Le Franco Phoney

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).

On a walk through St Jean de Sixt yesterday, I noticed the garden scene below. Something’s a bit NQR (Not Quite Right), right? That’s not a real person! That’s not a real café either. The donkey is only two-dimensional. And, in fact, that’s a fake house there in the background. Let me explain.

These are just some of the props that used to grace the St Jean de Sixt roundabout at different times of the year. The guy who used to put the mannequins on the roundabout together with the corresponding props is obviously missing his roundabout antics, and is now turning his attentions to creating scenes away from the roundabout, closer to his house.

I had walked past a week earlier one evening and I saw a scene full of life — minus the actual life. The red mannequin dude in the background hadn’t moved, but there were chairs and tables populated by mannequins (including the one with the hat right in front of the camera, watching the scene from a distance while he was gardening at night). Apparently, mannequins party at night.

It might sound silly, but it’s a real treat to walk past this area in St Jean and watch the scene change over time. Security cameras and fences aren’t needed here, and that’s what I truly love. The mannequins have not been undressed, the donkey has not been turned upside down or stolen, and the fake café has no graffiti. I heart rural living.

It’s that time of year again, when movie buffs, media students and animation geeks from all over the world swarm to Annecy for the week-long International Annecy Animation Film Festival. This year, the fashion seems to be badges on bags, although I did see one guy sporting his badges all over his jeans. Yes, his jeans were entirely covered in badges.

The festival is great fun, with outdoor freebie screenings most nights of the week, and lots of animation styles to keep everyone happy. I favour the shorts: a movie-length screening of around six or more short animations. That ten minutes or so when people are entering the cinema involves more than just a hum of chatter: it’s an opportunity to throw lots of paper planes. So, on top of walking up stairs while scanning the rows of people for a few empty seats, you also need to dodge the papers zooming around the room. Long paper plane flights get a round of applause and a cheer! I saw one guy last night collecting as many as he could from the aisle beside him to relaunch, while the guy in front of me ripped off another sheet from his notebook to start folding another plane.

In fact, the planes are so common at the festival, that they’re an integral part of this year’s animated trailer for the festival, which you can watch below (and yes, that’s the actual cinema at the end).

Thankfully, the planes stop flying as soon as the first animation starts. However, between animations, the “done thing” is to make a popping sound with your mouth. You know, when you were a kid and you’d stick a finger inside your mouth near your cheek, then flick it out to make a pop? That’s the sound that gets made between movies. This is a whole separate set of cultural norms that seem to exist in Annecy purely for the animation festival.

I guess it was nice to escape some aspects of French culture for the evening, but by the time I left that cinema, I was looking forward to a crepe and seeing men in stripy shirts and berets riding bikes with baguettes under their arms and saying “ooh la la” a lot to the background sounds of a piano accordion.

So, a few weeks ago, I challenged my readers to travel in their own backyard. I took my own advice on the weekend and managed to visit something in La Clusaz, Le Grand Bornand and Annecy all in one day. In La Clusaz, some moto trials were taking place, and I snapped the photo below. The precision was amazing.

Meanwhile, in Le Grand Bornand, the local fire station was open. I thought it might be interesting, but I was scared off by all the pompier (fireman) recruitment advertisements on posters and a big television screen. As I scurried past without stepping in, I noticed these fire engines (pictured) open for people to check out. Mostly, this involved kids tooting the horns while their dads grabbed a beer at the beer tent. In fact, do you see the blue tent in the photo above? Booze tent. It seems that all sorts of events — from sporting to family — understand the importance of a beer tent. Fair enough: people get thirsty, but the fire station was holding an open morning. People were boozing on even before midday struck! It was a warm day so I guess the thirst excuse might cut it.

It was so warm, in fact, that I headed down to Annecy to test out a long board at the Fete du Nautisme, where all sorts of manual water-floating transport was available to try. This is the sport that, I’m told, Jennifer Anniston loves for keeping in shape, and who am I to deny her that right? I can see how it’s a leg workout, with my legs wobbling with the waves under the board I was standing on, but the real workout came for my arms, with lots of paddling to get anywhere on such a big board. I enjoyed it for the tranquility and the acceptable risk of falling in the cold water if I lost my balance (which I didn’t!). Lots of fun, and no beer tent in sight. This could be another sport to add to the list.

So, what have you seen in your backyard in the past few weeks?

Okay, we’re all familiar with the dog in a bag fashion statement, but that’s for the likes of Paris Hilton, right? Wrong. If your image of a dog in a bag is one of a white fluffy thing in a bling bag on an equally bling shoulder, think again.

Yesterday, a friend in my car snapped this photo of a dog in a bag. Yes, that fluffy blur is actually a black poodle, but we couldn’t catch up to the tough guy on the chopper-style motorbike because he was whizzing around so fast. So, here’s the blur instead, and you’ll just have to trust me on this one. Not only is that a dog in his bag, but it’s a bit of a pink bag for a dude in black on a slick motorbike. Could it be his girlfriend’s dog in a bag? Has he been asked to transport said dog from one location to another? And since it comes with it’s own handy carry-case, perhaps he just popped the girly bag over his shoulders and started up his engine. Who knows.

Now, my friend mentioned that she had just seen a twin-dog bag in Leipzig on a goth who was on his way to a goth festival  happening there last weekend. He was all decked out in a ‘romantic’ goth outfit, which apparently consisted of black, plus white ruffles—kind of lucky considering both dogs were white. They matched his outfit. Dog-in-a-bag fashion continues! Apparently, they were well behaved. I’m guessing they know that their owner is a goth and are so scared he might dye their hair black too that they’re as good as gold when he’s around.

Meanwhile, summertime in the Alps signals the start of dog-in-a-bag season. A few years ago at the Fete du Reblochon in La Clusaz, I saw this (sunburnt) lady checking the dog in a backpack  on her partner’s back. Did they perhaps start the non-bling dog-in-a-backpack alternative to the bling dog-in-a-bag fashion? Again, who knows. What I do know is that the dog on the motorbike seemed pretty relaxed about the whole thing. His mate in La Clusaz, on the other hand, seemed a bit embarrassed. Black motorbike dog is cool.

Tête de veau means “head of calf” in English. So, why would there be a sign offering tête de veau and vegetables in Annecy recently? Because people eat whole heads of calves here in France, as well as in Italy and Germany.

And at just €6, you can see why it’s popular! Well, to be honest, I wouldn’t eat it if someone paid me. However, a couple of stories spring to mind. Back in the year 2000, when I had only just left Australia and had been talked into a quick bus tour of Europe, one of the fellow tour-goers ordered tête de veau when we stopped in Lyon, the culinary capital of France, for dinner. He had no idea what it was, but decided, since we were at this posh restaurant after days of eating boring tour-group food at pre-arranged locations, that anything on the menu must be good and that he would enjoy whatever came out. How bad could it be? The head went back uneaten, and the guy felt too ill (and guilty for contributing to the market of calf-head cooking) that he abstained from food for the rest of the night.

Recipes tend to involve the tongue wrapped around the head (minus the bone by the looks of it, but don’t quote me: I became too queasy just reading about it and had to stop), along with some boiled potatoes, capers and a vinaigrette. Brains are often served beside the meat.

Now, apart from the whole culinary delight thing, tête de veau is also an insult aimed at Parisians. The saying goes (spelling unknown, but it all rhymes with “go”): “Parigot, tête de veau”, so it’s really just a rhyme used by non-Parisians to make it clear they think that Parisians have calves heads. It’s a bonafide insult, albiet light-hearted most of the time. The only reason I found out about this was after a weekend ski contest in Le Grand Bornand for kids from villages nearby. Apparently, Manigod (pronounced “manny go”) did very well, much to the disappointment of the kids from other villages, who started chanting: “Manigod, tête de veau”. Parents were shocked and embarrassed and word got out — all the way down to the Australian (me) who doesn’t even know any truly local kids. Apparently, kids saying it to other kids is less light-hearted!

So, did I buy a tête de veau? No way! I’ll leave that up to the locals.

After challenging everyone to visit attractions close to home, I drove for two hours to Lyon last weekend and visited la Demeure du Chaos (the Abode of Chaos) with a friend who lives nearby (do I get half a point since it’s near her house?). Imagine the setting: a beautiful village with very posh houses and residents, then smack bang in the centre, some guy with enough money (Thierry Ehrmann) buys a large house with lots of land around it and turns it into a doomsday museum. Residents from the picturesque village of Saint-Romain-au-Mont-d’Or aren’t happy about the museum and have been pushing to have it destroyed. I’m not sure how I’d feel if I lived next door to it, but reading the quotes on the walls and looking at the artwork of varying detail but all with strong passion made me think a lot about what’s happening in the world. The museum is open from 3pm on weekends, but we got there at midday and were too pressed for time to stay until opening, although we could have spent three hours taking in everything viewable from the outside. Below are just a few photos from the huge property (my first gallery of images in a while). If you want to check it out for yourself, go to 17 rue de la République, Saint-Romain-au-Mont-d’Or, which is just north of Lyon centre.

I recently saw a blog entry entitled: “Travel Inspirations: Looking Further Than Your Own Backyard” and it got me thinking about how I explore. I’ve travelled a bit, and lived in three different countries, crossing the equator to do so. Is it because I’m Australian and we tend to value exploring the world? Is it because I’ve achieved a financial independence that my foremothers were always denied by the ones who were supposed to love them most? Is it because as a society, we never seem to be happy with what we’ve got, and look further afield for satisfaction? For whatever reasons, I tend to look way beyond my backyard for travel inspiration. And I think that’s a problem. Let me explain why.

Everywhere I’ve lived has gems that I’ve never discovered. When people discover I’m from Melbourne, they mention the Twelve Apostles or The Grampians, or broader Australian attractions such as the Great Barrier Reef and Uluru (aka Ayers Rock). Have I travelled to any of these places? Nope. And now that I’ve spent more than three years in France, I’m doing it again. When I first arrived, I was so excited to learn of a cheese maker in Thônes who does tours, the farm across the road from my place in La Clusaz where you can feed the cows in winter when they’re bored in their sheds, and the farm just up the road that sells fresh eggs and butter which I thought I’d visit regularly for such treats. There are cheese caves in Le Grand Bornand where visits can be arranged! Have I done any of these things? Nope. Okay, I’ve discovered all sorts of other great things around this area, but why do I look beyond my own backyard when there’s still so much more to explore on my doorstep?

This week, I asked my friends if they do the same. One has been in a cheese cave at Le Grand Bornand, but it was to do with work. Nobody had been on the cheese making tour, and one friend had fed the cows right opposite my old place in La Clusaz when she was with some children. I trumped them all with my multiple visits to the goat farm, with extra points for regularly buying cheese from it. But still, we’re all a bit hopeless.

So, my challenge to myself and to you is to explore more of the local treats in your area and see just what’s there to discover and enjoy. Time starts now.

How do you say “I’m sorry for your loss” in French when someone dies? Apparently, with a six-pack of greeting cards. Yes, in France, you can buy packets of “Sincere Condolences” cards, which I guess is handy if a lot of your friends drop off in fast succession, or if you don’t have a chance to get to a card shop when someone has popped their clogs (quite possible, considering shop opening hours in France).

At first, I was shocked that anyone would consider buying a six-pack of cards for death, but then I wondered what the difference is between this and buying a packet of Christmas cards. Choosing a card that you can send to at least six of your friends doesn’t exactly say “this is personal and sincere”, but I think the difference is that Christmas happens once a year, so you can be a bit more blasé about it. Death is pretty much a one-off (unless you’re Slash or pretty much any other member of the old Guns’n'Roses who dabbled in drugs a little too much before being resuscitated), and I’d feel embarrassed if the only card I could find to send to a mourning family was one from a six-pack. Also, just saying “six-pack” reminds me of Australian beer. Although my brother would probably appreciate the sentiment, I’m sure he’d just prefer the beer.