Love this Animoto thing

Our good friend Eleanor has expanded her creative skills to the world of multimedia design. Always the life of the party and the Queen of the iPod in her nocturnal persona - DJ El -  she has turned us on to, and is perfecting herself, the very cool on-line picture editing tool called Animoto. You basically send them a bunch of pictures, pick out a soundtrack, and they put together a well-choreographed slide show. It's a little more complicated than that, but not much.

Eleanor has become a pro at documenting the previous night's festivities, which is sometimes handy, sometimes regrettable when things get blurry. For better or worse, Eleanor's Animoto's are a great way to see the whole story unfold. Even when she is in the middle of the action, she can somehow produce a lucid retrospective of even the wildest of  "what the f*** happened last night?" type of affairs.

Obviously overwhelmed by a bewildering combination of creative inspiration and emotional distress about leaving the island for the summer to go back to her native Ireland (and thus probably not seeing us before our move) - and maybe having too much time on her hands -  Eleanor made a tear-jerking farewell montage Animoto for us, drawing up on the 'best of' of her party photo collection, as well as some other fun we've had with her and her family. Check it out here.

Thanks El!

Actually her best work may have been her first. She did an Animoto for my surprise birthday party back in January. And I prefer the sound track on this one a bit more!

Sailing on the good ship Atabeyra

We took advantage of a Monday holiday to 'go tourist' and a bunch of us chartered the Atabeyra sail boat for a day of fun on the high seas. Dave Douglas and his crew do a great job and really roll out the red carpet for residents. We sailed on the South Side and anchored right of a wreck that was grounded during the '08 hurricanes. The Atabeyra is the one on the right, by the way. As you can see, Kerry really flipped over the experience!

Bonfire on the beach. North Caicos

Just fooling around with the Blackberry tool that lets me email photos right from the mobile phone to the blog. This one is taken at a bonfire during our weekend on North Caicos with friends Owen and Emelda. Meeting the infamous Bobby Ball, outside whose house we did the beach bonfire, was a bonus.

Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Digicel

200 million French speakers can't be wrong

One of the gnawing concerns I have had about the move to France is the general and long-term usefulness of the French language to us as a family. OK, yes it will be useful in France, and it will certainly and necessarily be PC for us to embrace, especially if we don't want a year of French waiters spitting in our food. Toni and I have resigned ourselves to the fact that we must be able to handle the basics and then some in the native tongue. I have visions of a mundane but not altogether uncomplicated situation arising that requires some degree of language dexterity to deal with - a broken toilet, let's say, or perhaps trying to bail one of our kids out of jail (quick, get Nadine on Skype!. We even downloaded a couple of courses of Rosetta Stone (still unused).

But I have been hard pressed to mentally justify the academic investment in our family learning the language for any thing other than our stay in France, whatever length that may be. I mean, when are we ever going to use French when we leave France, other to impress people at cocktail parties? (Toni argues this same point when the topic of learning how to drive a manual transmission car comes up - a challenge she sees as far greater and with even less value than learning French.) This despite the fact that I actually have a rudimentary working grasp of French myself and absolutely no grasp of any other language. Mine is more of practical concern than anything related to the well-promoted (by the French) aesthetic and cultural value of the French "mother tongue" (as Madame Precnard at CIPEC calls it), or of learning a second language in general.

In the part of the world where we originate, now live and will undoubtedly return, Spanish is by far the more dominant second language (in many places, primary). It therefore seems to me that, especially for our kids, if we are committed to any degree of a bi-lingual existence long-term, our energies would be better focused on learning Spanish. And in fact, Savannah has been taking Spanish lessons at night, along with our island friends who will move to Barcelona in parallel with our move to Aix. I believe it is Savannah's not-so-subtle protest against the move, not any long-term vision on her part. But at least she will be able to communicate with 95% of the workers at Miami Airport now.

But my sensitivities to what, if any, flavor of bi-lingualness we should embrace as a family were altered somewhat by an article in today's NY Times (which I had the rare pleasure of reading in all its liberal glory of its grimy and unwieldy print format during a flight from Dallas to San Francisco this morning. Double bonus: in-flight internet access allows me to post this from somewhere over the Rocky Mountains, addressing a bona fide criticism of far too infrequent P2P blog postings leveled on me by #2 Jacquie just minutes after she picked me up at DFW last night. Who knew an American Airlines experience could result in such a combination of pleasure and productivity? But I digress).

So the NY Times article - found here - talks about the state of the French language, both within France and elsewhere in the world, particularly Africa and the Caribbean where it is still relatively common. In fact, it reports that 200 million people speak French in the world today, and only 65 million of them actually live in France. It goes on to bemoan the growing use of English by French political leaders and other elite, a trend seen by some as a sign of surrender of French influence and authority in the world (ummm, didn't that happen 6o years ago?). In the article, there are well articulated and philosophical defense from everyone from Sarkozy to African politicians about the need for the French language to endure and thrive, as part of what the French president calls "the battle for cultural diversity in the world." While his statements may reflect more of the cultural battle going on within his own country, his point is well taken.

It is a logical -- although not altogether intuitive - argument that in an age of increased 'globalization,' which would seemingly imply 'sameness," diversity in cultures and how one expresses oneself becomes even more critical. I believe that we all do need a sense of self and cultural identity, even as we sip Starbucks in Shanghai and eat Big Macs in Brussels. So I can appreciate the enthusiasm by Francophone to want to defend and even proliferate the use of their language.

But being American, we have it easy in the sense that English is the de facto language standard of globalization. The downside to that is that it also holds us back in terms of being motivated to learn a second language or understand other cultures. And in fact it is American culture which often seems to suffer from the blandness of universal acceptance, especially when one travels abroad and get sense of the richness and uniqueness of other cultures (of course many of my friends from home don't even have passports, underscoring the fact the fact that globalization may, ironically, last penetrate certain corners of the USA. A shepherd in the African Sahara will know who is on American Idol long before a lot of Americans will know how to find the Sahara on a map).

American culture and the English language, arguably the most ubiquitous in our globalized world and certainly the most 'practical,' are frankly boring to us Americans.

All of this leads me to think that maybe we should throw the practicality of learning a 'useful' language out the window, and strive to be more Francophone in our commitment to learning a second tongue. If nothing else, it will come in handy if we have plumbing problems.

Bourdain does Provence

One of my favorite TV personalities, Anthony Bourdain, brought his show "No Reservations" to Provence recently and the episode aired last night on The Travel Channel. Bourdain has a knack for mixing in with the locals and finding hidden gems. And his tour of Provence was no different. He drank Ricard and red wine like a champion with the local boys, dined on savory Provencal style cooking, and toured cool towns and vineyards.

"How can you not like a place with great food, great wine and free health care," he commented.

Look for his show on The Travel Channel. They repeat the episodes from time to time. Apparently Samantha Brown, also a Travel Channel celebrity who many say looks like my wife (or vice versa) also has done an episode on Provence, but she doesn't have quite the edge that Bourdain has.

Au revior, Peugeot!

GAP - Nadine’s old Peugeot finally showed her age, and at a most inopportune time. Mike and I were started headed back to Aix so I could grab the TGV to Paris, when the car began overheating. We stopped just before getting on the toll way, and re-filled the radiator but what had been a slow drip yesterday had progressed to a steady streaming leak this morning. Thinking quickly on our feet (thankfully we didn’t polish off that bottle of Scotch last night, as we had contemplated), Mike re-directed us to Gap, where there was: 1) a Peugeot dealer, and 2) a train station.

The mechanic at the Peugeot dealer quickly diagnosed the problem as fatal (blown head gasket), at least from a cost to repair perspective for a car that old. Quelle dommage, but I had a schedule to keep. So we made a bee line to the train station, where, thanks to a surprisingly nimble-fingered ticket agent, I was able to cancel my original TGV ticket from Aix, get a local train to Marseilles, and re-book on a later TGV from St. Charles Station in Marseilles to Paris. All within minutes.

The efficiency of the French train system impressed me, too – you can basically get anywhere in the country on the rails, even if it sometimes is not the most direct route. Gap to Marseille was about two-plus hours, albeit at a noticeably slower pace than the TGV, but still efficient and comfortable.

That was all fine and good, but I still had two flights to deal with later in the day (Paris to London on Air France, then an overnight back home via JFK on American) and it was clear I was probably not going to make either.

I jumped on the train in Gap just as it was departing la gare, and Mike made his way back to the sister’s house to help sort out my flights and figure out what to do with the car (he could still drive it but it’s days were numbered). Within short order, we had Toni and Nadine on Skype, the Blackberry and the local (Orange) cell phone I had topped up, all of us working my itinerary from various angles. After much electronic to’ing and fro’ing over the options at hand, we decided it was best for me to deal with the flights when I got to the Charles De Gaulle, which I did by 4:30 (remarkably, only an hour or so later that I had originally planned, but still too late to make my flights). In the end, I found a friendly American Airlines agent just as she was leaving for the day, re-booked a flight from Paris to Miami for the next day ($100 change fee, no extra award miles needed), and had an uneventful night at the Ibis Hotel in Terminal 3.

Off to see the sisters

MONTGARDIN -- Today we head north to see “the sisters,” Nadine’s two siblings who live in a town called Montgardin about 90 minutes outside of Aix in the mountains. But first Mike had to run a few errands, including buying a BBQ for the house (which he delivered complete with a supply of lamb chops for Eugene and his family to christen the new grill with). While he did that, I wandered out to Cours Mirabeau and hung out a café, checking email, doing some work, IM’ing Hubert (“so are you moving or what?” and Toni, and taking in the warm sun that bathed the town. Spring had definitely arrived in Provence, and, at the moment, I thought to myself that I could definitely get used to this lifestyle.

Mike picked me up at La Rotonde around noon and we drove the picturesque 90-minute route to Montgardin in Nadine’s 15year-old Peugeot sedan, a couple of times commenting on how well the old diesel still ran despite the relative lack of use (I think real writers call that last bit foreshadowing). He noted that Toni would need to learn to drive a stick shift if we came to France since that was basically all there was available in terms of cars (at the house, we had talked to Eugene about buying the Peugeot wagon had had bought second hand when he first arrived – it is a stick shift, too).

Mike had brought along a supply of bagettes and sausage, which we devoured like two real Frenchmen on the way to Montgardin as he pointed out points of interest along the way, such as the walled town at Sisteron. It was a very scenic drive along the Durance River and up into the lower Alps, where snow was still layered across the peaks, made even more dramatic set against a crystal clear blue springtime sky. Closer to Montgardin we saw several gliders, hang gliders, and even a hot air balloon, as this area has excellent wind conditions for such things. We passed a good-sized airfield in Tallard where glider planes are parked all over the place.

Turning onto a small track off the main road, we pulled into the sisters’ house in the small town of Montgardin. They greeted us warmly, taking a break from the spring yard work they had been busy with across their sprawling property. The house is a classic French country farmhouse, probably several hundred years old and it used to be run as some kind of mill by Nadine’s family. It’s where Nadine grew up, and the sisters have lived their whole lives. They run a small restaurant and B&B there now, catering mostly to the summer tourists who hike and sight-see in the region. There’s also some skiing in the immediate area. We are not far from the Italian border here, and the nearest ‘big’ town is called Gap.

Mike and I did a bit of exploring around the old house and property. He showed me things he had done over the years to help spruce it up (knock down a wall here, remove a few acres of fill there) and places and things his kids had enjoyed when they were growing up during their visits to their aunts in the French countryside.

Later, we drove up to the top of the hill which serves as the town center and admired the views of the Alps. And we checked out the local church cemetery where several generations of Nadine’s family rest peacefully overlooking the snow topped mountains.

Back at the house, we shared good conversation and good wine with the sisters, next to the crackling wood burning stove that warmed the house. They made us a superb French style dinner of home made pizza followed by some delicious duck and vegetable concoction (the restaurant was closed that night). They broke open a very sweet, but tasty liqueur drink after dinner, made from a local herb grown at only high elevations (over 10,000 feet) in the Alps. After a few of those, then a nightcap of scotch, Mike and I were off to bed in one of the B&B rooms, ready to get up early and hit the road so I could make the 9:50AM TGV train back to Paris from Aix.

Back to Aix for the night

AIX EN PROVENCE - We checked in at the Hotel Cardinal, a small typical French hotel, just off Cours Mirabeau on a narrow, winding street typical of the old part of Aix. The room was nice enough, except for the lack of a stand-up shower (it had a large tub and one of those hold in-your-hand shower heads). Not uncommon in France, and in fact, one of the bathrooms at Le Bergerie has the same set up. Tubby time will have a whole new meaning in France.

Mike and I managed to get on-line using the same wireless connection, checked email, and Mike made his required 3 or 4 Skype calls to Nadine, the kids and work people back on the island. {Mike uses a Mac notebook that is always within his easy reach, and loves the video feature on Skype, using it to show his wife and Toni real time views of various points of interest the whole time during our visit.}

Then we set out on the town. It was Monday night so not a whole lot happening (compared to the bustling activity of the weekend), but we made our way to a little area with a couple bars and restaurants that were relatively lively. We ended up at a Spanish tapas restaurant and drank a couple of pitchers of local red wine, ate various Spanish-influenced meat dishes, and then tried some kind of flaming tequila shot drink that the guys sitting next to us were pounding down with alarming frequency, using straws to battle through the flames. We thought they had bought us a round when two infernos showed up at our table, but Mike later pointed out they ended up on our bill at the end of the night. We enjoyed them anyway, and headed back to the hotel.

We called it a night, but not before a few more video Skype calls, including one to Toni, Lindsey and Savannah - during which I walked Savannah through the typical school day and classes at CIPEC. At first he was tentative and not very open, but toward the end warmed up to it when she heard about all the activities available. Plus, in my flaming tequila-induced state, I promised her a cell phone if she agreed to move to France – that won’t be forgotten.

I called my other wives in Texas, too, to give them the report, which of course excited them as well – Jacquie even threatening to quit her teaching job and join us as the girls’ full-time tutor.