Our Grand Tour of Europe

Kelly attends a private school in Knoxville, a wonderful environment where she has been with many of the same children (and teachers) since kindergarten. At home she would be in the sixth grade—just beginning middle school. We’re blessed with a bright, highly motivated child who loves to learn. She’s extremely self-disciplined in her schoolwork and needs no urging to work on her homework. Reading is one of her passions, which may be genetic since both Charley and I are big readers too. Between the three of us, we own thousands of books.

Kelly’s education was a major consideration in the timing of our year abroad; in fact, the director of her Lower School at home was one of the few people we consulted prior to making our decision. The director’s reaction was instantly positive—she was very confident Kelly would respond well… and benefit… from a year in Europe. But she also felt it would be best to take the year off now—before Kelly entered her teens. Since Kelly was transitioning to middle school, we also met with the director of her Middle School—he too was extremely supportive of her year abroad. She has been guaranteed admission back at Webb for the seventh grade, and although the Middle School director offered some suggestions, we have no formal academic requirements to meet.

I met another helpful resource on the Slow Travel website… an American named Kevin, who is now our good friend here in Provence. Kevin and his French wife Elisabeth own a beautifully restored B&B in the nearby village of St. Saturnin-lès-Apt. Before our arrival in Provence, Kevin volunteered to visit the school in Bonnieux and make some inquiries on our behalf. He met with Monsieur Grimaud and reported back that there would be no problem for Kelly to attend the school. We simply needed to write a letter to the director and provide some basic information about Kelly and our plans. During our stay in England I worked on this letter for several weeks, using my high school French and trusty dictionary to compose what I thought was a respectable letter. We got no response, so I assumed everything was okay. After we arrived in Provence, I got more advice from Janice, a new friend in Bonnieux whose daughter had attended the village school. Janice suggested we go to the school at the end of the day on Tuesday and talk with Monsieur Grimaud.

And so here we were. We initially walked into the school building and talked to a woman who was cleaning. She talked to another woman—a teacher perhaps—who sent us out to the bench in yard to wait. We were early—school didn’t end until 4:30 pm. As we waited, we watched parents begin to assemble outside the gate. Finally children and a few adults emerged from the building… the children ran out the gate to meet their parents. Everyone looked curiously at us sitting conspicuously on our bench. Who were these strangers? Was it obvious we were American?

When it appeared all the children had left the school, we went back inside, located Monsieur Grimaud, and introduced ourselves. Between our limited French and his more-limited English, we were able to have a conversation about Kelly’s enrollment at his school. I showed Monsieur Grimaud the letter I had written him earlier in the summer. He immediately wrote some dates in January down on a piece of paper… and said something about “une classe de neige.” Neige… snow. The class was going on a ski trip in the French Alps, and he hoped Kelly would participate. (We now know that this is one of Monsieur Grimaud’s favorite projects—Kelly hasn’t made a decision, but we hope she will decide to go.)

We learned that in addition to his duties as “directeur,” Monsieur Grimaud would be Kelly’s teacher. We walked down the hall and he showed us the classroom… Kelly would be the 20th student in his class… a class of 9, 10 and 11 year olds. He would be happy to see her on Monday. We asked him what school supplies she would need, got a copy of the school schedule for the year, and left him the information on Kelly’s immunizations. After all the problems with our visas… and our inability earlier in the day to get internet service set up through French Telecom because we didn’t have a French bank account, we were delighted to have something go right on the first attempt—actually even easy!

Later that week we went shopping in Apt at the big Leclerc hypermarché (superstore). Kelly had a list of school supplies she thought she needed. She loves school supplies, and I hoped getting some neat new supplies would ease some of her anxiety about school.

Our friends Jeanne and Fred arrived on Friday afternoon, and we had a busy couple of days showing them Provence. As Monday morning approached, though, Kelly got increasingly nervous. I tried to be positive and encouraging, but I was nervous too. Children start new schools all the time and at this age they make friends very quickly. But going to school in a foreign language—this was more complicated!

Kelly has an aptitude for languages. She had six years of Spanish in school and some exposure to French, the language Charley and I hoped she would decide to study longer-term. For the past four summers, Kelly spent a week at Lac du Bois, a French language immersion camp held in Savannah, Georgia. She had vacationed a couple of times in France, and we had studied French with a teacher before leaving America. I felt comfortable to say that Kelly spoke a little French. We all three did. But speaking a little tourist French and spending a full day among French children and trying to learn… this would be a very different experience. A wonderful opportunity—but definitely scary on the front end!

On Sunday night Kelly got her backpack ready and picked out her clothes for the first day. At home Kelly wears a uniform to school—the decisions were simple. Green polo shirt or blue polo shirt? Khaki skort or navy shorts? While waiting on the schoolyard bench, we had checked out the other girls to see how they dressed for school—it all looked very casual. Most of the children carried big backpacks and a few had rolling suitcases.

Kelly didn’t sleep well on Sunday night and didn’t feel well on Monday morning. We sat with our friends at breakfast on that Monday morning while Kelly got ready for her first day, all of us so sympathetic with her. She was upstairs for a long time. Jeanne, Fred and I each hugged Kelly goodbye as she went out the door with Charley. She was close to tears—I was almost afraid she would refuse to go.

Charley arrived back about 20 minutes later. Jeanne, Fred and I anxiously awaited his return. As he drove down the gravel road to our house, I worried for a moment that Kelly had come home with him—perhaps she’d backed out at the last minute. But Charley was alone and very positive. He had walked Kelly to the gate where a woman teacher was stationed. He introduced Kelly and explained this was her first day. The teacher took Kelly by the hand and took her over to a group of other girls in the schoolyard. Charley said Kelly didn’t look back.

Jeanne and Fred headed off to sightsee on their own that day. Kelly had agreed to stay at school for lunch on Tuesday so we could go out with them, but Charley and I wanted to stay close to home and bring Kelly back at noon for lunch on her first day. When she got home at lunchtime, she was very excited about her morning at school… and anxious to go back for the afternoon session. Monsieur Grimaud made her feel welcome and had asked all the children in the class to introduce themselves. She understood some of what was going on. She reported that her classroom of 20 children was broken into two different classes… she was one of four children in the oldest group. The others in her group were all boys, but she had made friends with some of the younger girls. After lunch we drove her back to school—several girls were waiting for her at the gate and reached out for her as she walked in. I suspect she was a bit of a celebrity that first day.

Kelly thinks there are about 80 children at the school, including some very young preschoolers who come out a side door a few minutes earlier than the older children. Although there are a few other expatriate children at the school (all younger than Kelly), most are children of Bonnieux villagers… the children of local farmers, the baker, the policeman. The parents seem to enjoy the social interaction outside the gate each afternoon. I have a nodding acquaintance with some of them as we come and go. “Bonsoir madame.” “Au revoir.” Although I wish I could join in the conversation with other parents, I enjoy the simple pleasure of picking my daughter up at school.

Our village school holds classes on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. It’s apparently traditional—and I haven’t learned why—that French children don’t normally go to school on Wednesdays. (This must be very difficult when both parents work!) Most children go to school instead a half-day on Saturdays, but our Bonnieux school doesn’t have Saturday sessions… they make up that time with a few less holidays here and there during the year. School begins at 9:00 am and breaks for lunch at noon. Children can go home for lunch or stay at school and eat in a “cantine.” The afternoon session begins at 1:30 pm and adjourns at 4:30 pm. Kelly tells us there are a couple of recesses every day. There’s a two-month summer holiday (July and August), a one-week break at the end of October, two weeks off at Christmas, two-and-a-half weeks off in February, and ten days off in April. The schedule is perfect to allow us a home school day on Wednesdays and plenty of time for day trips and exploring. Kelly will attend school until the April break, just a few days before our time in Provence comes to an end.

Since that first frightening morning, Kelly has been enthusiastic about going to school every day. And now I’m among the parents waiting outside the gate every afternoon… there to meet my “petite écolère”. (“Petit Écolier” or Little Student is the name of a wonderful French cookie, made by a company called Lu. We sometimes buy this cookie in the US, but it is much cheaper here and we love it—a simple butter cookie with a slab of chocolate, imprinted with a design of a little scholar from days of yore.) We know the academics are not challenging for Kelly, but that’s not why we’re here. She seems to enjoy the math and works on her own on basic French while her classmates do their more-advanced language studies. Occasionally she talks about going to the bibliothèque (library) or music or PE. Recently the class did some special studies on World War I, just before the Remembrance Day holiday. We think we’re achieving our objectives: for Kelly to be around French kids in a different cultural environment and to improve her French language skills. After almost six weeks at the village school, we feel good about what’s happening. We’re very proud of our daughter.

Although we’re not French citizens and don’t (shhhh!) even have long-stay visas, there has been no issue about Kelly’s ability to attend the school. It doesn’t even really cost us anything. Apparently in France, any child has the right to attend school, whether they are in the country legally or illegally. We weren’t asked for our passports or any information about our right to be here. A few weeks after Kelly started school, she brought home some papers. We were asked to buy insurance (9 euro) and also to make a voluntary contribution to help pay for some extra things (14 euro for the year). We were glad to contribute. Last week we sent in 4 euro to pay for a fund-raising calendar Kelly brought home. We appreciate that she’s able to be part of the school and has been warmly accepted by the teachers and her classmates.

We also now know that based on her age Kelly really should have been placed in the first year of “collège,” the next level of school. The collège is in Apt (about 20 minutes away) and serves this entire region—it’s much larger and much more strenuous. Classes are held from 8:00 am to 5:00 pm Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, and then four hours on Saturday mornings. At collège the children take a variety of different classes and have a few hours of homework a night. (Kelly has no homework.) We’ve become friendly with an American family with an eleven-year old daughter who attends the collège in Apt. (Their eight-year old son is Kelly’s classmate.) Alana was at the Bonnieux village school the first two years they lived here, and Lisa (the mom) told me that collège is dramatically different. There are eleven classes at Alana’s level. Since Kelly is very much a beginner in the French language, we all think collège would have been too much in many ways. Especially since we’re just here for six months, it’s much better for her to be at the local village school.

A Comfortable Routine

And so we have settled into a comfortable routine for our 28 weeks in Provence, largely driven by Kelly’s school schedule. With a daughter in school, we’re not exactly tourists anymore. The lunch menu for the week is posted every Monday morning, and we’ve asked Kelly to find at least one day a week that she can eat at school. The cantine serves a reasonably priced three-course meal—entrée, main course and dessert for 2.57 euro—but much of the food doesn’t appeal to Kelly. She doesn’t eat fish, sausages, veal or lamb—all of which show up regularly on the menu. She doesn’t want to be conspicuous by not eating the food—and she doesn’t want to not eat! Although staying at school gives her more social time with her friends, I also know she enjoys coming home at lunch for an hour break… a bowl of soup or a sandwich and the chance to read her current book. When she eats at school, though, Charley and I have a whole day to do something more substantial. On Tuesday of this week (steak hache et frites at the cantine) we drove 50 minutes to Aix-en-Provence for the wonderful outdoor market, a leisurely lunch on the Cours Mirabeau, and some shopping. We easily made it back to Bonnieux to pick Kelly up at 4:30.

Three days a week we stay closer to home. Our house is an eight-minute drive to the village school, winding down little country lanes, through the vineyards and orchards, and then around the narrow one-way streets of the village. Charley normally takes Kelly in the morning. He often stops at one of the boulangeries on his way home to buy freshly-baked bread and croissants. He does chores and projects in the morning, while I work on our computer. (Today he’s outside working on almonds again, getting the remaining nuts off our best trees.) Charley brings Kelly home for lunch, and we all eat together in our yellow kitchen. I normally take Kelly back after lunch and pick her up at the end of the day. That gives Charley the use of the computer in the afternoon while I have a few hours for my chores and projects. I’m reading a lot, and I like fixing dinner. One day a week we normally drop Kelly off together and drive into Apt for our major grocery shopping expedition at the big Leclerc. We also enjoy going to at least one of the weekly outdoor markets for fresh produce and cheese. Charley and I try to take a long walk every few days—we desperately need exercise to offset all the bread we’re eating! This past Monday we walked from our house along the twisty D109 road up into the village of Lacoste, then back along the foot of the Petit Luberon on the D3—a brisk hour’s walk on a crisp, clear day.

On Wednesdays we have a structured home school day, using the textbooks that Kelly’s class is using in sixth grade at home. Charley has the morning session—they work together on science and math. (Yesterday as I worked upstairs at the desk in the sunny hallway, I heard them downstairs doing science… very seriously discussing about volcanoes and earthquakes.) They work together beginning at 9:00 for about two hours. We break in the middle of the day and have decided to use this time for an excursion—a little field trip or perhaps a lunch out somewhere. Yesterday we ended up going to an Asian restaurant in the village of Coustellet—Chinese, Vietnamese and Thai food…. an interesting experience to interpret an Asian menu in French! We had a wonderful meal… lots of food at a reasonable price. We had so much to eat at lunch that we just had soup for dinner.

In the afternoon, sometime around 3:00 pm, Kelly and I have our session—literature, writing, vocabulary, social studies. We both assign a fair amount of homework, and Kelly works on this diligently through the week. I noticed last week that she had put together a little plan for which homework she would do every day. I’ve assigned a major research project that she has two months to work on—she picked the topic “The Landscape and Culture of Provence”. She’s working on her research and assembling information—she’ll put together a poster board and a notebook, and then give an oral presentation. She loved going to Office Depot in Avignon to get the supplies for this project, and it’s helping her gain a deeper understanding of Provence.

One of Kelly’s assignments the past two weeks was to write a piece for the blog about her experiences at school. Here’s her own story of a typical day in her new school life.

My Average French School Day (by Kelly)

I wake up at 7:15 this morning, because today is a shower day. (I take a one every other day now). At about 8:35, my dad takes me to school, so I can be there by 8:50, and on time. I have a few minutes to play with my friends. This morning I decide to sit on the steps (of the school) and look at their binders full of Diddl paper. I get a few sheets, and trade one or two. Around nine o’clock, I hear the bell ring and run to the steps.

Diddl is paper that comes in blocks of about a hundred and each different block has a different design or scent on it. There are several animals or characters, but the main ones are two mice with very big feet called Diddl and Diddlina.

There are three classes at school. One class has the five and six year olds. Another class has the seven and eight year olds. In my class, there are nine, ten and eleven year olds. My teacher, Monsieur Grimaud, teaches two different classes. I imagine the other teachers do the same, but I’m not sure.

My class lines up on the left side of the steps. I look around for Chloë, one of my good friends here. I find her, and hold my hand out.

You see, at my school (here in France), we line up two kids across in lines. When I got there, I learned that people like to hold out their hands to show you that they want you to be their partner in the line.

We go into the hall after hearing Mr. Grimaud, my “maître” (master, teacher) and principal, tells us to go on, “avance”, and wait to hear it again. We hear it twice again before being able to go into our classroom, and still have to wait for the order “asseyez vous,” which means seat yourself. Mr. Grimaud starts off teaching the other class, and the kids in my class start their French.

There are only four kids in my class, CM2. They are all boys except me, and their names are David, Quentin and Dimitri.

I start reading my book, and after about ten minutes, Mr. Grimaud remembers that he hasn’t given me two French crosswords yet. I see that he notices and put up my book. He asks me to read some of the words of the crossword: talon, phoque, fourmi, pompe, pompier, parapluie, and tirelire are some of the ones I read out loud. These words mean; heel, seal, ant, gas pump, firefighter, umbrella, and piggy bank. Mr. Grimaud and the boys go over part of the French lesson while I do my crosswords. When I finish, I start my math. Most of it is geometry and very easy to understand. After Mr. Grimaud finishes teaching the boys, he switches to the other class, and the boys finish their French and start on math.

“Sortie!” my teacher says. Everybody almost immediately stops working and goes outside. I head to a three sided shelter where usually about ten or fifteen kids go and play games such as 1,2,3 Maison Poulet, or chicken house/hen coop*. Another game is le pêcheur**. A pêcheur is a fisherman. A third game is called iceberg *** which is obviously; iceberg in English. So I play one or two of those games until I hear the bell again. After we get back to our classroom, my group starts working on our math again. Then after we finish our work we do what we like.

Usually after they finish their work, the boys draw weird looking people, or try to make each other laugh. I usually read.

Before I know it, it’s 12:00. But just because we’re supposed to get out at twelve doesn’t mean that we do. I put up my book and look at my watch, and the other class’s progress in doing their work. Mr. Grimaud always lets us out late. Always! Eventually he lets us out, about ten or fifteen minutes late. I walk quickly to the gate, and don’t see my mom or dad. But I do see Mrs. Thompson. “I think he might be in the car,” she says to me. I head to the car, and of course he is.

“Ready for lunch?” he asks me. “Of course,” I answer.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

That is what my average French school morning is like. As for the rest of the day, I have to be back to school by 1:30. School ends at 4:30, and we don’t have school on Wednesday, Saturday or Sunday. Every Thursday we have music. We have just started singing the song “Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home…” The other kids sing the words with a very French accent. Every two or three weeks, we go to the bibliothèque (library). There are several English-speaking (first language) kids in my school. There is me. Then there is Andrew Thompson. He is 8 years old. Both of his parents are American, but he was born in Switzerland, and went to an International School, until he and his parents and sister moved here three years ago. His sister Alana is my age, but attends the middle school in Apt, about twenty minutes away. We have had breakfast with them once, and are going to have a Thanksgiving dinner with them and another family. There are two little Canadian boys in the school, whose mother and father moved here with them for 8 months to see if they liked it in Provence, and if they were ready to make a move to a different country and continent.

School is hard in a way, because of the language, but the work isn’t. I am learning the language though. I have made lots of friends, some who are in the younger classes. I enjoy school here, and I’m getting into the routine.

I hope you enjoy what I wrote about my school!!

The Games We Play (by Kelly)

*1,2,3, Maison Poulet - It is like a game called Sharks and Minnows,(an American game) except when you get tagged, you are it and try to tag someone else before they get to the other side. Obviously the shark is a fox or wolf, and the minnows are chickens or hens.

**Le Pêcheur - First you split into groups, usually boys against girls. One group starts off first being the fisherman’s net. For instance the girls are the net first. They pick a number so that the other group can’t hear it (boys) and make a circle by holding hands. Maybe your number is huit (eight). So you count to your number. While you are counting the fish (other group) are weaving in and out, back and forth under your arms. When you get to eight, the net bends and catches whoever is in there if there is someone. If someone gets caught, his or her group becomes the net and you start over.

*** Le Iceberg - This game is played like this: there is the person who is it. The person is a cold wind. The other people are running from the cold wind. When you get tagged, it is like the cold wind is freezing you. Then when they get a chance or want to, the other people un-tag you or melt you. So it goes on, and on, until people switch places with the cold wind.