Le Franco Phoney

I imagine that trapeze artists don’t really like wind blowing them off course while they’re trying to catch each other and swing around in the air. However, St Jean de Sixt last week put an event involving wind and a trapeze. Let’s start with the exciting stuff — the trapeze. Both children and adults were allowed to have a go at this trapeze. Shoes must come off and a harness applied, but otherwise, off you go. Once up the ladder, someone on another swing would swing back and fourth while you get launched onto a swing, then get instructed to hold on with your legs and dangle your hands down, then the trapeze expert swinging opposite you grabs your waiting hands and you let your legs get loose of your swing, thus completing the trick.

And once you’re done, you can try your hand at one of the many musical instruments set up to capture the wind, or fly some of the kites on offer, or make a little boat and watch it sail with the wind on a big swimming pool. The whole event was staged on top of a hill — the windiest part of St Jean de Sixt, which doubles as a ’ski resort’ (two drag lifts) in winter. I heard about it from a friend. The week-long event was free, which, according to my friend, happens in July when the villages and ski resorts want to attract as many holiday-makers as possible. Freebies help ensure there’s a flow of people in July, while it’s almost guaranteed in August. So, if you want cool freebie events when you visit the mountains, remember to come in July, not August.

My recent trip to the north of France highlighted a law which I never knew about. According to some sources, it’s illegal to feed pigeons in Paris. I’m not convinced this is a specific law — and I continued to feed a single pigeon beside me with churros from a nearby fair while the guy sitting next to me explained that the law was passed for health reasons and that although he had no objections, the police might fine me. Just as an aside, he then chatted for about twenty minutes about his background and asked about mine and my travel partner’s, then handed me a bracelet as a gift. I’m pretty skeptical of people being this genuine, but he really was happy that I accepted his gift and explained that in his culture, it’s offensive to refuse a gift.

I’ve done a bit of a web search (because if it’s not on the internet, it doesn’t exist, right?) and I’ve found differing views about this pigeon feeding ban. One website says there’s a €35 fine, while another website quotes one section of a law which is a bit hazy about the whole thing, but does suggest it might be illegal. Local councils apparently have some say in the matter, but an outright ban on pigeon feeding in Paris is something I could not locate. It may well exist: my French language skills simply are not up to the task of inquiring wholeheartedly into this, and nor is my motivation since I don’t live in Paris. However, for anyone planning a trip to Paris, it might be illegal to feed the pigeons, and that’s as helpful as I can be on the matter. On a far more helpful note, don’t waste your money on the dodgy churros at the fair at the Louvre end of the big park between the Louvre and the Champs-Elysées — you’re likely to reject their dryness and feed them to the pigeons instead.

Pictured is a big round bunker — a bit like a giant Camembert cheese, but made by the Germans rather than the French, and far less desirable to chance upon during World War II. This is Batterie Todt, on the French coastline closest to English land. On the other side of the bunker is a massive hole that once housed a very large gun (more info and some great photos on the construction and history of the bunker here). There were lots of interesting things inside here, such as a motorbike that was parachuted out of planes for the parachuters to use and really innovative contraptions to make the best use of space, time or multi-functionality. The living quarters downstairs were cramped, and the museum of war-time propaganda on the ground floor really made this place worth the visit.

Some relics caught my eye more than others. For instance, check out this baby gas mask below. Freaky or what? Okay, it’s best to be safe and have these available but seeing a fake baby inside this was a bit strange (a real one would have been stranger, obviously!). Note also that there’s a foot pump to keep your baby’s air fresh and flowing. Next in the gallery below is a sausage vest. Okay, maybe it wasn’t used to store sausages, but maybe it was. Why not? Next up is a string vest that wouldn’t look out of place in some parts of big cities today. However, it’s probably the only one that unravels and can be relied upon to get you out of a tree if you happen to parachute out of a plane and land in the wrong spot. Handy eh? Last up is the big canon stationed outside the bunker. This thing was aimed at England, but it never actually bombed its target. Just imagine how things could have turned out had the engineer made a better-designed canon. Thank you, engineer.

It’s a well-known stereotype, right or wrong, that French footpaths are covered with dog poo. There’s certainly a fair amount of poo here in St. Jean de Sixt, and in an effort to clean up the dog poo in Annecy, the council installed dog toilets. Pictured is one from further up north near Boulogne, where I’m staying at the moment. These large dirt pens let dogs do their business and walk away without their owners having to address the steaming pile their dogs have left behind. Annecy also provides bag dispensers around town so that owners whose dogs prefer not to use the toilets can remove the poo from the pavement. However, St Jean de Sixt does not, and I learnt this the hard way.

Some friends asked me to look after their dog, Snoopy, who looks much like her namesake, overnight. She seemed edgy at 8am the next morning, so I took her out, half asleep, with a coat hiding my pyjamas. Within a metre of getting her onto some nearby grass, she stopped to poo. About 30 metres away, a woman in a chalet started shrieking that it was her property and I must clean it up. The dog was still pooing. As I was yelling out sorry (I had no idea it was private property that far away from the house: it looked like part of the public field the house backs onto), she repeated herself. As I tried to explain that I would go home and get a bag, she was again yelling the same words at me, and I was by now embarrassed that she had woken all her neighbours because of me. I know the norm in France is to talk right back over the person talking to you, but there was no point: she was too far away. When she finally finished, I explained once more that I had no bag on me and that I would return with one and she thanked me and said that was kind. Err, no it’s not kind: I didn’t feel like I had a choice!

Had Snoopy pooed just one metre before, where it was practically piled up on the road next to the field, she couldn’t have said a word. Or could she? My friend here near Boulogne told me a woman once told her off when her dog was pooing in a public place, even though my friend already had a bag in her hand to collect the mess. So despite the stereotype of streets covered in dog poo being the norm, clearly, at least two French women object. I can’t help but feel they’re fighting an uphill battle though. Good luck to them.

Okay okay, I know: this is a blog about all things French. So what’s the deal with a vending machine in Belgium? I went to Belgium last weekend for a music festival and I feel the need to tell you about this vending machine that was placed at the entrance of a shop. As you can see, there are lots of cigarettes going on in there. This alone surprised me as I remember in Australia, when I worked in a shop, having to ask people to prove they were eighteen (raised from sixteen) before they could buy cigarettes. I guess anyone can walk up to this vending machine and buy a packet no matter how young they are, but perhaps there’s some ID-checking process that somehow happens. Does anyone know?

This particular vending machine is the friend of the teenager: it contains not just cigarettes, but various other things that can help a teenager get through those difficult years — condoms, for a start. I think that’s a great idea: no more embarrassing moment at the checkout required, but safe sex is more likely. Rizla papers are also in there (along with bags of tobacco) for anyone wanting to roll their own…erm…’cigarette’. Bizarrely, razors for women are available, which might be handy if a date has gone well, he’s rolling a ‘cigarette’ back at his house with a Rizla, and she just realised she forgot to shave. She can pick up the condoms at the same time just in case things get a bit steamy later on.

And way down the bottom there, next to the tobacco and the Rizla papers, are postage stamps. Postage stamps? Are these not a bit square for the average teenager exploring sex, drugs and shaving? I reckon they are. I can only presume it’s for those ‘crazy ex’ types who decide to write that scathing letter late at night when everyone else is either rolling ‘cigarettes’, shaving bikini lines, or opening a packet of condoms.

Us Aussies are pretty good at making biscuits, and that’s why Tim Tams have appeared as the only Australian product on the shelves of the supermarket chain Carrefour in Annecy.

These biscuits, similar to the UK’s Penguin biscuit (but nicer — I might be biased of course), are hauled all over the world by travelling Aussies and after years of only being available in shops selling Australian goodies (mostly to Australians desperate for a fix of something from home), Tim Tams made it onto the shelves of Tesco supermarkets in the UK about five years ago. I took them for granted: they were always available and I bought them only when I had a real hankering.

That all changed when I moved to France. The “foreign foods” aisle of the supermarket has various things from the UK — Heinz Baked Beans, treacle, tomato soup(!), and this really posh (ie, tiny cardboard container and very costly) oatmeal stuff that I never actually saw on the shelves anywhere in the UK — but there’s never anything from Australia — until now, that is. Wedged between random honey from the Middle East and biscuits from Italy (oh come on: Italy is only an hour away!) lies the Tim Tams in all their glory. Just to reiterate, I have never seen any Australian product on the shelves of a French supermarket. I heard rumours that vegemite is available closer to big cities, but I’ve never seen that. The Tim Tam presence is a total win in my books.

Upon arrival in the aisle containting these treats, I embarrassed my shopping partner by letting out a shriek, followed by “TIM TAMS” in an overly loud voice. The five shoppers in the aisle all turned and stared at me, my shopping partner disowned me, and I ran to the Tim Tams and picked up two packets for the trolley. The five shoppers shrugged at the weird English girl rejoicing about her English biscuits and moved on.

Since that day, I’ve been checking that the Tim Tams are still there (and they are). Just in case, I’ve been buying a few packets every few weeks — obviously to keep the Australian export market bolstered rather than for any personal enjoyment. Obviously.

I remember as a teenager, when my form of rebellion was to enjoy going shopping with my mum, being totally disgusted by a good friend who I’d gone shopping with (Mum was busy that day) who had stolen a poster while I remained totally unaware walking out of the shop with her. I was angry that she involved me by association, and I just didn’t understand her need to steal it, then show off about it when we met friends on the bus home.

Yes, I was the goody-two-shoes kid at school, who never smoked dope, never stole anything, and never wagged school. The only detention I had was thanks to Luke who decided put chalk dust in my hair from a blackboard duster. With equality in mind, I did the same thing back to him and the teacher sent us both for detention. Luke, if you’re reading, you’re responsible for ruining my otherwise perfect record at school.

However, things seem to have taken a tumble recently when I helped a French friend steal. Yes, I aided a thief. He wanted dirt, and he knew a place where he could find it - a public park. Granted, the dirt had recently been dumped there by someone else, and my French friend assured me that it wasn’t stealing since he was merely reusing something that someone no longer wanted. When I suggested he could just buy some, he refused, saying that the mountains are full of dirt, and that he only needed a few square metres. So, we trundled off in his car and I directed him into parking his car for easy dirt loading.

While I waited for him to shovel dirt, a man walked past with a dog and said hello. Then a lady stared at us from a distance, and I was sure she would call the police. Seeing I was worried, my friend suggested he come back later without me, so we left with just a little dirt. He joked as we drove further away that a blue car was behind him — could it be the police? To be honest, I’m not even sure I should be writing about this just in case the police hunt me down and demand answers.

My friend went back later for more dirt. He told me that a whole group of school children went past, with the teacher saying hello politely. A guy on a quad bike rode by while the teacher tried to get the kids to stop running away. A teenager also walked past looking scared, which my friend attributed to the teenager imagining there was a dead body or something in the dirt. Thankfully, there was no body, and I’m hoping that my goody-two-shoes reputation can be restored quickly. I’ve tried to help that along immediately after with a charity donation, while my dirt-loving friend donated a spare mattress to the homeless. Maybe a guilty conscience is a good thing!

Now that the sun has finally arrived after months of rain and even some snow on the peaks of La Clusaz last week, Annecy is getting excited about the Winter Olympics. Annecy is one of the three final candidates for the 2018 Winter Olympics, so to celebrate officially, Annecy laid out some winter sports for people to try — sans snow.

Pictured is the massive ramp for skiers to slide down and try flips, twists and backward landings. No worries if you can’t ski: there were some giant inflatable rings for zooming down the ramp on instead. Kids and adults were all keen to try the ramp, with ski boots and skis available for use. There was one guy who, according to his mates, was going to try a double back-flip, except he leant back too far at the moment of take-off and bumped the back of his helmet-clad head onto the ramp before falling in a heap on the inflatable cushion. I think the impact knocked his helmet off completely, as it was nowhere to be seen. Paramedics put him in a neck brace and carted him off. Regardless, the queue of people to try the ramp grew while they waited for the paramedics to clear the area. I think it would have put me off, but I’m not very Savoyarde I guess.

Other highlights of the day included various French celebrities dotted around being interviewed by news reporters, a hot air balloon with the Annecy 2018 logo on it wafting past, a stage with lots of entertainment, a whole swag of local food to try, and of course, some other winter sports.

Apart from the ski ramp, there was a cross-country ski track — made of plastic so that the hot summer day didn’t melt any snow. I can think of nothing more boring than forcing my feet into ski boots on a warm day, then attaching skis, then putting those skis into blue plastic tracks like reverse railway tracks, and moving my feet along. However, the kids seemed to love it, so again, it’s probably because I’m not very Savoyarde.

The luge looked like fun. Yes, there was a luge! It too functioned without actual real snow. It used wheels on rails set in concrete to keep the luge on the short flat track. The kids loved it too. To top it all off, BMX courses were set up for different levels of ability, which, of course, the kids also loved. I have no idea what BMX biking has to do with the Olympics but nobody there was complaining.

Pictured are a few musicians outside the old prison walls of Annecy, smack bang in the centre of town. No, it’s not a prison anymore, but I bet the prisoners would have loved to have heard the music back when it was (and maybe the hot raclette cheese sandwich I was eating while watching the band play). So, why were musicians set up outside this picturesque spot in Annecy? Because Monday was the Fête de la Musique — the annual event throughout France where musicians play to crowds in the streets, parks and anywhere else they fit. Rather than waffle on about it, here are some of this year’s highlights:

• A woman with bagpipes walking around casually as if everyone carries bagpipes.
• A dog totally oblivious to the thrash metal happening on stage because he couldn’t take his eyes off the ball at his owner’s feet.
• A flirty moment between teenagers who were both too shy to do anything more than flirt while a band played on the stage in front of them. He reluctantly left with his friends. She watched him leave, blushing.
• An opportunistic street performer with a diabolo (piece of string with a cylindrical thing to balance on it) who looked like it was his first time trying out the equipment. A small crowd of disbelievers had gathered.
• A reggae band headed by a guy with a #2 head shave (he sounded properly reggae though).
• Bottles of ‘orange juice’ being shared by teenagers who were eager to drink - what good kids!
• A mosh pit/circle that was started by those same teenagers with all that goodness of fresh orange juice in their blood. Lovely to see teenagers working off some of that juice through exercise.

The French region of Var this week suffered their worst flash flooding in almost 200 years. At least 25 people have died, and the animal count is much higher. President Sarkozy has declared a national disaster, and fittingly, it was the first headline reported on last night’s news. Each night when the headlines are over, some of those headlines are looked at in more detail. And last night, the first headline discussed in more detail was the other national disaster — France’s loss to Mexico in the World Cup. The news reader discussed it in depth with some photogenic hunk who played for France in the previous World Cup. Only when they had exhausted talking over each other, watching reruns of footballer Thierry Henry looking upset on the sidelines, and the French coach speaking slower French than I do at the press conference after their loss did the news reader move onto the flash flooding. Life loss through natural disaster? Pfft: let’s talk first about the football eh. Incidentally, the next in-depth story involved the President’s visit to London to mark the 70th anniversary of Charles de Gaulle’s momentous war-time speech urging the French to resist the Nazis. Allez les bleus!

To see just how severe the floods have been, check out the following news report (death toll already out of date).