Roue de secours

that is the newest word/phrase I have learned. It means spare tire, or more literally wheel of help. I learned this, not because I needed to use my spare, but because we were already using it. Yes, tragically, when Josh arrived at CERN after our wedding - way back in September - he discovered our car had a flat tire (he had left the car at CERN, then taken the bus to the airport - I had left before him and returned after him). Lucky for me, unlucky for Josh. He was stuck changing a tire after an 8 hour flight and feeling the massive jet-lag of a 6 hour time difference. To compound on that he didn't have a jack and had to wait for one of his officemates to get to work so he could borrow hers. Poor guy. Yet, I'm so glad that it wasn't me. I probably would have just sat down in the middle of the parking lot and balled my eyes out until a security guard came and took me away to the loony bin. But that's me; not him.

So, as you might have guessed we've been driving around on this spare tire for the past few months. Perhaps not the brightest thing to do, especially when the car started to sort of vibrate from the tire not being quite round, but the simplest and least expensive thing to do. This past weekend we finally got around to finding an auto shop and seeing about getting the leak in our old tire fixed. Unfortunately, the tire was so bad - bald on one edge - the guy there said, "No. eet eez no gewd." (think English with a strong French accent) We found him to be very nice, as most of the Frenchies we've met are, and to speak very good English, despite the fact, like every other French person when asked if they speak English say "a leetle, but verry bahd" (again think thick French accent- it's much funnier in my head I'm sure). And then they proceed to speak excellent English that puts my attempts at 4 year old French to shame.
But, I digress. We made an appointment for 2 new front tires and yesterday I braved this crazy French world and went to the appointment sans husband (without husband, for you non-French speakers). It really wasn't hard at all. I got to practice my French with the very patient gentleman, who speaks wonderful English despite his former protests, and learned a few words in the process. The word for tire is pneu - pronounced like new, as far as I can tell. And I already told you about le roue de secours. So, all in all, it was a good day.
Our car runs much smoother now that we have two proper front tires again. And with my limited French and his English I was able to communicate which tires we wanted changed and how we wanted to keep the semi-good front tire for our spare (that's how I learned the French word for spare tire).

Yep, it was a good day. And I ended it by making a fabulous dinner. I am getting a bit better at this stuff. Granted, I completely forgot about preparing, or even planning, side dishes - I was too focused on making my duck - until Josh asked what else was for dinner. Oops. But, with his help we managed to pull off a very good meal that I would recommend to any duck enthusiasts.

DUCK BREAST WITH DRIED CHERRY SAUCE

• 1/2 cup red wine
• 1/2 cup lower-sodium chicken broth
• 1/2 cup dried cherries
• 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 3 boneless duck breasts, about 21 ounces
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 1 to 2 tablespoons butter (optional) 1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees; coat a baking dish with cooking spray.
  
  2. Combine red wine, chicken broth, cherries, vinegar and sugar and set aside.
  
  3. With the tip of a sharp knife, score the skin of the breasts to form diamond shapes. Sprinkle the breasts with salt and pepper.
  
  4. Heat a large, nonstick skillet over medium high; add the duck breasts, skin-side down, and cook 4 minutes. Turn and cook another 4 minutes. Transfer to the prepared baking dish and finish cooking the duck in the oven for 10 minutes.
  
  5. Meanwhile, pour off all but 1 tablespoon of the fat in the pan. Reduce the heat to medium and add the liquid mixture. Boil for 8 minutes, or until the sauce is thick and a spoon drawn across the pan makes a line. Remove from heat and swirl in the butter, if desired.
  
  6. Cut duck across into thin slices; fan on plate and top with sauce to serve. Makes 4 servings.

Now, that was the recipe I found on-line, but I modified it a bit and it still turned out great. First off, I couldn't find any dried cherries, so I used dried cranberries instead - not exactly the same, but I like cranberries and it tasted fine to me. Second, I didn't have 3 duck breasts, I just had one, yet I still made the full serving of sauce. We had rice with our duck and the sauce tasted just as yummy on rice as on duck. And third, my sauce never thickened up. Yeah, it reduced down, but it was still liquid with chunks of mushy dried cranberries in it -still tasted good though!

So, there you have it. Another day in the life of a foreigner in France. Lessons learned: 1)try to speak French and you might just learn some new words and 2) you can never find what you need in the grocery store so improvise. If you add enough red wine, everything tastes good!

"A little privacy, please!"

the walk of death

Ah yes, the joys of walking 2 dogs at once! And yet, even though I'm being dragged along by these two beasts it doesn't stop people from rolling down there windows and asking directions. The sad part is that even though I've now been living here for about 7 months - yeah, it's been that long, I can't believe it - I have no idea where anything is, and even if I did know where the road was that they wanted I probably wouldn't understand them when they asked or be able to adequately explain if I did understand!

Josh said this picture looked like I was about to shoot the dogs! Ha, ha...but there are days the thought has crossed my mind. Well, maybe not actually shooting them but, you know....
I would have a picture of the most nerve wracking part of any walk with the dogs - l'espace de la mort: the gap of death, but I'm big chicken (more on that later). There is a section of the road that is very narrow, curves, and has stone walls on either side of the road this is what I have so fondly termed the gap of death , or l'espace de la mort when I'm feeling saucy and want to be more French. It seems as though EVERY time we are passing through the gap of death a car, inevitably, drives through at the same time! Now, rationally, I know that two cars can pass through this gap - I've seen it with my own two eyes. Yet, I can't help thinking we're going to be run down. Man, those two dogs take up nearly as much space as a car! Luckily I have yet to be caught with both dogs when TWO cars are going through. As I said you would have photographic evidence, but when I went to take a picture of it there were four people standing around teh apartment right next to l'espace de la mort and I felt stupid and silly taking a picture of it. So...I didn't. I just kept walking. Then when of the elderly gentlemen was walking a few feet behind me and I thought, "oh hell, now what am I going to do? I'll look stupid if I just turn around and walk back. But I don't want to walk all around the neighborhood, I just finished a walk with the dogs." So, like an idiot, I pretended that I was looking for something that I dropped until he was passed me then I turned around and scooted home. How dumb. When he passed he gave me a very bemused, "Bonjour!" and I just know he was snickering thinking, "silly foreigners." Ah well, I was acting silly and stupid and I didn't even get the picture that I wanted!!! Maybe tomorrow.
Hey, tomorrow's thanksgiving - yay! We've been invited by Marion, our Canadian neighbor, to join her in going to Vevey, Switzerland to celebrate with some of her friends and co-workers. It should be fun, even if it means two hours in the car (one hour there, one hour back). I'll let you know how it goes!
So, if I don't post tomorrow- Happy Turkey Day everyone.

Why it sucks to live in a foreign country...

1.) they speak another language. Why does this suck? Because I suck at speaking another language. Yeah, yeah I can manage hi, good-bye, thank you, and please. In fact, I can even string together a few phrases when necessary, but when you speak like a 3 year old it's very difficult to actually converse with actual French people.
Don't get me wrong, the people themselves are very nice about my total inability to speak French, the national language of France - where I LIVE. But they don't exactly want to be my friend.

2.) It is difficult to find a job when you don't have a work permit. And it's difficult to become motivated when all you see is an endless string of hassles and disappointments ahead of you. Yeah, yeah the rational part of my brain says, "If you don't try you'll never get a job." But, the irrational part of me also says, "yeah, but if you never try you won't fail. If you don't fail you won't feel bad about yourself." Then I burst into tears at my complete inability to function like a normal, rational human being!
hey, as Free to Be You and Me taught us, "it's alright to cry". And no, Carol, I am not pregnant. I've always been an emotional roller coaster - just ask my family! Feel sorry for Josh, he has to deal with it now.
It sucks because I know that if we were living in the States I could do something, even temping. I might not like it but I'd feel like I was more than a waste of space and money.

3.) The Euro is KILLING the American dollar. This wouldn't be so bad if the only working member of our household wasn't paid in US dollars, but thatis not the case here. (hmmm...did that make sense to anyone? did I make a double negative which makes it a positive meaning he is paid in Euros? - no idea so for clarification our income is wholly in US dollars at the moment).
Which only adds stress upon #2, my total inability to look for a job.

4.) It is so difficult to meet people. See #'s 1, 2, & 3 and it's even clearer - no language skills, no job, no money to go out. Add onto that my already hermit like tendencies and you get disaster. It's like this for me every time I move, but at least in the past I spoke the same language as the people I met. I don't know why I thought it would be any different here. I always think that I'll change, I'll be more adventurous, live life to the fullest...but let's face it I'm a big wuss. I just hide away in my apartment and cry myself silly. (really don't be stressed about all the crying, I'm a strong believer in the fact that it's the fault of being the youngest child, I cry at everything -even, occasionally, commercials).
You may think that I'm over exaggerating but I'm not. Seriously, it took nearly 4 years of living in Williamsburg before I made friends with people who weren't Josh's friends first. Sad, but true.

5.)Living on the boarder of 2 countries, while sounding totally cool (especially to Americans,) is a pain in the F'ing ass. You heard me. If both countries were members of the EU maybe it wouldn't be a problem, but good ole Switzerland, land of neutrality won't join up. So, here in France everything is in Euros and they are not pleasant about accepting other currency. And in Switzerland, of course, they use the Swiss Franc. Every time you leave the goddamn house you need to shove Euros (€)in one pocket and Francs (CHF) in the other. Inevitably when you forget one that's the only currency the store or restaurant will take! ugh. I don't even want to go into the hassle of lugging around all those coins. geeze, I'm not even going to go there right now.

6.) Good chocolate and good wine are readily available. At first glance this seems like the upside to living in France (and sometimes it is), but if you remember those hermit like tendencies you'll realize this a bad, bad thing. If I'm not careful there is a real possibility that I could turn into a blimp-sized, chocoholic, wine-o, who mumbles in broken French, and smells strongly of dog.

You may laugh now, but just wait until the day I truly become "CRAZY Aunt Mel" (insert evil laughter followed by sobbing here - just kidding I'm not crying...at the moment)
Ok well, that's enough misery for today. Really, I'm fine. It's just been a long, lonely week. I'll give you all the high points of living in a foreign country next week. Right now I need to go stuff my face before Josh gets home to whisk me away to Tango class. Good thing we don't have any wine in the house otherwise he might come home to find me hunkered down on the couch swigging straight from the bottle. (Just kidding, mom, seriously don't worry, I'm joking...)

Baby it's cold outside

An unceremonious thump in my chest and the familiar weight of our 80 pound dog fell against my body as Ally carried out her morning ritual. Through bleary eyes I make out the red digits on the alarm clock-7:20am. We never set the alarm clock because we have Ally. She's not quite as consistent as one might wish but she wakes anywhere between 5:45 and 7:30, I'm always thankful when it's closer to 7:30, especially as I no longer have a job to rush off to. Ally snuggles in close for her morning pets and my heavy hands find her weak spots, rubbing as vigorously as a half asleep zombie can around her ears and neck. She lets out a deep sigh of contentment as I rub her face. My head sinks further into the softness of my pillow and my leaden eyelids slide shut. A minute later a cold nose is pressed into my face to remind me that I have not finished giving out the obligatory morning caresses. When she's had a enough she sits at the end of the bed majestically staring at me and giving a low whine of discontent. I can almost hear her thinking, "Get out of bed you lazy bastard and let's go for a walk." As I grumble, " ok, ok," and heave myself up she nimbly jumps off the bed and heads to the front door.
I glance over at the sleeping form of my husband who has obliviously slept through Ally's morning ritual. Even though we take turns walking her every morning it's me she comes to for her morning snuggle. Sometimes I think the house could be falling down around his head and Josh would sleep through it. Some mornings I have to forcibly kick him out of bed so I can lie undisturbed by pitiful whining!
But, this morning is my day to walk the dog. For the past couple of weeks I have been trying to get myself in better shape and a better frame of mind by taking Ally for a morning jog instead of a mere walk. I look at my warm-ups knowing I should jog this morning too, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Josh and I went to a Tango session last (we're taking classes at the CERN Dancing club) and my body is sore from trying to hold the proper Tango position while wearing heels. So, instead I throw on my jeans, t-shirt, and boots; there will be no jogging this morning.
I open the front door and remember it's getting closer and closer to winter. This morning isn't so terribly cold, but the hours of sunlight are already getting shorter. Gone are the mornings when I opened the door to see the sky streaked in rosy hues as the sun rose slowly over the Alps in the east. Now I open the door to find the sky still wrapped in velvety darkness. Thank god there are street lights everywhere especially considering all I own for a winter coat is a black ski jacket - doesn't really stand out in the dark.
I grudgingly clip on Ally's leash and say, "Well let's go," as she bounds happily to the gate. And to think just a couple weeks ago I had reveled in the beauty and stillness of our morning autumnal walks. Today that lovely cool, crisp breeze I had loved so much has a bite to it. It's not a comfortable chill that requires jeans and a sweatshirt it's starting to take on that chill where after 10 minutes your realize your an idiot for not bringing along some light gloves and your fingertips are starting to yearn for a steaming hot mug of coffee to be clasped between them.
I watch as the wind blows through the trees making them rattle and whisper as the gold, red, and orange leaves of autumn are lifted off their branches and swirled to the ground waiting to be trod upon with a satisfying crunch.
As I huddle deeper in my coat watching the sky lighten from the velvety darkness of night to the gray dawn of morning I curse Ally. These are mornings she loves. Her boundless energy pulls me along as her excited breath puffs in white clouds before her. She doesn't seem to feel any coldness, just the joy of our quiet morning together. hmmm....that's pretty sentimental. I doubt she cares about being with me, she just loves getting out of the yard. This is her time of freedom and exploration - a retractable leash. The French might let their dogs run amok but I don't trust Ally to not run out in front of a car in desperate pursuit of a squirrel or cat.
This morning I'm tired and I relent a little. When we get to the little semi-enclosed park around the corner I let her off her leash to run around a bit. She doesn't do much running but immediately finds a place to dig and contents herself with pawing up the earth while I watch from a nearby bench.
When I feel she's had enough digging time I collect her, she's way too adorable with dirt spattered across her nose. It's time to get warm again. That hot coffee is calling to me...if only Josh has gotten his lazy butt out of bed and made me some. Nope, that's too much to ask for. Aw well, maybe another day.

What's this all about?

Ok, well here goes...I'm not sure how to start this all out, but I recently (well, alright, 4 months ago) moved to Sergy, France; and seeing as I am currently unemployed, I thought maybe I'd start writing a blog about my experiences here. If anyone reads this then perhaps it will give those picking up their lives and moving to another country a little bit of advice...and for anyone else perhaps you'll find life here in la petite village de Sergy amusing. Yeah, yeah, I know my French is horrendous. You'll either have to send me something correcting my mistakes or just grin and bare it (or go read something else if it really bothers you). Then again, some people probably feel my English is nearly as bad as my French, I'm sure my grammar and punctuation are horrible. Despite the fact that I have started listening to Grammar Girl podcasts on Quick and Dirty Now. She's quite enjoyable to listen to, except I find I don't really put her "lessons" to good use. Although, I have started obsessing over my incorrect and overuse of the word hopefully - thanks Grammar Girl! Yet, I digress.
What was I typing about...ahh...yes, this blog, I just thought I'd give myself something to do during the long days that I hang out with my dog in my apartment awaiting the hour my husband will come home from work. What, you didn't think I just picked up and moved here with no job and no clue for no reason, did you?
This is a view of Mount Blanc from our apartment - not too shabby a view, eh?
Life here in France has it's ups and downs just like everywhere else. It's a bit more difficult seeing as it's a totally different language and culture, but overall I like it. We live in a gorgeous area. When we first came here in May we had no clue where we were going to live: France? Switzerland? City? Country? it was all up for grabs. After a month of searching we found a nice little apartment in the French countryside. Well, in the foothills of the Jura Mountains. Seeing as we had dragged our dog overseas (a journey she did not thank us for) being in the country, in a ground floor apartment with a fenced in terrace was perfect- and affordable- for us. Some of my husbands colleges, the European ones really, though we were crazy. We were so far away from CERN: a whole 15 minute car ride! Besides, what would I do, they queried, being so far away from the city, Geneva, and all that wonderful public transportation? I was going to become a miserable recluse was their opinion.
It's rather amusing to me how different our ideas of distance and convenience are. To many Europeans a 15 minute car ride to get to work or the grocery store is ridiculous, unbearable even. But to us, Americans, it's the norm. It's not out of the ordinary to have to drive 10 - 15 minutes to get your groceries; and there's a bust stop less than a 10 minute walk from our house which will take me into Geneva if I really feel the need to be in "the city". Granted it takes about 40 -50 minutes by bus...but I enjoy reading and people watching so I don't find it a problem He's a picture of our lovely little, French apartment. Yep, that's mon mari et ma chienne, Ally. Our upstairs neighbors are great, so far. Marion is Canadian, but has lived here for 15 years or so, and Beat (pronounced beh- aht, or something like that) is Austrian. She's quite garrulous and he's a bit more reserved, so they seem to make a good match.
Well, there's a start for you. Enjoy!