FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

"A Diamond in the Rough" that's the best way I can describe our coastal town. And while it may not be chichi like Cassis, Bandol, or Sanary… La Ciotat has more character in its little pinky than all three. Can you sense our salty sea breeze coming from the turquoise bay just below?

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TODAY'S WORD: LE QUAI

    : wharf, pier

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

When our vineyard went under contract and my husband tossed La Ciotat into the pot of possible places to relocate, I flinched. Not because of any particular impression I ever got from visiting here, but because this town has (or had…) a reputation as a place that is mal fréquenté.

Bref, La Ciotat isn't one of those gems you hear about when discussing charming French destinations. But the tides are turning and the beaches here are blindé—so completely packed you cannot see the sand for les serviettes--that is, you can hardly find a spot to put down your beach towel. And while the beaches here have always attracted sunbathers (they come from Marseille and hang out all day), the city is now attracting an international crowd.

By the times you receive this letter, my sister, niece and nephew will be landing in Marseilles and I will be excited to show them our not-so-new digs (hard to believe we moved here 6 years ago). Here are some of the places we will see. Enjoy the pictures and related text and see you next week for an update!

Amicalement,
Kristi

Mugel Beach. Our personal favorite, La Plage Mugel, is known for its clear turquoise waters and the shallow depth near the shore makes it safe for children to play and paddle. There is an authentic restaurant above the beach, but many locals enjoy picnicking, as we sometimes do, at the water's edge. (And do not miss my Dad's joie-de-vivre swim)

The big rock you see en face, is part of Les Trois Secs (The Three Drys)--three rocky islets located off the coast of our town. This beautiful calanque offers opportunities for snorkeling, diving, and exploring marine life in these crystal-clear waters.


(click the above link if the photo isn't appearing! I'm having technical issues with my blog...)

The Old Port with boats ranging in size (from these small wooden “pointus”) and price (to the new multi-million euro yachts). All around the port there are restaurants and even a few shops and art galleries. At one point this former industrial shipping town was known as a seedy place, but the locals might fiercely disagree. The new commercial centers look seedy to them, and who can argue with that? Meantime the heart of La Ciotat, which ripples out from this port, is colorful, lively, and full of soul, mirroring the locals.

A la memoire--In memory. There are at least 2 stèles, or memorial stones in La Ciotat. This one, near the green lighthouse on the old port, is for the 74 submariners who disappeared at sea in 1943.


This stèle commemorates the Lumière brothers, Auguste and Louis, pioneers in the field of cinematography. La Ciotat is known as the birthplace of cinema, and the Lumière brothers played a significant role in its development. 

Eden Theater, overlooking the New Port, is the oldest operational movie theater in the world! Inside, enjoy cozy seating on red velvet chairs, surrounded by balconies above.

There are at least 5 beaches along the boardwalk and, unlike Paris (not that you can compare) there are plenty of clean public restrooms dotted along the boardwalk.

Our town has beachy, doggy vibes—great for outdoor and dog lovers. That's Jean-Marc, right, in his towel and claquettes, or slides. To the left a very friendly beach bum we met last night. I hope you enjoyed today's photo blog. See you next week for more pictures and stories. A bientôt! Kristi

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FRENCH VOCABULARY

Click here to listen to  the French and English terms below

le quai = the pier
Allez! = come on!
on y va = let’s go
chichi = fussy
La Ciotat 
Cassis
mal fréquenté = of ill repute, seedy
bref = in short
blindé = full, jam-packed
la serviette = beach towel 
les trois secs = the three drys
La calanque = rocky inlet
Les claquettes = flip-flops, slides

REMERCIEMENTS
To the following readers who this past week sent in a blog donation or purchased our online memoir, your contribution towards publishing this blog is the key to its longevity! I am sincerely grateful for your support. Merci beaucoup! --Kristi

Cheryl M. 
Laura S.
Marti H.
June R.

My dad and Marsha arrived late Tuesday night--despite the national strikes!  I am taking the next two weeks off to enjoy every minute with family. Today's post was written during their last visit in September of 2014. Photo taken at Le Parc du Mugel in La Ciotat, where today's story takes place.

TODAY'S WORD: joie de vivre (jwah-deuh-vee-vruh)

    : love of life


ECOUTEZ: listen to Jean-Marc read the following sentence: Download MP3 or Wav file

La joie de vivre est une façon d'embrasser l'existence avec confiance, sentiment proche de la félicité telle que la professait le philosophe grec Épicure qui enseigna l'art de se préoccuper de ce qui crée le bonheur. Joie de vivre is a way of embracing existence with confidence, a feeling close to felicity, as professed by the Greek philosopher Epicurus, who taught the art of preoccupying oneself with that which creates happiness.

Try Exercises in French Phonetics and learn how to pronounce French.


A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE...

    by Kristi Espinasse

Seated under a giant fig tree overlooking the turquoise sea, my belle-mère and I are amazed by the spectacle playing out before us.

"I can't believe he's doing this!" one of us smiles, shaking her head.
"He's so stubborn," says the other.

Moments before, while undressing at the restaurant table, Dad paused to reconsider his plan. That's when he opted to keep his orange T-shirt.... Only, it isn't really long enough to hide his brand-new Fruit of the Looms, the whiteness of which is blinding!

And the color of the T-shirt only makes him an easy target for wandering eyes. But how could anyone's eyes wander after spotting the man striding out to sea in his pill-white undies?

"The French don't care!" Dad argued, justifying his decision before walking away--bare-legged--from the lunch table. He had made up his mind the hour before, while observing a group of 80-year-olds splashing in the crisp blue sea. Amid the falling leaves of autumn, the silver-haired bon vivants were another striking contrast of the changing season.

To think one could swim at the end of September! Such a display of joie de vivre tickled Dad's soul, creating a thirst for salty water. That thirst grew until he shot up from the table with a pertinent announcement. "I'm going swimming!"

That he did not have his swimsuit with him suddenly became a non-concern. Instead, tough luck turned to pluck as Dad disrobed--beginning with his sandals and chaussettes.

Still lean and standing tall beneath waves of platinum blond hair, the former marathoner met the water. A splash and my father disappeared sous mer, causing the water to ripple and the sunlight to dance over the waves. 

As the Mediterranean sparkled and mesmerized, my thoughts drifted out to sea. One day, I hope to be as dear and innocent and carefree--as the man I once called Daddy. It's there somewhere, l'insouciance, swimming in these genes. 

*    *    *

Dad in his bright orange T-shirt and those socks he discarded before swimming :-)





Read another story about my Dad, in the book "Blossoming in Provence". See the chapter titled Attentionné, or "Thoughtful".

French Vocab
bon vivant = one who loves life (eating, drinking, living)
la chaussette = sock
sous mer = under water
l'insouciance (f) = carefree attitude 

Another of the beaches along Le Cap Canaille, in Cassis: La Plage du Bestouan.

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Wish I'd gotten a picture of the hero in today's story. Meantime, here's a lovable stand-in. Photo taken somewhere in the Vaucluse...

le locataire (lo h-ka-tair)

    : tenant

Audio File: Listen to Jean-Marc: Download MP3 or  Wav file

Le locataire ouvre grand ses bras. "Entrez, je vous en prie!" il dit.
The tenant opens his arms. "Come in. Please!" he says.  

A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

"La Ciotat, La Ciotat!"

I went twice to La Ciotat yesterday. First, in the morning--to get more ingredients for the Healthy Fudge--and again in the evening to look at an apartment for my belle-mère.

The second trip was Jean-Marc's idea. "But are you sure your Mom wants to leave Marseilles? All of her friends are there. And all of her friendly commercants, too." I remember meeting Michèle-France's pharmacist on my previous visit, and witnessing the cheerful bantering between the two women. In a new town, my belle-mère would lose these cozy ties--or have to slowly build them again. 

Jean-Marc assured me that his maman was desperate to move. After nearly two decades in her shoe-size apartment, Michèle-France feels like a bull in a birdcage. And because there is no elevator, she is obliged to climb four flights of stairs--the idea of which keeps her prisoner inside her own home (and one or two nagging health issues do nothing to encourage her to venture out).

***
In a flowering courtyard a hundred meters from the sea, a thin man is looking out from a ground floor apartment. The smile on his face is as warm as the sunshine pouring down on the flowering lauriers-roses beneath his window. 

"That's Monsieur C. He's moving back to Corsica," the landlady explains, guiding Jean-Marc and me up the stairs to lobby. 

In the entry hall, beside the door of the apartment, there is a giant poster in hues of blue--my mother-in-law's favorite color. The details of the affiche escape me when the porte flies open and another subject comes into view: the Corsican.

"Bonjour, Mr. C." The landlady apologizes for the invasion but we are apparently no bother: her tenant ushers us in with a warm welcome. "Entrez," he says, "entrez!"

We begin our walk-through of the one-bedroom apartment. Passing a hall closet, the landlady assures her locataire: "No need to open it, Mr. C."

"Je vous en prie!" Mr. C. insists, reaching down to push a heavy packing bag out of the way.

I peer into the tiny placard, which holds a few threadbare items. My focus returns to our voluntary guide, Mr. C., whose clothes mimic those in his faded wardrobe. He is wearing an oversized coat and pants and his fedora is about to topple off his head. Standing this closely to Monsieur, I smell fumes on his breath and notice how his eyes are softly lit.... I begin to wonder why he is moving and hope that wherever he goes he will be OK. 

"And here is the bedroom," the propriétaire points out. "The place comes furnished." 

As we step past him, Mr. C. smiles, pushing his packing bag out of the way once again. I reach out and grasp his shoulder in an automatic gesture of thanks. Thanks for the warm welcome. Thanks for being so helpful. Thanks for putting up with this invasion. Only, when I find myself patting his shoulder again and again, I realize my reflex may be overly sympathetic. I begin to wonder: if Monsieur didn't have the glassy eyes and octane breath--if he didn't have the repurposed suitcase--if instead he had a Louis Vuitton and wore a bow tie--then would I have patted him on the shoulder?

No, I wouldn't have! I would have been too intimidated. But here, there was no intimidation or awkwardness--only a sense of camaraderie. Still, I should be more composed--for overt displays of sympathy can come across as pitying, or worse--condescending!

As we continue to tour the stranger's apartment, I think about how quick I am to show affection to certain types of people. How chatty I can be! But put me in a room with the up and climbing Joneses, the cosmopolitans--or people my own age, or savants--and I'm suddenly tongue-tied and awkward. No way I'd be slapping them on the back, ol' pal style. Ça ne se fait pas!

As my mind overthinks my gestures, Mr. C. is going with the flow--the tide of strangers peering into the nooks and crannies of his upturned life. I notice the padlock on his bedroom window shutters; once again I have the urge to reach out... and comfort him? and for what? But the padlock, or cadenas, is proof of the fragility that up til know could only be sensed. 

"That's the WC," the landlady says as we follow her out into the hall again. "It's separate from the bathroom." Opening the door I'm cheered by the tiny room with its bright turquoise blue paint. There is a picture of a saint on the wall, her arms are outstretched just as Mr. C's were, on ushering us into his home earlier.

As I stand admiring the saint a sour scent lifts upwards from beneath my feet, filling my nose with an acidic tingling.... I quickly back out of the WC. but the scent seems to trail out to the hallway. I guess Mr. C. had missed the spot--as men will--only his aim was a little farther off than most.

Overall, Jean-Marc and I loved the apartment, and Mr. C's character lent an affectionate and adorable aura to the place.

"But we'll need to do some repair work," Jean-Marc explained. "Some painting... and we'll need to change the linoleum floors."
 
The deal was sealed with a bottle of wine - one Jean-Marc promised to bring on the next visit. With a little persuading, maybe we can get him to bring a bottle for Mr. C. (or would fudge be a better idea?), in thanks for his warm hospitality.

On our way out I brushed Mr. C's shoulder once again, finding it hard to resist the lovable character. The gesture wasn't condescending, no! How good it felt to touch a saint and to sense his gentle spirit run through me, filling my mother-in-law's next home with love and abundance.

***

Post note: The landlord tells us Mr. C. is returning to his native Corsica, after a stint in La Ciotat. No sad ending, here. May the beauty of the southern French island fill his days with joy.

French Vocab

la belle-mère = mother-in-law
le commerçant = storekeeper 
la maman = mom, mother 
les lauriers-roses (mpl) = oleanders
une affiche = poster
la porte = door
le locataire = renter, tenant
entrez = come in 
je vous en prie = please (go ahead)
le placard de rangement = small closet, often in a hallway
ça ne se fait pas! = one doesn't do that!
le cadenas = padlock 
le WC = toilet (bathroom) 

Photos and words like this are the best reward for sticking to my writing dream, and pushing past all the doubtful moments!  Mille mercis to the students in this photo, and to their thoughtful teacher!

Hi Kristin,  I had an amazing 8th grade French class this year and some of the girls fell madly in love with Words in a French Life.  We did a weekly reading period on Mondays and they would literally fight over who got to read it.  Because I enjoyed them so much, I gave all of the girls in the class your book and they were ecstatic! ... I thought you might enjoy the picture!  

JoAnna, a middle school french teacher in Massachusetts

Another recipe--maybe we're on a roll?

Three sum years ago, when he was 15, our son Max had an internship at a local starred restaurant. There, he learned how to make verrines! I came across this photo in my archives, which comes in the nick of time: we have several guests this month and I've been needing some kitchen inspiration. This verrine (from the word "verre" or "glass") looks simple:

...a layer of chopped surimi (will replace this with real fish...), a layer of guacamole, a layer of sour cream, and a layer of smoked salmon. Top with anèth, or dill--something that happens to be growing profusely in our garden!


Looking back on this post, written in 2013, I did not know we too would move to the historic town of La Ciotat in the summer of 2017.