Doors

      

Knock-knock.

Who's there?

Eleanore.

Eleanore Who?

Please. I've been writing this blog for three months.

You should know me by now!

First of all, thank you for reading this blog.

Second, today is our last day in Uzes.

It is also our last blog.

Yes, we have two weeks left in Europe

but we'll be spending those Tryin' to be Italian and Austrian, not Tryin' to be French.

This blog is simple.

The doors and hand-knockers of Uzes. 

We took 100 photos of doors and knockers...
these are our favorites--and the craziest.

I picked the doors.

Frances picked the knockers. She chose only one style of knockers: hands.

Knock knock

Who's there?

Mail man.

The mail man who brings you your junk mail.

If this is what the door looks like, imagine what it's like inside!

                                        

Frances is pretending to knock on the door.

If she knocked for real she would have used the knocker.

This door is two doors down from our door.

The other day with my dad I went out on the street and drew this door.

It took us 2 hours.

The hardest thing was the perspective.

It was so hard to get the depth.

On my drawing, I made up my own designs for the stone carving.

This is my drawing, all finished.

This door is very plain.

It doesn't even have a knocker.

Inside this door is a very special place: our home in Uzes.

We lived at 1 Place d'Austerlitz for three months.

Today I took pictures of every room and every thing in the house.

Even the toilet flusher.

Frances said she was trying not to cry all day.

She keeps thinking she forgot to do something.

My mom has been thinking all week she wouldn't be able to say goodbye to her running friend Jacques, but today she saw him.

My dad didn't ride his bike today because he had a perfect ride yesterday.

I love this place but boy am I excited to come home.

Frances is asleep but I can tell you that tonight,

walking home from dinner on the Place aux Herbes she started to cry

and said, "this is the last time I'll ever walk down this street at night."

My mom says, "We walked every inch of this town again these past days, and kissed every cheek an extra time. My heart feels like it's tearing. I'm like Frances, only with respect to kisses. Whom do I need to kiss one more time?  But as Claudine (our first french teacher and a world traveler) said this morning over coffee, right before she cried and I kissed her, 'When I leave any place I love I cry and cry. And then I get to another place and love it and then I cry and cry when I leave.'

My dad says, "It's fun to not know whether we will ever spend time here again.

I could live the rest of my life here, as I could Truckee or a thousand of other towns around the world. I wonder what our next adventure will be."

Good bye everybody
and we'll see you when we get home!
Eleanore

L'Oiseau et le chien

Prelude to the End

A quick one from Carolyn

We sold our house and sprouted wings.

We flew to France to flap those wings.

We noticed the pigeons first--

perching on walls, hooting like owls, pecking at the lettuce scraps from the market.

Eleanore and Frances are bringing home one french song to play together: "L'oiseau."

Jeff's favorite "piece" of the terrace is the birds that circle the rooftops,

in constant, orderly orbit.

My friend Patricia wanted Ann-Sophie's sculpture of the woman and the falcon.

I gave Patricia a small metal bird to remind her of her wings.

My alarm clock is the swallows outside my bedroom (video below).

Birds everywhere.

And...

Today was my last run before we leave.

I haven't seen Jacques in one week. No matter how hard I try.

Half-way up the steepest hill, my ipod battery died.

Huffing, I stuck it in my shirt...and...

suddenly, I heard my french world.

I heard the birds. Like a jungle.

I heard dogs.

I heard faint echos of techno music from a waning party.

I thought I heard a wild boar.

And, at the top of my hill, whales.

A blow hole? No. Yes?

Then over my private horizon, my little hill,

a hot air balloon rose.

I saw the people in the basket. It flew right over me.

Blue, White, twisting, floating, rising..exposing its emblem: a soaring bird!

Running down my hill, thinking of birds and their place in our journey,

I saw Jacques and his three dogs.

We talked BP, politics, overpopulation, bee stings, self-sufficiency, retirement, human nature.

To one of his comments, I said, "We should be more like dogs."
"Yes," he said. "All they need is food and love."

"Food and love! That's it! A perfect goodbye."

"Yes," he said, "And we should be consistent in those needs."

The question: birds.

The answer: dogs.

Eleanore and Frances and Jeff will write tonight...our last blog!

Our People

It's 2AM. Eleanore is sleeping. She'll be back for our last blog...tomorrow.

Our People 

The other day as I left our little apartment, I met a woman in our hallway who looked like a tourist. It takes one to know one, I suppose. I welcomed her and she quickly corrected me: I live here in Uzes. Canadian accent. She explained she and her husband and son lived here for two years and were now leaving for the Nederlands. She said she was really going to miss the people. I said, “Oh yes! We’re going to miss these people so much!”

She continued talking about her people and then interrupted herself, saying, I assume you’re connections are the Anglophones—“ and before she could finish I was shaking my head. I had been assuming HER connections were French.

No. She said, alas, the French were so closed, so tight a community.

We had a differnent experience.
Every single one of our dear friends here was a local. Our closest friends were French.

It was a reality I had taken for granted before this conversation.

Of course we also enjoyed and became close to some of the local merchants
and market vendors.  Throughout this entry,
you'll meet those people we depended on but whose names we don't know
and those people we grew to love and whose names we'll always remember.

Here's to our people.

Jean-Michel Richaud, our wine guy.

Sometimes we quantify the time we’ve been here by the number of corks in our kitchen drawer. We have about 40 corks. All wine from this man, who insisted upon giving us a decanter when we bought a beautiful Cote du Rhone from him the first week. We brought a bottle of Zin from the Pour House here to give as a gift for someone special.
It went to Jean Michel.

Before we handed it to him,
he said he was boxing up three special wines for us to take home as a goodbye gift.
We wave to him each time we walk past his shop and we’ll miss him.
He’ll call us when he’s next in Napa.

Coffee woman

Don’t know her name but we spent time chatting about how hard it is to start up a business. We talked about the ski shop. She about coffee. Both of us about raising our small kids in our “shop.” Frances LOVES her. She and Baba came for hot chocolate to hear her talk!

Pasta Guy

Not even in the same galaxy as Jean-Michel as friends go,

but every Saturday, our freezer is filled anew with fresh pasta from him.

Of course, he’s Italian, not French. He always gives us more than we ask but includes a gift along with it…and a smile.

Cheese Guy and his wife (not pictured)

They know exactly what we want every time: aged chevre, aged gouda.

His wife actually fights him over atttending to Jeff's cheese-needs. It's hilarious.

Mime

Frances says, " "I think the mime is cute.
I once got to watch him put his make-up on.
He puts like little stickers on.
When he puts on his white face, he doens't have a beard anymore.
I totally almost once saw him almost fall off his little box. And you know what's so mean once? He threw a candy at a kid."

Geese

Jeff loves to remind them they're not actually in charge.

Owner of the Nougatine

Frances says, "I like her because she has a squeaky voice. I call her Mini Mouse. I go to the Nougatine for the desserts mostly but sometimes just to hear her talk."

Terroir Cafe Server

Loved my earrings the first day and ever since treated us like locals,

greeting us with the intimate, "cou-cou!"

Pigeon Guy

I run down past the church on a narrow little chemin before reaching the dirt trails. Every morning, there’s the old man, wheeling soggy bread to dump along the little road for the pigeons who perch on the side of the church waiting for him.

Sophie, Benedikt, Gaspare, Leonore

I lobbied Jeff for this apartment in Uzes because of Sophie.

She was kind, helpful and patient with the million emails worth of questions.

She introduced us to Marc,

met us on our first day with a basket of food,

and invited us for Easter dinner at her family's house.

Myrtille
(it means blueberry in french--and she is just as precious as they are)

Myrtille is the Queen of the Universite Populaire
She is so sincere she makes our problems her own.
When we lost the keys to our house, she brain-stormed with us,
called the police for us, and imagined out what happened before we knew.
She brought the girls gifts "from the heart," two of her own bracelets.
She gave us a thousand bisous and begged us to come back.
Art class at the UP

 Eleanore says, "This art class was funny and fun because everybody was trying to speak a language other than their own. Frances and I were tyring to speak french; the rest were trying to speak english in little words like, 'yellow.' They said yellow a lot.

 

Joss of Les Petites Mains

She cooks organic, vegetarian lunches for the locals of Uzes. 

Every Wednesday, when I drop the girls off for art, craft of cooking time,

there she is, in the small home kitchen. 

I gave her Mary Beth's green bean bottlecap earrings.

They can be her cooking muse. But she doesn't need them. She's good.

 

Virginie

from Les Petites Mains...
She welcomed the girls and me each
Wednesday -- smiling from behind the counter
or from behind her broom,
or from behind a tray of amazing food.
She smiled big every time she saw us.
She got flower earings.

     

Jana and Vladi

Two brave Czechs who moved here from Munich, built their home and will certainly make lots of friends because they are bright, warm, inviting, curious, funny people.

Keith and Myriam

Keith (at the BBQ) and Myriam (in green) met at Medtronics in Holland. They built there dream retirement home in France and that year welcomed Myriam's daughter, artist Nathalie (in black) and her son Louis into their lives.
Now they are full-time partners in caring for Louis. 
Reminders that families come first no matter what.

 

Cath, Daniel, Gaia

Cath is begging me not to take another photo. Usually, her smile is bigger!

Our first dinner with locals. We crashed Gaia’s birthday party and they still liked us enough to invite us for a long, generous dinner. We hope they get their dream job abroad.

Gaia was ever the gracious hostess,

sharing the spotlight at her birthday party...

and sharing her new bunny!

Solie-Eva

Frances says, "I think Eva in this picture looks like a vampire
(she's the 3rd one in by me). But she's not a vampire. She is a happy girl.
We never really played with Solie again because she broke her arm."

Backyard Artist

Right up the street from our apartment,
our friend typically paints enormous oils by the fountain.
When we stop to watch, she picks her knife up off the canvas and says hello.
Fun neighbor. (The black and white behind her is not hers)

Claudine

I want to be like her when I grow up.
She's an adventurer and loves being with her family and husband.
She was our first french teacher.
We're meeting her tomorrow in the Place for a goodbye coffee.

Our first connection in Uzes.
He introduced us to Bruno, who introduced us to Daniele, who introduced us to Patricia, who let us love her and her girls. We have lots of wild connections with him. He and his partner Monique are driving into Uzes to meet us for coffee in the Place to say goodbye.

Alice

Frances says, "I like Alice because she has mismatched shoes
and she has a very cool hat."

When I think of Alice I think about 
sincerity, honesty, courage, determination, creativity.

Odile

Artist, gardener, mother, wife, friend.
I want more of her sparkle for myself.

I love sitting on her terrace with her drinking midday coffee
while the kids play music with Marc. We speak only in French,
so our penetration into each other is limited, but we manage.
We talk about raising our children, the sadness in the world, our families, love, music.
She sculpted beautiful little animals for the girls…their “animaux prefere.”
We hiked with Odile and Marc today to an overlook of the Gardon Gorge
and went into a cave that has paintings from 25,000 years ago

(we didn't see the paintings because that part of the cave was locked to prevent tourists from even BREATHING on the old wall paintings--
see the door at the very end of the cave?).  
Afterward, we met at the chickpea festival (a French Magpie Festival!)
and talked some more! She makes me laugh hard.
She keeps saying to "garde le ligne"...keep the connection. I promised.

Marc

Gave Eleanore an "old-fashioned" tuner, which she loves to use.

And taught us the horse trick.
You know him, otherwise.

Camille

We spoke for five minutes--least of anyone in this entry--but 
his family welcomed us into their home for their private concert
and Camille reached our hearts with his playing. What an impression he left on all of us.

Jean and Daniele

Spending time with this family is pure good. And they offer spicy entertainment.
They are the werewolf family!  
On top of that, they make beautiful meals and make us feel like one of them.
We're hoping Clemence (far end of the table) spends time with us this summer.
She's thinking about it!

Dame du Pois Chiche

Juliette

She's got the happiest little booth at the market...sprouts and peas!

I see her Wednesdays and Saturdays.

We see her everywhere...

last night's gallery opening, restaurants and tonight at le festival pois chiche. 

Last night when she saw me, she said with a big grin, "You are everywhere!"

I told her we try!  I laughed and reminded her it was she who told us about the festival!

Ann-Sophie


Scupltor, Mother, Wife, Friend.
"It's always hard when we want to know something completely,"
she said, giving advice to Frances after hearing her play
on the grand piano in her exhibition space. 
Anne-Sophie knows hard work. Her artwork is complete.

I'd like to be more like her.  She wears bright pink converse; I wear light pink.
Like me, she's afraid of mice and ghosts but there she was
in that big house all by herself on sabbatical from Brussels to do her work!
Each time we came to visit in the two weeks she was here, she stopped sculpting long enough to ask us our impression of "the feeling," or the stretch of arms, or the flare of then nose; she asked about mundane things, too,
like where the good running trails are and about homeschooling. 
Through our long talks, as tourists perused the home, I realized why I do homeschool now: not to keep Eleanore and Frances home and close,
but to unlock the world them,
and at the same time to try my hardest to make sure they know themselves solidly...
Wings and footing.  

Frances took this photo--probably for different reasons than I might have.

I like how the mother and child are easy together, close but not too tight.

I love the suggestion of intimacy and independence.

Patricia liked the U shape of the mother, such a grounding, nurturing shape.

Clara and Dana

Frances is cut-off here but the girls were playing a crazy game
of shove-the-friend-on-the-grate. Points were given (a bad thing)
if you found yourself on a grate. Eleanore says, "Clara is so kind and funny. I like the way she makes me feel special by touching." Frances says, "And she's beautiful. I love the way she looks." I kept thinking throughout the game about the scene in Dumb and Dumber when the sweet, playful snowball fight turned bloody.

"Telephone" at Les Petites Mains. Dana has a mischevious twinkle.

She makes great jokes about my poor french. Smart, happy, bouncy kid.

Patricia

So much to say. We've shared so much.
The other night we spent hours together at her house talking, listening, dreaming aloud.
I had to keep emailing Jeff to tell him to pick me up later and later!
When he came Patricia gave us a concert, highlighting a contemporary classic composer, Eric Sattie's Gnossienne No. 1.
Fate would have it that the
harpist at the gallery opening was playing the same piece a week later.
I want to be more like her, too.
She loves "intensity."
She stands on the edge of an enormous field of wheat and does sound yoga by herself!
She composes music, is a professor in Lyon, helps friends write their dissertations, loves deeply and well, and is a wonderful present mother,
ALL at the same time.
I've saved every email she has sent me.
Happily, she has a file for mine, too.
Tomorrow night we are going to her house for dinner with the girls.
Plan: eat well (Jeff's cooking); share ipod songs; dance.

Jacques Leger
(no photo so Eleanore drew him for me)

My Uzes Mandala.
Jacques is about 68 I'd say; tall, gentle, kind.
We met on the trails outside of the village,
where I run and he walks his three adopted dogs.
The first morning I saw him I stopped so the dogs didn't think I was charging them.
He stopped to say hello...and we just started talking
(we started in French and he graciously switched to English).
Philosophy, mostly. Human nature. Literature, occasionally. 
I see him about three times a week--
but never on the same trail,
never at the same time.
Always a surprise.
I let my ipod earphones dangle, Sarah McLachlan churning away, unattended to;
his dogs all lie down on the dirt, panting and listening.
I always tell him how happy I am to know him.
He always tells me I'll catch a cold.
I never got a photo of him. I don't have his email.
His last name is Leger, opposite of heavy.
Last week, I saw him on a completely new trail.
We knew it would be the last time.  
We gave each other bisous.
I told him he was like life itself: 
that one day, maybe this day, would be the last.
I told him I needed a photo to prove he existed.
He smiled and said,
"Ahhh, but Caroline, you will always have me in your head."
True.

In our first year of living in Aspen, we met a couple, Michelle and Ross.
They asked us, that first night, if we were going to be staying a while;
if not, they could not continue to be our friends.
It was shocking but we understood. 
In a town that has a lot of visitors or guests of extended stays,
like Aspen, Truckee or Uzes,
it's understandable that locals remain guarded.



In Uzes, we were lucky. 
As we pack to leave, we feel overwhelmed by the willingness of the people of Uzes
to open their lives and their hearts to us. 
Even though they knew we were just here for three months,
tryin' to be french.