Of Cabbages and Kings

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—”

Lewis Carroll

Sometimes it feels as though we are living inside a nonsense poem by Lewis Carroll. In a day, we do so many disparate (and perhaps even desperate!) things, and have such a variety of experiences that it is hard to assimilate everything. We deal, literally and metaphorically, with the nuts and bolts of everyday life in a foreign country. Just to complicate things, we are living not just a dichotomy but a three-way experience, a trichotomy, of British, American and French culture. But every day, we have those beautiful, transient moments that make it all worthwhile. We go from the sublime to the ridiculous, or vice versa, from cabbages to kings.

From the ridiculous - seeking cabbages

Let’s start with cabbages. It happens to be one of the vegetables that the French don’t do well. There are white cabbages for choucroute, red cabbages for Alsacien and German specialities, but sometimes I just long for an honest-to-goodness, plain old green-leaf cabbage. Our local supermarket doesn’t carry them, so we comb the markets and pounce whenever we come across one. Cabbage and potatoes - it’s my version of soul food at any time of year. Of course, there are compensations. The first strawberries of the season appear, a traditional variety known as gariguettes, grown here in the region. They are tiny bursts of intense flavor, a reminder of what strawberries should taste like. Cherries too, called bigarreau, paler and yellower that we are used to, but deliciously sweet.

The nuts and bolts – well, that’s easy. Almost every other day we make a trip to the DIY store. We know by heart the layout of every DIY store in the area. I can find my way blindfold to the different rayons: outillage, plomberie, quincaillerie, salle de bains, murs et plafonds….. The store workers all recognize us now after all our questions. I like to think they don’t hide when they see us coming. Mastering the vocabulary is a different story. Here are just a few examples.

Cheville = ankle, but it is also a wall anchor (UK – Rawlplug). I discovered this after a long-drawn-out conversation which included a lot of mime. The Castorama (think Home Depot) worker was extremely patient and helpful. But what color do you need? It turns out that the color is crucial, because the sizes are color-coded.

Patins = skates, but also apparently the little felt dampers you stick on chair legs so that they don’t make a noise when they scrape on the floor.

Chemin = a path, but it is also a long decorative narrow cloth which runs the length of the table.

Escargot = that chewy little gastropod that the French find so tasty when served with butter and garlic, but also the plastic dispenser for a roll of adhesive tape. Look at the shape and you will soon see why.

And what’s the difference between a nut (un écrou), a bolt (une vis), a nail (un clou) or a tack (une pointe) anyway? That’s still a mystery to me in any language.

So coming to kings… I bought some diamonds last week. Two lots in fact. But before you start imagining Tiffany’s, or a rivière de diamants as in the famous Maupassant story, I’d better put you straight. I’m not really a diamond sort of person. My hands are, and have always been, working hands. Short, stubby fingers, wrinkly Granny skin, nails that never stay shapely and varnished. And as for that diamond necklace, it doesn’t go too well with my work clothes, currently a lightweight painter’s coverall, one size fits all, or not in my case, since the one size is XX, so mine is cut off and fixed with clothes pegs so that it doesn’t drag in the paint. The diamonds in question are industrial, on a drill bit, a special cutter for the bathroom tiles. I actually bought three in one day. That, and watching the Queen’s Jubilee on the television, as are near to royalty as I will get!

As with any household, the cleaning seems endless, made more difficult by the orange building dust still lurking in every corner. I can relate to another verse in the same poem by Lewis Carroll:

"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

Aside from cabbages and kings, some days are what can only be described as bizarre. Camels and llamas, for example. Not more examples of ambiguous vocabulary, there are literally camels and llamas. The circus is parked near the commercial centre, so each time we pop over to Leroy Merlin or Castorama we pass the camels and llamas grazing peacefully on the grass next to the roundabout.

To the sublime - Mont Ste Victoire

But there are the compensations. We drive home on a small section of the A8, the Autoroute du Soleil, which extends from Barcelona to Nice and on to Ventimiglia in Italy. The car is packed with bits of wood, lighting, mirrors for the bathrooms, barstools for the breakfast bar, wiring and plumbing supplies. As we round the last bend before the exit, Mont Ste Victoire rises magically before us, a breathtaking vision, golden in the evening sun, sharply profiled against the darkening blue of the sky. It takes but an instant to understand Cezanne’s fascination for this mountain which he painted over 60 times, whose character constantly evolves with the changing light and the weather. Another uplifting moment.

We lug the packages from the car, then settle on the balcony for a quiet drink of the local pale rosé. Our neighbors wave as they go by, and wish us bon appétit. And life feels less like a nonsense poem, more like living in a wonderland.

© 2012 Valerie and Trevor White