One of our first delights, last June, was to see the Teatro Delusio – a mime show with a difference presented by the troupe known as Familie Flöz who are based in Berlin www.floez.net. The story takes place backstage at a great opera house, and all the actors wear ingenious and elaborate masks, wigs and costumes, creating a magical, make-believe world. It is amazing to see how much emotion can be displayed by actors wearing masks – it seemed as though even the masks changed expression! All the traditional theatrical characters were there, from the conductor of the orchestra to the diva to the backstage boys and though the action was backstage, it was apparent that there was a performance going on – very clever.

We laughed, we cried and we emerged wonderfully happy with our luck at seeing this talented company – with the added bonus that as mime is an international language we had no trouble following it!

Another memorable performance was “Tosca”, one of my favourite operas, presented by Angers-Nantes Opera Company at Le Quai in Angers in a production by Patrice Caurier and Moshe Leiser. Nicola Beller-Carbone was a magnificent Floria Tosca, Giancarlo Monsalve sang Mario Cavaradossi very well and Claudio Otelli was Baron Scarpia in a performance he made very chilling as he was a much younger, more physically imposing, Scarpia than I have previously seen. He had an extraordinarily menacing presence and an almost playboy demeanour, but amoral like Don Giovanni and with a raw brutality that made me hold my breath with tension during the seduction/murder scene. His pursuit of Tosca seemed the archetype of the predatory male:

“I desire. I pursue the object of my desire,
I feed on it and then I toss it away
So that I may hasten toward a new object of desire.”
Scarpia in Tosca

The opera was set in the 1940′s so echoes of fascism and totalitarianism were there to add to the dramatic tension of the story. And the costumes were brilliant – Tosca’s dresses were sensational – the picture doesn’t do justice to this brilliant pink and orange gown in the scene where Scarpia tries to rape Tosca. The murder was the most dramatically affecting that I have seen – we walked from the theatre in a state of shock but aware that we had just seen something very, very special.

We have also been to concerts in lovely little churches, all over the Anjou – Loire Valley region; we have listened to choirs from Russia and from Wigan, we have been entertained by the soaring sounds of the great organ of the Cathèdral St. Maurice in Angers; we have been to little jazz cafés and to cabaret as well. We had a memorable New Year’s Eve at Au Restau-Théâtre, just down the road from us.

The evening started at 9pm, quite common here but a little late for oldies like us! Except it was New Year’s Eve! Dinner and the show were included and we had a very warm welcome from the charming hostess/owner, a gamin, effervescent woman who looks a bit like a tiny Julie McCrossin. She showed us to our table, close to the tiny stage.

The dinner was the traditional many courses, all quite delicious, with appropriate wines as well. In between courses, we saw the show, which on this night was a stand-up comedian – very difficult to follow his rapid-fire French but the atmosphere was full of fun and laughter which was so infectious. At midnight, we had champagne and streamers and balloons and lots of kissing. We actually left before dessert – well, it was 2am!! The French certainly know how to party!

So we have been entertained many times, in many different ways – I haven’t even mentioned the films we have seen, or the free concerts given by students of the conservatorium, or the recent performance by the Word for Word company from San Francisco which takes novels and short stories and makes them into a play, using the exact words of the novel so the text is spoken in the third person. (brilliant!) www.zspace.org
Life in Angers has been full of new experiences – these have only been some of them.

Since leaving my job in December 2007, I have been having severe withdrawal symptoms as I love social work and have enjoyed enormously my many years in the profession. I said “Oui” to Marianne maybe a bit too hurriedly because then I started the agonising – are French resumés the same? (no, the format is very different); job applications are pretty much the same, though? (no, the emphasis and information given is different); what about interviews? (very formal and involved).

So began another learning curve for me – and another way of learning the French way of life. I did lots of preparation for this group as I wasn’t sure what level English they would be and what sorts of things they wanted to learn. Out came the ESL books, much surfing of ESL internet sites and discussions with the Library staff (though they basically left everything to me). And before the professional ESL teachers start to complain about ‘amateurs’, remember this was meant to be basic stuff, though I took it all very seriously.

The group was to run on Friday mornings from 10am-11am, at the same time that the Library has a Coffee morning, a sort-of discussion group where lots of French and English-speaking people join in for a convivial few hours of chat and sometimes a talk from a guest-speaker. There are always many people there, welcoming newcomers as well as regulars and it is a terrific way to broaden your social network as well as your language skills.

So it was that my new group members got a great welcome with offers of refreshment, chats, new friends – they must have wondered what was happening! They eventually found me waiting rather nervously in a little room, adjacent to the crowded meeting room.

The first half was a bit of a disaster – I was used to running groups with the disadvantaged who were often also functionally illiterate, not with the well-educated bourgeoisie that made up my French group. I think it was Socrates who said that teaching is all about asking the right questions – my questions were clearly wrong as I got blank looks from most of the eight people present, 7 women and 1 man, until I realised my mistake.

Then I discovered that there was a HUGE discrepancy between the group members in their ability to speak and understand English. Unfortunately, I had no say in who joined the group – in retrospect I should have insisted on checking out their abilities and run 2 different groups if necessary. So a few of the less able members dropped out because it became a bit too hard for them – I regret that. The others seemed to appreciate the help they got from me – I made sure that they could contact me by email if they wanted any corrections done and quite a few did – a bonus for me as my translation skills improved!

I made sure we had plenty of conversation, lots of the right questions (!) with a few quizzes and some homework thrown in – usually a set subject on movies, hobbies, travels etc. I started the first 3 month group in early October 2008 and I will finish up the 2nd group next week – 6 months of fascinating meetings, with a mixed group of people aged from their early 20′s to their 50′s. Most of them had university degrees, many with a Masters Degree and a couple with a doctorate – unemployment is egalitarian as it ‘chooses’ people from all levels of society! In France, the cost of gaining a degree is relatively inexpensive – the standard cost is €156 annually and courses are usually for 3 years. Even a Master’s is relatively cheap at €226! (Ah, I remember once upon a time in Australia…………). But, the downside is that their education meant many had high expectations about getting a job, particularly the younger ones, and we sometimes had tears as yet another interview had resulted in a knockback.

Many of them applied for jobs all over France, often travelling long distances to an interview which was ultimately unsuccessful. The interviews alone sounded daunting, frequently lasting most of the day, with a battery of tests as well as face-to-face team interviews – I would hate it! But there were successes and I have said a sad but glad farewell to those who have been rewarded in their long search. One has agreed to work in Paris, meaning he will only be able to spend weekends with his family in Angers – but he had been looking for over a year, going to an average of 3 interviews a week so we all cheered his acceptance of the job in Paris.

Others have been luckier, getting a job closer to home, albeit sometimes having to travel up to an hour. I feel sorry for those who remain jobless, giving their congratulations freely to the successful ones but having their own hopes for a job thwarted yet again – times are tough, indeed.

I first started emailing Mireille in about 2001, after discovering on a penfriend website that she was a retired teacher, about my age with similar interests. We emailed each other for some time, mine written laboriously in French, taking me hours to write just a few paragraphs! She corrected my appalling French and we gradually got to know a bit of each other’s lives – our children, our hopes, our travels.

When Paul, Sascha and I went to Paris in 2004 to celebrate my birthday, Mireille invited us to her house in a Parisian suburb, about 20 minutes by train. We had exchanged photos but apart from that we took it on trust that neither of us were axe-murderers or white-slave traffickers (I have a vivid imagination)!
Fortunately, that trust was well-placed and we got on very well. The traditional French lunch-of-many-courses with Mireille, her husband and three young adult children was fabulous, with a mixture of French, English and Franglais spoken. Her children could speak English quite well and were happy to debate some political and social issues of French society – at that stage, France could almost do no wrong in my prejudiced eyes with my rose-coloured glasses on!
We have kept in touch since then and Mireille and Paul visited us in Angers last weekend. She is one of those intelligent, warm, empathic people whom one feels privileged to know – and full of fun!! We had a great lunch, at a restaurant on top of Le Quai building which overlooks the Château and then walked to the Château and marvelled at the Apocalypse Tapestry once again. It was commissioned in 1375 and probably completed in 1382 and is the longest tapestry in the world – this is one panel out of the original 100, though only 70 remain.

The tapestry is kept in the Revelation Gallery, a sombre, subterranean L-shaped room where all is dark except for the faint light on the tapestry – spooky and yet awe-inspiring. Walking through the doors, I hesitated, my eyes not accustomed to the gloom. Groping towards the first tapestry panel, I saw the brilliant colours and the minute detail which are amazing for such ancient materials.

The tapestry tells the story of the last book of the bible, the Book of Revelation, and it is fascinating to see in these ancient scenes aspects of life that are still relevant today – the greed, the wars, the scheming, the mindless consumption. It was a relief to escape the gloom and tragedy. If only we could escape it so easily in ‘la vie vraie’.

Outside, it was a beautiful, sunny Spring day with just a hint of coolness to keep it comfortable and we were sad to part company at the end of the afternoon – we invited them to Sydney but………it is so far away.

Of course, all the pictures of Sydney concentrate on the harbour and the beaches – after all, without them Sydney is just another city. But as I looked at all the water views, the glorious colours of the sky and the beaches, I realised how much I yearn for the sea. We have the River Maine in Angers and watching its moods has been fascinating…..but it’s not the sea. Having worked at Manly – with both sea and harbour fronts – and living so near the harbour for many, many years I realise my yearning for the sea is not only understandable but necessary for my spiritual well-being. I often walked along to Shelly Beach near where I worked during my lunch hours – on windy, cold days, the sea was whipped up and came crashing onto the foreshore walkway, creating a thrilling scene of the power of wind and sea. I always felt a surge of vitality, an aliveness that kept me going through the rest of the afternoon that was full of people’s problems.

So, at the last moment recently, we decided to go to La Rochelle on the Atlantic coast for the weekend, to renew our energy and nourish our souls.

Arriving in La Rochelle early afternoon, in the magnificent railway station, I felt a little twinge of disappointment – it was drizzling and misty, not the best weather for a seaside break. As we left our hotel, nestled on the edge of a wonderful public park, we crossed a stream full of huge fish (carp?) where the birds and ducks joined in a tuneful chorus and blossoms were just beginning to open out, ready for their springtime glory. The drizzle kept being a bit of a nuisance until we got to the old port where a bit of sunlight struggled through the clouds, then a bit more until the whole sky was cloudless and from then on the rest of the day was fine.

La Rochelle was an important port from the 14th to the 17th centuries and I found it’s history absolutely fascinating. The dominant features of the Vieux Port, the old port, are three towers looming over the harbour.

Tours de La Rochelle

The nearest tower in the photo is La tour Saint-Nicolas, then La tour de la Chaîne and in the distance, La tour de la Lanterne – we climbed to the top of all three, up tiny, winding, narrow stone staircases until we stepped outside to the spectacular views over the harbour and the city. Here I am looking from la tour de La Chaîne to la tour Saint-Nicolas – a ferry ride across the harbour from one tower to the other was included in the admission price!

La Rochelle had been under both French and English rule until 1372 when the city finally became French. The towers have been used for various purposes over the years – as royal residences, as defences because of their position at the edge of the city port, and also for navigational purposes, particularly the Lantern Tower, which has been on the same spot since the 12th century.

Most moving for me was the fact that the Lantern Tower became a prison in 1820 in which many English and Irish men were imprisoned – those gaoled engraved the soft Saintonge stone walls with graffiti (in French, English, Spanish and Dutch) which is clearly visible today. More than 500 pieces of graffiti have been chronicled, many preserved and readable, such as this one.

"William Stanford taken in His Majesty's ship Warwick: March 11 1756

Also from this prison four Frenchmen known as “The Four Sargeants” were taken to Paris to be guillotined after plotting to overthrow the monarchy – grim times, indeed.

The Chain Tower has an audio-visual display which charts the history of the French passage into ‘The New World’ – for example to Québec and New Orleans – La Rochelle is almost in a straight line to Canada. Of great interest to me was the story of the “Les filles du Roi”, the King’s daughters. These were young girls, frequently orphans, who were ‘encouraged’ to make the trip to the New World around 1663-1673. The reason? The new World had a large population of young Frenchmen, settlers and troops who were without female companions….so young, unattached women were offered a ‘dowry’ by the King to convince them to leave France and make a new life in Canada. Almost 900 young girls emigrated in the ten-year period and most of them were ‘hitched’ within three months. On arrival, they ‘met’ the men and were encouraged to ‘mate’- sounds like a cattle-call to me!

Life was harsh and primitive for these poor girls, who were influenced to have many children so that the population would increase – families of 10 were common – and many died in childbirth.

Oh, how lucky we are today in so many ways!

We spent a lot of time wandering along the waterfront which stretches for some distance. There is only a smallish beach actually in La Rochelle but there are others nearby. But the smell of the sea and the splash of the waves was wonderful – even at low tide and with stranded dragons!We decided that we could easily live in La Rochelle – it is so lovely – although we heard that in summer it is packed with tourists. But, who cares if the rest of the time is OK?

So the sea worked its magic on me again – I left La Rochelle sadly but feeling replenished and revitalised – where’s your special place?

So when the Bibliothèque Anglophone asked me to help with some English conversation groups, I initially thought I couldn’t do it. I’m a passionate reader, sure, but not really passionate about the mechanics of English grammar. But Marianne, in charge of volunteers at the Library, assured me that I would only need to lead the conversation not teach the intricacies of verb tenses and sentence construction which I am finding so hard to grasp in the French language.

After a trawl of the internet ESL/EFL sights, I decided that it could be fun, and educational for me, too. I had done a brief course on teaching English as a foreign language in the ’80′s and I spent one night a week for a year trying to teach an Armenian couple basic English. Alas for them, I think I got the most from those Friday night encounters as they plied me with strong, sweet Turkish coffee and delicious honey-soaked treats – not much English was on the menu, though.

So I agreed to lead one group for unemployed people and to help out with three others – little did I know then how much I would learn. Anxious not to appear too much of a grammar dunce, I bought some ESL books online and I downloaded heaps of ESL material – I always tend to go overboard.

The Thursday night group is a very interesting one, easy for me as Carol has been running it for years so knows most of the people as well as her subject – she is actually a retired teacher who is married to a Frenchman and has lived in France for many years so her French is excellent and she communicates well in both languages. Most of the group speak reasonable English so in a way it is more of a get-together, a chat with French people and a chance for me to learn more about the French way of life. Carol provides some quizzes from time to time and everyone takes them seriously, heads down as they grapple with some of English’s more idiosyncratic expressions. But mostly we exchange views on a huge range of subjects, from films and books to politics and travel. Photos are brought in – one of the group is a frequent traveller and has spoken of his trips to Australia, New Zealand, Borneo, South America, Africa. He is not a typical tourist as he tends to go to remote places, often camping or staying with native families and his stories of these places are fascinating as he recounts some of the customs and foodstuffs of remote villagers.

There are retired teachers in the group who clearly love learning and value the opportunity to practice their language skills; there is a retired financial adviser, a woman with vitality who is now a champion for renewable energy. I have been to her home and witnessed the solar panels on the roof, the cladding on her exterior walls, and an intricate sliding wall on the back of the house which creates insulation whilst retaining the views of the garden, full of trees and shrubs and birds. There is an IT specialist whose hobby is para-gliding, a quiet man who needs encouragement to speak but who is clearly a dare-devil. I’ve had so many fascinating conversations and they have helped me with my understanding of France and French customs.

Many English-speaking people here seem to stay in cliques, the sort of thing that is criticised in Sydney and no doubt everywhere in the world where there is a multi-cultural society. I’m sure you’ve heard the comments: why do all the Italians/ Lebanese / Vietnamese / Japanese / Chinese etc. gather in Leichhardt /Auburn / Cabramatta / Chatswood/ Chinatown etc.(all Sydney suburbs)? I can tell you why – speaking a foreign language is not only difficult, it is tiring and sometimes all you want is the opportunity to discuss something in your own language without searching for the correct form in a foreign language. I can usually last 2-3 hours speaking French without a break but my mind goes mushy after that and I start making more mistakes and becoming increasingly forgetful. The easy way is to stay safely within your own cultural cocoon.

However, having said that, I believe that the best course of action for any stranger is to become involved with the host country and its people as much and as quickly as possible. To be insulated from others is a sure way to bigotry and prejudice – the ‘them’ and ‘us’ attitude that can lead to social exclusion and misunderstanding. And wars. So even though becoming involved in the groups has created some anxiety, taken up time and meant increased effort, I would not have missed it for the world and am grateful for the increased empathy and understanding that have followed. And, importantly, for the friends I have made – as E.M.Forster said “Only connect!”

So when Paul sold his car prior to coming to France, we congratulated ourselves on the fact that we had immediately reduced our carbon footprint considerably. We had also begun to use public transport a lot more – what better way to get to the city of Sydney than to take a ferry from Mosman Bay, just at the end of our street? Gliding over the waters of Sydney Harbour on a sunny day is like being on holidays every time we board the ferry! And we have a good bus system; and also love walking – I often walk around the foreshores of the harbour, marvelling at the plant and birdlife – I remember a year when thousands of spider webs hung from every tree, glinting with dew in the early morning sunshine. But I still kept my car……….there are many places we go to that are very difficult to access via public transport.

We imagined living in France without a car as being a continuation of our ‘good citizen’ approach to reducing global warming. True, but not quite the whole story. More importantly for us is the fact that much more can be seen from the windows of a bus or a train than if one is driving a car, particularly on the ‘wrong’ side of the road! I must admit to a certain amount of terror at the thought of driving here – it was hard enough for me to get used to crossing the road, looking to the left, then the right! And the papers are full of news of car and bike accidents. So we are experts in bus and train travel, though it has restricted some of the places that we want to visit.

We have been lucky to get lifts from friends when we have been invited to far-distant places but it has certainly restricted the ease of visiting. I have to admit that if we were staying here longer, we would get a small car. However, the places that we have visited by bus or train have been many and the scrutiny of fellow travellers has become an interesting pastime for me. Like the two young men on the train to Paris that I have mentioned in a previous post; or the young girl travelling with her cat and dog – her attention remained fixed on her book whilst some interesting noises emerged from the cat basket as the dog became bored and tried to ‘prod’ the cat into action! The young couple, barely talking, who had clearly had an argument as their body language betrayed their feelings; the bus ride from Cholet, the school bus, where the entire bus apart from us was packed with adolescents – I was filled with dread, remembering what Sydney school buses are like but in fact, there was virtually no noise from the kids, they said ‘bonjour’ when they got on and ‘au revoir’ as they got off to the driver – such politeness. I must admit it was the most interesting thing about Cholet which is a town about 60 kilometres from Angers. It had been mostly destroyed during various wars – the Church of Notre Dame remains the oldest building of note and even that is a mish-mash of styles. We drank a lot of coffee in coffee shops as four hours passed like four days!

So overall I have learnt a lot about the French way of life by using public transport – kids greet each other with two kisses on the cheeks, they “faire la bise”, or else shake hands – even if they only speak momentarily, they acknowledge each other. The bus drivers always say ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ (not in Paris, though!!) and people generally show respect for each other – I hope I don’t look decrepit but often I am offered a seat if the bus is crowded. Often, someone will start a conversation with me – much to my embarrassment as I usually don’t understand a thing they are saying but I nod and say ‘oui, oui, or ‘noooooon’ – even ‘oh la la la la’ comes more freely into my conversation now! The variety, the politeness and the thoughtfulness of the Angevins is admirable.

Being carless has clearly been an advantage, then – but the fact that I would get a car if we stayed here……….hmmm, where does that leave my commitment to reducing global warming? Well, I could always get an electric car – look at the way La Rochelle is encouraging the use of such cars. These are free re-charging points and the four cars here all appear to belong to the local mairie/council. They are small and economical and will hopefully be the way of the future. France uses nuclear power for much of its electricity (I know, I know, there are many pros and cons) so the electricity supply is reasonably guaranteed. And what could be easier than parking your car and plugging it in! Wouldn’t suit the revheads but then I don’t have much time for them anyway. The sooner we move away from cars-as-status-symbols the better!!Where can I get one??!!  

Our little house in Angers has central gas heating and Myriam, our landlady, assured us that we would need it as the rooms become very cold in winter. In fact, we heard the same refrain from many people – “Just wait till it gets cold, then you’ll want to go back to Australia!” We packed coats, berets, scarves, boots and gloves, just in case, and waited for December to come with some trepidation. Summer had been warm with breezes to take away the sting of any heat – there were few days that were more than 30° c. And autumn was all that I could have wished for – red, purple and golden leaves creating carpets of colour as they drifted to the ground and covered the paths.

The cold started towards the end of November, days where the temperatures ranged from 1° – 5°c. There were some sunny days which were quite exhilarating with the rush of cold air in the shade contrasting with the warmth of basking in the sun. Other days were gloomy and wet and we were grateful for the central heating “chez nous”.We read more and more, closed the shutters and spent the days wrapped in the warmth.

Humans are capable of learning new things quickly when necessary and we grew accustomed to the multi-layered approach to clothing – long-sleeved ‘underthings’, jumpers, cardigans, coats, scarves and hats. Having coffee in a café was a major exercise in logistics as we gradually took off layer after layer after layer! At least there are many coat hooks everywhere in France to accommodate all the layers – recently in England, we couldn’t find anywhere to hang coats despite the cold weather – slow learners?

Then the snow came to Angers in early January – not much, just enough to make the winter feel ‘real’. Small flakes falling softly and creating that wonderful silence. It made the roads and paths quite slushy and rather dangerous, though – lots of slipping and sliding and we saw people sporting walking sticks and crutches for some weeks after the snow showers. It had not snowed in Angers for many years so the talk everywhere was about how the climate was changing.

Our Courtyard

And we had some spectacular fogs and mists over the River Maine – I loved walking on the Pont de Verdun to the Bibliothèque on my mornings there, feeling the dankness of the fog and breathing in that distinctive, earthy smell that is at once fresh and sensual yet as ancient as time. Sounds are muffled and it is almost like walking in a different world, as strangers quietly pass by, leaving streams of misty breath trailing behind them.

Pont de Verdun

The Loire Valley is considered to be a temperate part of France, but we had some very strong winds at the end of January, so strong that slates were blown from our roof – there was much greater damage in other parts of the valley, though, and throughout France there were stories of floods, snow, and tempests in different regions. Not that unusual, but the intensity was, and hearing of natural disasters in other parts of the world should alert us all to the possibility of a catastrophic future. I listened to an interesting discussion with James Lovelock, the scientist – lots of disturbing and startling points. You can listen to it here: www.bbc.co.uk/worldservice/programmes/forum/html

The lowest temperature that we recorded in Angers was -5° overnight but that was not often. In fact, the coldest day we experienced was at Brissac-Quincé, a little town about half an hours bus ride from Angers with a magnificent castle. We were there at the beginning of December on an overcast, rainy day and it was so miserable and freezing that none of our protective layers prevented the icy claws of cold creeping through our clothing.

Château de Brissac

Then the temperature range started increasing during February and 0°-10° was not unusual – sadly, it looks like winter is almost over. I have enjoyed feeling the cold, experiencing the shock of icy winds against my face gives me a sense of really being alive and I dread the enervating summers of Sydney. Yes, winter in Angers was cold but not unpleasant and I know I will miss the strength and vitality of each season here.

This year, though, I have been very lucky to have met some interesting and helpful people along the way. I have spoken about our French teacher at the Institut Municipal, Madame B, in an earlier post and she continues to be a source of inspiration and knowledge as the slow, slow journey continues. But there have been others who have stopped and helped me, or who by their very persistence have given me the impetus to continue.

There’s Mireille, a charming, intelligent young woman who stopped me one day in the Bibliothéque Anglophone and started chatting. She has a doctorate in oceanography and has spent some time in Asia but is now looking for work in France, very difficult for her as there are few jobs available in her profession. So she makes do by living with her family and working part-time as a hotel receptionist whilst she considers what to do next.

Like me, she is also a volunteer at the Bibliothèque and helps with the children’s groups as well as assisting at the French conversation class which I attend on Fridays. We often have lunch together at a nearby Thai restaurant, where we can eat splendidly for €9 (about $18AUD) – for 3 courses. Unfortunately, Thai food here is not as we know it in Sydney – or Thailand, I guess – but it is not bad for a change. We spend half-an-hour speaking English and half-an-hour speaking French – her English is much better than my French!! But she is patient and very knowledgeable, and one of the few people who is keen to learn more about Australia.

I’m afraid Australia is not very high on the French scale of interest, although the recent terrible bushfires elicited many comments and commiserations. But for most people, Australia is a land too far away, exotic certainly, and kangaroos are frequently mentioned, but many other countries are so much closer (and cheaper to get to!) for Europeans.

Phillipe is also at the Bibliothèque Anglophone, www.ellia.org , in fact he founded it 15 years ago. He is a retired professor, a polymath who also writes books and paints as well as being a wonderful raconteur. He has taught in many universities and his speciality is English Literature of the 19th century and he is so very, very patient with us. We do a variety of exercises, talking about a favourite subject, presenting our thoughts on a chosen topic, or taking dictation – all very useful and a change from our more formal classes at the Institut. We consider ourselves extremely lucky that Phillipe runs our French Conversation class and we have also visited his house where we have been overwhelmed by his and his wife’s hospitality and elegant style.

Apart from Mireille and Phillipe, there have been others who have helped me thread my way through the maze of French – Sophie, who invited me to her home for some exotic white tea – she has virtually every type of tea imaginable and watching her make it was almost like watching a Japanese tea ceremony. Quantities are measured carefully, water is at a specific temperature, brewing is timed to the second – then aaah, the tea can be savoured. We speak mostly English, which is a bit of a relief (and a cop-out!) for me but Sophie wants to practise her English as she is trying to get some online work.

Them there is Yvette, a retired, dynamic, woman who recently moved to Angers from Paris and was keen to meet new friends who would also help her keep up her English – she has a daughter in the US and one in Australia so her English is very good – I spent a very tiring (probably boring for her!) afternoon with her recently, just speaking French, but other times, we have spoken both languages.

Laurie, a young, energetic woman, has weekly get-togethers at her place where a group of us chat informally and she gently corrects us – she is a teacher but is on maternity leave as she has two young children so she is happy to help us English-speakers try and make some sense of our fractured thoughts.

Our landlady, Myriam, calls in often and has some coffee and cake with us and we are invited to her house for lunch quite regularly. Neither she, her doctor husband nor their children speak any English so we have hours of French practice whenever we see them – surprisingly, as long as they speak slowly (and I don’t forget my French dictionary!) we get by reasonably well.

And then there are our classmates at the Institut – they are from all over the world and as our common language is French, we have to try and make ourselves understood. When we have gone out for coffee, the accents and broken French must make amusing listening for an eavesdropper! And the stories! Did Mer really say that he was of Royal Russian ancestry or did I misunderstand his French? And does Dascha really have 15 husbands? I think many things may have been lost/confused in the weird translations that take place amongst our polyglot array of languages but it’s certainly good fun trying to work it all out.

The level of fluency that is needed to communicate effectively in another language is, I believe, quite high – my level is probably that of a primary school student, able to get by but not able to debate or discuss abstract or even concrete concepts much. This is what I find most frustrating about living here and whilst I know I have improved, not being able to express my thoughts and emotions adequately has been very hard, particularly as my profession relies on the spoken word so much! So I resort to English which sort of defeats the purpose. Another year would make all the difference but, as Phillipe’s wife said to us “Learning another language takes a lifetime!”

Hope there’s re-incarnation!

The tapestries, the largest contemporary tapestry cycle in the world, were created between 1957-1965 and are 80 metres long and 4.50 metres high and were woven in Aubusson. They depict the end of the world through nuclear holocaust and humanity’s eventual redemption and are a reflection, an updating if you like, of the 14th century Apocalypse tapestries in the Château d’Angers.

So picture us one cold Sunday afternoon in this lovely Gothic hall with it’s vaulted ceilings, two of about 150 people sitting and listening to a pianist, a cellist, a clarinettist and a violinist from Orchestre National de Pays de la Loire as they played works by Olivier Messiaën. Jean Lurçat (1892-1966) was a member of the Resistance who lived through WWI and WWII and was strongly against violence and war – he loved nature and many different flora and fauna are depicted in his tapestries, which chronicle his epic vision of the first half of the 20th century. So the ‘pairing’ of Lurçat and Messiaën was most appropriate as Messiaën’s love of nature is also well known.

To listen to the music, the birdsong of Messiaën, whilst looking at a tapestry with colourful flowers, birds and animals was magical and the old hospital was the perfect site for this concert. The thought of the misery and suffering that took place in this hall when it was a hospital added to the sombre musical opening as I looked at the tapestry depicting a nuclear-blasted skeleton. But then the music lightened and the birdsong started and suddenly the world became lighter and more optimistic. See the details of a hen and a butterfly from the tapestries below to see how brilliant Lurçat was as an artist.

The musicologist, Pascal Terrien, gave a short talk on both the artist and the musician before the performance – despite missing much of it as he spoke French, naturally – I was still able to get the gist of what he said – the ‘dialogue’ between the music and the tapestries is inspirational and gives hope to humanity, despite the violence and stupidity we show. Messiaën’s music is not the easiest to enjoy as it can be quite complex, (although I have loved and been greatly moved when listening to “The Turangalîla Symphony” played by the Sydney Symphony Orchestra at the Sydney Opera House, twice now) but the surroundings seemed to suit the music so well that any difficulty was transient and, indeed, added to the poetic symbolism of both artists, the belief that despite pain and suffering, there is still room for love and beauty to flourish.

I remembered that the old Ryde Catering College in Sydney, part of the TAFE (Technical and Further Education) system, had a very good name for excellent, cheap meals so I figured that a similar French school would be even better – and I wasn’t wrong.

The lunch was after our French Conversation Class at the English-Language Library, so we were offered a lift by another couple from our group, serious wine and food fanciers, whose generosity and skill in entertaining is well-known. The only requirement from the CCI was that we speak English, no hardship after labouring through an hour or so of French conversation! On arrival at CCI, some distance from the town centre, we struggled to find our way to the School Restaurant, wandering through seemingly endless, drab corridors in one of those uninspiring ‘modern’ buildings built circa 1980′s.

At last we found a set of swinging doors with “Restaurant” written on them so we entered…..what a surprise! There was a complete restaurant, with immense glass windows looking out onto a green and leafy courtyard, as bright and airy as the corridors had been dark and gloomy. The restaurant had all the usual things – reception desk, cloak room – and the front door that we should have gone through! We were welcomed and led to our table of 4 – there were only tables for 2 or 4 people, the reasons for which became obvious later. All the restaurant ‘staff’ were students, apart from the supervisor, and we were assigned a charming young woman, whom I will call Luna. She was nervous at first (the cutlery was initially laid in a very odd fashion) but she gained confidence as she realised that we were truly ‘sympa’, not critical at all.

As with many French people, numbers in English are difficult, (note: my knowledge of French numbers is terrible!) so our order for the aperitif took a little longer than it should have – 2 wines and 2 non-alcoholic cocktails -but there were smiles all around as she eventually got it right. And the drinks were delicious, the wine generous and full-bodied, the cocktails a melange of fruit juices served in a tall glass, with a rich ruby-coloured syrup at the base dissolving into a soft lemon at the top of the glass – aah!

By this stage, all the lunchers had arrived, about 15 of us from the Library and a few others, so a conversational ‘buzz’ was beginning and the anticipation was growing. Mary and Ian, our lunch companions, had recently travelled to Russia, staying in St.Petersburg on an exchange trip organised by the English Speaking Union in our area, so we caught up on their impressions of Russian daily life – everyone had been billeted with a Russian family and had then reciprocated when the Russians visited Angers a few weeks later – an excellent idea for cultural understanding. However, the differences in living style were enormous – most of the Russians still live in those huge Soviet monoliths that look so forbidding, both outside and. according to Mary, inside as well. But they saw an outstanding production of “La Traviata” and also the ballet “Swan Lake”, a first for Ian and, he stated, definitely not the last.

By this time, our entrées had arrived – an assortment of diced and sliced and marinated vegetables, beautifully displayed on a large white plate, with the rich red of the peeled and seeded tomato contrasting with the soft yellow of the turmeric-flavoured pieces of cauliflower and the vibrant green of the capsicum, all flavours enhanced by a not-too-sharp vinaigrette. Fresh, crusty rolls were served as well. There was only one glitch – the entrée plates were served on top of plates a little smaller, resulting in a bit of a wobble. These underplates were later removed.

Then the pièce de la résistance – roast chicken carved at the table. Now, for some reason, I have not been able to cook an edible roast chicken in France – my few efforts have been very disappointing, with tough, chewy chicken the result. I now buy chicken breast, very expensive at around $AUD26 per kilo and wrap it in foil with various seasonings and wine to keep it moist (we are almost vegetarians as all meat is so expensive!). Mary and Ian, living in France for 5 years, have had similar experiences with French chicken so we waited with a mixture of eager anticipation and fear that we might be disappointed yet again.

Luna appeared, wheeling a trolley, and sitting majestically in the centre was a golden skinned bird, with a tray of mashed potatoes to one side and the carving utensils to the other, alongside a jug of sauce. We waited, with some apprehension for Luna as she had to carve with all eyes on her including the supervisor who was now wielding a video camera, but she did a magnificent job, quartering the bird deftly and asking the 2 women which part we would like. The chicken and mashed potato were superb and we all agreed they were the best we had eaten in France. The only thing missing was a bit of colour from some extra vegetables but I have noticed that veggies play a secondary role in the French main course. Now we knew why each table had to be 2 or 4 people – so the chickens could be divided equally! Red wine was served with the meal and water was presented in a carafe.

The room was really buzzing now, with all the students working frantically to keep up, dodging Madame Supervisor, who was filming everything and discretely helping with language difficulties. Now the cheese plate arrived, with a soft and runny Brie, a beautifully ripe Chèvre and a luscious Roquefort, smooth and strong. How I’m going to miss French cheeses.

But there was more to come! A plate with a portion of millefeuille with a creamy filling, a chocolate mousse-filled tartlet and a rasberry coulis encircling the plate – mmm! French portions are small so we didn’t have that awful feeling of over-indulgence that would normally accompany the eating of four courses in Australia, for example. Luna had significantly increased in confidence as the meal progressed and as we sipped our coffee, we agreed that it had been a memorable meal.

As a finale, the chefs came out of the kitchen, young men and women who shyly went to each table to discuss the various courses – in English, of course! Then the head chef, an imposing man with a good command of English and a tall chef’s hat, told us how much they appreciated being able to practise not only their culinary and waiting skills but also their English language. For us, it was a happy and satisfying experience – and we were thrilled to learn that the Restaurant is open regularly to the public – we’ll be back.