apartment. Dinner was fresh pasta with a marinara sauce to which I added browned pancetta, garlic, and onions. We had spinach and baguette on the side. She didn't eat much, but the rest of us enjoyed it. In making the meal I had a bit of trouble with the lack of the usual kitchen gadgets and utensils I use all of the time without thinking at home -- a garlic press, for instance, and a slotted spoon. I also dearly miss my tea kettle and French press (yes, I'm in France without a French press!). A tea kettle is standard operating equipment in my world. If I'm feeling fat with Euros in the next few days, I might just buy one and leave it here for the next lucky guests.

While the kids and I walked the village and hung out in the apartment, Nathan, Ross, and the students went to the island of Porquerolles, just a short ferry ride away from Hyeres. He said it was beautiful, and he even got to do a bit of swimming!

Now, the kids both sleeping away in the little bedroom, we're both sitting at the kitchen table, our computers open, cups of very chocolately hot chocolate just stirred, and a French-dubbed version of the first Sex and the City Movie on TV. I don't understand anything the voice-overs are saying, but there's something comforting about the familiar images on this foreign screen.

Bonne nuit.