Look at that S-car go!

Obviously, I couldn't leave France without trying escargot. I was surprised to learn that although many of the snails come from snail farms (there are over 200 in France) many come from the wild. Indeed, many French people enjoy going snail hunting and cooking up their own gooey booty. (Turns out we even have snail farms in Australia.)

Anyway, enjoy the little movie my mum and I made of the whole ugsome experience. I feel sick just thinking about it again.... (Oh and sorry about the slides playing music - it's annoying, but I can't turn it off!)

But, I must hasten to add, that the service was 10/10 and the dessert 10,000/10!! I was even given a private tour of the kitchen and met the chef! Another really great restaurant in Eymoutiers with more really lovely French people.

And now for my two favourite snail jokes.

Joke 1

The old snail was at the pub when he said, "When I get a sporty race car, I'm going to paint a big 'S' on the side of it so when I go past everyone they'll all exclaim - Look at that S-car go!!"

Joke 2

A snail is at the police station. He's telling the officer on duty about how he was just mugged and robbed.

"It was two turtles!" the snail sobs. "They beat me up and took my money!"

The officer asks "Did you get a good look at them?"

The snail says, "No! It all happened so fast!"

A patron saint of crytoscopophilia?

Yesterday, I recognised the first symptoms of what I later found out was crytoscopophilia. And it all began when my mum and I were exploring Eymoutiers.

After a lazy morning, we headed out into town to go the markets. There was lots of cheese, fresh bread of all different shapes and sizes, lots of weird looking types of meat and, of course, boxes and boxes of fruit and vegetables. One store owner kindly gave me a red apple for free and, amazingly, it turned out to be the best apple I've ever tasted!!

There are actually apple trees everywhere around here. I was told that it's difficult to do a lot of things in France, but getting your apples pressed isn't one of them. You can just take your apples to the local presser, and they squish them down and give you the apple juice. And boy is it good! We had bought a litre of apple juice to have with our picnic of cheese and bread. Though, it turned out, drinking a litre of apple juice all in one go, isn't such a good idea...


We spent a large part of the day next to the river, just down the road from my school. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and the river was louding burbling away next to us. Burbling? Bubbling? Gurgling? What does a river sound like?? It reminds me of the fact that people from different cultures hear animal noises differently too. While English speakers hear a dog say "woof-woof", here in France dogs say "ouâ-ouâ", in Italy they say "bu-bu" and somehow, in Korea, a dog barking sounds like "mung-mung". I'm not sure how that one works though. But then again, a dog really doesn't say "woof-woof" either.


We were also lucky to have dropped into the local pâtisserie to buy an ice-cream as we discovered that this week (du 21 au 29 septembre) pâtissiers celebrate their patron saint, Saint Michel.

This is a photo I took of my mum enjoying the last bit of the delicious tasting and magical-looking pastry which is briefly being sold all around the country in his honour. This is what the pastry looked like this year.

Outside was covered in soft icing dipped in red sugar and the inside had blackburry jam at the top, coconut mushy stuff in the middle and a cakey/biscuity/nutty base. And it was really, really good.

Actually, I'm a little intrigued by the concept of patron saints, so did a quick Google search and found that a Saint Michel is also the patron saint of parachutists, strangely enough. Spurred on by the apparent nugget of truth in my mum's assertion that practically every activity on earth has a parton saint, I googled again and found that, by jove, she might be right!

Sensibly, there is a patron saint "against snakes". Umm, actually make that 8 patron saints against them. Which upon reflection is a bit harsh. Why are they against them?? Do snakes have a patron saint? Or even a patron saint for snakes - against humans? (We all know that snakes are more frightened of people than we are of them...)

Then there are patron saints for animals as well as animals with horns, domestic animals, sick animals and animal attacks. There are 3 saints for protection against mice and one against caterpilllars. There are saints for losing your keys, against explosions (Saint Barbara...), against fainting and also stinging nettle rash, which I will have to remember for next time. And Radegunde is the lucky guy who gets to be the patron against scabs. (And they are just a few of the A's!)

Anyhoo, the rest of the day we spent exploring the town which is when I started to develop crytoscopophilia. Of course, I didn't know the name of it at the time. It was just a coincidence that my mum was reading a book later that day which oddly enough contained the name of my nosey condition. It means "an urge to look through the windows of the homes you pass". And it's true. I can't help myself. I stop in my tracks if I've passed an open window, jumped a step back and poke my head in. I mean, the houses are right up against the pathway. It's very difficult not to poke your head in, to see how the "others" live, right??




Although I haven't been yelled at yet, is it a habit that I should try to get out of quickly. But apart from that, I think yesterday was probably the best day yet in France. And today, I'm going to ride my bike around town and try to find some more cool stuff. That's the good thing about French towns. So many little nooks and crannies to explore. (And poke your head into.)

R.S.V.P. This commonly used abbreviation comes from the French répondez s'il vous plait. However, the French don't use it themselves. They prefer to write Prière de répondre which isn't nearly as catchy!

School, Calcédoine & Courgettie

Well, I've started school in France. I wasn't too pleased about the whole thing initially, however, it's actually turned out to be pretty cool. No uniforms, a one and a half hour lunch break as well as morning and afternoon tea. And before you laugh at me for having to be at school from 9am to 4:30pm, I also get Wednesday off as well as the weekend! (Oh yeah, and all the pretty French girls aren't bad either.)


The school's in a lovely spot. This is the view of the river just down the road from my classroom. Not bad, hey?


Yesterday, on my day off (ha ha to you losers in Australia going to *school* on Wednesday), I met my new best friend, Courgettie. He was in the garden under a few weeds. I've been carrying him around as he comes in handy in loads of situations. (Pretending to shoot people or pretending to be an annoyed call centre employee. Stacks of situations...) My mum even accused one of us of being smelly but it certainly wasn't Courgettie. (Courgettes are what we call zucchinis which I suppose is the Italian word. All courgettes grow this big here - all vegetables do - and lots and lots of them. Certainly nothing like the veggie gardens at home.)


And today, I joined my first club. Clubs/associations are really big in France. There are clubs for everything and people of all ages take part in them. School children usually take part in a few club meetings on their day off on Wednesday. But everything in France starts in September, including school, so if you miss the initial sign up, it's hard to get in. It sucks that I can't go kayaking (Canoë-Kayak) with the other kids on Monday because I wasn't there to pass a test in the first week. Anyhow, I'm now a member of the Club «Eymoutiers-Minéraux». They have a huge and fascinating museum, which I visited today, and will attend my first meeting early October, on a dig with a bit of luck. The man at the museum could speak a little English and was super nice, he even gave me a present - a bit of Calcédoine. Once again, the French people are *so* nice!!

We finished the day off with some delicious pizza with *more* lovely French people. (And the French really do say hello to everyone in the shop when they walk in - it's so sweet!) The owners were really helpful too and could speak a little English which is lucky because our French isn't improving at all.

That's all going to change though now that I'm at school. Or so everyone keeps telling me...

De Luxe Deluxe. Was playing Monopoly yesterday and I noticed "Taxe de Luxe" - the nasty little tax for those nice rich people between the two dark blues. Which made me think that perhaps the English word, "deluxe" comes for the French "of Luxury". Googled it and it does. English is kind of interesting when you learn where it all came from!

Limoges, "An Open City"

Limoges is the administrative capital of the Limousin région and famous for its porcelain. Not that I'd ever heard of either of them before. But it was a nice day out and a good opportunity to take some photos. (None of which would win a place in the Warwick Show but I hope they are enjoyed all the same.)

The first one my mum took of me outside of a toy car shop. There were thousands of old toy cars and figurines inside which I would have loved to have photographed, but it may have been considered rude. Though the old man didn't look up even once from his repair work. I'm not even sure if the cars were for sale. It was an incredible collection and one of the most amazing things I've ever seen.

The Jardins de l'Evêché and Cathédrale Saint-Etienne were truly beautiful, except for the toilets. (Note to self, go at every opporunity when in France.)





Still nervous about speaking (and understanding) French, we decided to have Indian for lunch since it was a menu which we were somewhat familiar. It turned out to be our worst experience of the day. (We had had brilliant experiences with the French in Limoges.) Just after this photo was taken, the Indian restaurateur stomped up and snatched the glass from me, chastising me loudly and angrily in French. Then yelled at my mum when she was ordering, especially annoyed that she only ordered one dish (plus rice, naan and 2 drinks) when there was the two of us. And by the time she poured tea all over the table and ground, he well and truly hated us.


The Mairie de Limoges was beautiful as well.


And the Aquarium de Limousin was totally cool. It's built under the town in the tunnels.




Our day ended where it had all began at le Gare de Limoges Bénédictins. A very beautiful train station with very good pastries.



Tout compte fait, une bonne journée. :)

Une carte de Limgoes s'il vous plaît? A map of Limoges please. I'm not sure if it's good French, but the lady at the train station understood me! The hardest part of speaking a foreign language, I had discovered, is the fear of looking stupid. But once you've looked stupid a few times, it's kind of not really a big deal anymore.

Je parle le français!!

Today, in a little room, at the very top of a gorgeous French house, next to a river and surrounded by giant vegetables, I had my very first french lesson.

There were 3 Englishmen (including Sam), 2 Scots, 1 Irishwoman and my Mum and I who were the only Aussies. We were also the only temporary visitors as the others have all moved here permanently. (How nice would that be!)


Jenny, the English French teacher, was kind, funny and just generally fantastique! And since it was out first lesson, she thought it better to cover "survival techniques" more so than language skills. Because, as my mum and I have discovered, it takes a lot of getting used to living in France!

She explained why the French drive in the middle of the road (instead of the right side), something which has been driving Sam quite mad! Apparently, there used to be a rule in France that cars entering a main road from a little road on the right side, have right of way. Priorité à droite. (Priority from the right.) But many people still observe this rule and so drivers on the main road stick to the middle as to avoid the turning traffic. (Quite smart of them really!)

She also reminded us not to get to upset with the French when they don't understand English. If someone came up to you in the supermarket talking a foreign language, you would no doubt stare up them blankly and become slightly irritated as well. And while it is true that the French learn English at school, apparently the lessons are more focussed on writing English and not so much on speaking it. But she assured us too, that the French think our accent is cute when we think it sounds as though we're murdering their language, so we should have a try and not be embarrassed. :)

But Jenny also gave us some great advice for when we're trying to speak and understand French. The first one would have been handy a few days ago when my mum let the poor roof man speak to her in French for 5 minutes, all the while silently staring at him. Even when he finished she just stared. And then he stared. Eventually, Sam had rescue them both and explain that she didn't speak French and have him start all over again.

Stop! Plus lentement s'il vous plait!! Stop! More slowly please!!

And then instead of just telling people that you don't speak French (which won't help you learn the language) you should say:

Je ne parle pas très bien le français. I do not speak french well.

Then there are also the basic apologies and requests that one must use:

Répétez. Repeat.
Désolé. Sorry.
Pardon? Pardon?

However, I'll add a few "survival" phrases of my own to this list.

Puis-je avoir un peu de chocolat s'il vous plaît? Can I have some chocolate please?
Où sont les toilettes? Where's the bathroom?

Quel chemin à l'hôpital? J'étais juste mordu par le chien. Which way to the hospital? I was just bitten by the dog.

Lucky for me, the chocolate shop lady understood pointing, the confused man understood baño (Spanish for bath) and the dog bite hadn't actually broken the skin.

But I am starting to realise that I'm going to have to learn some French language and culture very quickly, because it is really difficult to do anything much at the moment. (We've so far been thrown out of both cafes before we even walked through the door.) Though, we are going to give the movies a crack tonight. I wouldn't think going to the movies in France could be so different to in Australia, but with the Frenchies, they will have no doubt thought of a way! Wish us luck!!

Français (with a capital) refers to a French man while français (with a lowercase f) refers to the French language. While Française with a capital and an e at the end is a French woman! Confusing, non?!

Citizen Kane Beetle

In comparison to Australia, I had thought that France would pose a lot less threat when it came to bugs and bitey things.

Today, while sitting outside having lunch, Sam noticed a little mole hill was moving. I've never seen a mole in real life, so slowly crept up on it - until at the very last second, I jumped on top of it and started digging like mad. It was long gone of course. No doubt having felt the vibrations of my, however softly taken, footsteps.


I had already known that moles have very poor eyesight, but later discovered another cool fact - that they have a toxin that paralyses their prey (mainly being earthworms). And quite gruesomely, they are able to store their still living prey for later consumption, keeping them in underground 'larders'. Apparently, researchers have discovered such larders with over a thousand earthworms in them. Even more amazing, especially since they seem like such gentle creatures, the Star-nosed Mole can detect, catch and eat food in under 300 milliseconds - faster than the human eye can follow!

As far as I know, moles can't hurt you. But what have concerned me somewhat are screw worms. Before arriving in France, I had never heard of screw worms, but have now, thanks to Sam, become paranoid that I mustn't go anywhere barefoot as it will most likely lead to death. Unsure about the validity of this information, I once googled it and found this reassuring passage in a medical report entitled The turn of the screw worm:

The maggots of Chrysomya bezziana can infest any part of the body if there is a wound, but most often infest mucous tissues and other places where the skin is soft, such as the genitals, the nose, mouth, ears and eyes. In 1883, a Dr Richardson reported a case of human infestation by Cochliomyia hominivorax in the Medical Monthly of Peoria, Illinois. A traveller in Kansas was sleeping when a fly laid its eggs in his nose. The fly was probably attracted by a discharge of mucus. The first symptoms were those of a severe cold. As the maggots cut away through the tissues of the head, the patient became slightly delirious and complained about the intense misery and annoyance in his nose and head. The maggots finally cut through the soft palate, impairing his speech, and then invaded the eustachian tubes. Despite the removal of more than 250 maggots, the patient eventually died.

Right... On second thought, perhaps I will keep my thongs on.

So with a newly found interest/renewed paranoia of insects, off we went to la Cité des Insectes. In the middle of nowhere (which I'm starting to realise is where everything is), we were at first surprised that we weren't the only visitors, and secondly that it was even open at all. Nothing ever seems to be open in France. Some shops are open for lunch and dinner only, while others aren't open at lunch and most shops are closed on Mondays. However, they keep their own times anyhow and are pretty much always shut when we think they should be open. This has resulted in us only having been to the supermarket. Oh and the ice-cream shop.

But back to the City of Insects...

This was pretty much the only insect we saw in the cultivated garden. (Apart from the dragonfly which kamakazeed into Sam's head.)

And we didn't see any at all in the wild garden. (Most likely to do with the cool Autumnal weather.)

But we did see stacks of weird looking insects in the inside area. Though my mum did walk past all the exhibits louding exclaiming how lame it all was because they were all empty. (They weren't. She's just an idiot.)


There was a huge cricket whose insides would light up when you pressed different buttons. For instance the button labelled yeux lit up the eyes, which is a cool because yeux mean eyes in French.

Then there were these old-school bug spraying devices.

And then stacks of weird and wonderful looking insects stuck to boards as well as tiny amputated limbs to scrutinize under the microscopes.

Finally the tour ended in a tacky souvenir shop, which, of course, is where we spent the most time of all. (It was the coolest!)

But I did actually see an ant graveyard which was creepy. I found out that when you see ants carrying around dead ants, they are actually taking them to their graveyard which is a little dead-end tunnel in their ant hill, piled high with dead bodies. (And I always thought they were eating them.) I learnt that granivorous means feeding on grain or seed. (Which isn't half as funny as the obvious, animals that feed on grannies.) And found out that Lyme disease isn't that uncommon here thanks to ticks not being uncommon here since we are in Limousin, the famous beef region. The symptoms of which are only marginally less horrific than death by screw worm, as it leads to hospitalisation and possible death, but if caught in time will only lead to long-term muscular pain, possible paralysis and cardiac weakness.

And people think Australia is a dangerous place!

Geez, I'm starting to feel itchy. Are you feeling itchy? What's this red mark on my side??

(Oh, and g'day to those who came here via the url I wrote in the vistor book at la Cité des Insectes. Great place!)

J'habite en France. I live in France. "H"'s are silent in French. So french words like hôpital and hôtel look similar to our English counterparts, but are pronounced without the "h". Might come in 'andy!

Wizzing on My Bike

I bought a bike today. It's pink. It was the only one there around my size. But my mum always tells me pink's in. Like the time I forgot my school hat, and since I didn't want to be kept in at lunchtime, she grabbed her pink John Deere cap from the backseat for me to wear instead. As I walked into class, she yelled from the car, "Pink's in! Brad Pitt wore pink in Cannes!!" I don't mind. I like my new bike. It has a little white basket too that I'm trying to attach. It will really come in handy.




I thought I'd try to tie this post into something French and the Tour de France seemed like the obvious choice. I googled it but found all the "interesting facts" about it were nothing of the sort.

Number (or miles) of barricades erected and torn down for the race: 217 miles

Number of gendarmes (French military police officers) on the Tour: 13,000

Number of chains worn out by a single rider: 3 (Armstrong went through a chain a week)

Snooze....

That is until I came across this question:

Tour De France: How do they pee? And other interesting facts.

Apparently, although they sometimes have a quick break themselves, othertimes the entire peloton stops and takes a leek on the side of the road together. They decide as a group where and when they should stop. There is also an unwritten rule that riders don't "attack" when someone is answering the call of nature.


A peloton, for those of us who don't watch the race with the other 2 billion people on the planet (though I find that statistic hard to believe), is a "group of cyclists who ride closely together to achieve victory through efficiency and team effort". It's a french word. And this is actually interesting - everyone in the peloton gets the same time, no matter where in the pack they finish. And as for the attacking bit, I can only assume it's attacking someones position in the race and not coming after the widdler with a steel pole behind his knees.

I kept reading however and learnt something very disturbing. Some cyclists, in the heat of a race, just go. While on their bike. Still riding. In the race.

But I suppose it is actually a very french thing to do. It's not uncommon to see men squeezing the lemon in the street. In fact, I saw a guy doing just that a few days ago in Paris. In broad daylight.

Which brings me, coincidentally, to this outhouse I saw today in Eymoutiers. It turns out that dunnies were built over running streams in the old days. (According to the The Toilet History, it was only in the 16th century that a technological breakthrough came about that allowed clean toilets inside houses.)

This in turn reminds me of another story Granma once told me. (She'll no doubt deny it, just like she did the French/Hilter comment - don't read that part to her Katty.) When she was a little girl in Toowoomba, their dunny backed onto the back lane so the toilet man could come and empty it. She said that if he came when you were in there, you'd try to be as still and quiet as you could so he didn't know you were there. I always smile when I think of that story. It conjurs up such a lovely picture.

I just realised that this is the second post that ends with toilets and not so much to do with bikes. Hmmmm.... What else can I say but weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! (Or should that be ooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii?!)

Combien pour le vélo rose? How much for the pink bike? Note how the adjective "rose" comes after the noun "vélo". (And it was a lot, but I guess it does have a basket and a pretty cool bell.)