a Curious Canadian in Provence : photography, art & renovation!
Throwback! This is an article that I shared with OneModernCouple about my experience working in a French restaurant in 2016.
I tip-toed into the dining area as the sound of the repeated yelling of the words “putain, merde!!” came from the kitchen. The fear that manifested as a slight queasiness intensified as I was faced with the head chef/owner. The commis was looking listlessly at his sunken soufflés. I hoped that I would do better on my first day.
…Life as an immigrant in another country is never easy. There are so many things you have to think about, for example, if you are working in the US you might have to consider getting an extension. You’re allowed to stay in the country over the period specified in your visa-but you’ll have to file Form i-539. This is an application that means you can change or extend your nonimmigrant status. This is only one thing that immigrants have to deal with, it depends on the country you’re staying in and how long you intend to stay. If you’re interested in learning more about immigrates not having it easy in a country, keep on reading…
A friend of mine recently managed to mix up the French work to cook “faire cuire” with to drive “conduire.” This resulted in her explaining to the butcher how she was going to drive the chicken with lots of butter and herbs. It took a good 5 minutes of hand motions before all the employees understood what she was saying. This was only because they brought out someone’s kid from the storage room who understands a good amount of English thanks largely, to Netflix.
Here’s a continuation of some of my personal anecdotes that were so popular in my original article about life in France. Feel free to add some of your own!
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The other evening I witnessed the most beautiful sunset I’ve yet to see in Provence.
Sadly, the camera cannot truly do justice to the intense colours we saw- but I’ll share these images with you anyways!
First, while wandering the garrigue landscape admiring the variety of herbs, we came upon the Maire (mayor) of Les Baux de Provence who was out hunting specifically for partridge. Only in France?
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A typical day of the September harvest in Provence from my enormous garden (and 3 chickens). Including tomatoes, parsley, swiss chard, eggs, nasturtium leaves
The mornings are crisp all of a sudden. The days are still hot. The harvest, of just about everything, is in full swing. I went for a walk and followed the smell of a skip full to the brim of grape skins before I stepped into the leaking juice running down the road. At the Coteaux d’Aix wine harvest festival in Lambesc- there are grapes between my toes as I hold my linen market dress up and squeal. Afterward, a seventy-year-old paysan cleans my feet with Savon de Marseille.
I’m fighting a losing battle as I try to make a sauce out of the kilos and kilos of tomatoes that are unhappy on my hot kitchen counter. Between batches, sweating in my kitchen, I only have a moment to reflect. Pesto needs to be made and I’m not sure how much money I should spend on the pine nuts. The locals relax at the markets; they have more time to talk. They’ve either made their money for the year during the month of August or have accepted that it won’t be made. The tourists didn’t buy as much.
As I drive by the local roundabout I smile as I notice an older woman pinching the olives on the trees there. She and a couple friends will be raking them off the branches within a few weeks. There isn’t any waste. I’m eyeing up the black husks hanging off the wrangled almond trees in the field down the road. I’ve already seen people on bikes picking from the lower branches. I’ve planted my beets and my leeks and the borage has re-seeded. I had no idea it would create such an expansive sea of mauve flowers.
I’ve started to drink red wine in the evenings. I’m actually looking forward to the cooler months where my Canadian bones (while blaming the whipping wind of the Mistral instead of the snow) will hide under a quilt with a good book and a cup of tea. Soon the leaves on the grapevines will change colour and the French women will start wearing their elegant Autumn boots. September in Provence.
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The Transhumance is simply the migrating of livestock led by a shepherd to either the green mountains in the summer or the plains in the winter. Sheep, goats, and donkeys are the main beasts that are herded from one pasture to another and often in great numbers. If you are unaware of a Transhumance passing through your town- you’ll be in for quite the surprise! (and traffic jam)
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Two years ago on the first of April, my day started with attempting to daringly participate (my target was my boss) in the poisson d’avril, or April Fools day in France.
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