Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

Curve-balls.

Nothing like that silent scream in your head, while your heart plummets passed your soul to wind you up in the middle of the week.

 

Last week I wrote to you that Alex and Beth had not been accepted at the school we had originally planned on, and that we had to change our mind set.  Which it turned out, was, in fact, a REALLY excellent decision. 

Except for the fact that is has been up-turned.

 

I was quietly minding my own business on a rather wet Wednesday, which might have been a stroke of luck if you look at it in one way, as the girls don’t have lessons on Wednesday’s, and due to the rather grey Natal-like weather outside, I was not inclined to do very much. When the land-line telephone rang, I was surprised, as the only person who does phone me-ever- is Anton, and he phones me on my mobile phone.  It was with much trepidation that I answered- “’-ello?  Salut!…”.  Pause.  And with more efficiency: “Gaenor speaking.”

These phone-calls always put the fear of God in me, as I speak no French still, and I dread the type of conversation that will ensue.

The lady on the other side of the phone babbled something off, I suspect something about Robert Schuman (the International School), so I hurriedly interrupted her with my often repeated line: “desolee, je suis Sud Africaine, je ne parle Francais”.  She stopped, paused, and then very carefully told me she would attempt to talk in English.

What she was phoning to tell me, 8 days after schools have opened up for the year, was that they do now have a space for Alex after all.

Silent Scream in my head.

Heart dropping below my soul.

Another decision to be made, so soon.

After telling her I needed to discuss with Anton, and we would have an answer on Thursday, I hung up, and started crying.

Ok, not immediately, but by the time I spoke to my Mum later in the day, I had used a few tissues, and was grateful that I don’t bother using mascara while I mop the floor.

 

So, why the big dilemma I can hear you asking?

 

Part of this goes back to another ‘issue’ in my mind- the question of being an ‘expat’ but to insert this conversation in here might get you confused.

What is an ‘expat’:  Is it an actual noun; or merely an adjective that was invented to make people feel like they belonged in a place where they never managed to actually fit in?

Last week I mentioned the Australian family, with less cynicism than I had hoped.  Turns out that Mom Australia got under my skin a bit much when she replied to my question about how she had settled in after 2 years.  She told me that she did not have French friends, as they were cliquey, and she found them to be class conscious and racist. 

Firstly, only an Australian is able to say something like this, because there is no racism there, nor class for that matter. *

Secondly, I can only imagine she has no French friends, because she has more than likely stuck to her expat friends, without trying to endear herself to the European way of life.  This could possibly be because she really didn’t want to come here in the first place, but because her husband, successful in his career in Sydney, with nowhere else to move upwards in Australia, had elected to try the European symphonic scene. **

 

There, I have said it.  Harsh, and critical.

Moving on.

I do not want to be that type of person.  I want to be French; I want to express myself with a nuance that seems so random, yet so honest.  I want to walk across the cobbled roads, baguette under my arm, disregarding the cars hooting at me, I want to buy my organic vegetables from the local Saturday market square, I want geraniums planted in my window boxes, I want to cycle along the canal with a bottle of wine in my basket, I want to be able to love drinking locally produced wine- Pinot Noir, Gewurtstraminer, Riesling.  I want to master the art of cooking flammenkuche, and being able to eat Munster Cheese.  I want the same for Alex and Beth.

At the same time, I want their beautiful spirit that was born out of African soil to shine out of their little hearts, and into the hearts of the French.

Do you want to know a little secret?  That has happened. 

My little Beth runs off to her class every morning with a skip and a jump.  Her ‘Madame’s’ smile at this.  They laugh at the end of the day when I collect her. 

Alex has been such an amazing strong girl the last week.  Each time we head off to school, she leads the way.  She does not worry that she cannot communicate just yet.  She tries her best to keep my heart happy.  Every time she arrives in class, she greets her Madame with a hug and a smile, and the same when she leaves.  Her teacher speaks a little more English than I French, but I can see that she too loves my little girl, that she can see how beautiful her spirit is.

Last weekend the Village closed streets to vehicle access, and hundreds of families set up tables to sell off old clothes, old toys, old anything.  One person’s rubbish could very well be another person’s treasure. 

What was significant for me was the 3 families that have children in Alex’s class that greeted her, and their parents exclaimed the same greeting.  Do you have any idea the size of the lump in my throat, the size of the tear in the corner of my eye, to have THAT after only 3 days in school?

A week later, when the sun peeped out for the day after a week of rain, I took the girls to the park after school.  My daughter was the centre of attention!  After 9 weeks of seeing the same people again and again in the summer holidays, with Alex sitting on the sides asking how to ask them if she could play with them, they ran around calling: “Alexandria, Alexandria!” seeking her attention.

If I had to look at these alone, I would have no qualms about leaving the girls in the local school.  Popularity however, has never been the answer, in my opinion.  It waxes and wanes with fashion, and solid, lifelong friendships are built on trust and respect, and are crucial to adult happiness.

 

That being said, it’s not the reason we are doing what we are doing. 

 

I am a little sorry to say that we are changing our perspective. We’ve change dour perspective because we feel we have to.

 

The International School here in Strasbourg is not a private, English-medium education.  The schooling is performed in FRENCH, with the benefit of English as a second language.  This means that Alex and Beth will be taught in French, as if they were being taught in a local school, but they will also be taught English reading and writing.

Needless to say, this will benefit us more, as the English reading and writing education will not be left up to me. 

There are heaps of other benefits, and although I REALLY would like my girls and I to continue living in a village, the benefits of the International School are more in the long run.

Until the MSC Athos arrives with my house, we will have a difficult commute, early start to the day, and for now, I still don’t know what will happen in between morning and evening.  There is no point in stressing about it though, until I can plan accordingly.  Hopefully by November we will be settled in an apartment closer to the city, and I can move onto the next chapter.

For now, we will make use of our travel passes, and my camera will come in use while I sit in the city for the morning.  You can rest assured you will see some fruit of this change of scenery.

Spare me a thought then, and I will be in touch.

Till next time, sweet kisses,

Xxx

Notes:

*- I want to apologise for this rather tongue in cheek comment.  It’s based on emotion, and not much more than that.

**- Again, my apologies for this matter of opinion.  I really shouldn’t make assumptions of people, but it just made for more ‘sensational’ writing. (Is it acceptable to type an emoticon in here?)