How to Circumvent Whining in Children

Ingredients:

1 c. deviousness
1 c. sugar

mix two and hope for the best

Scouring the Countryside Looking for a French Baby to Take Home...

We had one of our best days today. We got out and cycled down the Ceou valley along an incredibly narrow road to the village of Daglan. We had four bikes, with Moss on a tag-along (he was able to "ride" and eat his jambon and fromage baguette at the same time)

and Bubbs on the back of mine. It was the first very warm day here-we are all in various stages of burn, but the route was a gentle, meandering road that ran us past unbelievable little stone houses and many walnut fields. The people of this region are very meticulous when it comes to their properties. The many many fields of walnut trees are impeccable pruned, they grow in straight rows which are mowed to the ground (so as to not let any interfering vegetation impose itself, I presume. Then the grassy areas between these rows are mowed just as flat. When pruning, the branches are piled neatly in rows to be picked up later. There is no strewing things about here. The same goes for the vegetable gardens. There are extremely precise rows of leeks, onions, beans and chards lined up, spaced exactly evenly from each other and weeded without a single plant present that shouldn't be there. There is a total absence of mulch, of moat buildups around tree bases. Everything is very simple and clean and precise.


We continued to Daglan, where everything was closed (because we keep forgetting that all of France shuts down between 12 and 2pm). But it is a beautiful little village with narrow winding stone streets, which we cycled down and around.

We found a little tea house/cafe called Le The Vert, run by an English woman. That is where we got our sandwiches. Very simple, again, but very good. Now we are all about baguettes sliced lengthwise and filled with sea salt butter, ham and cheese. Eat.


Now, getting back, J. and I already had a plan to get the kids back out of the house. Imagine four children who are being dragged (too god.damned bad..sorry K.O.) around to various castles and fortified towns and prehistoric sites in a foreign country where there are eclairs (occasionally, we will say, "Oh my God, we are so bored..not another castle!!"), who just want to lay around the gite and look at their i-thingys or break things...so sometimes it's hard to get them back out again without some kind of lure... "ok, we're going to go back to the gite and everyone should finish those postcards so we can go mail them in Beynac (you can see a picture from the bottom of Beynac on the blog before this one). We'll go to the patisserie and you can pick out anything you want". Interest. Piqued.



So, off we went. To the post office. Closed. Open from 915-12.15 only. Must remember this. Patisserie across the street. Very nice Madame; asks Mossy to not touch the display case. He touches it about 5 more times. Then Cormac touches it. She cranks out some ice cream cones for four kids. Pastries also, but tucked away in a bag. C'mon kids, let's see what's up this street. Let's go up this street... how 'bout up this street? Look, there's a castle up there!! (Mama, mykneeshurtIhaveaheadacheMoss,getbackromthere,Bubbygetoutofthestreet,whysowehave
tosothesestupidthings,whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!Letmetakeapictureofyou.
No,Imnotcarryingyou.Ifyoureallylovedmeyouwouldntmakemedothis.I'msotiredI'msotiredI'm
sotired.AmIadopted?)

Victory Laugh and Pastry Delivery

Then it was home for heated up Beouf a la bourguignonne with too much wine in it. Poor kids. I can hardly stand it.

*stay tuned. another blog is on its way*

Within and Without Chez Nous

Pere de Bubby..MIA by his own hand. Yes, we have had some secret deleting going on. The great pic of him on the patio, reading with headlamp, the one driving at top speed with lollypop..all gone before Mama can upload him. By god, that elusive big toe shall not escape my digital gaze again. It's onto the blog with you, monsieur, I don't care if you hate this picture!


The interior of the Gite:

The gite is three floors: a basement level with doors out to the garden with shower and toilette (Rubes), main floor with living, kitchen, dining and master bedroom and upstairs with two bedrooms and a bath (with just Henry as the little boys are camping with us...very steep spiral staircase)


We have been having a fire every night in this beautiful fireplace. It is so warm and cozy and of course, the fireplace isn't too bad looking, eh? Notice the sleigh bed that we fight over to its side. It is where we take turns nodding off with books or ..blogging..like I am right now.


Here is a view toward the front doors with the dining area on the left and the open kitchen on the right. Everything is well stocked with many guidebooks and local information, wood, as many walnuts as we can eat, great kitchen with everything (well, I used a vinaigrette bottle for a rolling pin yesterday).

Prehisto-Billy Goat

A companion site to Lascaux is called Le Thot, where we went today. It is a prehistoric centre and an animal parc that consists of the descendants of animals found in the cave paintings at Lascaux. It's an intriguing idea and, because they have signs with the paintings from the cave and photos of the living beast, it comes off pretty well. So for instance, they'll show a picture of an Lascaux bull painting in front of a pen holding massive long horned cattle. We arrived just in time to see a 2 minute old deer being licked by its mother and wobble, trying to stand up. No one was too impressed but me. They'd rather hang out with the shaggy donkey, who had nothing to do with anything prehistoric.


Then there was a mangy old mammoth, covered in moss and cobwebs and going rather bald. Poor guy. It was supposed to be animated in some way, but since it wasn't July and no hordes of tourists, he maintained his mouldy dignity in silence.


There are so many things to see and do in our own "backyard"that we sometimes forget to go there. We have to drive through Beynac many times on our way to places. It is another wonderful village built into the cliff-face along the Dordogne. It also has a castle (we are in the midst of five different castles) perched high above the village. Driving through today, we promised ourselves that we would go there tomorrow under the auspices of going to the post office (there is a limit to how long you can drag small children around..or tweens for that matter). Anyway..we are so damn lucky.

And now, we must carry ourselves off to bed.....


Here's a postscript: the real thing in France:

Bouef a la Bourguignonne

La Vie en France

There's a lot that's interdit en France (forbidden) but, for the most part, Les Francais just ignore signs like these. However, there are somethings that you can't get around and some things that are unspoken when it comes to the forbidden...no sign really needed. At the top of the UNESCO World Heritage site of Lascaux II, it is toddlers peeing inside the cave. Yes, it is a replica, true, but that makes it all the harder to mix human pee in with that of paleolithic cave bear urine and that belonging to anything else that might have wandered in during the last ten thousand years or so. M. le Bubby did his little pee-pee previous to entree, but you know how being in an enclosed space with no lights on can inspire one to ruminate on urination. Yet, the announcement came and Jason, being a good outdoorsman said, "can't he just go in the corner?" Dear God, No!!!! was my first response, the second was, Dear God, I am going to have to stop the entire tour and ask, in French, if we can leave this place early, somehow, without getting lost in the many side caves, to faire le pee pee?, which was swiftly followed by some sage, motherly advice: take this sweater and make him pee in it in a dark corner.





Have any of you ever peed into a sweater in a cave in France? Me neither. Cormac neither and he wasn't having it. Hey, Mac, look at that reindeer over there!!! Anyway, his need subsided and we pushed it to the darkest recesses of our consciousness and instead focused on Mossy, whose barking cough reverberated off the cave walls, oh..about every 5 seconds or so, interrupting the guide, who tried to slip a quick syllable in during Moss's intake of breath. I think he's really going to miss us.






The picture below is the seminal picture of the Perigord Noir found in all guide books and blogs and tourist photos. It is of the Dordogne river winding its way off to the interior of France, having begun as a large sleeve pouring in at the Atlantic. Here it passes by innumerable towns and villages of wine country and on in.

The photo is taken from the fortified city of Domme, just a few kms from the gite. Perched on a tall promontory, there are low walls overlooking a drop off into the river valley below, the kind that makes my stomach pierce itself with fear to look over the edge it's so far down. There are no safety fences in France on these things..you are in control of your kids and if they impetuously jump up on the edge or go running towards it like a cockamamie cowboy and fly over the edge to their deaths, you're a negligent parent. period. This was brought home to me the other day at the chateau Castelnaud (photos on Rubes' camera, sorry), where I spent the visit paralyzed by fear that one of the little boys was going to fall off the horribly high drop-offs, just like a 14th century soldier taking a hit. Everyone survived and I might have lost an inch or two of foie gras in my anxiety, so it works out.

One of many winding, steep streets in Domme

Waiting for Maman to negotiate baguettes, tartes and a biere for Papa for our pique-nique

La Roque Gageac

You know where Johnny Depp comes floating up a river to ogle Juliette Binoche in Chocolat? Well, here is the town. Built right into the cliff along the river, its streets are steep and charming, buildings packed together, on top of one another with lush gardens spilling over every free inch. More drop offs and erratic running and no listening. Normal day, in other words. The amazing thing about these little famous medieval villages is that, not only are they important historical sites and tourist attractions, but people actually live everyday lives here.

Part three of the day: the Chateau Marqueyssac

These gardens are incredible and extensive. There is an entire section that is heavily sculpted all by hand twice a year that is shown here but it goes beyond this with many different types of gardens, landscaping etc. Really unbelievable. We missed almost all of it due to low energy functioning in the family engine. Major dehydration and a few with colds so by the time we got here the whine-o-meter was on high (myself included). I'd like to return. With no children. For a day. Ha. ha.


Oh..and I was just feeling lonely for Cabela's, when we stumbled into a tiny room on the chateau grounds filled with cases displaying the local carnivorous relationships. Mossy mourned over each dead animal carefully, "Poor_______", why, Mama?". Well, it was cool in there and peaceful and there were dead things...what a nice breather. Then, we scooted outside to find a peacock calling to its friend on the rooftop of the chateau. Finally, Ruby and I retreated to the little outdoor cafe to sneak an espresso while Jason to the boys to the living labyrinth for children. He got this shot of M. Le Bubby before his back permanently stayed bent to toddler size.


Then it was home for a dip in the Ceou. What an incredibly clean, beautiful little river.

Henri Took a Shower!!!

...and all of France is celebrating!

Je Mange, Tu Manges, Tout le Monde Mange

There is a market in any direction at least once every day of the week. We were counseled to go to the St. Cyprien market as it was self-contained in a single street. Jason wheeled the car up onto the sidewalk (we are quickly learning to follow no traffic rules at all..sorry, we learned this from other drivers!)and we piled out in our usual hurricane manner, drawing stares from the get go. The market was so...French. It had everything you could possibly want: cheese, pastries, olives, fresh fish and seafood, live rabbits, dead ducks, miles of sausage, fresh fruits and vegetables, clothes, shopping bags (must break own and get one of these!!!).



I managed to order a few bags of vegetables from one vendor and then quickly add an apple at the end, except that I asked for a potato, instead. Sorry, kids! This was our first market and it was a combination of anxiety (keeping an eye on everyone, giving steel trap autonomy to the older kids (an oxymoron..just in case) and of wonder, as we are seeing so many incredibly good things to eat. I mean, I got to choose how thick I wanted my bacon sliced! Mossy ordered shrimp and later, at home, he carried one around (they are au natural, meaning with heads, antennae, etc) calling it his friend until his father took the head off and made him eat it. Ah, life, so short, so brutal.



We have eaten more bread than ever. A boulangerie is located a respectable few meters from the Gite and we have given them our money everyday. We ran through Sarlat on our way to Lascaux today and peeled off in front of another to collect a pain de campagne and jam filled cookies, whose name I've forgotten. These habits extend to crepes, which were filled with sugared strawberries and fed to children with thick slices of thick cut bacon and pepper jack omelette (left-over Merc cheese) this morning before departure.



We descended on the hypermarche (think Target) at the end of our adventures and spent an ungodly amount of money. But really, bottles of wine under $5, chevre for $2.50, chorizo for 1, 75...this is organic! I believe we eat like the French at home and that's why we have no more money after the Merc, but here, we can eat like French and pay like Americans (thank you Greece for totally screwing up the EU and making our trip significantly more valuable!!!) Anyway, it's hard to stop when you think you're getting an unbelievable deal on everything, or maybe you want to use the vegetable scale one more time (you push a pic of the veggie and it spits out a price tag and if you haven't done this you are sent back from the check out line to do so with a withering stare from the clerk). Eggs, I must say, are horrifically expensive.



We managed to stumble home and fix espresso with super thick cream and a sugar cube, while Ruby fixed a 6pm tea and cookies for everyone and get ready to launch into dinner preparations: onion, red pepper and zucchini risotto with sausage from St. Cyprien, fresh greens, baguette (of course) and a bottle of Cahors (which was also consumed by R&H, quite the grownups..it was .5 inches of wine!) We have a picture somewhere but..hmm. I can't find it.

There is more to tell..like how to answer the following:

What do you do when your kid has to pee inside Lascaux cave?

but it is late and I have to go to bed before I just decide to load just one more picture....

Mamut

Mossy, Cormac, Henry and I lay in a field of wildflowers, a dome of dusty blue overhead with a sliver of moon. We listened to the sun disappearing below the land and the crickets set up their choral din. The boys spontaneously picked daisies and set them in my hair, each taking turns. This lasted a total of three seconds before one of them started chastising another, but it was so unforgettable that it seemed to last a lifetime. I think I was having a French moment.





Mamut with human


This day's minutae will be turned inside out...because I feel like it. Most families dream of taking their kids to places that maybe they always wanted to go but there was no money, or they went and it marked their lives forever. These can be locales such as Disneyland or World, Sea World, maybe Graceland or perhaps the largest cross in the Western Hemisphere down there in Oklahoma. Apparently Americans carry these dreams overseas and influence the European populace at large as EuroDisney is the No. 1 visited attraction in France. We are not so different, except that our tastes run counterculture to the choices above.

Rubes' 'this is so lame' look

Today we made a Mama dream come true and went to Prehistoparc, replete with full sized-mammoths being speared to death by Cro-Magnon, a furry version of a WWF wrestler going head to head with a wooly rhinocerous, a cave lion roaring at a cowering man/woman while he/she shrieked in a strange Franco-Neanderthal language...you get the picture. If you don't, see below. It is set in a tract of beautiful deciduous forest with moss covered rocks and the sun filtering through to a small stream flowing through.
The figures were all life-sized and set in place within this forested landscape. Of course, you might not want to look too closely or you'll see the horribly outdated anthropological interpretation of the paleolithic human of the 1970s/80s (and the speaker box in full view behind the lion's derriere).

Backtracking

En Route

Previous to this aventure fromageux, we bushwhacked our way up the bramble covered path behind the gite to a trail that led up to the top of the limestone ridge. It was a great little hike that got us a wide view of the Ceou valley. At the top we realized we'd made a wrong turn and stood on the grounds of some manor house. We crept out to the little winding road and passed the little hameau of , which sits atop this ridge. We felt a strong desire to never move again. On the way down, Ruby discovered some rock shelters we'd missed and we looked around carefully in all the crevices just in case someone had hidden a cache of fabulous Solutrean points but, alors non, just some cobwebs and spiders. At this point Mama's jetlag set in and I had to take a little nappy in order to fully appreciate my next adventure (the one above).

, En Abri

So, we have heard it is cold and miserable in Kansas. It is, of course, not miserable here but it is cold. Much the same as when we left, with most days threatening rain, but never quite making good on the promise. Mossy bravely jumped in the unheated pool here today in a rare ray of sunshine and leapt back out like a frog in a fire (no pun intended French people). It is supposed to be beautiful tomorrow, though, so we hope for warmth!

After saddling ourselves with the appropriate memorabilia from Prehistoparc (two rubber bouncy balls and postcards) , we flung ourselves into a short addendum adventure to La Roque St. Christophe, a crazy cliff that rises straight from the Vezere river valley floor up several thousand feet and contains the remains of both prehistoric and "troglodyte" cliff dwellers.

One car wide approach to la Roque. Approach with all speed and recklessness as possible

I read this in French on the website before coming and I could have sworn that troglodytes were bizarre creatures of the trilobite era that scooted around on the swampy ocean floor..or in caves...or something like that. But apparently they were cliff dwelling people who built wooden forts into these rocks (18th century/19th). I guess we should read the brochure. Anyway, it afforded us the chance to obtain a rarity in France, one that we dream of every moment: a to-go cup of coffee (at le snack bar).


The Vezere valley is a place we will find ourselves in again and again. It is the seat of prehistory in the area and the largest concentration of prehistoric human habitation in France. This is where Lascaux, Le Moustier and Les Ezyies-de Tayac can be found, among many others. The river isn't quite as wide as the Dordogne but a beautiful meandering one as seen from above.

And, last, the quintessential red flower of the Perigord noir, something akin to a California poppy, but more delicate and purely red. It is everywhere, in rocky soil, in cliff faces, in fields. And so it's found on tablecloths, dishes, towels and everywhere. It reminds me of the surprise lilies that pop up on the lawns of Lawrence..a gift from nowhere and for no one in particular.

Circadian Rhythms

Ceou river valley

I just had three great hours of sleep. Time to get up, drink some wine and blog, I guess, because it's one in the morning (7.23 pm for you all).

One remark that is constantly tossed between us all is that we can't quite believe we are in France. It's not that feeling of being overwhelmed by your luck or being awed by your surroundings (which we are very much aware of) but rather that we somehow just landed here and here we are. No real passage of distance or time occurred. We are also struck by how much the Perigord Noir looks like Colorado- smells, vegetation, altitude, the air..except everyone speaks French and no one is wearing Prana.

I will back up a bit and begin at our arrival at Les Esparoutis. It is a tiny hameau (hamlet) of several buildings, some owned by the gite's owners, Ian and Ien, but also their 2-3 neighbors. It is set just above the river Ceou ("say-ooo") in the river valley.

Piq-nic on the Ceou

This valley (and river) joins up with the mighty Dordogne, which provided a passageway for wine sold to the (royal) Brits long before they bought up everything in sight here for vacation homes. All the buildings in the area are made of the same honey-colored Perigordian limestone, with red tile roofs surrounded by modest gardens and tiny vineyards, really thrown up where ever there is a few meters square. Here, in Esparoutis, we are staying in the Gite, which is bordered on one side by a small outdoor patio and accompanying orange striped tabby cat (with whom I made friends by pretending not to care the least), a garden and then a short gravel drive with a long limestone barn. One the other side of the property sits the sechoir, originally built for drying the copious walnuts growing just to the side (secher=to dry). This is where the owners are staying and they call it "the Nut House".

Front door of the Gite

Pool to the left of Front Door

We got in completely exhausted but exhilarated, made our meager meal of the grocery list below and then proceeded to stay up extremely late because our bodies had no idea what just happened. Ian thought he might have to call an ambulance when he realized there was no movement the next day until after one pm, when we finally awoke. Well, half the day was gone before we managed to leave, but leave to Sarlat, the famous market town of the region, we did.

Centre ville, Sarlat

We happened to land in France on a national holiday ( I have still not determined the name or purpose...) which, because it occurred on a Thursday this year, resulted in a pont, or a bridge, to the weekend, which means Friday is a wash as far as work is concerned. This meant that Sarlat was insane, although not nearly as insane as the July-August influx of all the Europeans and many Americans on vacation. We crawled in to town and into a huge fois gras festival, where all the local vendors were hawking their specialties accompanied by a loud speaker (think county fair) and bad music from the 80s/90s. I can and cannot believe this is still going on as it was when I came here 20 years ago. Maybe (ahem, not maybe) French pop music is rather inferior to bad American pop. Very strange to be wandering the winding medieval streets of a beautiful village with _________ playing.

M. Bubby et Crew

We ended up buying some local salami (taureau/beef, porc and epice/spicy) using some patched together language, of which the vendor merrily took part. He warned us that this must not go in the "frig". I thought he was speaking French and couldn't understand, ditto for Jason and it was finally, Ruby who understood that he was actually speaking English but kind of guessing at the word.

Cured hams hanging in the window

Here is a note on language:

For me personally, it is of the utmost satisfaction to be speaking in French again. It feels as though I am speaking English and feel no fear whatsoever in diving into conversations or requests. This is a dramatic contrast from the last years of being paralyzed by Polish in Poland and now tentatively taking steps with Arabic. It is a pleasure that really can't be quantified. For his part, Jason is fearless- something you rarely see in a beginner. He just walks right up and says whatever he can in French and mimes the rest and pretty much gets what he wants. To our great humor and slight embarrassment, he waves and calls, "Bonjour!" to people when we stop for them to cross a road. They hurry on, trying not to look at the lunatiques Americains in the car. Ruby and Henry are adding one word a day. They both manage a "bonjour, merci or au revoir". We will go to the market in St. Cyprien tomorrow, and they will have a chance to buy things and thus speak (well, they will be forced to by their mother).



There were a few questions:

driving occurs on the same side of the road as the US. We are beginning to understand that everyone in France drives like Julie and they understand that there are times when you have to yield the center of the narrow road and let the oncoming traffic have their side, also just like Julie. And, yes, we all fit in the car! I wish we owned it. It is like driving a Subaru Outback with extra seats.

The rest of our afternoon was spent at a giant grocery store (Carrefour) after which we loaded our trunk with individual grocery items because we didn't know about bringing your own bags. Arriving home, we immediately began to drink wine, feeling the day winding around us and stomping on our heads. We dined on roasted chicken with white beans, prosciutto and leeks with mache salad and baguette on the side. All of a sudden it was 11 pm and Mossy and Cormac still ran around like it was 4 pm (which it was as well). The rest of the evening was spent in very good conversation with Ian, getting the Australian view of the Bush years, what it's like to renovate, live and visit in France and all about archaeology (he is an archaeologist), so those of you who know Jason can image the intensity of the conversation. Ruby and Henry managed to nurse their 12 hours of no internet on their various i-thingys until ungodly hours and stumble off to bed.

So, tomorrow, we will have croissants, bushwhacking and mammoth stories to tell and then it's on to food!

Bonsoir tout le monde!