by Carolyn Smyrl

unning a kitchen in a new language was a never-ending challenge. Suddenly to have everything named something else does something to a housewife’s mind. Have you ever tried to make a salesperson recognize that you want cinnamon by describing what you do with it? The differences in the way items are packaged also gave me some difficulty. After searching the shelves for baking needs. I finally found the vanilla extract. It was sold in a little envelope with the vanilla on about a tablespoonful of sugar. I never found it in liquid form. I looked, unsuccessfully, for weeks for baking powder. Finally, Frank found it. It, too, was packaged in tiny envelopes containing about two teaspoonfuls per package. Everything seems to be packaged so that there is nothing left over to store. One of the skills of a French housewife is to cook precisely the amount needed for a meal—no leftovers. The French do not waste as much as Americans do; I came to feel terribly guilty every time I let a few inches of that wonderful yard-long French bread go stale.

The kitchen appliances in our apartment are worthy of mention. The refrigerator was about the size of one found in a college dorm room. Its freezing compartment would hold three ice trays. There was no room for frozen food. The stove had four burners and a small oven fueled by a butane gas cylinder that stood behind the kitchen door. The cylinder had to be returned to the grocery store each time it ran out of gas, which seemed to happen only on holidays. The washing machine was unlike any we had ever seen. The drain hose had to be emptied through the kitchen sink, so it was impossible to wash clothes and dishes at the same time. Another oddity about it was that the water entered the machine cold and then was heated to whatever temperature set for the cycle. Then, after the clothes washed, we could set another control, and they would dry in the same machine. The only problem was that just to wash and dry one load of clothes would take four or five hours. We noticed that, even in the most affluent French homes, the people did not have or use clothes dryers the way that Americans do. They consider dryers a waste of energy.

By the end of September, I was ready for a vacation. Vivian and I had bought France vacances train tickets before we left the United States. They are similar to Eurail passes, but are limited to use within France. Our tickets were good for seven days of travel, so we made a loop around France through some cities we had not visited before. Our first stop was Poitiers, where the Black Prince ruled after the English defeated the French in 1356. We saw the Palais de Justice where, in 1429, Jeanne d’Arc was questioned before being given command of the French Army. We had a family interest in visiting Poitiers, since Frank’s brother had studied there. Poitiers has been a university town since 1432 and still has a youthful, intellectual atmosphere.

We continued on to La Rochelle the next day. Noted for its history of Protestantism and resistance to siege, La Rochelle sparked my interest to re-read The Three Musketeers, this time in French. Climbing about the towers of the old port, one could imagine Richelieu there. Taking a boat ride into the harbor, it was impossible not to think of the English fleet standing off the coast.

It was not until we arrived in Carcassonne the next day that we learned that many of the French trains were already stopped and that a general rail strike was developing. We were about as far from Metz as one can be and still be in France. We visited the old city and walked along its ramparts not knowing if we would be there for our planned one-night stay or if we would be stranded there for an indefinite period. Even that worry did not diminish our delight in the old, restored city. It was like a Disneyland from the Dark Ages. We checked it as a “must-see” for Frank and Morgan, knowing that we would enjoy returning there with them. The next day, Vivian and I proved our determination, French-speaking abilities, and luck, not necessarily in that order, by renting a car in Carcassonne to drive to Marseilles. The hotel keeper had cautioned us against taking the train, saying that it might be run out into the countryside fifty kilometers or so and be stopped by the strikers. Since we had friends expecting us in Marseilles and Aix, we decided that it would be safer to rent the car and drive. The countryside through which we passed made us think of the Texas hill country north of San Antonio. It was a lovely drive.

Vivian’s families with whom she had lived as a Rotary student three years before welcomed us in Aix. They all seemed pleased to see us, and we had a good visit with them. We also got in a visit with Frank’s sister-in-law’s mother and aunt in Marseilles before it was time to return to Metz. After a week of constant travel and excitement, perhaps the best news that greeted us in Marseilles was that the rail strike was over. We took the night train back to Metz, sleeping in the tiny couchettes like weary, veteran travelers.

Frank’s university duties began October 21st. Vivian and I enrolled to audit courses at the University of Metz. I attended two history classes in addition to the French-for-foreigners class that Frank, Vivian, and I were in. Our French class was like a miniature session of the United Nations with 15 students from 10 different countries. The instruction was entirely in French, since that was the only common language we had, besides being what we were trying to improve. Our instructor, Mme. Honnert, was one of the best teachers I have ever had. The class met for seven and a half hours each week.

Vivian was asked to teach English at one of the cultural centers in Metz. She had two children’s classes and one adult class each week. It was enough to keep her busy, but it still allowed her time to visit libraries and archives to continue her own research projects, as well as giving her teaching experience.

Frank’s courses at the university were offered through the English department, and were called “American Civilization.” In truth, they were history and government courses on the topics of slavery, U. S. history since 1865, American thought and ideas since 1932, and the U.S. Constitution. Seeing the depth of study that students have in their language courses there, we began to understand why their foreign language studies are so superior to the foreign language courses offered in typical American schools. Their students learn to speak and understand the language, whereas so often our students merely learn to call the words. As Frank noted, we never got to use the phrase found in every freshman French textbook, “La plume de ma tante est sur la table” the whole time we were in France.

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