Le Franco Phoney

The lovely  Mademoiselle Caroline  is an illustrator who blogs about all sorts of things, such as having kids, daily life in the mountains, and the experience of expatriating herself from Paris to the small village of Manigod, just down the road from La Clusaz. Manigod has one bakery, one small supermarket and just a few other shops. It’s a proper retreat.

You don’t have to be French to enjoy the situations she draws and writes about, but it helps if you understand some basic French. She’s published several books already, and her latest one, pictured, is about that culture shock of moving from a big city like Paris to the French Alps. You can see samples of her work on the Mademoiselle Caroline website, as well as links to the books for purchase.

After my stint in London, I can identify with her frame of mind: she too shuns snow chains and has a wardrobe full of high heels that she rarely gets to wear (but she’s at least had the opportunity to buy more ‘winter’ shoes and boots which is a nice bonus).

If you’re in Paris, you can meet Mademoiselle Caroline and have her leave a personalised drawing in your copy of her book at her book signing.

You’ll also get a chance to see me!

Here I am, about half way through the book, doing the wide telemark turns on the right of the image. Mademoiselle Caroline is the one in the foreground who looks like she’s going to land on her back — and as self deprecating as she is, she’s actually a brilliant skier (for a Parisian).

That day, the four of us pictured attempted to ski off-piste at La Balme. Tim had his racing skis on and I was wobbly on telemarks, leaving Ali and Caroline to show us how it’s done. Actually, Tim managed pretty well on his skis too: I was the only one screaming with every turn, and I was relieved when we returned to the piste, all with burning muscles from our adventure into the powder.

Mademoiselle Caroline will be in Paris on 3rd November at the Virgin Megastore at 5 Boulevard Montmartre between 3pm and 7pm. Her stocks of books sold out in Annecy, so my advice is to get there early.

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Take a good look at this book because I think it says a lot about the region I live in. The book is called Perrillat: a Savoyard name (14th-21st Centuries) — origins, family history, emigration. That’s right: the Perrillat family has been traced back to the 14th Century and this book, written by a more recent Perrillat, includes photos, excerpts of letters and other evidence of the family name’s impression on the area.

Indeed, I’ve seen the name everywhere: at construction sites, on fuel trucks, on shops, on farms, and on everything in between. It’s one of a handful of super-large families in the region that are so big that they don’t know some of their own family members. For example, one of my friends rented an apartment off some Perrillats last season. They invited me in for coffee (jaw droppingly rare for such a local family to be kind to such a non-local girl who can barely speak the same language as them), and I mentioned that I knew one of their family members — a ski instructor with the same surname. They asked who, and when I told them his name, they shrugged and said casually that it’s a big family.

As you might remember from a previous blog entry, it apparently takes three generations of family to be buried here before someone is considered a local in La Clusaz. The existence of this book comes as no huge surprise. Where else in the world would you find a book available in bookshops that focuses entirely on a local name? How many people would buy such a book to make it worthwhile? Who is the book of interest to? I guess if just half of the existing Perrillats bought the book, it would probably pay for itself, and any sales on top of that are a bonus!

I saw this sign on a toilet when I attended a book launch in Switzerland recently. I know the Swiss are quite strict on things like noise pollution and residential car parking spaces and, well, just about everything else, but surely a man is allowed to stand up to pee! Okay, I’m not a guy, and maybe it doesn’t bother guys. So I asked some male friends what they thought. Responses ranged from “It’s unmanly,” to “It’s a luxury after a big night out when you can’t be bothered to stand,” and everything imaginable in between. One friend suggested it was for noise-related reasons, which does make sense given the bookshop location.

So, what is the purpose of this sign? To emasculate men? To make them feel special? Or to shame them into not splashing the seat?

More questions. Do men actually abide by such signs, or do they ignore the sign until they’re finished, then wipe away any tell-tale signs so nobody knows? Or do they deliberately leave a mess to show the sign who really is the boss?

Given that this is Switzerland, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d seen a surveillance camera pointing at the toilet seat. However, this was at an English book shop, so they’re obviously far too polite to go to such measures.

Now, the actual book launch…

In case you’re wondering what book was being launched, it was Mucho Caliente by Francesca Prescott. The book launch was great fun, with some really interesting questions asked of the author and some very amusing segments of the book recited. The story revolves around a woman who tries her hardest not to fall in love with a Latino superstar who happens to be on the same Spanish island as her and her friends. That’s about all I can tell you as I haven’t started reading my copy yet. I’ve been too busy thinking about toilet sign symbolism.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but Copain des Alpes is my new favourite book. Although it’s a children’s book, it’s great for adults learning French. I discovered this one at a French friend’s place the other day, and it answered all three questions that another friend and I were pondering on the chairlift the very same day. The questions were:

1. Why don’t rabbits get cold? Wouldn’t they be happier if they went down the valley where it’s warmer?
2. How do snowflakes form?
3. What is the turkey-like animal that the signs say not to run over on your snowboard in the forest areas of La Clusaz?

The answers (thanks to the book):

1. In winter, animal fur thickens with extra hair called (in French) “jarre”, which is like a tiny tube, holding the air in to keep the bunnies warm. It’s apparently just like a mini-radiator around them. So no, they would not be happier in the valley.
2. For snowflakes to make it to the ground, not only must the cloud where they form be cold, but so must the air between the cloud and the ground. Otherwise, they’re just clumps of snow falling from the sky. The tiny drops of water that freeze in the cold cloud form miniscule crystals of ice — or snowflakes as we know them!
3. The turkey-like animal in La Clusaz is called a ‘Tétras-lyre’ i French. This explains the number of pistes called ‘Tétras’. The book also listed various other animals which I know as pistes, such as ‘Aigle’ (eagle), ‘Bouquetin’ (something with long horns that looks a bit like a brown, fat goat), and ‘Merle’ (blackbird).

Browsing through the 230-odd pages, I’ve found recipes for blueberry jam, a ‘spot that flower’ section, advice on staying at an overnight refuge, a walking map of La Grave, and an explanation of hydro-electric systems. There are least 25 of these “Copain” books available. I want the whole collection! My French friend told me that “Copain du bricolage” (DIY friend) is really good. She said: “It’s great! It shows you how to make chairs and picnic tables and snail houses”. Now, picnic tables make sense, but snail houses? “Yeah, they’re great! We had pink snails and yellow snails and black and white snails, and we built them a shelter,” my friend told me. Apparently, they did not eat them. In fact, the snail house was flawed: they kept escaping, leaving snail trails in all directions. No worries: they made a new on in a forest with some friends: they put it in the middle of a private track. Just a day after the snails were placed in their new house, the other friend’s dad drove a tractor over the road, squashing the snail house. “I was very sad,” my friend said, “but they had all the night to escape.” She told me this very, very seriously. Maybe I’ll skip the DIY book of the series.

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