will WE play in Peoria?

It didn’t surprise me today at lunch when Kaitlyn reminded me that I’d told her this morning she could watch tv. It did surprise me when she requested French tv. Uh… ok.

So we sat through the 8 minutes or whatever it was of commercials waiting for cartoons to start. I wasn’t even sure that when the commercials were over cartoons would come on. But they did. And they are just weird. They are mainly Japanese cartoons dubbed into French. And I know I don’t understand everything going on, but what I do understand is just, well, stupid. Little girls with HUGE eyes that are always brimming with tears and they have some bizarre powers to make things happen like today it snowed in the middle of a lunch. Inside a restaurant.

Who knows why she wanted to watch that.

Finally. When you turn on the faucet hot water comes out. The house is still cold, but that’s ok. The towel warmers are getting too hot to touch, so the bathroom downstairs should be back to its sauna state by morning. The dishwasher is churning through the first of what will be many loads as it tries to catch up.

All I have to do now is remember to call the repair people in the morning and tell them in my best French “nevermind.”

Time ticked by and still every time I turned on a faucet, the water gushed out so cold it’s just barely still in its liquid form. The sun had come out and was heating up the house just fine… no wonder it gets so hot in the summer… zero degrees outside, snow on the ground, and no heat or fire in the house and it was a pleasant temperature. I momentarily contemplated opening a window for a little fresh air, then remembered it’s still winter outside. Still, we need the hot water. Every one of our dishes, forks and spoons is piled up neatly by the sink waiting a proper hot water washing. Kaitlyn will desperately need a bath tonight. I would love a hot shower myself.

I tried turning the hot water heater off and back on (every engineer/help desk’s first suggestion), but that didn’t work. After a couple of hours, I thought this surely isn’t right and sent an e-mail to Bill asking his opinion. After another hour without a response, I sent him a text message. He wanted to know if I’d tried turning it off and back on. He also asked for the number to the service company. Great. Problem on someone else’s plate. I went back to cleaning the house.

After a while Bill called me to say he was on the way home… to look at the hot water heater himself. He didn’t want to have his French teacher call the service company just to have them say “did you rattle the hummelfarb?” and him not have done so. I got worried, though, that Bill’s waiting to perform his own diagnosis before driving the half-hour back to Grenoble for his French lesson would mean he’d finally call the company after they’d closed for the day. Because I simply cannot imagine a French service company being open past 5pm. Not a chance. When I nudged him about that, he got annoyed and called them himself. I left to pick up Kaitlyn from school and when I got home 15 minutes later, he was raving mad. Welcome to the thrill of dealing with a serious problem on the phone with someone who doesn’t speak the same language. He kept yelling that he knows enough French to know she was telling him to push a button that didn’t exist. (She kept saying to look for the red button down low… but there are no buttons down low on the heater. I can attest to that.) I finally coerced him into calling the office where his lesson was supposed to be taking place, asking for his teacher (you never know in advance who it will be), and having him or her pick up another phone and dial the water heater people and talk Bill through whatever they were trying to explain to him. It didn’t quite work that way, but close enough. After a few phone calls back and forth, he found the button the woman had been trying to tell him to look for and pushed it… restarting the heater. (it was up on the top) We still have an appointment for service tomorrow… just in case. They’ll be out sometime between either 9 and 11 or 2 and 4.

The heating oil has been delivered. Not too bad… the delivery window was between 8 and 1, and he got here around 11. Pretty much right in the middle. He called to tell me when he was on his way…. I think…. I can’t really be too sure of that. He was very nice in person. (not that he was mean on the phone, but the phone is so frustrating when you can’t understand)

I’d asked my French teacher to ask for a delivery of 2000 liters when she set up the delivery last Friday. The guy showed up today with a slip that said I’d ordered 1800. I wasn’t going to argue over 200 liters. Even if I could have.

Now all I can do is wait and see if the water heater will get to work without some special something needed for that to happen. Hopefully that will be the case, because I can’t keep the fire going any more. It’s basically out. Ok, it’s out. So is the firewood. And the fire starters. Time will tell…

Woke up this morning still had a migraine and still had Kaitlyn sleeping in our bed. After breakfast, I thought I could handle one last tourist attraction before hitting the road. Besides, I knew that the only thing waiting for me at home was cold.

Across the rivers from Avignon there’s a small town with a Carthusean monastery They’re the monks who make that horrible green liquor Chartreuse. I was so fascinated by my visit to the monastery here last fall with Bill’s sister that I really wanted to see this one.

I guess all the liquor money goes to the one here. Because the one there is pretty much just a shell of a series of buildings. The pope who started the order is interred there and he should be annoyed at the state of his surroundings… although they are slightly better than the state of the pope’s abandoned palace. The woman who sold me our tickets said there would be explanations of everything inside in English. What she meant was there are explanations of most of the stuff in English, but not everything. And some of it I wouldn’t have had any clue about at all if I hadn’t visited the monetary here complete with audio guide and, well, explanations. The one thing they had that I didn’t remember seeing before was the “prison”… where the bad monks were kept in solitary confinement. Which didn’t seem like much of a punishment because they pretty much spent all their time in a solitary cell anyway. I’ll have to take Bill to the one here. The restaurant at the monastery is only open in the summer and it looked like the only real interesting part of the whole place (we peeked in the door, it was open for the wine delivery man).

Outside, Bill looked at me and announced that I looked not very well (duh) and suggested we just get in the car and head toward home and just look for food along the way. I don’t know how far we’d driven when Bill pulled off at a big rest stop. Kaitlyn and I were both asleep. She’d gotten mad at me because I couldn’t help cut out princess outfits so she gave in to the urge to nap. I had closed my eyes to try to feel better. He went inside and came out with a couple of sandwiches, a package of ham for Kaitlyn, some fruit and some bags of chip sort of things.

At some point after eating her ham, Kaitlyn got bored with her new coloring book (yes, she convinced Bill to buy her something again today) and drew the face of an alien on her shirt. Now there is a big purple face on her new cream colored shirt. I was not happy. Bill thinks I over-reacted. Bill does not do the laundry.

About an hour from home we drove into a snowstorm. It was too warm for it to hit the ground as flakes, but it was definitely falling as big white clumps. The closer we got to home, the colder it got. The snow stopped falling but was coating the ground. Bill commented driving up our mountain that there didn’t seem to be as much snow as he expected. We have a little more than a half a foot of snow covering our yard. So you can imagine how cold it is inside the house… that hasn’t had heat since some time on Thursday. It’s too cold for the stove to work. The water is still cold, so the pile of dirty dishes is just growing bigger and bigger. Bill put the space heater in our room and tonight Kaitlyn was actually told she couldn’t sleep in her own room because it’s too cold in there. He’s been working to keep a fire going but now that he’s gone to bed, it’s about out and I may go poke a stick at it (literally, we don’t have fireplace tools so we’re using an old ski pole to poke at the wood) but I’m sure all I’ll do is extinguish it the rest of the way.

I’ve been sitting under blankets, wearing two pairs of socks, long underwear under my pants, a turtle neck and a fleece pullover. Kaitlyn put on a spring skirt and a t-shirt. The heating oil is supposed to be delivered tomorrow morning. A friend offered to pick Kaitlyn up and take her to school. She is supposed to go to someone else’s house for lunch… so I can hunker down and wait for warmth to get here.

We decided when we left the flamingo reserve to do something crazy and spontaneous. Now I remember why I don’t do things that are spontaneous.

After typing in a few destinations to the GPS, we decided to drive to the coast and go to Marseilles. Bonnie (Bill’s GPS) said that it was about an hour and 20 minutes away. I sat back and closed my eyes, hoping that would be enough time for my migraine to subside. (I knew it wouldn’t be… they always last two days. Always.) Bill asked if I wanted to just go back to the hotel, but when visions of another take-out meal from McDonalds floated through my head I told him to just stay on course.

Our first glimpse of the Mediterranean was amazing. The water is the most incredible shade of dark blue. Really beats the pants of the dreary gray of the North Sea or the muddy tone of the Atlantic. It was a very windy day and waves were crashing up against a rocky sea wall sending spray all the way across 3 or 4 lanes of traffic onto our windshield. We laughed; it seemed so amazing at the time. Here we were, driving along the Mediterranean Sea on a whim. Ok, even now that part of it is still amazing. But soon we had to figure out where to go. The signs gave us the choice: the old port or downtown. Bill went with downtown. Honestly, I may have chosen the old port… but for the same reasons I can’t keep away from all the lousy disappointing markets. We cruised into town and realized we’d just entered a city. A real, big city. And we had no clue where to head. Bill managed to tell Betty to lead us to a monument next to the ocean… figuring we’d at least be heading to a touristy area. It was about 6:00, too early for restaurants to open… so each one we passed perched right along the water was dark. And since it’s a holiday we couldn’t even be sure they’d be open if we waited.

Finally, Kaitlyn started asking if she could unbuckle her seat belt, she had had enough of being in the car. Bill found a parking place on the street across from a little bit of beach and we got out. That wind that was whipping up the waves was nasty from outside the car. Cold. Horrible bitter cold. Kaitlyn and Bill took off toward the ocean. I had to turn around and try walking backwards, I couldn’t stand that wind in my face. Then I couldn’t see them because when I tried to brave the gale, I was staring into the sun. So I stood there at the edge of the Mediterranean Ocean crying. Made the whole spontaneous thing a lot less amazing to me at that point. I got a hold of myself and found my family. Kaitlyn didn’t care if it was 100 degrees (it was far from it) or zero degrees (it was about that with the wind… Celsius) she loves the beach. She wanted to build a sand castle, and would not be deterred by the fact that it was a pebble beach. When that didn’t work, she ran off to the playground. I couldn’t even take my hands out of my pockets, but there she was grabbing onto the metal bars to climb. After a little while she announced she had to pee. If there was a public bathroom, we had no idea where it was. Bill took her over to a sort-of secluded spot near a lifeguard building and stripped her down to let her go. She couldn’t do it. Said it was too cold.

After some hide-and-seek while Bill took pictures of the sea, those of us who have a normal sense of heat and cold decided it was time to head toward shelter in the form of a restaurant. Across the street by where we’d parked was a row of restaurant/cafe kind of places. We walked up and down that strip reading menus. Kaitlyn wanted shrimp and Bill told her there wasn’t any on the menus, even though there was. Mostly he was afraid that they’d come with their heads and bodies and not be what she wanted. I don’t think she’d care of a shrimp came out on her plate still alive, she’d club it with her spoon and eat it. That child loves shrimp. Cold and hungry, we chose the place that looked the most promising for her because it had pizza. It had a funny trying-to-sound American name, which I’ve already forgotten. But no one in there spoke English. Kaitlyn ordered a pizza, I ordered some creamy gratin pasta (nothing sounded good because I felt so sick, but I knew I needed to eat something). Bill ordered a shrimp entree (appetizer). He asked the waiter about it, but neither of us understood the answer. It came out in a huge glass… piled high with small shrimp drowning in the French version of cocktail sauce (basically mayonnaise with a hint of ketchup) and a single, giant, full-bodied shrimp sitting on top staring at us… defying us to eat it. Bill cleaned that shrimp and Kaitlyn gobbled it down instantly. Then the two of them went to town on that giant mayonnaisey bowl of shrimp. I had a couple, but paired with my creamy pasta it really was not that good. I think Bill and I had both imagined a nice seafood meal at the coast. This wasn’t it. But he liked it, and that’s what mattered, he’d the one who ordered it.

After dinner we got back in the car and headed back to our hotel in Avignon. It may be the last time in a long time I’m spontaneous…. unless I hear about a market somewhere…

Since I was still struggling with a migraine, (ok, and because my morning marketing was such a bust) I let Bill decide how we’d spend the afternoon. He actually went with my original plan: to drive to a place almost to the coast about an hour and a half away called Camargue where I’d read there are thousands of flamingos. The concern was that not a single person Bill talked to in his office had ever even heard of the place. French people. One asked if the birds would even be there, or if they migrate for winter and could still be gone. Undaunted, we got in the car and headed that way.

From the outside, it didn’t look like much. We paid our 18 Euros or whatever it was and went in.

At the front there are several cages of birds. Big birds. No, not the yellow kind from Sesame Street. But kinds you don’t see every day, like giant owls and falcons.

We followed the map, which was little more than lines drawn around a couple of lakes, and soon found what we’d gone in search of. Flamingos. Hundreds of them. The park is at their natural habitat so the birds weren’t in any caged area. They could fly (they’re sort of funny to watch). I suppose they could leave if they wanted; there must be something done to keep them there even with tourists gawking at them all day. At every turn for the next hour or so, we saw bunches of the light pink birds. They are noisy things. Some were fighting. Some were dancing around with their heads in the water, looking for food. You could walk right up to the edge of the water to see them. I was sort of amazed I didn’t see any of the people do something stupid like stick their hand out for the birds to bite. I’m even more amazed that no one has heard of this place. It was well worth the trip.

It’s a good thing that Santa and the Easter Bunny are friends. Santa called up the Easter Bunny and told him where he could find Kaitlyn, since we wouldn’t be at home. And unlike DHL, he found her with no problem.

Kaitlyn woke up, went into her room (had to go into it since she hadn’t been sleeping in it) and squealed with delight. The bunny brought her an activity book, a special Easter stained glass coloring book and a dress-up-a-princess book with stickers and pretty paper and stencils for skirts and tops. But the bunny did not bring the pencil, scissors or glue needed to actually dress up any of the princesses. Stores here already aren’t open on Sunday. Easter Sunday didn’t mean more than usual were open, either. But we managed to find one small supermarket that was open and had a glue stick, children’s scissors and pencils. Thank goodness. Once we had those treasures in hand, we rushed to lunch where Kaitlyn could assemble her first princess while waiting for her food to arrive.

For the record, Kaitlyn slept in our bed. Again. So I slept in her bed, since my migraine was keeping me awake. I figured I’d flip and flop around without bothering everyone else.

I am obsessed with going to markets. I always think I’m going to find some magical, local item that I’d never find anywhere else. Something I can buy and take home and put on display and tell everyone “oh, that? I found it at this charming little market in Provence.” (or wherever) But the truth is, I’m yet to find a market that even comes close to being able to fulfill that dream. Still… I dragged Bill and Kaitlyn to not one but two markets today.

The first was a food market. I knew I wasn’t going to find anything I could really take home. But you hear so much about the wonderful food in Provence… all the fresh vegetables… I wanted to see what they had to offer. It did all look good. There were a lot of butcher shops; they all were well-stocked with lamb for Easter. Kaitlyn cried because none of the fish places had prepared shrimp she could walk around and eat. One had mussles, but she turned her nose up at that French favorite. She settled on a potato thing: a baked mini-mountain of mashed potatoes. She liked it even though it was cold.

Then Bill navigated the streets to find our way to the weekly flea market. This is where I envisioned authentic old French things. They had authentic old French things alright. Dirty old stuffed toys (some with tags from a local fast food restaurant), dirty old shoes, dirty old crap in general. It didn’t take us long to walk past all that and declare that I’ll never learn.

Kaitlyn’s obsession with shopping while we’re on vacation apparently was not a British phenomenon. (If you don’t remember, she spent the whole of our time in England asking to go shopping.) She started the day asking to buy something and it was her refrain for the day.

We told her she could pick out one thing. ONE. After she patiently went to the palace (I told her it was a palace and while we were in the middle of it she demanded to know where this palace was. I’m telling you, it isn’t palatial.) She scoured the gift shops at the palace and the bridge. There she picked out a giant jewelery box. It had a painting of a castle, a few drawers, and a little dancing couple when you open the top. It was 30 Euros, so we steered her toward the idea of doing a little more shopping before deciding. She also thought a flute she saw would be nice; that was vetoed with no discussion.

After lunch, Bill and I took Kaitlyn on her promised shopping excursion. The second shop we went into had just the thing she wanted: a jewelry box. It has a picture of a ballerina on it, is about a third the size of the one she found earlier, there’s a twirling ballerina when you open it up… and it’s 25 Euros. But we bought it. So she’d stop begging us to go shopping.

She held tight to the bag holding her precious new box when we hit our next tourist trap: the little train. It’s the same sort of little tourist train I rode last summer here in Grenoble. You get on, pay too much, then ride around the town listening to a recording about what you’re riding past. She loved it. I was amazed at the incredibly narrow streets that thing goes down. You definitely are well advised to keep your fingers inside the train at all times.

The train took us past a little park with bikes for little kids to ride. So that was our next destination. The bikes are really little trikes behind plastic horses… to turn the bike you have to pull the reign on the horse. Kaitlyn tried but got too frustrated by it. She parked her horse, patted its nose and thanked it, then ordered some barbe-a-papa. (literally: dad’s beard. Actually: cotton candy)

By the time we left the park, we realized we had on our hands one tired five year old. A five year old far too tired to sit through a meal at a restaurant. The solution was to take food back to our hotel room. But places with carry-out are few and far between in France. Kaitlyn and Bill found theirs no problem: McDonalds. We had McDonalds last night in the car, so I was not thrilled about dumping another giant blob of grease on my stomach. I held out. And almost ended up going hungry. Finally, nearly at the hotel, we found a place making crepes. I think I was the last person to order before they closed for the night. (and it wasn’t that late.. maybe 6:00) Not quite the Provincial meal I’d imagined. But, then again, since I left my tour books at home, I couldn’t exactly propose a good alternative. And even if I could, I wasn’t about to with Kaitlyn being as tired as she was.

We spent Saturday night in Provence eating take out in a hotel room without a television. What a dream trip. No wonder you can add the beginning of a migraine to my evening. And the books weren’t the only thing I left at home. I forgot my migraine medicine, too.