Le fin semaine de Janvier

We’re looking forward to the start of our second month in Nice with newly charged energy, just like my iPad. We got our volunteer work back on track and I also decided to register for a month of French classes. Pour quoi pas? I registered at L’Alliance Francaise, a brisk 20- minute walk from the apartment where I took the placement tests in listening, reading, oral and written expression. After all i’s were dotted and t’s crossed, Madame decided my placement in level A2, which she explained in French. I think she said I could probably fit into the higher level, except my listening comprehension needs a lot of work. My entire family would have agreed with her. Or she may have said something about the weather, or my shoes. You understand my problem.
I met Roy at his “workplace” after registering so we could have lunch at Libération. He had a delicious platter of fried seafood with salad, it was so crispy you could eat the shrimp, shell and all. I had the plat de jour which came with flaky, gooey, apricot tart for dessert. The French takes advantage of every sunny moment- the outdoor seating was packed with smokers and sun-worshippers. The forecast for the next few days is showers. Bummer! Can’t complain, though. I saw Brian Williams’ (NBC) report on Atlanta and Birmingham and how those government officials dropped the ball. What a mess! Our neighbor in Southport sent us a photo of our house covered with snow, which he said was quickly melting. Thanks, Ken- it looks like winter, for sure.

February promises to be a whirlwind of activities in Côte d’Azur- Nice Carnival from Feb14- March 4 and the Lemon Festival in Menton with arts and crafts, as well as an orchid display. We just hope the weather cooperates!
And to Super Bowl fans- It will be hard to bet against Peyton, I’m just saying. Nous allons voir!

Musique dans l’eglise

We attended mass at the Basilica this morning, with full choir, two extra deacons and lots of incense. I understood the readings and the gospel, but the homily just went over my head, I almost dropped some 💤. It lasted an hour and 20 minutes, without anyone leaving after communion. Father Trent would be so impressed. I think if he can get Ed and a full choir to perform Bach’s Cantata as the recessional hymn, the congregation will gladly stay put, instead of making a mad dash for Saturday night dinner or Sunday brunch.
There was another concert this afternoon so we decided to have a little paella before our next hike to the matinee. The program included Don Juan overture by Mozart, Symphonie No. 1 by Borodine, and my favorite Piece de Concert No. 2 by Mendelssohn, which featured two clarinet virtuosos.
I failed to mention that at last Sunday’s concert we met Terry Maguire, a lawyer from NC – fancy that? He said he and his wife split their time between Nice and Chapel Hill and they can work out of both cities given the work they do. They purchased a home in Mont Boron 30 years ago, which is at the most elevated peak along the Moyenne Cornische. It’s a great spot- we have taken Anna and Matthew up there and saw remnants of an old medieval castle and its ramparts nearby. The Maguires must have a magnificent view of the entire city and the Mediterranean, and they get to see when their enemies are coming!
I brought my iPad to the concert today, but couldn’t take photographs until afterwards. I particularly wanted to get a close-up picture of the clarinetist who looks like Stanley, but he was gone before I got close. But you could see him looking down, way back, with a little bit more hair.

These are pictures of Nice-Port, across the street from the church. We used to serve breakfast to the homeless here, with full view of opulent yachts and large sea vessels. The breakfast program has been shut down.

Quand nous etions malades

Just because one assumes he’s in a state of grace, (which will be a silly assumption to begin with) doesn’t mean he’s physically invulnerable. It’s not about providential justice, it’s all about germs. So here we are, both down with a cold – the hacking, coughing kind, for a whole week. God is surely telling us to slow down some. At least, that’s the message I got. Roy apparently didn’t get the full memo- although he didn’t “work” all week, he was a busy bee at home. Everyday he hunted and gathered, cooked, did the dishes, the laundry, cleaned house, even took over teaching my English student for a couple of hours. I thank God everyday for having Roy who doesn’t always listen. But it did occur to me, what if we both passed out here and nobody missed us? The churches we’re helping don’t know where we’re staying, and they probably think we just got tired and went back home. My Words With Friends opponents wouldn’t call the authorities if I haven’t played for weeks, especially IM2GD who I beat soundly every single time. But here we are finally on the mend, and the Fifth Republic still endures.
So today we ventured out to test if my legs still work. We passed the Place de Justice where the old bouquinistas ply their wares. Roy even saw his old prof from the Institut there earlier, when he went to the boulangerie.

Then to the market for clementines and and pears. We were feeling almost normal so we stopped for lunch at La Favola and had the plat du jour, a platter of grilled tuna, salmon, seabream, squid, sardines, shrimp and green salad, which sent us over the moon! It’s our favorite meal, and for 13 euros a piece, the best bargain in Nice! My relatives from the Philippines always post photographs of food wherever they go, and I should learn to do that, a prochain fois, peut etre.

Lazy Sundays

Our lazy Sundays are reserved for the New York Times online, and concerts at different cathedrals. Pope Francis’ messages are well- received in France, resonate well with charity and justice to the poor, but haven’t translated into a measurable spike in mass attendance. Pas encore. These magnificent churches are now taking the places of concert halls and theaters as they fill up during the winter saison de musique. The concert we attended last Sunday was an organ recital at the newly renovated Basilique Notre Dame de L’Assomption on rue Jean Medicin. It was the inaugural recital for the (also) newly renovated, centuries-old organ, performed by Jean Guillot. He played the musical scores for some of Marcel Marceau’s productions, so you know he’s quite old. He is the current musical director at St. Eustace church in Paris. His repertoire de apres-midi included Bach, Lizst, and his own compositions. Tres magnifique! This afternoon, we trekked down to Notre Dame du Port for a community ensemble. In France, several churches are named “Notre Dame” to honor our Lady, so it’s best to make sure which Notre Dame one is supposed to go. The Harmonic Orchestra of Nice plays here on Sundays during the season and it’s free. This afternoon, we were treated to a selection from Mendelssohn, Debussy, Holtz and a rousing ouverture from Verdi. The clarinet soloist looks remarkably like our neighbor Stanley and plays like him, too. Next time, I’ll try to get close enough to take a picture of him.

Roy works 6 days a week in 3 different sites. I go with him on two of those, plus I found a new project that allows me to put my teacher hat back on. A young Polish guy in the communaute is desperately trying to pass an English exam required for admission in the university. He is very intent on making something of himself and he really works hard to make that happen. I’m not quite sure what trouble he was in before he was rehabilitated, but he speaks several languages well – Polish because he was born there, Italian because of his stay in the Cenaculo (rehab), Portuguese because he worked with street children in Sao Paolo for 4 years, Spanish for whatever reason, and his French is still evolving for he has been in France for only 10 months. He knows some English vocabulary and working hard on grammar and syntax and he said his English class is totally frustrating. It’s a class of mixed levels and he’s in the bottom of it. His ability and motivation are working in his favor, so I expect progress tout de suite.
Roy’s personal project is Reynard- a homeless guy from Germany whose “station” are the steps next door to our apartment. He sits there everyday with all his worldly possesions, two bags of stuff, an umbrella and some cushions. Roy, as part of his routine, goes to the bakery every morning for his baguette and patisserie, and brings Reynard a croissant which he prefers to pain au chocolat.
Life is tough all over.

The bus stop to Arianne, behind it is the museum/ library

Another new restaurant in the quartier– unusual pizza entree, lamb pastille ( shredded lamb in pastry with couscous) and cochon ( roast pork with vegetables)

Roy’s coffee house

My fresh butter and egg shop

Faire de shopping et un homme celebre

The grandes soldes (big sale) at les Galleries Laffayette was a bust pour moi. It was similar to a sale in any other department store with bins of items thrown together at greatly reduced prices. People were tugging here and there, so you really don’t want to purchase anything that’s been stretched several ways because they wouldn’t be your size anymore. Roy went home, while I stayed awhile to see if I can salvage the day and get a really good deal. Well I didn’t – ended up away from the crazy crowd and buying a pair of boots at the original price. I can’t justify my action, except to say that it was of exquisite leather, fashioned in a well-ventilated atelier in Italy, perhaps by a guy named Salvatorre. Plus, I really need them. 💕👢👢💞
Since we’re on the subject of Italy, just want to give a very brief history: In the very old days, Nice used to be part of Italy- through various wars and treaties, Italy ceded Nice to France. Consequently, much of the Italian influence still lingers to this day. Ravioli was invented here according to folklore, and Garibaldi stands in his majesty in one of the largest squares in the city. Some street signs are in both French and Italian (old Roman) languages. Pizzerias are so conspicuous, you would have thought you’ve landed in Naples. French purists hate that.
So it was at Voglio’s, a fine Italian brasserie at Cours Selaya, that we found ourselves seated at a table next to Yohan Cabaye and his family. If you don’t know Yohan Cabaye, no need to fret. We didn’t either. He’s a good-looking guy, lean and muscular, the type who works out for a living. I told Roy he must be an athlete or in that line of work because he put away a huge platter of antipasti and a coccotte of baked ziti with no trouble at all. Yet he doesn’t have an ounce of fat in his body. People were coming to get their pictures taken with him, so I finally asked our server who he was – server rolled his eyes and said “That’s Yohan Cabaye.” And I said who? Then he looked at me like I was on his last nerve and huffed, “He’s a football (soccer) player with the French National Team! Well, excusez moi! You will be so proud of me, Anna- I didn’t grovel.

Some good places pour un bon repas:

Voglio’s, as I mentioned earlier, has great mixed grill of seafood. Depending on the catch, if squid is included in the mix, Roy swoons. The antipasti platter is really good, but you need at least 4 people to share, no doggie bags.

Le Tire Bouchon is a new find – as the name suggests ( corkscrew), it specializes in fine wine. Genteel atmosphere, cassoulet maison from Maman’s recipe

HanGout – It could be pronounced either hangout, which will be unfortunate, or an-goo, which will be French. They like to play with words. Very close to the apartment- one left turn from our door, another quick left, then you stumble right into it. It’s a new restaurant with a Japanese chef, so the cuisine is French with an Asian flair. We met Takayuki, the chef, who’s a very pleasant young man. The duck breast was marvelous as was the pot-a-feu!

Some market stalls on a slow day

Our apartment and Old Town

Our apartment address, 1 Descente du Marche, is vividly descriptive of our location- the first descent to the market. We are in the midst of shops, restaurants and the farmer’s market at Cours Selaya. On the other side of the market is the beach. The apartment is on the 3rd floor of an ancien batiment (really the 4th floor- they count them funny here) without a lift, so we don’t have a need for a Stairmaster for exercise. Roy goes up and down these 70 steps 2 or 3 times a day, sometimes more, and I do it much less often. My old knees are shot.
It has 2 bedrooms, the one where we sleep in and the living room/bedroom combination. The dining room has a small table by the window and a sitting area, as well as a desk for the MacBook, the phone and other devices. The kitchen is tres, tres petite
with a 4-burner stove top, a sink and a pull-out shelf for the toaster/convection oven. There is no counter space, so I do my chopping on the dining table or the top of the burners when not in use. There ‘s a fairly good-sized refrigerator and some shelves. Roy found a place for the microwave oven in the broom closet, which we found on the floor. There is no dishwasher, so I have invested on some industrial-grade moisturizer pour les mains. The small washer is in the bathroom, which is fine because it provided some much needed counter space in there. There is a clock radio/CD player, but no TV. I watch Downton Abbey, my guilty pleasure, on a little screen on the MacBook. The only mirror is the one in the bathroom over the sink, so I have to check myself at the display windows of the stores when I go out. By then, there’s really nothing I can do about any dressing mishaps, because I’m not climbing 70 steps up just because of some visible pantylines. Keep my coat on, indoors and out, put a hat on for bad hair day, problems solved. We keep the apartment neat and clean, warm and homey, and always stocked with fine wine and good food.
La vie est belle!

Notre Quartier

The butcher

The baker

The candle……no, the charcuterie with Dinna

The fish market

The wine shop

And the cheese shop

Les Gens Dans la Rue

So I’m going to reconstruct the post I lost earlier-
We catch the bus after lunch to start preparing food at St. Pierre at 2:00pm. This routine is good for Mondays and Saturdays, when I go with Roy. He works at another site Tuesdays and Thursdays without moi. He will try to work on Wednesdays, too, mais, moi non plus. So after getting all the food ready, we join the other volunteers for tea (or coffee), then it’s adoration at church, then a mass at 6:00. Distribution is from 7-9. We load everything up in some kind of an emergency van, with sirens and flashing lights. There are 4 official vans, Roy and I in one of them, and some other volunteers drive their own cars. We wear reflective vests with badges to identify us as volunteers, and I should probably carry a sign that says Southern English spoken here. It’s cold in the streets of Nice, so underneath this distinctive get-up are warm undergarments from LLBean. I can only imagine what the polar vortex is like in the US.
The queue was already forming when we arrived at distribution – there were familiar faces, unfortunately more children, and some were under the influence of one substance or another. One great addition was a medical van that joined us in the parking lot. This is the same medical team that goes all over the world in places that are affected by natural and man-made disasters. PTL!
We offered hot ravioli soup, ham or cheese sandwiches, fruit compote and coffee, or water and served 187 people on our first night.
Our schedule feels like a monastery retreat, with prayers, good deeds, and for me, a vow of silence.

Thursday, Roy is off to his other job, so I went off for a 2-hour walk along the Promenade des Anglaise and took pictures. I also stopped at a cafe so I can use their bathroom. All this walking was voided by hot chocolate and pastries.

Ferris Wheel at Place Massena

Fountains at the new Promenade du Paillon

Another fountain in the old park nearby

Hotel Negresco along the Promenade des Anglais, famous people stay there like my friend Welma

Beach along the promenade

A bed of blooming carnations along the Promenade du Paillon

iPad Fix- and hello Book Club!

We had to find an Apple store to get my iPad fixed. I thought the battery was going bad, but the genius said it was fine, so he reconfigured it as techies are prone to do. It seemed to be working fine, while we were at the store(30 minutes away). This part of Nice is quite affluent- I knew it would be since the bus riders appeared to have spent more time on their looks, and they smell better.
They also carried high-end shopping bags, brand new ones, unlike the recycled ones I use to carry groceries. The Apple store is in a mall, very much like any mega-mall anywhere. The shops are practically the same, with the exception of their produits gastronomiques. The gourmet shops are just too, too much. We’re looking at the other side of the tracks, as opposed to the side where we feed people on the streets. Iberico ham from Espana for 99euros per kilo! Who eats that stuff?
Anyway, we got home and I tried to use the iPad, not knowing that when the genius tinkered with it, everything was still there, but I had to reconnect with my apps- like I remember all the different passwords? So I was all ready to publish my blog last night, but I couldn’t. I put in the wrong password, then it wouldn’t let me back, because the time was up, blah,blah,blah. The photos won’t upload, I was ready to scream! So I had a whole new post from last night that went bye-bye, couldn’t find it.
Hello Book Club – miss you!
I’m going to try to take a photo of the orchid I bought to cheer me up!

Just checking- my iPad is on the blink😪

Epiphanie du Seigneur

We rose bright and early for Sunday mass because we have to take a bus to St. Pierre in Arianne. Never mind that the Dome of the Basilica towers a few yards from us and there’s a Latin mass at noon. I can follow Latin, but not French without my missel. However, St. Pierre is where we volunteer to prepare food and feed the hungry in the streets.

So up we go and get on the bus with not one native Frenchman in it. This is a 25-minute ride to the outskirts of Nice where immigrants live. There’s a lively mix of families from Morrocco, Tunisia, Algiers, etc. who look like they’re on their way to worship in one of the many mosques in Arianne. Roy said he heard 47 ( maybe more like 4-7 ). Anyway they sure outnumber the only Catholic Church in the area. The younger set who did not want to be seen with their parents tend to sit together with their iPhones and other devices, dressed like their French peers, but wearing headscarves. An identity crisis of some sort.
There was no one at church when we arrived, it was cold as all European churches who don’t want to bother heating century- old buildings are. We started looking around when here comes Pere Patrick, the saintly cure of St. Pierre. He’s short and rotund, never without a smile on his face, in spite of walking with a limp as a result of a stroke he suffered a couple of years ago. He welcomed us with two-cheek kisses like old friends, then took us to the rectory where we caught up with his dear Mama (they’re Italian) and Michelle, a volunteer we knew from the old days. From what I could gather in my minimal French, there is a new group of young members (former addicts, felons, homeless street walkers ) who now reside in the communaute. They’re rehabilitated, help in building maintenance, serve at mass, and get counseling, food and shelter. We were told that the number of clients have doubled since we were there last. But they have been blessed with generous donations in money and in kind, one of which was a bus from no less than Albert himself, the Prince of Monaco. This will replace the ancient one called Bus Chapelle which has been designed with an altar to celebrate masses on the street. By the way, Pere Patrick mentioned us at mass for coming back as volunteers for MIR. 👏. Quite humbling, really. One of the many things I noticed while learning French is the disconnect between the oral and written forms. Par example, while I was following the Lector with my French missel, I could have sworn that she compressed the entire letter of Paul to the Tessalonians in 27 syllables! There was way too much text there that I didn’t hear. When I tried to follow the hymns, they added extra sounds that were not written in – to sync with the notes, I’m guessing. It’s a bit confusing, don’t you agree?

Bear with me, as I was told by my tech support from NY, it’s not the fault of tech, it’s user-error. But hey, I was able to insert some pictures this time, not where I want them, but it is what it is.