Turkish Delight

*Disclaimer on this post: although it is (I believe) quite interesting, it's also a bit wordy. If you're not much of a reader, scroll down to see the pictures at the bottom.  

As you can see, I've acquired a new piece of artwork this weekend, which means it's gonna be rather difficult to carry my Adam and Eve painting and this new one back home safely to the States (but it can be done! cardboard tube!). Yesterday I told you I had a really busy weekend, and I described my Friday and Saturday. But Sunday was also very eventful. At Jean Monnet, a great number of my students are of Turkish, Algerian, or Moroccan descent. In particular, there is a very large Turkish community that has been living in Flers since the 1970s. That's over forty years! And they all come from one area in particular: the Northeast of Turkey, a town called Posof, which is very close to the Georgian border. These are not your Turks from Istanbul, in other words. They speak a different dialect of Turkish, and, interestingly, one that has been preserved in Flers... and that is, as I've understood, being lost in its native area, as more and more people move to the cities (Istanbul, for example).

It has been so much fun for me this past year, in addition to discovering the French culture, to be immersed in this unique community. I love the diversity that is found in this small little town: I've been told that the immigrant population here is the third largest in France in terms of percentage of immigrants to percentage of "natives" (preceded only by Paris and Marseille!!). My students, for the most part, are not immigrants. The majority of them were born in France, and they proudly state their French nationality. But they also have a very healthy pride in their roots. It's not uncommon to hear them speak Turkish or Arabic amongst themselves, and since Arabic is often the common language, this creates a special bond between the arabophone students, who slip little Arabic phrases in when they're talking to each other. In my initial post about the schools I work at, I expressed a hope that my students would learn acceptance of each other. But as I have observed the students together, I've come to realize that they actually don't have many prejudices based on nationality or origins. Some do, it is true, but on the whole, the students form friendships and bonds simply based on personalities and interests. They play together in the courtyards, talk together (often during class, much to my chagrin), and every once in a while, they argue with each other over something silly, and then make up later.

In any case, I was thrilled to see a few weeks ago that the Tourism Office and the Franco-Turkish Friendship Association were offering a guided visit of the Turkish mosque in Flers. I signed up, and spoke about it to my friend Angélique, who ended up coming with her parents as well. In addition to touring the mosque, I was interested to see what the community response to the invitation would be, mainly because there have been multiple cases of tension lately between some members of the Muslim populations and some of the French. Coming from a country with the same types of issues, especially in more recent years, I have to say that I think these attitudes are unhealthy for any society. Call it cliché, but I want to live in a place where acceptance, understanding, and, at the bare minimum, tolerance are part of the social fabric. Diversity is a country's greatest strength: it makes it unique, giving it richness and depth. I never want to live in a homogenous society.

The day of the visit, on Sunday, I was happily surprised to find a decent-sized crowd of French families (about forty persons in all, I'd guess) gathered to tour the mosque. A friendly, pleasant man met us, and the tour began. I had brought a scarf in the expectation that I'd have to cover my hair, but the Turkish community welcomed everyone into their mosque, and even into the large prayer room, with no special requirements. Although the building was simple, the beautifully painted tiles on the walls elevated it and made it very handsome. Our guide told us that the community had donated on average 2,000 euros from each family to purchase the land and construct the mosque. What an impressive accomplishment!

In addition to the prayer room and mezzanine, we also toured the classrooms, where the students learn Turkish and Arabic, and saw the common areas and Turkish market that are also part of the mosque. I asked if the Maghrebian community attended the mosque as well, and was surprised to learn that there are two other mosques in Flers: a Moroccan mosque and an Algerian one. Our guide explained to us that the language difference is the main reason for multiple mosques, but also that the approach to the religion varies a bit across the different communities. He impressed and surprised me when he said that they invite everyone, from all religious (and he named them: Christian, Jew, Buddhist, Hindu, etc) and non-religious backgrounds, to come and discover their community, and even to sit in on the prayers and meetings.

*More than a few of the photos in this collage are the property of Alice Méker, who I met while on the tour and who graciously forwarded me the ones she was taking for a newspaper article in the Orne's local newspaper (I had forgotten my camera; my own photos of the day were taken on my cell phone!). Her photos, from left to right, are the 4th and 5th ones on the top row, the 4th one on the second row, and the first three photos on the bottom row. Mille mercis, Alice!

Our visit finished with a fantastic demonstration by the talented Kadir (a volunteer from Turkey, who is spending a year working for the local MJC, where I do my yoga and fitness classes) of Ebru painting, a technique that uses a mixture of natural pigments and bull bile (yes, that is what I meant to type) to create a painting on water. The paper is then applied to the water, and the painting sticks perfectly to the paper, rather than dispersing in the water. Dear friends, prepare to be amazed:

I almost couldn't help myself, and shamelessly asked if I could keep the painting. Kadir was very kind to oblige, and signed his name in tiny letters along the stem of the flower.

The visit ended with a gracious spread of tea and Turkish treats (Turkish delight! Mmmm!), and more conversation. All in all, I was really impressed with how the community - on both sides! - opened their arms and hearts, and everyone participated in the questions and discussion; our guide stressed that no question was taboo. The French, curious as ever (I both love and hate this about them, but mostly I love it) did ask some delicate questions, about the separation of women from the men in the prayer room, for example (honestly, once you have been in one of these prayer rooms you can understand why... the people are literally rubbing arms with their neighbours on that mat, and each person's face is awfully close to the person in front of them's backside. This isn't a church, with a nice row of chairs or pews, and the people aren't just sitting: they're moving up and down, undoubtedly sweating, it's close quarters... briefly put, it's rather aerobic, and it's easy to see why they don't think it's a good idea for members of the opposite sex to be rubbing up against each other in the middle of it all). But the dialogue and mutual respect that I think came out of the experience was stereotype-breaking (it even broke some of my stereotypes), and the whole day was a great success. The best part, of course, was that a few of my luckiest Turkish students got to practice their "hellos" and "how are you?s" when they ran into their English teacher on a Sunday. ;o)

Bad Habits

You know how, when you get a fortune cookie at a Chinese restaurant, there's a certain little couple of words you're supposed to tack on to the end of your fortune, to make it interesting? Add them onto this little phrase below to figure out what I'm doing (again). Or else, you can consult my track record.☺

 

(I have no shame, I know! But I swear this is not supposed to sound dirty... well, at least not metaphorically...)

A Day By The Sea

 
I've been posting an awful lot lately, but that's because there's just so much to tell. This weekend was quite busy, and relaxing all at the same time. On Friday afternoon I went running with a friend through the beautiful park, and finished the evening making dinner for myself, complete with a glass of heavenly Bordeaux (the same one Lilly served with our lunch a few days before). On Saturday, I bought a pain au chocolat and a croissant in the market, and took my time reading and eating my leisurely breakfast, with coffee. Then I hopped on a train, around 11 a.m., and headed for the coastal town of Granville. It's less than an hour by train from Flers, and it only cost 14 euros round trip. I can't believe I haven't gone there before, and I will surely go back before I leave for home.

Normandy has been superiorly uncharacteristic lately, with over a week of clear, cloudless blue skies, warm weather, and SUN.  So it was the perfect day to visit Granville, a humble, seaside resort town in the Manche region, along the English Channel. I can't say I did much of anything: just walked around town, looked in some shops, hiked the cliffs along the coast, visited a small museum, toured the old town with its cobblestone streets, perused a street market, and ended my day on the beach with a book (In a Sunburned Country, by Bill Bryson, of course). On the hills and cliffs surrounding the town, I listened to the wind blow, the soft, lingering calls of gulls, and the gentle lull of waves lapping the rocks. Otherwise, the day was rather uneventful: blissfully uneventful, in fact. I could hear myself think. I had no engagements, no tasks, no errands. There was no computer to distract me at every moment's notice. I hardly even ate: just an apricot juice at a café, and later, a small quiche aux poireaux (leek quiche) that I purchased for about 2 euros. If I hadn't had to buy bandages for my feet (note: NEVER wear bad shoes while vacationing!!), I would've gotten away with an entire day's worth of activity and seaside fun for under 20 euros. As it stood, I managed the whole thing for around 25 euros. Nickel, as the French say.

Les Bleds, part 2

Last week, I posted about my visit to a small bled: Bagnoles-de-l'Orne. But last week, I also visited another small town: Condé-sur-Noireau. If you ever come to Normandy, and see Condé-sur-Noireau on a map along some itinerary that you've charted out to, say, Mont St.-Michel, take my word: you don't need to stop. This small town is really a pass-through on the road between Caen and Flers, and is, well, rather simple... kind-of like Flers, actually. No fuss, no fancy, not even a cathedral to admire: just your typical tabacs and bars, and a few grocery stores, banks, and administrative buildings.

On the other hand, I had business in Condé, of the social type. It was my mid-week day off, and I was off to see my friend Lilly, one of the many wonderful acquaintances I've made since I've been in France. There's a bus that goes between Condé and Flers every week, and it only takes about 20 minutes to get there, including the stops. Briefly put, it isn't far, but it's too far to walk.

Lilly is one of the rare assistants I've met here who knows France, deeply and intimately, because she spent a whole year in an exchange program in Laval when she was in high school. She's also from New Jersey, which for me is as much another culture as France is, so getting to know her has been majorly interesting. I don't know any other American - or any other assistant, for that matter - who has had the opportunity to live in France as an adolescent. As a result, I consider Lilly sort-of half-French: French in all the best ways, and American in all the best ways.

Lilly, with her fantastic scarf

French in all the best ways, because Lilly eats French. She's a lacto-ovo vegetarian (who eats poultry and fish), which is great for me, because I'm not much of a carnophile myself. (Interesting fact: I myself was a lacto-ovo vegetarian in high school, until I discovered lamb). Thus the menu:

Carrottes râpées

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Roast Chicken and Potatoes

Bordeaux wine

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Salad

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Cheese and bread

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Chocolate mousse and strawberries 

I cannot even begin to explain to you how wonderful it was to share a leisurely lunch mid-week with a friend, over wine and characteristically delicious French bread, and talk of preparations for our upcoming trip to Scotland together (yes, you heard that right; look for a post about Scotland in April). Sharing a meal is one of the simplest pleasures in life, and I think the French really have it right to take a long time savouring it. The many courses, and the pauses in between them, are as much occasions to converse and exchange as they are invitations to take one's time, to stop rushing for a few hours (two, usually, for a French lunch), and to just relax and enjoy.

The Good Life ;)

After lunch, we took a walk through the countryside, which, unlike the town, really is worth seeing. It was a rare, clear, sunny, warm day in Normandy, with the bluest of blue skies, and the slightest breeze. Everywhere, trees and flowers were in bloom, and creeks overflowing with waters rushed into the valleys. We walked to the crest of the hills surrounding the town, and admired a view that, in the U.S., could normally be obtained only with a few-million dollars and a grand McMansion, or else a National Parks Authority pass.

French trees, in rows. I don't know why they do this, but I love it

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Dog and Goat are Friends (after one of my favourite books as a child, Frog and Toad are Friends)

 

View from the hills, across Normandy

Everything is blooming right now! Spring in France is LOVEly.

The park in Condé

Park

We ended our visit with coffee in the local bar, and a walk through the lovely park. A simple, easy day, to be sure, but sometimes those are the best kinds of memories.

Bus trip back to Flers

Almost home: with a spectacular view

Life in Flers (again)

A while ago, I posted a series of photos I'd collected on my cell phone. Once again, I have a whole slew of them to share with you, and some of them date back from a while ago... you'll notice winter clothes, Christmas-related pictures, and even pictures from the Paris trip with Finn and Danielle. I just decided to post them all at once, and in no particular order, to give you a little glimpse of what daily life here is like!

The French love acronyms. This one in particular, to me, has horrible sonorities. "The 'SNALC', ladies and gentlemen!" The brochure is tacked up in the teachers' room, and it's been bothering me ever since I first arrived at Albert Camus.

What on earth does this mean? I am as mystified as I imagine you are, dear reader.

In France, tripes are important enough to come in a can. They're even important enough to come in two different varieties. Yuck.

Versailles on a misty day. Right before the cops pulled us over for Finn's illegal u-turn.

Passing the Eiffel Tower in the car = a surreal experience!

At Christmastime, bears started popping up in displays all over Normandy. This poor, unfortunate soul at the display in E. Leclerc looked as though Santa'd had about enough of his shenanigans.

My winter uniform: scarf wrapped tight, and always a hat. Gloves, too.

Christmas meal at Jean Monnet

Staff from the Foyer preparing our Christmas meal (poule au blanc), and always having fun!

Awesome mirror in a bathroom in Paris

Ah, the Buffalo Grill! There's one in every town in France now, it seems. This restaurant is centered on an "American" theme... LOL!! Even the waiters wear deputy stars as name badges, and keep their note tablets in a sort of "holster" on their hip. So corny, but the French love a good "cow-boy"!

I ask you, WHAT sherrif on the face of this earth has ever eaten Crème brûlée? And WTF are American profiteroles??? Some things are just lost in translation.

More "American" French desserts, and a nice big photo of those "American" profiteroles (top picture).

The French even do American food better than we do, if you ask me. That burger had brie on it. And that white sauce is Camembert dipping sauce, for the fries, of course. Mmmmm, that shit was good.

In January, we celebrated Epiphany together with a delicious cake.

Dearbhla and Finn just before we divided our cake! (Finn ended up with the fève, so he got to wear the crown... as you've guessed, this works kind-of like a King Cake at mardi gras, but it isn't the same thing!!)

Finn and I recently made a trip to the local gay bar. Or, as it's known here, the "cabaret and private club". I mean, we just figured, 'Why not?'

Now that the weather has warmed up, and nearly every day is sunny, I've been running in the park a lot. Things are starting to turn green and bloom.

On a shop door in Rouen.

Rouen outtake.

The Post-It Wars! This was on a shop window in Rouen, and I just loved it. A year or two ago, in France, people started making drawings with Post-Its, sticking them to office-building windows and in public places. You can see them all over now, and I think they're just fantastic.

I've started photographing the hours of the places I visit, because you just never know. For example, this is the Casino grocery store, pretty much the only grocery store in town. Its hours include, in typical French fashion, a two-hour lunch break from 1-3 p.m., and reduced hours on Sundays. And, just randomly, and just to piss you off every time you try to pick something up that day, they happen to be closed on Wednesdays.

The teachers at Albert Camus also have a sense of humour, just like the ones at Jean Monnet! This is a note informing the faculty that a certain student will be leaving the school. Underneath, in red, is written, "May the Lord be with him! And most of all, with his spirit!", which makes a play on words with 'spirit', and repeats the same phrase that the French use every Sunday in church.

Currently at the Institut du Monde Arabe, apparently. Wish I could go see it!

I teach in the Latin room one day out of the week, and this poster has always bothered me... It says, "Latin, the hardest part is quitting." I mean, this is a middle school... Isn't this just a bit inappropriate?

A Compiègne outtake: last glimpses

A REAL grand crème: a cup of coffee, and a little pitcher of steamed whole cream. Only in Paris.

How do you eat a croissant? If you're like me, you start at the center point!

Mmm!

One thing that's VERY different in France from the U.S.: man's best friend really is allowed everywhere. Take this bar, at the local bowling alley, for example.

Friends! Me and Elo :)

Nico tries on a lovely spring hat 

Early morning at the IMEC

Typical Normandy: an automatic umbrella distributor. This is in the train station in Caen; presumably because tourists are the only fools who would try using an umbrella in that windy, drizzly nonsense! A real Norman just pulls up their hood and trudges on.