Serre Chevalier

This year's school winter break, was spent skiing in Serre Chevalier in the Southern French Alps. Our first trip to the Alps, to Club Med, and D's first real go at skiing. It snowed almost every night and we enjoyed beautiful sun everyday. With the kids having a blast in the mini club, we couldn't have asked for better ski week.

Our proud Flocon

P's week was focused on passing her ski level and getting her Flocon badge. She talked about it so much, I started to worry if would she pass. Surely they pass everyone at this low of a level? I asked my Ski instructor and she said, yes, they do in fact fail the poor little things. Rupert and I were quite worried at the big awards ceremony - would she pass and if not would they treat the children who didn't pass with some sensitivity? This is France after all, where sugar coating is generally reserved for pastries. In the end she passed...phew... and she wears her Flocon pin proudly.

P completing her ski exam

D's focus for the week was the big mini club spectacle. Nothing could keep her away from participating. It's amazing that Club Med could pull together over 200 kids, under the age of 10 in 15 odd numbers, but they really pulled it off - it was a blast. Click the link and see D wiggle in her brazilian number (she starts out second from left).

Click here

Leading up to the trip, I was very curious to see how a French ski vacation might differ from Canadian one. In the end, it was pretty much the same, even the ski fashion. My visions of sparkly one piece ski suits and crowds of Parisians clad in fur were not realized. But then there were the Moon Boots. They were everywhere, on everyone and in every color. Please don't tell if these are a la mode in Whistler, I can't bear it.

We ended our week by taking the girls in the egg gondola (very euro) up the mountain. A couple of wrong turns down some very steep slopes and the girls ski lessons were really put to the test. P really loves speed, and was shooting down in a tuck position most of the way. This was a real highlight for Rupert who was in his jock element and was very proud.

Yes we can!

This week Disa's school hosted a cocktail party at the US ambassador's residence just off the Champs Elysees. With Rupert away with work, I cleaned myself up and headed off with friends for a little fun and a peek at how a powerful American lives in Paris.

The event was met with the expected US security measures; our names needed to be submitted two weeks in advance, the taxi was not allowed to stop in front of the residence, our passports and invitation were carefully inspected, and the obligatory metal detector at the entrance to the palatial house set the scene.

Besides an obnoxious speech from the Montessori Director, who implied that the idea for the school had been dreamt up by she and Henry Kissinger in that very room, we had a great time. My friends and I enjoyed touring the many gold gilded rooms, admiring paintings of George Washington, drinking champagne and acting silly for the camera (when no one was looking). We did not however rub elbows with the ambassador himself, according to the butler he was upstairs in bed watching the muppets.

My friend and I were the first to arrive at the party, so we quickly stole a photo behind the podium. "Any questions?....Yes we can!"

With Andrea in one of the reception rooms.

Sortie

Today, I volunteered to chaperon P’s school sortie (field trip) to a live theatre production. It was probably my most harrowing experience since landing in Paris. Our trip, which included long walks to and from the metro down busy Paris streets, a metro transfer through a VERY crowded station, and the loading and unloading of the trains on crowded platforms. With 4 chaperons and 30 kids, our journey didn't exactly scream safe to me. City kids! I can’t imagine any Canadian school assuming this kind of liability, but it worked. P’s maitress was incredibly calm throughout the entire ordeal. I was sweating buckets.

I took it as a good sign that P even asked me to chaperon. As someone who enjoyed misbehaving at school, I never wanted my parents to come on class trips. One of P’s biggest issues at school this year was that she didn't want anyone to know that she didn't speak French. I reminded her that "I don’t speak French very well myself” and she responded “you can come, as long as you don’t speak English”. I tried my best to not “out” her, but many of the kids immediately approached me and asked if I was English (they've always known). Some of the boys made fun of my accent.

Our destination, Le Pantoufle (the slipper), was a children's play about the thoughts and experiences of baby in his mothers womb represented by the slipper.

It was not what you would typically expect for a kids play. It was quite arty in its themes and staging, with a relatively high production value. At the end the “baby”, played by a 50 something year old man, strips down to a naked suit, labia defined and all, to discover HE, was in fact a baby girl.
The "safe" voyage across town, coupled with the "questionably age appropriate" content of the play left me feeling a bit uptight and uncosmopolitan - the French arts never cease to surprise and impress me!

Sancerre

On route to drop P off at school today, we waited behind a classmate of hers at a red light. As we waited, the boy tried to read the sign of the store across the street. For about a minute he struggled to sound out the word phonetically and his mother patiently waited at his each attempt and corrected him, at each sound, when he got it wrong. The two finally worked out the word together, “Sancerre”, but the lesson did not stop there.

The mother immediately started to define Sancerre for her son “…a region in the Loire Valley…” I heard “…a light white wine…” and so her lesson went.

Each time I overhear a discussion between French people, I am amazed at the detail they give in informal conversation when discussing wine. From what part of the mountain the grapes grow on, soil, to personal details about the farmer - how on earth did they come to this topic in a 5min conversion, at a Birthday party pickup? Perhaps it’s a common language they all speak regardless of their backgrounds and interests?

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that a mother is giving her six year old, an introduction to the wines of Sancerre. It’s for his own social survival!

Now I must pause to take a sip of my glass of Chablis, exact location of the grapevine unknown.