Arrival

Shortly after we arrived here at the end of August a little nervous about the coming year,
we moved into an old charming (read difficult) house in Valbonne, with the bathrooms and bedrooms on the third and fourth floors, the kitchen on the first, not intended for anyone with a physical disability.

A stray cat was here first. He is called Heathcliff and bites and scratches anyone who dares show any affection. He comes in whenever the door is open. Chasing him out is not easy, especially since Heathcliff moves fast.

The boys did not get admitted to the CIV. No spots at all in troisieme. The local college is obliged to take them but the Principal (who, according to my landlady hates children, parents and teachers equally) sighed, shrugged and said the boys were not francophones and would not be accommodated, nor would there be any allowances for them.

We were referred to another college called Rouston in Antibes which has a program for foreign born French-deficient children. They had to take a test to judge their level and started two weeks ago in this school. 19 children in their class, ages 12-15, 11 boys, 8 girls from Turkey, Italy, Romania, Ireland, Philippines, Indonesia, Latvia.....Wouter and Mohan proudly represent the American contingent. Their class is taught mainly by Prof Tutta, who Wouter thought resembled an auto-rickshaw driver in India: Sandals on his feet, short-sleeved white shirt untucked over khaki pants. Fortunately, all the children love the Prof and enjoy the class. The school week is limited to 25 hours, Monday through Friday. Wednesday is a half day, school ends at noon. On the other days, school ends at 2:30 or 3:30, depending.  Of these 25 hours, 18 are devoted to French. Wouter and Mohan are glad they learned so much from Madame Jeri in Ann Arbor. The kids who haven't had any French are struggling. The good thing is that the only common language the kids have is French. They spent the first week staring at each other in silence, now they talk to each other.
For the rest, they have 2 hours of math (learning to write numbers in French, now advancing to decimals, directed at the youngest child in the class), social studies (Napoleon and French history), music (they have to sing French songs). No science as far as I know.

School starts at 7:55. The bus from Valbonne reaches Antibes at 7:51 and they can't make it in four minutes to school. So Jeroen drives them every morning. It takes 40 minutes to drive those 14 km. 
The options for lunch are limited to go home for lunch or eat school lunch. Can't bring a sandwich from home. So they eat school lunch and learn to appreciate my cooking.  We will move to Antibes on the first of November. The kids can then come home for lunch. We haven't found a place yet, but are continuing to look for a place close enough to walk to school.

I have mixed feelings about Valbonne village. It's infested by English-speakers who don't speak any French. I played doctor two weeks ago when two drunken Englishmen got into a bar fight with an unknown assailant who got the better of the Englishman on the ground with broken nose and swollen eye and bloody face. The other Englishman swore at all present including the local police while I cleaned wounds and checked out the injured man. He wanted to take his friend home in a taxi. I sent him off in an ambulance with a neck brace. The policeman said under his breath, "Toujours les anglais."

This has improved my standing in the village. The locals now know about me and thank me for saving a life (which I didn't but I don't tell them that). I have since become best friends with the baker. I went to the boulangerie yesterday at 3:30 am to bake with Remy who has just bought the business from his step-father, Eugene. I stood around and stayed out of his way while he prepared his miche and orchestrated the baking of pastries and baguettes and boules. I plan to go again to learn a little more about the mixes for the different kinds of bread. On the wall was a certificate from Bannette, the supplier of flour, that recognized this "Four d'Eugene" as an outstanding boulangerie. Remy told me it's what you get when you buy a lot of flour from them. Remy can speak perfect English (he went to the CIV for Lycee) but he will not speak it in France. He used his English when he went to Thailand last year with his girl-friend who sells the bread on a table outside the bakery from 7 to 1 pm every day. I understand perhaps 30% of what he says and I nod a lot.

We have also a relationship with the grocer, Frederica and her husband Sebastien. F told me with a wink that the boys have been buying les bonbons. We have a market in this town on Fridays. Oliviers with olive oil in bottles. My landlady who is English and is married to a Frenchman and speaks like a native has olive trees in her garden. I've asked her to call when the olives are pressed in the local moline.

I have a great feeling of satisfaction as I eat the bread and the little pates of tapenade mixed with olive oil biensur. I said to Remy, "Je suis en France et je mange bien."  Who knows. We are falling in love with France.

Au revoir et merci de tous.