Divided Loyalties in the Six Nations

Come on England - Come on France!

I am sitting here watching (well half watching!) England play France in the Six Nations along with the very excited men in my life – even the three year old is jumping up and down cheering as if he knows exactly what is going on. If he does, he is doing much better than me!

What strikes me as odd about this situation is that all of the children have now lived in France longer than they did in England – indeed the youngest was born here. They go to French schools, have French friends, play for French sports clubs - they even like to drink their hot chocolate from a bowl. And yet, they are more patriotic and proud to be English than just about anyone I know. And, from talking to other expats, it appears that this is a common tendency among expat children – there is something about living away from your home country (however happy you are to be abroad) that makes us suddenly become fiercely loyal to Britain; huge fans of the royal family, marmite, warm beer and Bruce Forsyth. Well maybe not the last but you get the drift. Memories of England are suddenly rose-tinted and we are back living in the ‘great days’ of the Empire. Thus here we are in a very French part of France, in our very French house, living our very French lives and yet cheering on ‘our boys’ in white (with the pretty red rose) back in grey and rainy Twickenham. It does all seem rather surreal!

Here in this part of south-west France, rugby is THE sport and French fans are fanatical about their local teams. Rugby is one of the most popular sports played in France, with more than 200,000 registered players playing at its 1,700 clubs and the level of interest in the support at club level is very high. Unlike England, where rugby is strongly associated with the middle classes and public schools, French rugby possesses no elements of elitism. In France, the game has solid foundations among the farmers and labourers of the southwest; even if the Parisian clubs have a reputation for attracting playboys and city-slickers. Matches attract significantly higher crowds than in the UK and unlike in England, Scotland and Ireland rugby has an equal following to football. In France it is rugby that is the beautiful game.

One of the most successful clubs in the history of French rugby is our local(ish) team in Toulouse, Stade Toulousain who have won the French Championship 16 times. They have won the European Cup on three occasions, making them the most successful European rugby side of all time: www.stadetoulousain.fr

Personally, I am not really sure who I want to win; if the English win, I will have very elated children and miserable neighbours, but if the French win, I will have happy neighbours and dejected children. I guess the most I can hope is that, whatever the result, there is a sense on both sides of what the French call ‘le fair play.’

All in a day's work

Fresh snow at Guzet

Woke up this morning to sunshine, blue skies and a fresh blanket of snow on the mountains. So my husband and I did what any sane person would and decided to play hooky! Computer off, a quick drive up to our nearest ski resort, Guzet Neige and skis on – all in the name of research of course. By 9.30 we were standing at the top of our first run of the day, just about the only people on the slopes. A bit over five centimetres of new snow had fallen overnight – hardly worth a mention in Vail or Salt Lake but still enough to provide that fabulous sensation of being the first person to carve tracks through fresh, untouched snow.

By the time we were enjoying our first coffee, the sun was warm on the terrace and a few other skiers were beginning to venture out. I would like to say that we then tackled a few black runs, a steep mogul field and some serious off-piste before lunch – but I would be lying! However, we had a fantastic pootle around the pistes followed by a late lunch in what I am convinced is one of the best on-piste restaurants you will find anywhere. Chalet Beauregard is on top of the world – or so it feels - with a big sunny terrace and views over to Spain and, what’s more, you will be served delicious local mountain specialities from some of the friendliest waiters you have ever met. This is my idea of skiing!

Chalet Beauregard

We got back at 5pm and crept into the school playground to pick up the children hoping that nobody would spot our salopettes and glowing faces (everybody did!) I am not sure I will ever get used to the idea of being able to take off for a day’s skiing on fresh snow and still be back in time to pick up the children from school but days like these are why we live in the foothills of the Pyrenees.

Fellow workers on the piste!

Car Trouble in France

I don’t normally write about cars but my trusty 20 year old estate car finally gave up the fight last week and I found myself stuck on the side of the road going nowhere when I should have been en route to a packed day of viewings and appointments.

Always a stressful occurrence, I was expecting a similar experience to the last time I broke down which happened to be on the A303 in England. That time, I had a baby in the back but I also had AA breakdown rescue insurance so I telephoned the emergency number and was told that I would be a priority and a rescue vehicle would be with me as soon as possible.

As soon as possible turned out to be three hours later, when a man and a van finally turned up. He fiddled under the bonnet for half an hour before telling me he couldn’t fix the problem and would have to call a tow truck. That was another hour and a half arriving and by the time we finally got home, both me and baby were stressed, hungry and fed up as well as no nearer to having fixed the problem of a broken-down car.

So when I called the break-down number which comes as part of the French car insurance (the number is always fixed to the inside of the windscreen), I was expecting to spend most of the rest of the day waiting for help to arrive. As luck would have it, I had managed to break down just yards away from a café so, having made my call, I decided to wait for the rescue van in the warm over a coffee, where I then planned to start telephoning around to cancel all my viewings and appointments. However, I had barely got to the bottom of my espresso before the waiter pointed out that there was a breakdown truck outside the door and sure enough, he was looking for me (having made the assumption presumably that I would obviously be waiting for him in the nearest café!) I showed him the car which he immediately hoisted by winch onto the back of his lorry and then asked me to which garage he should deliver us both.

Ten minutes later me and car were on the forecourt of our local ‘garagiste’. I simply signed a form and the breakdown service was complete. At which point, Patrice, the garage owner, suggested that I take his car for the day so that I could go to work and he would take a look at mine before I came back that evening. 

So I whizzed off and managed to make all my pre-arranged viewings and appointments and what could have been a stressful and frustratingly wasted day turned into a very positive experience. There are many things that the Brits and French do differently but, when it comes to breakdown rescue and helpful mechanics, the French win hands down – in my limited experience anyway.