A New Year Begins (and Ends) in France

We only have a week left in France. How do you enjoy the New Year when you know that it is almost time to leave? The answer is – you don’t think about it. You simply enjoy every day. And that’s what we’ve been doing. Each week has brought something new.

We rang in the New Year in Paris where we met up with Linnea. Our few days together were filled with wandering the streets of Paris, attending a concert in St. Eustache, and watching the Eiffel Tower twinkle and sparkle at midnight as we exchanged hugs in the shadow of the Louvre. The New Year ’s Day concert was lovely – an ensemble of seven stringed instruments – under the dome of St. Eustache. They played seasonal music like Strauss’ Ave Maria, Mozart’s A Little Night Music, Franz Gruber’s Silent Night and a stunning version of O Holy Night. For me, the music now is richer. Only a few weeks ago we saw the statue of Strauss in Vienna, Mozart’s birthplace in Salzburg, and drove through the village where Silent Night was written. Listening to the strings play, images of these places filled my mind. The music was soft, airy and hypnotic. Wonderful – but perhaps not the best choice after a very late night celebrating New Years Eve. Of course, Paris without a stroll past Notre Dame wouldn't be Paris. There was a huge Christmas tree in front with people galore taking photos. There are hundreds of us who have photos much like the one Mike took of me, but few have arms coming out their ears! (Click on the photo if you can't make it out.) And Mike had a touchy moment with a rather angry angel with a pitch fork. He recovered and we ventured on our way for the long walk along the Seine to the Eiffel Tower. Thanks to a birthday present from my mother, we made an excursion to the Hermès store in Paris where I bought my last souvenir – an Hermès scarf. While the scarf is beautiful and a work of art, it is layered with so much more – a birthday gift from my mother, Paris with Michael, anticipation of the new year, and our last trip in France. (By the way, having learned to creatively reuse most everything, the Hermès bag was later filled with our recycling. That’s probably NOT what Mr. Hermès had in mind for his distinctive orange bags!)

Shortly after returning from Paris, the French celebrated epiphany on January 6th. The boulangeries were filled with gateau de roi (king’s cake). There are two types. In Provence, the traditional cake is brioche with decorative candied fruit on top. In Paris, their cake is a rich, flaky pastry filled with an almond paste. In both cases, there is a tiny figurine inside the cake. It is a lucky person who finds the prize – unless they bite down too hard and chip a tooth. Mrs. Poulliard warned us to be careful. We chose the Parisian type so that I could at eat the filling. Mike was the prize winner when he discovered a little, baby Jesus – with a foot kicking in the air – in his slice. Just in case you didn’t recognize Jesus, it was thoughtfully labeled on the back.

The Christmas lights have been taken down in Cotignac although they are still up in nearby Carces. Some decorations at individual homes are also still around. We had seen outdoor decorations of stuffed Papa Noels (Santa), complete with his red suit, on many houses. But there was something different. We finally figured it out. Here, Papa Noel doesn’t come down the chimney. Indeed, the chimneys are typically pipes or small openings with vented covers. It would be very difficult to get into a house that way. The small, stuffed Papa Noels are climbing ropes or ladders into windows – a much better approach.

Next was Mike’s birthday. He was very excited to collect his first Social Security check as we sat in France enjoying a perfect day. In fact, the weather has been exceptional the last week – sunny and warm. We have been sitting outside to eat lunch and hanging clothes on the line to dry. It’s as though it was spring again. With such beautiful weather we took a long walk on Mike’s birthday to soak up the landscape AND to work off the wonderful dinner that he made that evening. A few weeks ago we bought a capon which is a traditional holiday food in France. Mike roasted it stuffed with garlic and an orange, and covered with herbs de Provence. As those smells wafted through the house, we had an appetizer of foie gras. I also had a treat of an aperitif of vin d'orange. I just learned of vin d'orange from my friend, Irene. This is a wine made from oranges and rose wine that is aged for at least 40 days. Irene gave me a sample of her homemade vin d'orange and it was wonderful! Dinner was great and was finished off with a chocolate macaroon with a match on top!

With the beautiful weather, we’ve taken walks every day. Today, Sunday, everyone was out enjoying the sunshine. A group of guys were on a hilltop jamming. Sounds of drums and guitars were unexpected and happy. A mother walked down a dirt lane with her two small children dancing to the music. Others strolled past as well. A farmer on his tractor plowed between the rows of grape vines. Kids on tiny bikes rode past us calling out, “Bonjour!” And, somehow, it all seems like a fitting way to start the New Year.

Christmas Cotignac Style

Christmas has arrived in Cotignac. There are lights, decorations, and preparations for reveillon (the grand feast on Christmas Eve). Cotignac is like small towns everywhere – the spirit is there but the execution is a little – uneven. But it just adds to the charm.

Decorations for Noel have been going up all around town. The Spar has tinsel strung a bit haphazardly. The Café de Cours decorated their palm tree with lights. The honey store has gold bows that are slightly askew. But Blue Cl’Hair – a coiffure – went all out with a tree and mistletoe outside their shop. Even the Tuesday market got into the mood. Mike was delighted to find a, shall we say, svelte Mrs. Santa gracing one of the market stalls. I, on the other hand, had to live with a pudgy, white-whiskered Santa outside the Gourmet Shop.

The village is festive with lights hanging from the trees along the main street. Not to be outdone, there are also decorative lights along the tiny street leading up to the Hotel de Ville (city hall). The village seems to have a little less organizational rigor now than during the summer. The big ceremony to turn on the lights didn’t happen. Mike and I went into town for the Fete des Lumieres on the evening it was supposed to happen (even though the tourist office had no information) to discover….nothing. It seems that the date was changed to December 26. Supposedly there will be fireworks (feu d’artifice) along the rocks behind the city. We’ll let you know!

It’s been fun to drive through the neighboring villages to see their lights. I wish I owned the concession that sold lights to all these little towns. Each village has its own design, and we’re not talking simple lights strung across the streets. These are designs in a wide array of colors – shooting stars, snowflakes, festive greetings, and more. Carces is the most entertaining. It looks like they bought one of each design that was in the catalog. Then they hung them one after the other. No pattern; no theme; just lights. It’s refreshing in an unorganized way. There is a saxophone with colored notes jauntily dancing across the street, stars, bells, snowflakes, greetings, and plain ole, blinking, white lights. Lorgues, on the other hand, has color coordinated blue and white lights. White snowflakes float above banners of blue, tastefully strung along the main streets in varying patterns.

Cotignac is somewhere in the middle. The lights at the village entrance festively announce that Cotignac is a city of character, and along the main street we are greeted with a cheerful “Joyeux Noel.” The tall plane trees serve as the backdrop for sparkling blue lights that glow over mostly empty shops – empty, except for the Modern Bar. The Modern Bar may not be fancy but it must be the biggest money maker in town – after the Spar.

Mike and I have done our best to keep up with the holiday spirit. We made an excursion to Brignoles to get a Christmas tree. We took Dan’s suggestion that we buy a small Cyprus that could be planted after the holidays. Perfect. Off we went to Gamm Vert (like the garden section of Home Depot). They had the perfect little tree – about three feet high, a festive green color, and perfectly shaped. They also had a room full of cut Christmas trees for sale that were not so fortunate. The whole experience was a moment to remember. First, there was Santa Baby playing on the loud speakers as we walked in the store. It takes a moment to realize that you’re in a store in France and hearing Santa Baby in English. As they say here, “Bizarre!” Then we found these poor, little trees. It was simply not possible to stifle our laughter. Some trees were lopsided; others were missing their top branches; and all were for sale. I’m just sure someone came along to love these poor, misshapen trees! Ours, however, is lovely. In addition to the chrystal, star ornaments that Siena left for us, we spent a grand total of 7 euros on decorations. I was able to resist – just barely – the feather boas that were being sold as tinsel. We settled for little, gold ball trim.

We were on our way out with our big purchases when Mike remarked offhandedly that all we needed now was French Christmas music. Hmmmm. He had a point. I dashed back inside and emerged with a three CD set of French Christmas music. Decorating the tree, with wine in hand and French carols floating in the air, has never been so much fun!

I’d never thought about it before, but Christmas carols are the same and different here. Some of the American standards are everywhere – Bing Crosby’s White Christmas, Sinatra’s Let it Snow. While we hear familiar songs, there are new ones as well, and many of them have great tunes. There’s C’est Noel which, after hearing it once, is permanently stuck in our heads. And it’s not just us. We were at the market on Tuesday and I overheard a delivery man humming the chorus as he unloaded boxes. ‘Tis the season! Then there are songs with familiar tunes but different words, like Mon Beau Sapin, sung to the tune of O Christmas Tree.

We enjoyed the French Christmas music so much that we went to a chorale performance at the church in Cotignac. Even after living here for nine months, we never know what to expect. This time we were surprised to realize that the church is not heated. No….not heated. Not even a little bit. Everyone seemed to know this but us. They arrived with blankets and prepared to sit in the cold for the performance. It actually wasn’t that bad; we simply kept our coast – and gloves – on. There we all sat, bundled up, to listen to a chorus of Christmas music. It was wonderful – simply wonderful. Of course, there were many songs that we weren’t familiar with, but we got to hear the French version of Silent Night (Douce Nuit) sung in six part harmony. They audience had a chance to join in for Angels We Have Heard on High (Les Anges dans nos Compagnes) for which the words were handily provided on our pews. Just was we got to “Glor…or…or…ia” the bells of the church began to chime. What a wonderful sound – our voices singing in French as the bells pealed overhead. The concert ended with everyone singing O Come All Ye Faithful (Peuple Fidele). It was a perfect evening – even in the cold.

Mike and I have enjoyed an interesting mix of U.S. Christmas customs and French Christmas customs. Sometimes we don’t know the difference. For example, a few weeks ago we decided to send Christmas cards to friends and family back home and to those people in Cotignac who have been so gracious and welcoming. As it turns out, the French don’t do Christmas cards. We couldn’t find any to send so we made our own. With my own sketch of the Four Seasons fountain in the Cours, a little manipulation of PowerPoint, and some craft glue from Frank’s hardware store – voila! – we made Christmas cards. Some are still be trying to reach the US, but for the shop keepers in Cotignac, they were delivered in person. How much fun! We took them around on market day so we could give them to our favorite vendors and farmers. It was a drizzly day and the envelopes were a bit mushy by the time we finished. But it was worth every minute of cutting and gluing. All of the receipients found it perplexing and had no idea what this envelope was, what to do with it, or when to open it. I had to explain – each time – that a “carte de Noel” is a tradition in the United States. That seemed to satisfy everyone and then they were thrilled. Within minutes, they had their card posted on the wall of their shop. Inside was a message that Catherine helped me to craft, in French, that thanked them for their friendliness during our visit and told them that our best souvenir would be memories of their hospitality. It was another little step towards closing out our time here and one that was very well received by all.

And what would Christmas be without the food? For the French the big feast is reveillon which is served on Christmas Eve. There has been much excitement as everyone prepared for it. At the big Leclerc store in Brignoles there was an entire aisle, from floor to six feet tall, of chocolates. People circled it with their carts selecting the best box from the towering assortment. And, we found a turkey…..a whole turkey! The meat case at the local butcher shop looks a feather boa curled inside. There are turkeys and capons with their heads neatly tucked to the side; feet curled underneath and tail feathers fanned out behind. Black feathers and tan feathers fill the case. We ordered our capon like everyone else but ours will be for the week after Christmas as we already have our pheasant for reveillon. When we dropped by to pick up the capon we discovered that the butcher shop was newly stocked with tiny little appetizers that they call mise en bouche. They were so cute! We had to have an assortment of them, too. They will be our feast on Christmas day. Check out the tiny duck made from mousse de canard!


We could see different foods around, but we lacked more information, so I talked to my main source – Dominique - who runs the nail salon. She told me about the traditional foods in Provence, as each area of France is different. In Provence reveillon typically includes salmon, oysters, white sausage, langoustine, foie gras, chestnuts and thirteen desserts. Yes – thirteen desserts. You’ve got to love a country with a tradition of thirteen desserts! As it turns out, they are tiny desserts – fruit and nuts, primarily. But still. Oh – and buche de Noel is popular, too. These are pastries that look like little logs. Some are made from cake, others from ice cream. Yum. Dominique asked what we were having so I recited our menu: pheasant (ordered specially from the local butcher), black rice (from the Camarque), and spinach. She looked at me quizzically and said, “And, what else?” I explained that it was only me and Mike, but she wanted to know about the starters. Foie gras? Of course. Bien sur! What would Christmas be without it? Dominique seemed satisfied that we would have an acceptable meal.

In order to have a traditional French reveillon, we had to make a trip to the bakery this morning (Christmas Eve) - along with everyone else in town. After waiting in line, I couldn't resist the stunning buche de Noel logs so we bought a small one for Christmas day. We left the bakery loaded down - like everyone else- with boxes and bags of our goodies. We also needed some last minute items so we headed to the Spar only to discover Papa Noel greeting all the shoppers and handing out candy, fruit and cakes in front of the Spar. I'm not sure who enjoyed having their photo taken more - me or him. Papa Noel was actually the man who runs the boule association. We saw him every Friday night during the summer at their mussels and fries event as he presided over the festivities. He speaks a few words of English so as I wished him a "Bon Noel" he quickly replied with "Merry Christmas!" What a lovely place this is.

Thanks to Michael, we had an exceptional meal! He outdid himself with the pheasant and everything else. He had to "lard" the pheasant meaning baking it with pieces of fat on the exposed edges to retain the moisture. It turned out perfectly. I can hardly wait for leftovers tomorrow! And then there were the thirteen desserts. Here’s the line up: dried apricots, blonde raisins, brown raisins, dried figs, dates, walnuts (shelled myself), pine nuts, apple, pear, Clementine, almonds (also shelled myself from our tree), Advent chocolate, and chocolate wafers with nuts and fruit (a traditional treat). What a special evening.

And so, Mike and I settle in after our Christmas reveillon, sitting in front of the wood stove, listening to French Christmas music, me with wine and Mike with sparkling water, as we open the last window of our Advent calendar think about all that we have to be grateful for – here and at home. I have this mental image - a moving postcard - of France running through my head. It’s “taken” from the train as we returned from Strasbourg. There are skeleton trees against dove-grey skies filled with fluffy balls of mistletoe as though they are Christmas ornaments, green pastures with ponies blurry from their winter coats, misty hills and sleepy vineyards waiting for spring, empty lanes connecting steepled villages, and rotund sheep scampering on spindly legs. That postcard image will stay with me for Christmases to come regardless of which hearth Mike and I are sitting around.

Picking Olives and Other Winter Excursions

First there were grapes to be picked and now there are olives. Olive trees blanket the area around Cotignac including several around our house. We’ve had a front row seat as the olives have developed. They started in the spring as tiny, little blooms developing into little, bitty olives like elfin grape clusters. They grew over the summer with the first touches of black appearing in October. First they were black and shiny and are now beginning to shrivel – perfect for picking.

In the last couple of weeks we saw people in the olive groves with small baskets, but we couldn’t imagine that these vast groves would be picked by hand. Periodically, I’d see someone with a net under a tree apparently gathering olives that are shaken off the tree. But for the most part, the picking was being done by hand. We learned that many of the trees died several years ago in an unusually hard freeze. But, the roots were still alive and small trees grew up from the original trunks. The effect is sculptural with clusters of small olive trees encircling an old stump. Groves and groves are like this.

Our rental agent, Ruth Teale, knew that I wanted to pick olives to add to my catalog of experiences. She graciously offered to let me help her with the trees in her yard. How very nice of her! The date was set for December 3rd - if it didn’t rain.

I arrived at Ruth’s house mid-morning on a beautiful, sunny, but cold day. Frost was on the ground and crunched as I walked across her yard. I was greeted by a very enthusiastic Toby – with a pink ball in his mouth. Clearly, I was there to play with him! Ruth warned that whatever I did I should NOT throw the ball or else that’s how I would spend the rest of my day. So Toby followed us around carrying a red ball, or an orange ball, or a black chew toy. He seemed to think that he would eventually find something to entice a throw.

Ruth gave me a basket for olives with gaps in the sides and bottoms so that errant leaves would fall through. I’m not sure how well that worked, but it sounded good. The basked had a long ribbon tied to the sides so that it hung around my neck leaving both hands free for picking. Ruth did the hard part. She spent the day on a ladder reaching the olives in the upper branches. Only the blue of her sweater was visible inside the branches. Because of the cold I quickly decided that the olives on the sunny side of the tree needed to be picked first! There’s really nothing to it. Just grab a branch and pull off a handful of olives and drop them in the basket. If you’re good, the basket will be directly under the branch so that the olives drop right in – hopefully with few leaves. We picked and chatted for two hours. There was never a lull in the conversation as we compared notes on living in France. Ruth, originally from the UK, has been in this area for 20 years, living first in Cotignac and now in Varages, an even smaller village. When she’s not throwing balls to Toby she manages house rentals. Mike and I are thankful every day that we found Ruth. (To contact Ruth, see www.chezdomaine.com)

With frozen fingers and toes, we stopped for a wonderful, warm lunch which Ruth prepared – cream of mushroom soup, shepherd’s pie, salad and fruit. I was sorry there weren’t more trees so I could get another hot, hearty meal like that! We dawdled as long as we could before tackling the last two trees. This time Toby changed his strategy. My basket was on the ground while I picked a few low hanging olives. The next time I looked, Toby had brought a small stick, put it in my basket in the hopes, and was looking at me in the hopes that maybe THIS time I’d throw it. He was great entertainment! By the middle of the afternoon we were frozen again. Black clouds hid the sun making the cool temperatures feel cold and edgy. Fortunately, we finished the trees and had two boxes of olives to show for our efforts. After a warm cup of tea, we set out for the olive mill in Varages as splotches of fat, wet snow flakes fell. We weren’t the only olive pickers that day. Along the road, cars were parked, one after the other, from people working in the olive groves.

So here’s how it goes. Each little village has its own olive mill – the cooperative. The mill opens about 4PM after that day’s picking is done. We arrived early and were the third car in line. Ruth said that in the past she has waited an hour or more to deliver her olives. When our turn came, we unloaded our two boxes and dumped them a larger box with everyone else’s olives. They weighed the difference and found that we’d picked 22.5 kilos that day – not bad. And, a friendly gentleman with scruffy hair and a plaid, flannel shirt gave us a tour of the olive mill.

We were shown to the side entrance and warned to watch our step. The floor was covered with oil and water. They are not allowed to use detergents to wash anything while olives are pressed so that there’s no chance of contaminating the oil. The air was pungent with mashed olives and it was thankfully warm inside. We watched our olives go through a washer and into a large vat where two stone wheels rolled over the olives – pits, stems and all – to mash them into a pulp. This is the traditional method which isn’t used in all the mills these days. This cooperative won a prize in Paris for their high quality oil.



Each batch is tested to ensure that none of the trees were treated too close to picking time. If the tests indicate an inappropriate treatment, the staff go through each person who contributed to that batch, checking trees to find the culprit who can be fined for this infraction. The pulp is slightly heated and used to saturate round pads that are stacked like donuts between metal plates until they are about three feet high. The pads and plates are put into a press that squeezes out olive oil and water. The water is separated and the oil stored in vats where the sediment settles over a three month period. A final machine screens out the smallest particles leaving behind clear, green olive oil – Voila! Ruth will return in February to collect bottles of oil that equate to the kilos of olives that she brought in. She’ll have olive oil from her very own olives!

Olive harvesting isn’t our only cold weather activity. We’re making an effort to be out and about in the sun even if the temperature is chilly. For months we intended to hike Mt. Sainte Victoire – the mountain outside of Aix that Cezanne made famous. Finally, this week we made it. What a journey! It was 12 kilometers long and 600 meters up…up…and up. It was a steady climb with no flat spots. The trail was very rocky with small pellets of frozen snow between the stones. Pine trees lined the trail and rocky cliffs were visible all around. The higher we got the frostier the shrubs became. Even Mike’s hat developed frost on it! The Alps started to peek out, snow covered, in the far distance. They made a stunning ring of white across the horizon. But the higher we went the colder we became with a slight, freezing wind blowing up the mountain side. The climb ended at the ruins of a 12th century priory on top of which a chapel and monastery were built in the 17th century. Just a few meters above the priory, is the Croix de Provence – a large cross that is visible from the autoroute far below. We’ve driven past it many times never dreaming that we’d see it up close. But we didn’t see it for long. When we finally reached the top, we quickly snapped some photos, grabbed a few dried apricots and raisins with frozen fingers and headed back down….fast. As Mike said, the bottom would feel like Miami by comparison. In reality, our “Miami” was only in the high 30s. Those heated seats in the car never felt better! We were proud of our accomplishment, tired and ready to go home. But –

Our washer is broken. Yep. The code d’erreur says that the motor is broken. Ruth is dispatching someone to fix it. They came last week, but, in typical fashion, it worked fine for the repairman. Of course it did. Now it’s broken again. So on our way home, we stopped at the Cotignac laundromat – Le Laverie. We had to laugh as we hauled dirty sheets and laundry out of the trunk of the Mercedes and into the laverie. It felt very Beverly Hillbilly-ish. We were in the real French Laundry! After translating the instructions and starting the wash, we skedaddled to the Café de Cours for warm coffee and tea. We piled wet laundry back into the car to take it home to dry. Not exactly what I was hoping for at the end of a long day of hiking – but, we fell into bed on crisp, clean sheets. Now, that’s the perfect end to a satisfying, frosty, winter day in France.