Le Défi: An upcoming challenge for Jean-Marc + full story recorded in French

GR 20 trail in Corsica France
One of the many "points d'eau" Jean-Marc talks about in his update, below. The English version follows and the entire story is available on sound file, below.

Today's French Word: "le défi"

    : challenge, dare

Sound File: Click below to listen to Jean-Marc read his story.  Note:  Jean-Marc repeats a few of the sentences in this long recording (where an error was made).

Click here for the audio File


Dans deux semaines, je vais parcourir une des plus belles randonnées d'Europe : Le fameux GR20. Ce magnifique sentier traverse la Corse en diagonale, partant au Nord Ouest de cette "l'île de beauté" (Calenzana) pour arriver au Sud Est, à Conca.

La plupart de cet itinéraire est en haute montagne avec une incroyable diversité de flore composée de chênes, châtaignier et le maquis Corse, de faune et même au mois de Juin, il est fréquent de traverser des névés surtout dans la partie Nord du parcours. Je pars randonner avec mon meilleur ami, Nicolas, avec qui j'ai lié mon amitié pour la vie suite à un voyage inoubliable en mobylette à travers la Corse, alors que nous avions tout juste 15 et 16 ans.

L'année dernière, pour notre première partie du chemin, nous avons marché 5 étapes, chacune dure environ 8 heures et malgré la difficulté des importants dénivelés positifs et négatifs (qui font encore plus mal aux jambes), la beauté des paysages, les nombreux points d'eau pour se rafraîchir et l'excitation de marcher sur ce sentier mythique permettent d'oublier la souffrance.

Nous partons aux aurores pour éviter la chaleur et arrivons à chaque nouveau camp en milieu d'après midi pour déguster une omelette, une Pietra (bière Corse) avant une petite sieste, un dîner au coucher du soleil et quelques heures à essayer de dormir dans la même tente.

Il y a un an, j'étais en pleine forme physique et mentale. L'idée de ce périple, dont nous avions trop souvent repoussé l'organisation, me faisait frissoner de bonheur. Je garde un souvenir impérissable de cette semaine passée en pleine nature où j'ai gravi le plus haut sommet de Corse : Le Monte Cinto.

Aujourd'hui, les temps ont bien changé. Je traverse une période mentale très sombre et je ne suis sûrement pas assez prêt pour affronter physiquement ces épreuves sportives. Mais je ne louperai pour rien au monde ce magnifique défi car si je sais bien que je vais souffrir, je me dis aussi que si j'arrive à parcourir ces 5 étapes, je serai plus fort pour affronter tous les sommets psychologiques personnels qui m'attendent à mon retour.

Merci pour vos encouragements,

Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator

In two weeks, I'm going to hike one of the most beautiful trails in Europe: The famous GR20. This magnificent track crosses Corsica diagonally, starting in the North West of this "island of beauty" (Calenzana) to arrive in the South East, in Conca.

Most of this itinerary is in the high mountains with an incredible diversity of flora composed of oaks, chestnut trees and the Corsican maquis, of fauna and even in June, it is frequent to cross snowy slopes especially in the northern part of the route. I will be hiking with my best friend, Nicolas, with whom I made a lifelong friendship after an unforgettable trip on a moped through Corsica when we were just 15 and 16 years old.

Last year, for our first part of the trail, we walked 5 stages, each one lasts about 8 hours and despite the difficulty of the important positive and negative changes in altitude (which make the legs even more painful), the beauty of the landscapes, the numerous water points to refresh ourselves and the excitement of walking on this mythical trail allow us to forget the suffering.

We leave at dawn to avoid the heat and arrive at each new camp in the middle of the afternoon to enjoy an omelette, a Pietra (Corsican beer) before a little nap, a dinner at sunset and a few hours trying to sleep in the same tent.

A year ago, I was in great shape physically and mentally. The idea of this trip, which we had postponed too often, made me shiver with happiness. I keep an imperishable memory of this week spent in the middle of nature where I climbed the highest summit of Corsica: Monte Cinto.

Today, times have changed. I'm going through a very dark mental period and I'm certainly not ready enough to face physically these sporting events. But I will not miss for anything in the world this magnificent challenge because if I know well that I will suffer, I also say to myself that if I manage to cover these 5 stages, I will be stronger to face all the personal psychological summits which await me at my return.

Thank you for your encouragement,

Book: Trekking the Corsica GR20: Two-Way Trekking Guide: Real IGN Maps 1:25,000

Jean-Marc in Corsica
Jean-Marc at the top of Monte Cinto, June 2021

Jean-Marc and Nicolas

A Message from Kristi on this blog's 19th anniversary
Thank you for reading this language journal. Ongoing support from readers like you helps keep this site ad-free and allows me to focus on writing. My wish is to continue creating posts that are educational, insightful, and heart-warming. If my work has touched you in any way, please consider supporting it via a blog donation of any amount.

Ways to contribute:
1. Send a check
2. PayPal or credit card
3. A bank transfer, ZELLE is a great way to send your donation as there are no transaction fees.

Or purchase our online memoir, The Lost Gardens

Lunch in Arles, "Séjour" in Camargue, wild horses and a cool rancher's hut

Flamingo bird park in camargue
Les flamants roses--pink flamingos in the Camargue. More photos from our weekend in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer on my Instagram (please follow for upcoming entries), and all our recommended addresses are at the end of this post.

Today's Word: un hébergement

    : accommodation, lodgings

French Audio/Listening:
 Click the following link to hear Jean-Marc pronounce the French words in the following story. Then scroll down to the vocabulary list to check your French comprehension.

Click here to access the MP3 file

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

One perk of getting older and traveling sans les gosses is better accommodations! When I think back to some of the doozies my husband has rented--a flea-ridden room in Madrid, a stinky suite in Barcelonnette, or a bunk (yes, just a bunk--shared with strangers) in Queyras --I can't believe how far we've come. The key to this betterment (besides having more flouze than we did as newlyweds) is an agreement Jean-Marc and I came to years ago: he will do the trip planning as long as I do not complain about accommodations or scheduling.

Fair enough, wouldn't you say? Especially if you are like me: not a details person. I would rather do anything than work out so many particulars of a family vacation: what transportation we will take, where we will séjour and eat and sightsee. My husband enjoys organizing trips so why not let him handle our itinerary? I'll take care of the snacks (never travel without un en-cas, my sister Heidi taught me that), the cleaning, and how about the retelling? As Anaïs Nin said, "We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect." So let us briefly relive the past weekend and thank you Jean-Marc for so many great picks...from restaurants to local attractions--tu as tellement bien choisi!

Our dépaysement began with a meal in Arles. A freezing Mistral wind accompanied us up and down the corridors of old Arles as we searched for the restaurant Jean-Marc had reserved, but I did not complain--and was rewarded by a gallant proposition: "Would you like my coat?" Jean-Marc offered. His gesture was enough to warm me through and through. No coat needed, and before long we were tucking into Le Gibolin, its warm and velvety vapors escaping the kitchen, thawing us instantly. 

After a lunch of roasted butternut squash stuffed with pasta and veggies (Jean-Marc loved his main dish), we were on our way to the flattest part of Provence, made up of pools of water: La Camargue! Pulling up to an iron gate behind which two independent cabins with their grass rooftops were set back from the waterfront, I looked over at my driver. Jean-Marc, you really outdid yourself when you found this authentic rancher's cabin! Newly renovated, the white-washed walls, the wooden touches throughout, the seafoam green tiles in the bathroom...this little abode was so thoughtfully decorated and it instantly transported us into its cozy luxury. 

Cabane de gardian
Ours was the hut on the right.... and this side of the water is another narrow strip of land where wildlife filed by....

From the one-room cabane de gardian with its mezzanine (and échelle leading up to the bed--this steep setup is not for everyone, but Jean-Marc insists my  80-year-old father could climb up and down that (unattached!) ladder during the night), we could look out a low-lying window with a panoramic view of the glorious marsh. Note: low-lying because of the low-lying roofline above the window, typical of these Camargue ranch cabins which sport a thatched rooftop measuring well over half of the building's height.

The view reflected in the window
A selfie from the yard looking into the hut. That's a fake heron on my right, but there were many real and exquisite birds--and more....

What a view! Our little cabin was 20 feet from the marsh, or étang (is there a difference?), where pink flamingos, an industrious and very cute castor, and--surprise surprise!--a local jument grazed. That docile horse, which graced our view of the horizon all weekend, was the icing on this Camargue cake. 

La jument. The mare.

Our romantic weekend included two nights dining in (Jean-marc brought a selection of cheeses and a steak from his wineshop-épicerie, and we bought pastries from the local baker in Sainte-Maries-de-la-Mer where we strolled along the seafront each afternoon. 

"This is the best hébergement you have ever found!" I praised my husband, and praise, I am learning, goes a long way! I wish I knew this as a young bride, wish I'd counted the goods instead of the bads. Thankfully, we've made it this far along our marital journey and no looking back except to count our lucky stars!

"Could you live here?" I asked as Jean-Marc drove us the 1.5 hours home the last day, past fields of wheat-colored reeds and cattle feeding. "No, it's too flat for me," Jean-Marc admitted. He's headed back to the Alps this weekend, for his mountain fix and I (une casanière at heart) am happy to be home, though ready to follow my husband when wanderlust hits him next. Bye for now and please share your experiences/recommendations for the Camargue, as we will surely go back...with our grown kids, nos gosses--and Grandma Jules and dear sweet Smokey, too! Papa, get that flouze ready! 

Cabane de gardian camargues
The cabane next to ours (I believe the owner lives there, but she was away).


Le Gibolin restaurant in Arles--delicious!

Parc Ornithologique Pont de Gau--where you'll see more pink flamingos than you ever thought possible! (Do not miss my Instagram page, where you'll hear the unusual sounds they make)

La Cabane du Pêcheur--Jean-Marc absolutely loved this lively restaurant with three unique seating areas (we chose the indoor "antiques" tent, where statues and various treasures surrounded us). You could also eat at the lively bar: loud music and a saloon-type atmosphere or sit outside by the marsh where the bbq is full of fish: sole, loup, rouget...

Domaine de Méjanes--our last day we visited a park bought and created by Paul Ricard (of the famous pastis), where you can take a charming train around the property to see wild horses, more flamingos and the breathtaking landscape of la Camargue. Not to be missed.

And here's the AirBnB listing for the Cabane de Gardian where we stayed two nights.

sans les gosses = without kids
le flouze = cash, dough
le séjour = stay
un en-cas = a snack
tu as tellement bien choisi = you did such a good job choosing
le dépaysement = change of scenery
le castor = beaver
un hébergement = accomodation
la cabane de gardian = rancher's hut
la mezzanine = wooden loft
une échelle = ladder 
une jument = mare (horse)
un étang = pond, pool of water
casanier, casanière = home-loving, homebody
Papa = Dad

LES ARCHIVES: Do you have time for another story?
The story Pêle-Mêle features a memorable hotel room in Barcelonnette where we lodged when our kids were little.

La jument the mare horse in Camargue
Do you see la jument

A Message from Kristi on this blog's 19th anniversary
Thank you for reading this language journal. Ongoing support from readers like you helps keep this site ad-free and allows me to focus on writing. My wish is to continue creating posts that are educational, insightful, and heart-warming. If my work has touched you in any way, please consider supporting it via a blog donation of any amount.

Ways to contribute:
1. Send a check
2. PayPal or credit card
3. A bank transfer, ZELLE is a great way to send your donation as there are no transaction fees.

Or purchase our online memoir, The Lost Gardens

Ragout: Simple recipe for Provencal stew + kitesurfing in Giens peninsula, near Hyérès

Ragout provencal stew fava beans feve

For those reading our autobiography, The Lost Gardens, see the update at the end of this post. If you have purchased our book-in-progress and lost your passwords to access the chapters, leave a message in the box at the end of this post. 

The beauty of an online book-in-progress is all that can be included in it! I've just added the first photo album to our memoir, and will continue to enhance the story with images. To purchase The Lost Gardens, click here and scroll to the end of the page to purchase.

Today's Word: le ragoût

    : stew

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE, by Kristi Espinasse

Yesterday I was making a delicious ragoût with the fresh fèves from our garden...when my son invited me to the beach to watch him kite-surf. 

After a busy week, I wanted nothing more than to eat this delicious Provencal stew and then take a nice long Sunday siesta. But I know that stealing away with my son won't be as easy as the years march on, and so, You're on! I said, and we headed back to the Giens peninsula, near Hyérès.

After renting gear, we found the popular kite-surfer beach and hurried to the shore to unravel some important strings. The sandy beach was dotted with colorful cerf-volants and all the kite-surfers wore wetsuits. 

Max kitesurf giens beach plage

Even if the sand was being whipped up into my eyes and the sun was burning down (igniting my fears after a frightful experience) I felt so alive beneath the colorful, kited sky, listening to the joyful voices of those wind-harvesters: Mec! Tu peux m'aider? Man, can you help me? Max said, asking a stranger to help send off his orange and white kite. 

I watched my 23-year-old inch back into the sea, slip his feet onto his kite board, and disappear into the sparkling horizon, his kite flying high with the others. I might have dreamed such a beautiful scene, had I stayed home and rested. But this--this salty scent in my nose, this wind in my hair, these vibrant colors above and the gentle tones below of sand, grass, and charming picket fences--this was real.   

A creature of habit, a creature of comfort--these are tags I need to send off, like a kite. I am first and foremost a creature: I was created to go with the flow of life. And oh, the places Life takes us, when we let go and grow.

*   *   *        

Grass picket fence giens beach kitesurf hyeres

le ragoût = stew
la fève = broad bean, fava bean
le cerf-volant = kite
le mec = guy
tu peux m'aider? = can you help me?

A warm stew to pack for the beach on a windy day!

-Fry some lardons (sliced, fatty bacon), 2 onions, 5 diced potatoes, and garlic
- add the fava beans and cover with water (I like to add a can of tomato sauce).
Add some bay leaves, salt, pepper and thyme. Simmer an hour.

Serve with a side of plain couscous (cooks in one minute!) or bulgur and some hard-boiled eggs. We had a nice Compté cheese. Max deemed the meal 'the perfect thing to eat before surfing!' :-)

One day as I rushed to fill platters with charcuterie, hard-boiled eggs and cheese, one of the harvesters meekly asked could she have that can of kidney beans in the cupboard? That is when I learned that part of the harvest crew we had hired were vegan. What did vegan even mean in 2007?

Fast forward, now, to 2012. Sunk down into my driver's seat, I clutched the paper pharmacy sack and wondered, would it all unfold like the last time, when a gigantic surge of energy was both the gift and curse behind my husband's vision? Gazing at our new (old) house (another home in need of renovation) I took a deep breath, stepped out of the car, and headed over to the front porch....

(For those who have purchased our book, read all of chapter two, here.)

To purchase The Lost Gardens, a book-in-progress, click here and scroll to the end of the post.

Reader feedback from Chapter Two:

Dynamite!!!! I more impressed than usual. Your writing seems to have one upped your sharing and it's a good balance back and forth. I'm eager to "follow along" but encourage you to take your time. After all you are living it! --John Hawke

Field of phacelia
A field of phacelia flowers, a soil amendment planted by Jean-Marc the year before he planted his dream vineyard. Thank you so much for buying our book-in-progress. Your support has helped us to begin our book and to keep going, chapter by chapter. Mille mercis!

A Message from Kristi on this blog's 19th anniversary
Thank you for reading this language journal. Ongoing support from readers like you helps keep this site ad-free and allows me to focus on writing. My wish is to continue creating posts that are educational, insightful, and heart-warming. If my work has touched you in any way, please consider supporting it via a blog donation of any amount.

Ways to contribute:
1. Send a check
2. PayPal or credit card
3. A bank transfer, ZELLE is a great way to send your donation as there are no transaction fees.

Or purchase our online memoir, The Lost Gardens

A trend in France this summer + photos of Ramatuelle

Kristi and jean-marc espinasse
At beach restaurants like this one--and over at the old port in St. Tropez--everyone is asking for un rosé piscine. When June already feels like August, the "glass of rosé on ice" really hits the spot. But if you're like me, you might prefer "de l'eau gazeuse." To each his own, à chacun son goût! (If you are new to this blog, here is a picture of Jean-Marc and me. My husband does the sound files for this journal and I write the stories and photograph. Enjoy!)

"rosé piscine" (roh-zay pee-seen)

    : rosé wine served over ice cubes

Audio File: Listen to Jean-Marc: 
Download MP3 or Wav

Pour faire ce qu'on appelle "un rosé piscine," versez le vin sur des glaçons, le tout dans un grand verre.
To make what we call a "pool rosé," pour the wine over the ice cubes, all this in a big glass.


Style & comfort in the beauty of the Provencal countryside. 4 bedrooms & a study with a sofa bed, each with ensuite (full) bath. Villa comfortably sleeps 7-9 adults.

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE... by Kristin Espinasse

Decisions decisions! What with the unbelievable encounter Mom and I made last week--and Friday and Saturday's escape to the beach--there are plenty of things to share with you. But something tells me to just let everything percolate, to instead share photos and enjoy this change of pace.

The following snapshots were taken in Ramatuelle, where, ambling alone amidst the winding village paths, I heard sighing....  The quiet and the beauty this village will take your breath away too!  


If you've ever felt out of place, take courage from this wayward branch. What beauty it adds to the picture!


Before I moved to France I would see this color blue in films depicting French life. Blue on the walls, blue on the shutters... and then blue in the Mediterranean Sea over which Jean-Marc married me. (Coming up, now, on our 20th anniversary...)


A white picket fence in America and a volet blanc in France.... 


There are a few imperfections in this photo, but a dreamy something overrides them.


Cool and quiet here in summertime--and a word from our sponsor before we continue...

New rental in Provence. In the charming village of Sablet--this spacious home is the perfect place to return to after sightseeing, bicycling or hiking. Photos here.

Documenting the color of leaves in June

Ramatuelle, France (c) Kristin Espinasse
All I need is this garden shed-turned-nest. And you? Perfect fpr listening to the birds, and hearing the village come to life with its clanking coffee cups and bonjour messieurs-dames, goodmorning folks.

Ramatuelle, France (c) Kristin Espinasse
So much to do in Ramatuelle, but if you run out of ideas... have a look at the chalkboard outside the Office de Tourisme. Even it is as pretty as a picture.

To comment on today's post, click here.

Share today's post with a friend and help spread the French word. Merci beaucoup.



A Message from Kristi on this blog's 19th anniversary
Thank you for reading this language journal. Ongoing support from readers like you helps keep this site ad-free and allows me to focus on writing. My wish is to continue creating posts that are educational, insightful, and heart-warming. If my work has touched you in any way, please consider supporting it via a blog donation of any amount.

Ways to contribute:
1. Send a check
2. PayPal or credit card
3. A bank transfer, ZELLE is a great way to send your donation as there are no transaction fees.

Or purchase our online memoir, The Lost Gardens

Serre Chevalier + How to say "flat rate" when searching for $ deals in France

cadran solaire sun dial alps time clock painting on wall
Ambition is the downfall of man. (L'Ambition est la perte de l'homme). A message on a lazy sundial in Serre Chevalier. 

un forfait (for-fay)

    : flat rate, package deal, 

un forfait week-end = weekend package (price)
un forfait mensuel = monthly subscription
un forfait boisson = drinks included
un forfait de ski = ski pass

Audio File and Example Sentence
Download MP3 or WAV

Jean-Marc a trouvé un forfait hotel pour les vacances d'hiver.
Jean-Marc found a hotel package for winter vacation.

A Day in a FRENCH Life... by Kristin Espinasse
"Kissed by a Stranger--or A Bise in Le Bez"

Jean-Marc drove us to the mountains for our kids' spring break. I guess I need to quit saying "kids"--as our son Max will soon turn 19! All the more reason to profiter or take advantage of these family getaways!

"Does Jeanne ski?" I say, turning to the back seat, where the kids are settling in for the 3+ hour drive home. Jeanne is Max's petite amie and I'm wondering if we should bring her along next year--and so stretch these family vacations as far as they'll reach! But there I go trotting off to the future again....

a home in the French Alps snow shutters

I put a stop to the "eventualities" by looking out the car window and focusing, instead, on the four good days we have spent in Serre Chevalier--where Jean-Marc found another package deal, or forfait: 4 nights, petit déj compris! But dinner was not included in the deal, so we were delighted to be invited to our good friend Fred's!

I hoped our son's godfather (Fred), who normally insists that we stay with him in his family's chalet, would not be offended that we picked a hotel this time. As we dined with him and his family that first night--enjoying 4-cheese fondue in the cozy living room, I searched our friends' faces for disappointment, and listened, waiting for the inevitable question: Mais pourquoi vous n'êtes pas restés chez nous?

But when I saw how relaxed our friends were--and how they never questioned our hotel reservations--I began to wonder if we shouldn't get our feelings hurt instead. Kidding aside, it was probably a nice break for both families to have their own chez soi. I feel for people who own a home in a vacation mecca and who are regularly visited by travelers. How can they ever enjoy their own pied-à-terre or home away from home when they are busy sorting out sheets and towels and meals?

But just because we aren't sleeping under the same roof doesn't mean we can't enjoy each other's company by day. While helping Fred's mom, Marianne, put away the dishes, she asked if I would like to join her le lendemain for a hike in Névache. I panicked, thinking about hours and hours outside in the unforgiving sun. It's not worth going under the knife again... But rather than try to explain things, I rattled off something about needing to spend the morning finding a summer school fashion program for Jackie. (And when the latter heard this, she perked right up, solidifying my plans!)

The next day I had to follow through with my promise. While I did plan on doing a little research, I did not want to spend our 4-day break behind a computer screen. So by noon, I was ready to take a small stroll through the village of Le Bez, where our hotel is located.

stone chapel in Le Bez Serre Chevalier French Alps

Le Bez is a tiny hameau nestled into the base of the mountain. As I walked up the slippery hill, the place began to look familiar to me... Oh yes, there was that cadran solaire I had photographed the last time we were here... and beyond, I saw a sign to the sentier botanique. Oh to be back in springtime--enjoying all the wildflowers and papillons along the path!

Chalet homes in Le Bez Serre Chevalier French Alps

Like a butterfly, I weaved back and forth along the snowy path, enjoying the charming buildings as though they were filled with nectar. I pulled out my smartphone and begin snapping photos. So much for promising to bring my real camera (which is less and less practical the more I use my camera phone! I'll live to regret this when the day comes to print the pictures; meantime I'll believe recent studies about how lower quality pictures no longer seem to faze viewers--who are content, instead, with content. Indeed, it is the subject of the photo that moves us--rather than its sharpness).

A tiny chapel doesn't budge as les oeufs, or eggs, travel up the mountain.

As I left the fountain and headed up a small snow-capped path, I ran into a local and was greeted by a very warm bonjour...

"You are not from here?" The gray-haired mountain man said. "Alors, je vous fais la bise!"

With that, the one-man welcome committee reached over and planted the most friendly kiss I had ever received on my cheek.

        shadows and a little warning "careful of snow sliding from rooftop"

That was funny. Last time I checked the French were a lot more reserved than that. Any cultural know-how I'd gleaned up to now told me that complete strangers did not kiss--not unless they were with a person who knew the kisser.

Ah well, I reasoned, surely the local knew my friend Fred! Still, something told me that if my friend were here he might not have recognized Mr. Kissy Face. But his fist would have! 

                                            *    *    *


Back at Fred's, for dinner, a small fire broke out on our table as we sat enjoying fondue that first night, every French woman seated declared "This is why I have an electric fondue maker at home and not a traditional one!

Fondue is a great way to entertain and not a lot of work, either. An added amusement is the games the French play while eating fondue. "If your piece of bread falls into the melted pot of cheese," Fred's dad, Michel, tells me, "then you have to remove an item of clothing." I was careful to keep that bread on my tiny fork, but my lovely neighbor was not as lucky.... 

Ouf. In the end, everyone kept their clothes on. But imagine if Mr. Kissy Face had shown up? He might've invented another fondue game: Every time your bread falls into the pot... c'est un bisou! We call that spin the bottle where I come from (in French that's le jeu de la bouteille :-)

French Vocabulary

la petite amie = girlfriend
le petit déj (déjeuner) = breakfast
Mais pourquoi vous n'êtes pas restés chez nous? = but why didn't you stay with us?
chez soi = at home
le hameau = hamlet
le lendemain = the following day
le cadran solaire = sundial
le sentier botanique = botanical path
le papillon = butterfly
bonjour = hello
alors = so then
je vous fais la bise! = I'll give you a (welcome) kiss!
un bisou = a kiss
le jeu de la bouteille = spin the bottle



Next Meet-up: April 8, 2014 in Paris

Join me in the Marais for a musing on foreign accents! I'll be speaking at Adrian Leed's "Après-Midi"-- following in the footsteps of artists who have spoken there before me. Click here to add your name to the Facebook "attendance" page. (If you can't make it, please hit the "maybe" button on the Facebook page and I will bring you with me in my thoughts :-)

(James Navé will give a talk in March; also check out his upcoming class "The Poetics of Writing: Imaginative Storm Paris Workshop") 


For you menu readers: blettes, courge, and chou (chard, squash, and cabbage).

Just look at this wooden water way coming from the 18th century fountain. Felt good to run my hands along the side, appreciating the artisan's efforts.

Apple tree
The old apples are still hanging on, waiting to be pushed forth by blossoms.

A Message from Kristi on this blog's 19th anniversary
Thank you for reading this language journal. Ongoing support from readers like you helps keep this site ad-free and allows me to focus on writing. My wish is to continue creating posts that are educational, insightful, and heart-warming. If my work has touched you in any way, please consider supporting it via a blog donation of any amount.

Ways to contribute:
1. Send a check
2. PayPal or credit card
3. A bank transfer, ZELLE is a great way to send your donation as there are no transaction fees.

Or purchase our online memoir, The Lost Gardens

How to say zipper + recycle or repair your shoes! + Comps-sur-Artuby

Comps-sur-Artuby (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-Word-A-Day.com
A cobbled path leading to church in the village of Comps-sur-Arturby. More photos at the end of this edition.

Today we are talking about repairing or recycling clothing. Please join the discussion, sharing your experience and ideas for staying stylishly up-to-date--while minding ecology and the economy.

Mas de la Perdrix - visit this charming rental in the south of FranceProvence Villa Rental Luberon luxury home; 4 bedrooms, 5 baths; gourmet kitchen, covered terrace & pool. Views of Roussillon. Click here.  


une fermeture éclair (fair-meh-tyur-ay-kler)

    : zipper


Audio file: The following example sentence comes from the planet-friendly French site ecogeste.fr:
Listen to Jean-Marc read the words below:  Download MP3 or Wav file

Des semelles usées, un talon cassé, une fermeture éclair de sac coincée... Avant de les remplacer, vous pouvez confier vos chaussures et accessoires à un cordonnier. En plus, vous soutiendrez une filière au savoir-faire de plus en plus rare en raison d'un manque de clientèle.

Worn out soles, a broken heel, a purse zipper that's stuck... before replacing them, you can entrust your shoes and accessories to a cobbler. What's more, you'll be supporting a trade that is more and more rare owing to a lack of clientele. 

A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

Last week the winds picked up here in Bandol, sweeping out the warmth of summertime. Though our seaside environment benefits from an extended season--or un été indien--my feet don't seem to know the difference: mid September now and j'ai froid aux pieds!

Time to put away the flip-flops.... Rummaging through the floor of my closet, looking for close-toed shoes, I discovered a few possibilities for fall: a pair of pseudo Mary Janes (not sure about the style), Converse hi-tops (hand-me-downs from Jackie, the interior lining is as holey as Swiss cheese), a pair of high-heeled dress boots--so cheap the talons are two different sizes (no wonder the markdown), a pair of black boots from the 90s--and a pair of black ballerinas from the same decade (I now wear the latter as slippers--so will have to rule these out as a possibility. Once sportswear turns into loungewear it's hard to sport the items in public again. Know what I mean?).

I stared thoughtfully at the eclectic pile. Tucking my flip flops into a shoe box--it seemed a little sorting might reveal some new possibilities. I spotted my loafers. Yes! Slipping them on I had a look in the mirror and realized, once and for all, I will never have that look of relaxed elegance: my ankles stood out beneath my pant legs, and the brown leather shoes were dull. Maybe a good polish would take care of that? 

Studying the motley crew of shoes, I now saw a workable set of possibilities for autumn. What's more, I remembered a pair of brown leather boots (those ought to take care of these ankles!) that would round out the collection.

In the cellar, I sorted through a box of shoes, finding the boots at the bottom. Pulling them from the tangle of chaussures, I was disappointed to see they'd been sorely twisted--their new shape resembling a curled crevette! I slipped them on, hoping to straighten out the toes, but when I tugged at the worn zipper it finally broke.

More than a broken zipper, I noticed how worn out the soles were. There was no use procrastinating, it was time to buy a new pair of bottes. But the last time I went shopping in the area, I found the shops unwelcoming and the prices even more alienating. I was only having a bad day, it wasn't the fault of the commerçants. But seeing all the merchandise, I wondered: how can anyone afford to dress these days?  My mind still lives in 70s prices--maybe that is why everything seems so expensive these days. I am fortunate to be able to replace my shoes, but I feel terrible for those who don't have the same privilege.

Studying the worn boots, it seemed I could squeeze another season out of them--I needed only to visit the cordonnier! An added incentive of visiting the local cobbler was the satisfaction of not adding to the dreaded pile--the universal garbage dump, or the landfills, that gets harder and harder to breakdown as time goes by. I can't bear to throw out another pair of shoes when I picture heaps of discarded chaussures all across the land--choking landfills with leather, plastic, and shoe glue. I wish I'd always thought this way, but I am a late-bloomer when it comes to recycling. It's only in the last 5 years that our household has installed boxes for glass, metal, plastic, clothing, batteries, and "small electric units" (our grocery store collects coffee machine, electric toothbrushes, and the like). Before that, we made an effort here and there, but were discouraged by the lack of follow-up (our village's recycling system, at the time, was hit or miss).

Boots in hand, I entered our town's cobbler shop and soon realized why people are not so motivated to extend the life of their belongings: because it can be costly to do so! There in the tiny shop, as I waited for the cobbler to finish mending a pair of sandals, I noticed the finished items on the counter, waiting to be picked up. A pair of high-heeled sandals had a receipt tied to them: 26 euros for the repair work! I began to calculate: at $35 dollars one could almost replace the dainty pair of dress shoes.

Ah, but les bonnes affaires coûtent cher! I remembered an old saying I once learned from a very wealthy French woman: Good deals cost a lot! she said, as I accompanied her shopping in Cannes. It's true, and I've witnessed the principle here at home where my husband delights in showing me his latest 19 euro steal. I zip my lip, knowing that in one more season I'll be sweeping those falling-to-pieces shoes into the dustpan, along with rest of the pile up on the doorstep. Some deal!

Back at the cobblers, I set my boots on the counter for the cordonnier to inspect. 

"I'll need a new fermeture éclair...and it looks like the soles are shot...anything you can do about the leather?"

I watch as the shoe repairer notes down some double-digit chiffres: 16.... 12.95...  The amount increases when I decide to go ahead and have the second zipper reinforced, just in case.

When the cobbler hands me the bill I'm lost for words, so he speaks for me: Est-ce que ça ira? Will this work?

I guessed it would have to... After all, what was the alternative? I could buy a new pair of boots--for twice the price (given the you-get-what-you-pay-for wisdom, mentioned above) or I could prendre soin, or care for my own boots. The price to do so was alarming, but in the end I was paying less than I would otherwise.

I hoped to be making the right decision, and in the time it took me to reply to the old cobbler, my eyes scanned his tiny shop. In addition to shoes there were several bags waiting for repair (this is where old Mr. Sacks, Jean-Marc's beloved sacoche, was mended). I remembered, now, Jean-Marc mentioning the ancient cobbler "You've got to meet this character!" Jean-Marc had said. I wondered now, just how many years had the cobbler been here? Were they even training cobblers these days? Wasn't it a dying trade?

As I stood there, hesitant, a few more locals walked in, dusty and worn shoes in hand. The cobbler greeted them by name and I gathered he had a few supportive clients. One more couldn't hurt. 

 *    *    *

Cordonnerie (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-word-a-day

To comment on today's story, click here. I would love to read about your experiences with caring for your own things, and your thoughts on sustainability, supporting local business, or whatever you feel like sharing. 

Extra credit.... Teachers, please share the French Word-A-Day blog with your students, to help increase their vocabulary. 


 j'ai froid aux pieds = my feet are cold
un talon = heel
la chaussure = shoe
la crevette = shrimp, prawn
la botte = boot
le commerçant = shopkeeper
le cordonnier = cobbler
le chiffre = amount, sum
la fermeture éclair = zipper
prendre soin = to care for, to take care of 

In Ways to Improve Your French: Listen to music!

ZazzZaz's album. Debut album from one of France's greatest recent success stories. Seemingly out of nowhere, newcomer Isabelle Geffroy (AKA Zaz) ended up topping the charts in France for over two months with this debut album, an engaging blend of Jazz, Soul and French Pop. With singles like 'Je Veux', even non-French speaking listeners will be enchanted by Zaz's voice. Order it here.

Join me on today's virtual tour of the village of Comps-sur-Artuby. These photos were taken in 2001.... The pictures are very small, but you can still get an idea of the breathtaking environment.

If you missed the recent photos tours, check them out:

Comps-sur-Artuby (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-Word-A-Day.com

What has this old post office become? Some people in France live in converted chapels, others in ancient bread ovens (large architectural structures as big as a baker's), so the idea of moving into a post office shouldn't be so surprising.

Comps-sur-Artuby (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-Word-A-Day.com

Comps-sur-Artuby (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-Word-A-Day.com

I believe this building is called un hangar, or shed. 


Max (c) Kristin Espinasse, french-word-a-day.com
A then 6-year-old Max...


Les nuages, or clouds in Comps-sur-Artuby (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-word-a-day.com
Les nuages, or clouds, in the distance


Comps-sur-Artuby, France (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-word-a-day.com
November in Comps-sur-Artuby...


Comps-sur-Artuby (c) Kristin Espinasse, french-word-a-day.com
Art studio "The Little Scops Owl"

Pronounce it perfectlyPronounce it Perfectly in French. 

* extensive pronunciation exercises including supplementary help based on poetry, proverbs, familiar sayings, historical quotations and humor

* A guide to French pronunciation expressed in the phonetic symbols of the International Phonetic Association (IPA) 

Order it here.

cordonnerie (c) Kristin Espinasse

I hope you enjoyed today's story from the shoe repair shop, or cordonnerie. To comment on today's post, or to send in a correction, please use the comments box here.

A Message from Kristi on this blog's 19th anniversary
Thank you for reading this language journal. Ongoing support from readers like you helps keep this site ad-free and allows me to focus on writing. My wish is to continue creating posts that are educational, insightful, and heart-warming. If my work has touched you in any way, please consider supporting it via a blog donation of any amount.

Ways to contribute:
1. Send a check
2. PayPal or credit card
3. A bank transfer, ZELLE is a great way to send your donation as there are no transaction fees.

Or purchase our online memoir, The Lost Gardens

Pictures from Grignan + an emergency visit to the vet--and the French word "epillet"

Jackie (c) Kristin Espinasse

 Sweet 16! Today, September 18th, is Jackie's birthday and we've had chocolate cake for breakfast and look forward to Chinese food for dinner. (Meantime she's begun another day at fashion school. But after our dog's recent drama, and Jackie's hands-on response, I think she'd make a great veterinarian! Read on, in today's French infused story column....

un épillet (ay-pee-leh)

    : foxtail or grass seed

Ever found an épillet on your dog? Comment here

 Bescherelle conjugation guide.   Capture plein écran 16052011 092531"This is without a doubt the definitive guide to conjugation of French verbs... an indispensible reference and not overwhelming for beginning students." Order it here.--M. Savoir (Amazon reviewer)


Foxtail (c) Curtis Clark
Audio File and Example Sentence: Listen to Jean-Marc Download MP3 or wav file

Lorsqu'un chien se met brusquement à se secouer les oreilles au printemps ou en été, penche la tête, refuse qu'on le touche… il y a probablement un épillet là-dessous !

In spring or summer, when a dogs begins abruptly to shake its ears, lower its head, and refuse to be touched... there is probably a foxtail there beneath!

A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

On Monday I picked up Jackie from the bus stop and enjoyed a lively conversation with our soon-to-be 16-year-old. Driving home, we talked about motivation, about keeping on top of things, and how all this helps in pursuing one's dreams. It was refreshing to see how receptive Jackie was, vs. our sometimes draining dialogues which make me feel like such a nag, and leave my testy daughter feeling guilty, too.

Despite the renewed mother-daughter complicity, our life is good outlook was challenged sooner than expected. Arriving home, Jackie agreed to feed the dogs and help bring in the laundry on the line and fold it. Instead of grumbling, she approached her daily 15 minute chore (part of a new routine this school year!) willingly. 

"That's my girl!" I cheered, "and thanks--I really appreciate it!" Even Braise, our golder retriever, was in a good mood, and we laughed as she jumped and danced while waiting for her croquette dinner to be served.

Then suddenly Braise fell to the ground and began yelping in pain. We watched as she mowed her head across the gravel, her cries growing more insistent. When we got her to stand up, she couldn't walk a straight line, but advanced crookedly across the yard--all the while lowering her left ear. And when she suddenly began shaking her head, as dogs do their bodies, after a bath--we realized something was amiss.  

Hordeum murinum, or foxtail (c) Curtis Clark
My heart sank with the realization that this could be it--the dreaded "death torpedo" pet owners fear: those nasty grass seeds, or foxtails, that catch in a dog's coat and travel up and into the ear or eye or nose. I heard all kinds of horror stories--that once inside, they travel to the brain or the lungs, killing the animal! 

Jackie was posed and calm as she held Braise close and instructed me to have a look inside our dog's ear.

"OK, OK! Here we go....." the least I could do was to mirror my daughter's composure; just as important, we didn't want to be a ball of nerves in front of our suffering dog.

Indeed, animals are so sensitive--and intelligent. In contrast to the wild cries and head shaking pain, Braise remained as still as a monument, modeling a quiet bravery that hinted at the delicateness of the situation.

"It must be excruciating, the pain!" Jackie remarked, as I peered into Braise's ear, pulling and prodding to get a closer look. But all I saw was dirt--the kind I should have been regularly cleaning out. Now guilty feelings intermingled with all the worry.

As the moments passed, without another complaint from our dog, we nurtured a growing hope that maybe whatever had "gotten" her had somehow disappeared.

"Maybe it was only the beginning of an ear infection?" I said to Jackie.

"Peut-être," Jackie hoped, and we held our breaths as we slowly released Braise from our grip.

Our brave patient took a few uncertain steps, as though she herself were nursing the same espoir. Only she didn't make it far before she fell over, beside the withering lavender bush.

Seeing Braise disoriented like that, we were sick to our stomachs with worry. We watched helplessly as Braise plowed her head across the gravel, her muffled cries rising in her dusty wake.

Something was horribly wrong.

"Jean-Marc!" I shouted up to the second floor, where Jean-Marc was working in his office. A moment later four of us were careening down the road, to the veterinarians. Jean-Marc had asked Jackie to stay behind, but our daughter insisted Braise needed her comfort and assurance.

Quelle chance! The vet was still working at 7pm, and she welcomed us into her office.

Jackie and I tried to heave Braise onto the steel examination table, when Jean-Marc waved us aside and picked up our clinic-phobic dog. "Allez, hop, up you go!" I could see Braise's hair falling in a sheer layer across the steel surface beneath her--so terrified is she of doctor's offices.

When the vet warned that our dog must remain completely still, Jean-Marc steadied her in a head lock and I hugged her body tight. Jackie murmured assurances: Bravo! C'est bien, Braise! T'inquiète pas, mon chien! C'est bientôt fini! 

We all watched as the vet directed the special tweezers into Braise's oreille. She too was impressed by Braise's bravery. "Most dogs would go crazy about now." 

"She wants us to help her," I said, remembering back to the scene at home. Braise would have let me stick forceps in her ears, so desperate was she; her quiet obedience was such a contrast to her throbbing pain, making her message loud and clear: do what you need to do to fix this! Her composure was remarkable. It was as though she had gone to another place in her brain--doggy nirvana--where she was waiting out the traumatic moment. 

"Voilà!" The vet pulled out the so-called torpedo of death, and cleared up one or two idées fausses, or rumorsin the process. "It is rare that this would kill a dog, she said, offering the bit of broken foxtail for our viewing. "But they can be dangerous. It's not just the ears they menace, they are often found in between the fingers and toes... " (This helpful tip was followed by a demonstration, in which the vet collected a dozen more broken foxtails from between Braise's paws!)

"The danger here," she said, is when they pierce the skin and travel through the body... sometimes puncturing the lungs!"

The vet encouraged us to cut back the grasses on our property and to check our dogs every day. It would be extra work, given we have two large and furry golden retrievers, but I could just add that to the kids chore list. And of course, I would do my part, too. Living here in the countryside, it would take a family effort to keep back those lurking torpedos... but the good news was, we now had a wonderful new veterinarian, just around the corner.

To comment on today's post, and share your own experiences and insights into today's word or story, click here. Thanks for sharing today's post with an animal lover.

 "Torpedoes of death" -- it's a chilling term, but I learned so much from Carla Jackson's article on Hordeum murinum or "Hare Barley" and how it menaces man's best friend. 


Rollerskating in Fréjus (c) Kristin Espinasse, french-word-a-day.com
Rollerskating with Braise in Fréjus, in 2007. (Jackie was 10-years-old)


   French shopping bagI Heart Paris Shopper: made of recycled material. 1-Percent of the sale of this bag will support the conservation work of the nature conservancy. Order the I Heart Paris bag here.

More Photos from France

If you can't make it to France just now... we've got you covered: enjoy these virtual tours of some of my favorite villages in Provence and beyond. 

Grignan, France (Drome) (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-word-a-day.com
Matchy matchy. A blue door coordinates with a whimsical bag...

Grignan, France (Drome) (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-word-a-day.com
Roses and "grignandises" -- or sweets and temptations from Grignan.

Grignan, France (Drome) (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-word-a-day.com
Always room for another pot of flowers...

Grignan, France (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-Word-a-Day.com
Time to put Grignan on your bucket list.

Grignan, France (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-Word-a-Day.com
Roof tops, or toits, and a blue horizon.

Grignan, France (c) Kristin Espinasse, visit French-word-a-day.com
Don't steal the café sugar. You never know who's a tattletale. Story here.

Grignan, France (c) Kristin Espinasse, visit French-word-a-day.com
The village of Grignan is known for its famous resident (Madame de Sevigny) and for its roses--but don't tell that to the valerian flowers, which shout their presence from the very rooftops.
Window and stork in Grignan, France (c) Kristin Espinasse, visit french-word-a-day.com
 Another Grignan resident.

Grignan, France (Drome) (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-word-a-day.com
I will add more photos to this collection. Please click here and see when the next postcards from Grignan are posted. 

To comment on this edition, click here.

Exercises in French PhonicsExercises in French Phonics is... 
" a great book for learning French pronunciation" Order your copy here.


A Message from Kristi on this blog's 19th anniversary
Thank you for reading this language journal. Ongoing support from readers like you helps keep this site ad-free and allows me to focus on writing. My wish is to continue creating posts that are educational, insightful, and heart-warming. If my work has touched you in any way, please consider supporting it via a blog donation of any amount.

Ways to contribute:
1. Send a check
2. PayPal or credit card
3. A bank transfer, ZELLE is a great way to send your donation as there are no transaction fees.

Or purchase our online memoir, The Lost Gardens

What does the French word "micmac" mean?

The village of le Vieux Cannet, France (c) Kristin Espinasse
At play in the perched village of Le Vieux Cannet. Mom and I strolled through this town and took these pictures in 2006. Le Vieux Cannet is close Les Arcs-sur-Argens--where we lived for a time. More photos at the end of this post. 

Paris Monaco Rentals

France and Monaco Rentals: short-term holiday rental properties throughout France. Click here for pictures.


un micmac (mik-mak)

    : an intrigue, a scheme, or a secret practice with a guilty--or seemingly guilty--aim. 

Audio file: Listen to Jean-Marc read the French definition to today's word, micmac: Download MP3 or Wav file

un micmac: c'est une intrigue, manigance, pratique secrète dont le but est blâmable ou semble tel. (wikipedia.fr)

To comment on today's word and/or add an insight to it, click here

 Bescherelle conjugation guideCapture plein écran 16052011 092531"This is without a doubt the definitive guide to conjugation of French verbs... an indispensible reference and not overwhelming for beginning students." Order it here.--M. Savoir (Amazon reviewer)



A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

It began with the sweater I found in my husband's car. That was strange... it didn't belong to our son or daughter. Maybe Jean-Marc had bought himself a new pull-over? No, it was too small.... 

Just whose was it then? Examining the neat gray cardigan tossed over the back seat, I wondered if it belonged to a woman? But then, it could very well be a men's sweater. Forget about it.

A few days later I happened upon a veste--a black linen blazer resting casually across the cozy armchair in our living room. The veste didn't belong to us either. And this time there was no doubt it belonged to a woman. I examined the feminine tie around the waist and tried to picture the elegant wearer....

Once upon a time it would be common to find articles of clothing strewn around the house and yard, and in our cars. When we lived on the vineyard and had a lot of helping hands at harvest time, we amassed a colorful collection of objets trouvés, or found items. When they'd gone unclaimed, it was my pleasure to offer the gladrags to the next year's unsuspecting volunteers (the ones who'd shown up in their pressed polos and new socks, naively dressed for the grueling, messy chore of grape picking.)

But we left the vineyard a year ago. I gazed at the black linen veste. What flair!--such a contrast to my well-worn top, with its pit marks beneath the sleeves--hallmarks of a woman who'd let herself go? 

Vain imaginings! Vain imaginings! Just where did they lead--except to the garbage heap, where all fruitless pursuits eventually end up! I'd do better to put my colorful imagination to work in words (finally writing that memoir), rather than waste any more brain fuel on jumping to conclusions. 

Determined, I marched to the kitchen for a cup of tea when--crash!--I ran right into another misplaced object. Une casserole.....

But this isn't my sauce pan! my thoughts protested. I reached down to the ground where the little casserole had been left behind, like lover's underwear.

I grabbed the handle of the little casserole and, pulling it close, examined every nook and cranny. Well isn't it cheap! A tacky casserole at that! Flustered, I shoved it under the sink, where it settled with a clamor, beside a stack of cans for recycling.

My mind began to reel. Just where had my husband been all week? I tried to think back on his comings and goings... but my thoughts were suspended when the phone rang.

It was my mother-in-law, calling to let me know she was making progress on her moving cartons. I had offered to come and help her unpack, but she insisted she was content to go at her own pace.

"Well, let me know if you need anything--or would simply like to go for a stroll. It would be a pleasure!" I assured her.

"I'd love to go for a walk--another day. And when you come, could you please bring back my little casserole?"

"Your casserole?"

"Yes," my mother-in-law explained. "I use that one to boil eggs. Jean-Marc borrowed it last week, after I dropped the bottle of honey Cécile gave me. Wanting to salvage his sister's honey, he collected it in the pan...."

As my belle-mère spoke, I remembered back to the scene... of Jean-Marc filtering the honey in our kitchen. I was very nervous about his plan to separate the honey from the broken glass (!!), but found it so thoughtful of him to go to great lengths to rescue his sister's miel. (I did make him label the jar. If, after all my protestations--he insisted on salvaging the "broken-glass-honey", then he could be the guinea pig--not my belle-mère or the kids!) 

That's when it dawned on me--the sweater, the linen veste, the comings and goings of my husband. Mais bien sûr! Jean-Marc has spent the week helping his mom settle in, and chauffering her back and forth to our house for meals during the tumultuous time.

Almost on cue, my belle-mère continued: "and if you happen to find a black veste... I left it behind..."

"So the veste belongs to you--and the casserole too--and not some other woman!!" I chuckled, hinting at my confusion and le micmac following all the saucy discoveries this week. "Well, it wasn't a culotte, still, it was a casserole!"

My mother-in-law was a little confused, but I kept on joking until she, too, was laughing at my active imagination.

"No, it wasn't a culotte. Still it was a casserole! Une casserole!"

*    *    *

Post note: Funny how an innocent item can seem so threatening. Meantime, considering all the dents in my belle-mère's "tacky" (oh, for shame! to have said such a thing!) little sauce pan, I think it's time she enjoyed a new one. Then again, chances are she's very happy with her trusty egg pan. Best not to keep jumping to conclusions!

 To comment or to read the comments click here.

French Vocab

un pull (pull-over) = sweater
une veste = jacket
un objet trouvé = found item
une casserole = sauce pan
la belle-mère = mother-in-law
le miel = honey
une culotte = underwear

Door and oleanders in Le Vieux Cannet, France (c) Kristin Espinasse
Lacey curtains and oleanders in Le Vieux Cannet.

Valley below Le Vieux Cannet (c) Kristin Espinasse
The valley below Le Vieux Cannet. 

Map of vieux cannet and surroundings (c) Kristin Espinasse
I've been calling it Le Vieux Cannet... but it's full name is Le Vieux Cannet des Maures...

Hollyhocks and dog in Le Cannet des Maures (c) Kristin Espinasse
"Coucou!" Hi there! (to the right of the hollyhocks)

Row of homes in Le Vieux Cannet des Maures (c) Kristin Espinasse
Row of village homes and the church campanile

Beneath the campanile in Le Vieux Cannet des Maures (c) Kristin Espinasse
Beneath the campanile, or bell tower

La Placette in Le Cannet Des Maures (c) Kristin Espinasse
Shutters with heart there in "La Placette" square.

Front porch in Le Vieux Cannet des Maures (c) Kristin Espinasse
Missing column and cobbled path.

Door and pot in Le Vieux Cannet des Maures (c) Kristin Espinasse
Draped in green leaves and topped with pottery... a cozy village entrance.

Spaniel and hibiscus flowers in Vieux Cannet, France (c) Kristin Espinasse

A guard dog and hibiscus flank this quiet entrance.

Les escaliers in Le Cannet des Maures (c) Kristin Espinasse
Les escaliers, or stairs leading to a private address. To comment on any of these photos, click here.

More photos on the way. If  you are reading by email check back to the blog, here, where I am uploading the rest of this collection from the quiet village of Le Vieux Cannet, near Vidauban, France.

Best Tips For Learning French - check out this free resource made up of our readers best tips on how to speak and understand French: click here. 

Share this blog with your French class or with your French teacher. It would be a pleasure to have you with us!

A Message from Kristi on this blog's 19th anniversary
Thank you for reading this language journal. Ongoing support from readers like you helps keep this site ad-free and allows me to focus on writing. My wish is to continue creating posts that are educational, insightful, and heart-warming. If my work has touched you in any way, please consider supporting it via a blog donation of any amount.

Ways to contribute:
1. Send a check
2. PayPal or credit card
3. A bank transfer, ZELLE is a great way to send your donation as there are no transaction fees.

Or purchase our online memoir, The Lost Gardens

Pictures of Grimaud + conjugation

Grimaud and the Golf of St. Tropez (c) Kristin Espinasse
Grimaud. Did you know the Gulf of St. Tropez was once called the Gulf of Grimaud? Gives you an idea of its importance. The Grimaldi family once had ties here, which may account for its rank as one of the wealthiest villages is the region (surpassing even "St. Trop").  For no particular reason (except that my computer is full of photo archives that I haven't always had the chance to show you) I'm pairing today's post with Grimaud photos. Enjoy! 


sauter (so-tay)

    : to jump

je saute, tu sautes, il/elle saute, nous sautons, vous sautez, ils sautent...

I chose today's word after hearing our 18-year-old, Max, teasing his sister in the kitchen:

Cherche moi à boire... et que ça saute!
Get me something to drink... and hop to it! 
Audio File: hear Jean-Marc pronounce today's word, the conjugated verb, and example sentence above. Download MP3 or Wave file

Note: today's example sentence--the cherche moi à boire part--is Neanderthal French. You won't want to use caveman French in a Parisian café--or at my mother-in-law's (though she has an excellent sense of humor and would probably just tease you right back). As for the phrase "et que ça saute" this one is current--so go ahead and try it out on your friends or significant other! Et que ça saut (and hurry up!).

 Bescherelle conjugation guideCapture plein écran 16052011 092531"This is without a doubt the definitive guide to conjugation of French verbs... an indispensible reference and not overwhelming for beginning students." Order it here.--M. Savoir (Amazon reviewer)


A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

The other day, while chatting with Mom on the telephone, I shared with her some of the things I had been writing about on my blog. Mom's computer is broken so she's missing French Word-A-Day. She loves to read the online journal, as it keeps her updated on my life--a life we might have shared had each of us not left the Arizona desert two decades ago (Mom moved to Mexico, with the love of her life, and I came to France, for a second chance with my own amour de ma vie.)

As I recounted to Mom some of the stories I'd posted on this language blog, I remembered the pictures, too:

"I showed a photo of a saint's foot...." I told Mom, "And there was a French livre d'or, or guest book, at the church we visited in Port Cros. I photographed it, too, along with the prayer request I scribbled inside--only I think I misspelled one of the words--that is, I think it needed conjugating...."

Knowing Mom would appreciate the photo's caption, I read it to her: "Good thing we don't have to conjugate to get our point across to God."

Mom listened intently before responding. 

"Conjugate? What the hell does that mean?"

After chuckling at my mom's feisty response, there followed an uncomfortable pause--the realization that I had, in one way, received more instruction than she--having had the privilege of "higher" education. (Mom had been kicked out of high school as she awaited the birth of her first child.)

But any embarrassing advantages were quickly erased as I struggled to answer Mom's no-nonsense question. How to explain conjugation? My university degree couldn't even save me.

"Uh... well... it's like... You know--"to be"! Bumbling my way forth, more like a pre-school candidate than a language honors graduate, I managed this:

 "I be..."

(Was that snickering on the other end of the telephone line? I cleared my throat, trying to offer a verbal illustration of the scholarly concept that my leather-bound degree assured me I'd mastered):

"...I be, you be, he be..." I croaked, finishing my example. "See... you don't say it like that. The verb "to be" has to be conjugated. It's just something we seem to do automatically: I am, you are, he is..."

"Oh, I see!" Mom's cheery response was forgiving--and wonderfully refreshing, and her childlike enthusiasm for any and all knowledge was contagious!

What a relief it was to share a rare appreciation for grammar, and to know that I had not unintentionally snubbed my dear mom, my Brilliant Teacher of All Things. As I relaxed back into our usual bantersome conversation, I shared another tidbit.

"You know," I mused, "I sometimes forget that I didn't know much about English grammar... until I got to college and began studying French!"

"That's a good one!" Mom laughed. "You ought to write that on your blog!"


Post note: though Mom is a regular commenter on this blog (apart from these past weeks, owing to a broken computer), she often frets about her spelling and punctuation--not that that slows her ALL CAPS messages). Write on! I tell her. Never hold back! This is a truth I have learned while teaching myself to write stories: Never let grammar get in the way of sharing yourself with others.  

Comments Corner
To comment on this story, or any item in this post, or to pose a question to our community of Francophiles click here.

Capture plein écran 11092013 105853

 Read all your favorite French-themed books. Check out the Kindle Paperwhite 3G. Order here.




porch in Grimaud (c) Kristin Espinasse

 Door beads sighting! And a cozy and welcoming porch in Grimaud....

Galerie Paschos in Grimaud, France and yellow motorbike (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-Word-A-Day.com
A gallery ("Paschos" gallerie) and a the post office's motor scooter.

windmill in Grimaud (c) Kristin Espinasse
 17th-century moulin à vent, or windmill, outside Grimaud's town center.

Jean-Marc and Braise (c) Kristin Espinasse
 Jean-Marc and Braise (when she was a puppy, 6 years ago)

Restaurant L'ecurie de la Marquise and Le Bou Bou Grill (c) Kristin Espinasse
Restaurants "L'Ecurie de la Marquise" and the Bou Bou Grill in Grimaud.

Galerie du Porche in Grimaud (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-Word-A-Day.com
Galerie du Porche, for pottery, in Grimaud.

La Placette in Grimaud, France (c) Kristin Espinasse
A quiet and restful square, "La Placette", in the middle of Grimaud.

Black cat in Grimaud (c) Kristin Espinasse, French Word-A-Day.com
Number 17. Nothing to be superstitious about there...
Charm of Grimaud (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-Word-A-Day.com
 At the intersection of Rue des Meuniers (Miller Street) and Place Vieille (Old Square). Still, not a lot of traffic in Grimaud.

Pottery in Grimaud, France (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-Word-A-Day.com
Close up pottery shop. See anything in the window that catches your fancy? To comment on these photos, click here

Paschos gallery in Grimaud, France (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-Word-A-Day.com
The fountain in front of Paschos gallery.

Hydrangeas in Grimaud, France (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-Word-A-Day.com
Hydrangeas and a place to sit and watch the world go by. (What kind of seat would you match to this lovely historic home? A rocking chair, an wooden bench, a lovely iron seat...? Or do you like the contrast of old and new? To comment, click here.

Above restaurant Le Bou-Bou, in Grimaud, France (c) Kristin Espinasse, French-Word-A-Day.com
A sleepy balcony over the restaurant Le Bou-Bou, toujours en Grimaud....

All photos in this post were taken in 2006, while enjoying a stroll with my Aunt Charmly and Uncle Tucker, visiting from San Francisco. I hope you enjoyed this photo journey through a favorite French village. 

A Message from Kristi on this blog's 19th anniversary
Thank you for reading this language journal. Ongoing support from readers like you helps keep this site ad-free and allows me to focus on writing. My wish is to continue creating posts that are educational, insightful, and heart-warming. If my work has touched you in any way, please consider supporting it via a blog donation of any amount.

Ways to contribute:
1. Send a check
2. PayPal or credit card
3. A bank transfer, ZELLE is a great way to send your donation as there are no transaction fees.

Or purchase our online memoir, The Lost Gardens

kif-kif! + list of Arabic words you will hear when in France

Port-Cros island off the south coast of France (c) Kristin Espinasse
The island of Port-Cros, where those who love nature roam.... This protected site, off the coast of Hyères, is a protected paradise. Put this one on your bucket list -- unless you suffer from island fever or prefer to lick windows ("shop", that is) when on vacation. Only one boutique on this island--and it sells foutas. Read on.

Mas de la Perdrix - visit this charming rental in the south of FranceProvence Villa Rental Luberon luxury home; 4 bedrooms, 5 baths; gourmet kitchen, covered terrace & pool. Views of Roussillon. Click here.  


Today's word is woven within the following post, where you'll find many more useful French (whoops! Arabic terms!) You'll be happy you learned them when next you find yourself strolling down a southern French beach. Among the chant of the cicada and the crashing waves, these Arabic words will sing-song along--as natives in the South of France shoot the breeze, using words that have naturalized just as certain foreigners have. Tee-hee!


A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

If you think you learn a lot by reading a language blog... you'll learn even more by devouring the comments readers post. Voilà, so much for my sneaky way of alimenting my own français

This morning I sneaked into the comments to learn a thing or two or three when I spotted Hani's commentaire:

"Has the word fouta been used long in France? It is actually an Arabic word meaning towel..."

Aha! So fouta means "towel". Well now that makes sense! Delurking in time to write my own comment, I thanked Hani for the insight... only my message ended up in my blog's spam filter! (I'll fish it out in a sec... For some reason, Bill's and Julie's comments often end up there, too. And this morning Odile was trapped in the filter! Ah well, if I find any other comments--or yours there--I'll fish them out too. So much for the disappearing comments caper!) 

Meantime, Hani's comment inspired today's post: a list of oft-heard Arabic words used here in the south of France (and perhaps beyond--in Lyon or in Paris?). And because I've been meaning to share photos from Jean-Marc's and my recent getaway, I'll marry the vocab words with the photos. The terms won't necessarily match the images, but just like a good couple they will compliment each other :-)

 Speaking of couples, here we go--

Jean-Marc and Mr. Sacks ride the ferry (c) Kristin Espinasse
Jean-Marc and Mr. Sacks on the Ferry to Port-Cros. One of these guys has lost weight--and it ain't saggy ol' Mr. Sacks!

Yes, look who joined us on our getaway: Mr. Sacks! No, that's not a cabas, that's my husband's beloved, takes-with-him-every-where bag--the adorable Monsieur Sacks (see him in all his glory here!).

1. cabas = shopping basket

  Arrivng at the harbor of Port Cros. No, we didn't travel via fishing boat :-)

And this just may be Mrs. Sacks. (Notice the blue Hawaiian beach bag--she appeared here, too, hidden somewhere in the "reunited with ex husband" post.) Mrs. Sacks was a gift from Reader Fred Caswell (hi! Fred!), who brought her to me at a New York city book signing. He also brought his lovely wife Nancy (Bonjour, Nancy!). See, Fred, I really do use the soulful bag--even though you apologized when you offered it, wondering whether it would be of any use. Useful? It's a staple! Long live Mrs. Sacks!

By the way, those aren't babouches, those are loafers on my feet: 

2. babouche = slippers

Epicerie on Port Cros island (c) Kristin Espinasse
The island's épicerie or grocer's or mini-market is, as the sign says, "at the top of the stairs, to the right"

 We didn't see any toubibs on the island. Had we seen a doctor, my guess is he or she would look like this--for all the natives wore shorts and loose-fitting tops--and all the locals were barefoot or pieds nus, which gave them an even more je n'ai pas un souci au monde (or not a care in the world) look.

3. toubib = doctor

Port-Cros harbor and village (c) Kristin Espinasse
A dump, a hole, a godforsaken place? I think you'll agree that the village of Port-Cros is no bled

4. bled = the "boondocks" as we say back home, or a remote--or rural--place

Mini Moke (c) Kristin Espinasse
I hope Brian is reading. My sister's beau loves cars and would appreciate this cross between an American jeep and a skateboard--designed by the British Motor Corporation.

Port-Cros does have a little in common with a bled paumé (a one-horse town), in that no cars are allowed on the island--apart from the cheery Mini Mokes or low-riding island jeeps! Bikes, or vélos, are not allowed either, as Jean-Marc learned. All the more reason to enjoy one of the many protected sentiers, or hiking trails.

signposts or island direction (c) Kristin Espinasse

"Would you like to go to Plage du Sud or return to Port Man," Jean-Marc offers. 
"C'est kif-kif". It's all the same," I answer. All the beaches are beautiful!

5. kif-kif = a fun term that means "the same thing", or "c'est pareil" or "six of one half a dozen of the other"

Prickly pears on the island of Port-Cros (c) Kristin Espinasse
It's hard to resist capturing these figuiers de barbarie, or prickly pears--much easier to take by photo than by hand. The island of Port-Cros is a parc national, filled with interesting plants above, and sealife, below. As for dogs, or clebs, the sign on the ferry boat mentioned they were not allowed on the island. 

6. clebs = (slang) dog

Island dog - golden retriever (c) Kristin Espinasse

Well then, I wonder where this gal came from? Hmm? Hmm?And all her friends that decorated the windows and lounged beside the café chairs where the tourists sipped steaming cups of kawa

7. kawa = coffee

I wanted to take a little space, just un chouïa, to show you this seagrass called "posidonia" that is found on the island and in the calanques nearby our home...

8. chouïa = a little

The posidonia piles up high along the seashore--making a comfy natural mattress for an afternoon siesta: perfect for forgetting about those nagging fardeaux awaiting the tourist back home....

9. fardeau = burden or emotional toll

  la méduse or jellyfish (c) Kristin Espinasse

Speaking of burdens, a violet tribe, or smala, tormented the seaside. Here we see a member of the jellyfish family... two of which bit me! Are people who swim in these waters brave--or seriously maboule?

10. smala = tribe or large family
11. maboule = mad, crazy

little island (c) Kristin Espinasse
Cash, or flouze, would have been useless as there were no pharmacies on the rugged coast. So I remembered a tip I'd learned from one of the info boards at the tourist office...

12. flouze = cash or "bread"

How to Treat a Jellyfish Sting

  1. rinse with salt water (this is convenient...)
  2. apply sand to the area (hot sand is best) ; massage gently
  3. to remove tentacles: find a flat-sided object to scrape off the sand plastered over the wound (a credit card would have been ideal, but I used a sharp-ended pebble).

Tip! Don't do what I did: When my stings were not apparent, I began to doubt whether or not I'd truly had a painful run-in with the jellyfish. Worse, I began to apologize for being such a big baby! Just in case, I went ahead and half-heartedly treated the invisible area, using the protocol mentioned above.

A day or two later things weren't so invisible. Two large bumpy wounds were unmistakable--one on my ankle was the size of a sand dollar, the other a "slap" across the hand -- both deep red and itchy as can be! So when in doubt -- go ahead and thoroughly treat the area, making sure all tentacles have been removed. 

I leave you with one last word, close to my heart: taboulé!

My mother-in-law, Michèle-France (born in Marocco), makes the very best. And because she is moving this week, I'll end this post and say "see you next week"... 

...insha'Allah (if God be willing).



garde-manger (c) Kristin Espinasse
A garde-manger or dish protecter--perfect for keeping the winged ones out of the taboulé!  

Comments  and corrections welcome here. I'd love to know if you enjoyed these photos and words--or have come across other Arabic words adopted by the French. Thanks for joining the discussion here in the comments box.


 New to this language blog? You might enjoy Blossoming in Provence. Here's a Amazon review from Debnance at Readerbuzz:

Blossoming in Provence


I read Espinasse’s earlier book, Words in a French Life, a few years ago and liked the way she connected stories from her new life in the south of France with French vocabulary lessons. Blossoming in Provence is more of the same. And equally inviting.

Island of Port-Cros (c) Kristin Espinasse
The heavy object, to the right, looks like "une meule" or grindstone. Wonder what it used to grind? There are plenty of wild olive trees on the island, but no local olive oil, it seems....

Would you like to see more pictures of the island of Port-Cros? Have you ever been there? Let us know, here in the comments section

(Just making sure you have not confused the island of Port-Cros with the nearby island of Porquerolles, shown in this blog post.) 

A Message from Kristi on this blog's 19th anniversary
Thank you for reading this language journal. Ongoing support from readers like you helps keep this site ad-free and allows me to focus on writing. My wish is to continue creating posts that are educational, insightful, and heart-warming. If my work has touched you in any way, please consider supporting it via a blog donation of any amount.

Ways to contribute:
1. Send a check
2. PayPal or credit card
3. A bank transfer, ZELLE is a great way to send your donation as there are no transaction fees.

Or purchase our online memoir, The Lost Gardens