Sorry!

I seem to spend an awful lot of time apologizing these days.

I apologize to waiters when they have to go through the menu with me to find something gluten-free I can eat.

Then I apologize again when I make them ask the chef if he is really sure there’s no gluten in this sauce or that dressing.

I apologize to friends when they invite us over and then have to change the menu for me.

And I apologize again when I have to tell them that the gluten-free bread or pasta that they bought especially for me, and that they are so proud to have found, actually isn’t gluten-free enough and I can’t eat it.

This is, of course, on top of all of the regular apologies I make to Val for being what she calls a "high maintenance" husband (I prefer "high performance"). She accepts these apologies with a regal nod of the head.

The good news in all this is that I can now pronounce “désolé” as well as a French native because I say it so darned often.

The other good news is that people have been incredibly kind and helpful.  They know that I’m not just following a fad diet because...who would give up French bread unless they really, really had to?

Waiters take my requests in stride and tell me that it’s now common to have customers with gluten intolerance.  Friends are happy to accommodate me and try new recipes.  And everyone seems to have a friend or a cousin or an uncle in the same situation as me.

I’ve been sent recipes, been given books, and generally received a lot of support and encouragement.  Just the other night Christian cooked up an entire gluten-free meal that took him all day to prepare.  And then he thanked me for having helped him “discover a new world of gastronomy.”  Is that cool, or what?

The only downside is that people are pretty curious about celiac and want to get into the details.  I know they mean well but, um, my innards are really not my favorite topic of conversation!

KVS

Some of our favorite views

Photos of what we've been doing... when Keith is not collecting kisses.

Riding around the Alpilles, through the vineyards and by the olive groves

And our reward at the end of the ride

Mica's first visit to the blue Med

Our favorite view of Les Baux, from the top of the Val d'Enfer (Valley of Hell)

Hiking above St. Remy de Provence

VVS

Men Just Won't Stop Kissing Me

It began slowly, but now it’s getting out of hand.  I haven’t had this many men kiss me since I was a baby - and a very adorable one, I might add.

It started with Christian when we first arrived here.  I still had a cast on my broken wrist so we couldn’t shake hands.   So instead it was the usual three kisses on the cheek, left-right-left.

Then I got the kisses from Mathias when I saw him.  Then from Jean-Eric.  Ok, we’ve been friends for a long time so that was ok.

But when Didier kissed me, I thought I should be worried.  Then I realized that no, we’ve been friends for a long time, too.  Maybe we were just taking our relationship to a new level.

When Maxime kissed me, the alarm bells went off.  Yes, he’s a super friendly guy and all,  and it was at the end of a many-bottles-of-wine apero, but still. 

Then last night it was Philippe.  He’s usually standoffish but when I went to shake hands he pulled me in for a good Provençal three-cheeker.  What the heck is going on?

I know that it’s customary for male friends here in the South to kiss each other.  And yes, I’m friends with everyone who has kissed me.  But could there be something more?

Maybe they think I’m French!

After all, my knowledge of French wine is excellent.  And I have several scarves that I know how to wear in an elegant yet manly way.  And I can complain about French politicians with the best of them.

But on the other hand, I can eat neither French bread nor French cheese.  I think that disqualifies me.

Whatever it is, I’ve become irresistible to men.

This could cause big problems at my next fraternity reunion.

KVS

Ras-le-bol !

The French can sometimes be a grumpy lot, especially when it comes to economic matters – high taxes, high prices, high unemployment.  The economy is stuck in the mud and won’t move forward.  People are mad at the government because it doesn’t do anything.

This crankiness is captured by the expression “ras-le-bol,” loosely translated as “had it up to here!” 

There’s been a lot of ras-le-bol lately, after the government introduced legislation to make modest changes to French labor laws. 

Oh, boy.  The only thing that makes people madder than the government not doing anything is when the government tries to do something.

Ras-le-bol !

There have nationwide demonstrations against the law, with millions pouring into the streets.  Even the young, who are supposed to be the primary beneficiaries, have been shutting down schools and starting fires in protest.

The reaction has been so extreme you would think the government was legalizing child labor.  Or maybe slavery.

Lately the unions have called for blockades of key economic targets, especially oil refineries.  This has led to panic buying and shortages of gasoline.

We found this out yesterday when we got an email from Christian, telling us we needed to fill up our gas tank before it was too late. We had been unaware of the rapidly escalating crisis and foolishly let it get low. 

We rushed to our regular gas station, only to find it shuttered and empty.  Same with every other station in town.  We started calling around to try to find one that still had gas but no one would answer their phone. 

In a panic, we headed to a town with several stations.  There was a long line at the first one, but after about 20 minutes they told us all to go home because they had run out of gas.  The next two stations we tried were already closed.

Finally we found one limiting purchases to about four gallons.  Better than nothing!  After a half hour we made it to the head of the long line and gratefully took our meager ration.

While we were there we heard the rumor that a station down the highway still had gas.  We raced off, feverishly hoping it was true.  And it was! 

We worked our way into the long line, but it wasn’t easy.  Cars and trucks were arriving from every which way, blocking the highway as they tried to squeeze in.  Cursing and cheating were rampant, and the hot sun didn’t help. 

After an hour and a half of staring down other drivers, sweating profusely and saying bad words, we made our way to the front of the line.  Praise be!  

Now all we had to do was…wait a minute…what’s this?  The pump was designed for big trucks and only fit certain cars.  And it didn’t fit ours. So after all that we had to leave empty handed.

My reaction?

Ras-le-bol !

KVS

Developing My Subtle French Side

Val decided that we need to work on our grammar, so for the last three weeks we have been studying the subjonctif tense in our French class. You use it instead of the regular indicatif tense when there is a “sense of doubt.”  It’s a subtle thing, very French.  I’m pretty sure they use it in those movies I never understand.

I decided I should test my knowledge before our first class, so I found an online quiz of 25 questions.  For each one I got a sentence and had to decide whether to use the indicatif or subjonctif. 

That meant that all I had to do was choose between A and B.  Even a complete moron could just flip a coin and get 12 or 13 right.

I got 13. 

So I studied hard in our first class, asked my usual penetrating questions, then took a new quiz.

I got 14.  

In our next class, I explained my dismal results and showed the teacher the questions.  My spirits were buoyed when she told me that the questions were stupid and were probably written by an American (true). 

But then she said that I still should have gotten at least 20.  Sheesh.

So I hunted around and found a website that gave a good explanation of how this damned tense works.  I was intrigued by how specific it was about this whole “sense of doubt” business. 

According to the site, if you are more than 70% sure something is going to happen, you should use the indicatif.  Less than 70% and you’ve got that doubt thing going on, so it’s time for the subjonctif. 

Think about it.  This means that every French person is doing advanced probabilistic calculations in their head at the same time they are talking.  What mental powers! Maybe that explains all those Olympic gold medals in Team Handball.

Armed with this knowledge, I took a new quiz and scored 20. Chouette!

I then started thinking about how the “sense of doubt” can be applied in real life.  I remembered how whenever Val and I go canoeing, she says that she is going to let me steer.  She says, “Yes, you will steer.” That's a very definitive statement, there's not even a shadow of a doubt.  It certainly calls for the indicatif.

Then, after about five minutes of canoeing, Val is overtaken by a mad lust for power and starts steering, at which point we are both steering and the canoe tips over.

I realize now that whenever she says that I will steer, she really should use the subjonctif.

KVS