different
by Rach
Quend-Plage-les-Pins, France
“I wouldn’t bother travelling to Europe; it’s too similar to home.”
How many times have we heard that?
Often it is said by people who, by virtue of the proximity of their home town to The Continent, have the opportunity to easily zip to Spain, Greece, Luxemburg or Egypt if they so desire. For a Kiwi to go ANYWHERE there has to be a sea crossing, invariably (or at least, most cheaply) involving an aeroplane and many hours.
It is true, that in many respects, Asia is more different to our daily life in Kiwi-land. Africa would be more exotic. But Europe cannot be said to be NOT DIFFERENT.
I had heard the above quote so many times in England that I was surprised by the difference our first day in France.
For a start, the sun was shining. HALLELUJAH!!!! The sky was a deep blue early in the morning and the barely discernible breeze was warm.
The architecture was different – different to home, different to Asia and different to England. Even in the short drive from ferry to sleeping spot we had noticed this – and that was in the dark! Apart from being newer than England, there were many square houses with 45 degree pitched roofs mingling amongst six-or-seven storey apartment blocks and communities of houses circularly clustered around a grassed or concreted open space. The many colours of paint made me realise in retrospect, that England had been predominantly white or stone-coloured.
The roads were different too. For a start you could see – no hedges or overhanging trees obscuring your vision. At roundabouts we had to remember to look left and turn right. And the roads were littered with signs; big ones for motorised vehicles, miniature ones for bicycles. The signs informed us we could go at 50 – and we had to remember that was fifty as per our speedo, not an adjusted-to-miles fifty! (Actually, in the case of my speedo, it’s fifty plus ten percent to arrive at real-moving-speed. You get that with old vans!)
Many of the signs lining the streets were unintelligible to non-French-speaking moi. And when people opened their mouths I felt even more alienated. I don’t just mean the frogs, either. The two men of our party have taken to parlez-ing francois….except when we want directions to a supermarket. That’s still my job <wink> Good thing I understand hand signals and can nod a lot! Actually, I broke into German to ask the lady to wait a moment and called Grandpa to help – he may not have spoken French for sixty-something years, but I *never* have! Within a day we are all picking it up though – with Rob insisting we “Ecoutez et repetez!” we can’t help but learn “My name is…” and “Where is the toilet?”, not that we would understand if anyone dared to answer us! And quickly we learn PAIN is nothing sore, fromage blanc is delicious and white, and as we pass over “Le petite pont” I understand what my primary school teacher had us singing all those years ago; sur le pont d’Avignon. I even find Avignon on the map later. France sure ain’t New Zealand.
Tomorrow I’ll be sloshing red wine into a meat sauce (for nachos – OK, so not very French, but we will have had croissants for breakfast and pain campagne for lunch)…and y’know what? It feels so much more *French* to perform this little action in France than in Kiwi suburbia!
Were we speaking of different? You kiwis should see the supermakets here. Well, the one we went into anyway. We had thought Sainsbury’s in England were big. This one was GINORMOUS. (To be fair to the exotic-difference seekers, we visited an even bigger one in Singapore – it was spread across many floors and was a jumbled conglomeration of a variety of products – rice sitting next to flowers for example, or jam with the potato chips – and the aisles were narrow and the shelves were high and the faces were all a different colour – and so, yes, it was further along the difference cline….but Carrefour still overwhelmed us in France.) It overwhelmed and it gave us a sense of exactly where we were. Where else would you “buy ten baguettes and get one free”? Even we don’t need THAT many!! There were two whole bays just of Camembert cheese, never mind all the other varieties. There were so many pastries, we ended up simply buying the first ones we saw – how else is one to choose?
This supermarket had well over twenty wide and long aisles at the front of the shop, an open area in the middle and another twenty-something aisles towards the back of the shop, then deli counters all the way along the back. As if this was not big enough, there were mirrors at either end to give the illusion of being even bigger still. But while the shop might have been big, many of the prices were little. Instead of parting with a couplea quid for half a dozen tomatoes, we could buy a big bag for just over a euro. Watermelons 2.50, French sticks a few cents, even if you bought only four!
It took not long to decide that even if others might find France to be too familiar, we were going to love it.
Time on the road: need to check Jboy13’s record!
Distance covered: 97km
Tags: 2008/09, food, money, postcard: France, weather
rayres
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