With my social media fast continuing, I've decided to try something new and share a little daily journal of our week in Bordeaux. It was a big one! Let me know if this is the kind of thing you might be interested in seeing regularly. Merci for reading.
Dimanche
This afternoon I stood in a long line at our neighborhood pharmacy, Oliver hacking up a lung beside me. I silently repeated the basic French script I had prepared to ask the pharmacist for help choosing a medicine for Oli’s toux (cough). It’s normal to chat with French pharmacists almost as you would a doctor, discussing the details of your ailment so they can help you find the appropriate treatment. It’s quite convenient, if they happen to speak English — or if you speak French.
When I reached the front of the line, I momentarily forgot my carefully prepared script, as I often do when faced with a real-live French person. “Uhh… parlez-vous Anglais?” I asked, wincing at my cowardice. She shook her head apologetically, so I launched into my query about the best medicine for a kid with a gross, wet cough (in French), and I was a tiny bit amazed when she understood what I said, and then I understood what she said in response. She handed me a bottle of banana-flavored cough syrup, which cost 1.50€.
I felt pretty pleased with myself all the way home, until I opened the box and found that I had smashed the glass bottle somewhere along the way. Luckily, Todd didn’t mind returning to the pharmacy in exchange for me making dinner.
Lundi
Oliver doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to starting school. The first day of Kindergarten, he was that kid being dragged into school literally kicking and screaming, and first grade had its share of tears as well. And now we’re putting him in a French school where his teacher barely speaks any English, and he’s also being moved from first grade to the French equivalent of second (based on his age). So to say I was feeling anxious about Oli’s first day at his new French school is a massive understatement.
We shopped for school supplies at Monoprix over the weekend, using Google Translate to decipher a long list that included various very specific types of stylos (pens) and a mini ardoise blanche (whiteboard). Sunday night, we packed up his sac à dos (backpack, one of my favorite French words to say) and picked out his first-day outfit. As bedtime approached, he was moody, wavering between nervous and excited.
It was pitch-black when Todd and Oli headed out the door this morning just before 8. (I stayed behind, because I knew I would not handle it well if the floodworks started.) We’re having a cold snap in Bordeaux, so the boys opted to join the morning commuters on the tram rather than bike, even though it added some time to their journey. When they arrived at the square in front of the school, Oli spotted a friend from his class and ran right through the doors with her. And that was it!
We picked him up at noon, as we plan to do for at least the first few weeks — there’s an hour-and-a-half midday break in which students can opt to head home for lunch. He looked exhausted, but had enough energy to run away when I requested a first-day photo. We walked home and had McDonald’s for lunch, a first-day tradition we started in preschool that he’s very happy to continue here.
Overall he says he had a good day, likes his teachers, made some friends — and he doesn’t want to go to school ever again. Oh well, c’est la vie?
Mardi
It’s always alarming to hear a drip coming from somewhere unexpected in your home. Especially when the water from said drip is brown. After we collected a few bowlfuls of (thankfully unscented) water in our hallway, our landlord arranged for a plombier to visit today.
The plombier, of course, did not speak a lick of English. But he was very kind and accommodating, and thanks to the magic of Google Translate we were able to navigate the inspection and deduce that the leak was coming from the apartment upstairs. The leak has stopped for now, and our landlord is working with the building manager to figure out a solution. In the meantime, I’ll be memorizing a few words I didn’t know I needed to know, like water heater (chauffe-eau), leak (fuir), and stinky (puant).
Later this afternoon, I bundled up and walked 30 minutes across town to pick up my bike. The city of Bordeaux is big on biking, and they offer free velo (bike) loans to residents. Alas, due to some stupid paperwork issues, I was not able to get my bike today, but I did get a chance to show off my atrocious French skills yet again. I drowned my disappointment and shame in a cider at a nearby pub where the French servers wore kilts.
Also of note, I wore leggings for the first time in France today. I have been led to believe that this is the ultimate faux pas that may lead to immediate deportment by French authorities. However, I decided to be brave after noticing that real French people look all kinds of ways and wear all kinds of things. Happy to report that I did not receive a single disapproving look for my leggings. Maybe it’s just a Parisian thing?
After walking home in the frigid cold with a whiny kid, I was craving some comfort food, so I decided to make brownies. Except I realized too late that I don’t have a mixer, or the right kind of pan, and even though the brownies came with a weird paper DIY pan, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to put it together. After spending far too long fiddling with it, I dumped the repulsive-looking chunky batter in a too-large casserole dish and slammed the oven door in a huff. Forty minutes later, the apartment smelled delightful, and the brownies didn’t even taste half bad.
Mercredi
I woke up this morning to find snow falling outside of our window, a nice layer already building up on the terra cotta tile roof across the street. I’m told snow is extremely rare in Bordeaux, so I forced myself to bundle up and take a walk to capture some photographic evidence. The streets were quiet as I walked toward the Place des Martyrs-de-la-Resistance and by the Saint Seurin Basilica, where a few children frolicked on the playground. The snow was barely sticking, but there was a pretty dusting on the rooftops, tree branches, and on the tops of cars and bikes, softening an already stunning scene.
I escaped the frigid cold for a few minutes by ducking into our neighborhood boulangerie/patisserie, where I ordered two croissants, a chocolatine (which is what we call a pain au chocolat in Bordeaux), and a still-warm baguette — all for under 5€. I am always shocked at how inexpensive pastries are here, and I wonder how these bakeries stay in business.
Wednesdays are days off at many French schools, including Oliver’s, which allowed us to have a proper snow day. This is only our first week of school, but already we are appreciating this midweek break. Even Mondays feel less bleak when you know you’ll have a mini-weekend two days later, and Tuesday feels like a mini-Friday. I’m still not sure how parents with traditional jobs handle the day off, but I’ve heard that a lot of kids do their extracurriculars on this day, and affordable childcare is available for families with less flexible schedules.
The day was darkened a bit by finding out that our cat is missing back home. He’s been living with Todd’s brother’s family, and he escaped in a storm. I hate feeling powerless to help find him, and worry that he won’t be able to find his way back to his new home. The whole situation has me feeling pretty homesick and guilty for leaving our pet behind. I hope he’ll be found soon.
Jeudi
I was biking across town to pick up Oli at school when it occurred to me just how much our lives have transformed since moving to France. This isn’t a new revelation, of course. I think about this daily, but I think of it less and less as I’m settling into this new life. And then I have these little glimmers of recognition, that holy crap, I’m biking down a cobblestone street straight out of a storybook, worrying about slipping on the slick stones. I’m just another cyclist in my puffy coat and giant scarf going about my day, weaving in and out of traffic, dodging pedestrians. And then I’m catching my breath, standing beside this ancient limestone building with a bunch of French parents when the enormous blue doors open and the children flood out, bundled up in their earth-tone coats and hats, and my kid is just another one of them, waving goodbye to his new friends, with the biggest grin on his face. As much as I want to feel settled here, and feel like this is normal, I also don’t want to lose these glimmers. I hope I can have it both ways.
Vendredi
Today was one of those days. I felt like it all just caught up to me. The stress of school starting, starting work again and looming deadlines. Commuting to and from school six (!) times a day, learning to ride a bike in a foreign city and occasionally fearing for my life. Imagining every worst-case scenario about my lost cat back home. It’s all been building up and conveniently spilled over as Todd and I were heading out to pick up Oli from school, and I started crying in the middle of the street.
I could not do this without Todd. I follow him when I feel uncertain, and I know it’ll be OK. I am bolstered by his confidence. He encourages me when I want to give up. He is the reason we are here, really, because I never would have had the courage to do this on my own — and he worked his ass off to get us here. I am eternally grateful to have such a strong partner. The kind who will handle school drop-offs when it’s cold and pick-ups when I’m on the verge of a breakdown. Who will go out to pick up Chinese food even though it’s not his favorite, because Oli and I are craving it. Who will carry my pretty new bike up three flights of stairs because it’s too heavy for me. I am so very lucky to have him.
In lighter news, we’re celebrating Oli for completing his first week of French school, and I am feeling so happy and relieved that he actually likes it! He likes his school! This is a new sentiment for this kid! He’s making new friends, meshing with his teachers, and he says he’s already starting to understand French! I’m sure it helps that he has two-to-three recesses a day in which he plays babyfoot (foosball), an hour-and-a-half lunch break at home, and Wednesdays off. His class even ended the week with a dance party. I’m so proud of him— this was a very big week!
Samedi
Today, while the boys were at the skatepark, I decided to hit up the Soldes — France’s big bi-annual sales. Unlike in the U.S., sales are restricted by the government in France to keep competition in check and help stores get the most profit that they can. They go on for three weeks, with discounts increasing each week. We’ve been here for the summer Soldes, so I know there are some good bargains to be had!
I walked toward the Rue Sainte-Catherine, a pedestrian shopping street that claims the title of the longest shopping street in Europe. It’s always pretty crowded, but on a Saturday during the Soldes? Forget about it. Standing at the top of the street and looking down the gentle slope toward the other end was like looking at a churning sea of people. However, I’ve found there’s an orderliness to French crowds that somehow makes them less overwhelming than crowds back home. (Usually, anyway.)
I’ve gotten the impression that the French still prefer to shop in person rather than online. We do have Amazon in France, but the selection is more limited than in the U.S. Even indoor malls, which seem to be on the verge of extinction in the U.S., are still popular here in France. As someone who’s been trying to move away from a reliance on online shopping, I’m happy to embrace the French way.
I started at Galeries Lafayette, a five-story department store, where I slowly browsed each floor but ultimately only bought myself two cardigans. I then went to Mango, where I got a few pairs of joggers for Oli (they have the best pants for long-legged, skinny boys) and a pair of sunglasses for myself. At Monoprix, I sighed over the adorable toddler girl clothes for my niece (I’ll go back when they’re cheaper), and picked up some discounted toiletries, a pizza slicer, and a bottle of muscadet. I finished my little excursion with a stop at Picard, a frozen food store that’s been likened to Trader Joe’s (I got a truffle pizza, frozen blueberries, and a gnocchi dish to make for dinner).
Walking home with my heavy bags, I congratulated myself for spending less than 100€ on my haul and hitting 10K steps along the way. If only my workouts could always be built around bargain shopping!