On The Road Again Almost Heaven West Virginia

Cheat  Lake, Morgantown, West Virginia

 For this trip I packed more pharmaceuticals than clothing.  After working  long and hard  to find doctors who could sort out my health issues that unfortunately started in France last summer, I finally managed  to  assemble what I call my medical dream team. I am still not 100 per cent  okay but am  definitely getting closer. My anxiety about traveling in a more vulnerable body profoundly  upset me, but I decided that I really wanted to see my sister's family in  Morgantown, West Virginia and our kids in New York City. So off I flew armed with a pharmacy of digestive aids plus my usual medications.  At JFK where we changed planes to fly to Pittsburgh to rent a car to  drive to my nephew's house, we grabbed lunch. By the way, there is no easy way to get to Morgantown, West Virginia.  Having adopted  the FODMAP diet my gastro doctor suggested a few weeks ago,  I knew lunch at the airport would be a challenge.  The FODMAP diet  was created by researchers at Monash  University in Australia. In my opinion, Australia is the continent from which all progressive health research hails as well as my wonderful daughter-in -law. FODMAP  is  a long acronym for a list of foods the small intestine absorbs poorly. Please look into it if you suffer from digestive distress.  My Internet print out of the FODMAP   "eat this" and "don't eat that" diet  has now become  my daily food guide to better digestive health.  Studying carefully the choices at  the Croque  Madame food mart at JFK, I selected a no frills egg salad sandwich.  Back at my table, I took out  my digestive distress meds. One of the airport employees charged with clearing tables noticed  the meds and offered to bring me a cup in which to pour the water from  my water bottle.  I felt  so touched by her genuine  kindness  and thanked her profusely. She also decided we needed napkins and brought those as well. Who says New Yorkers are not friendly? Ha, ha  I thought here lies a silver lining of my new unwelcomed  need to pay closer attention to my diet

Upon arrival at my nephew's house, I retrieved my Amazon package containing a personal smoothie blender,  brown rice protein powder recommended by  my newly purchased FODMAP Cook Book , and Fody gut friendly granola bars.  I set about making an almond milk peanut butter, banana, protein smoothie,  my latest daily FODMAP friendly staple.  One of my nephews asked me about the smoothie. Turns out he really enjoys the same combo of ingredients.  After accepting my offer to make him a smoothie, he drank my FODMAP friendly smoothie with obvious enjoyment. Then my niece asked to try it so I gave her some of mine. Then her toddler wanted a taste. He loved it hereby  making today the  day of his first  official smoothie.  Soon, my other niece expressed interest in the smoothie. I promised her one for a  pre Thanksgiving dinner  snack tomorrow. So my incredibly frustrating stomach troubles which took so long to diagnose gave me yet another unexpected gift.  I truly have much for which to be thankful.  And maybe Aunt Giselle's smoothies will become a new Thanksgiving family tradition.

Back Home

I originally planned to spend the summer in France, but my body made other plans.  After dealing with stomach issues for about 6 weeks, I finally decided it was time to give up and go home. I learned a lot about the French medical system and will share some information about it here.

Au Revoir

 Fortunately, I could get doctors'  appointments quickly in Monflanquin. The initial visit cost 25 euros which the local doctor collected himself. He referred me to a gastroenterologist in another larger town. The gastro doctor asked me immediately if I live alone in France.  The question felt invasive to me as an American. Yes, I explained  that my husband had gone back to the states. The doctor seemed very concerned about this. Who would I contact in an emergency?  But was my problem so serious that he felt I might easily  find myself in an emergency situation?  I assured him I knew a lot of people in the village.  His concern about my being alone did not make me feel better.

He then requested my blood works results. Didn't he get them online? No, I was supposed to hand carry them to him.  News to me. He became annoyed when I asked him to check my blood work results online. French doctors don't get access to this information. Patients are supposed to go to the lab web site, print off the results, and hand carry them to the doctor.  Computers don't seem to play a large part in the life of a French doctor. When the gastroenterologist decided to prescribe me some medication, he took out a gigantic red medical book and looked up the dosage  information.  He then gave me a sealed envelope to hand carry to the doctor that referred me to him. Inside was a letter describing his diagnosis.

After the physical exam, the gastroenterologist  decided I should get a stool sample analysis, a stomach x ray, and a colonoscopy. He did not even suggest waiting to see if the prescribed medications would help. Apparently, this is the French way.  Overkill. Do every test imaginable immediately. I decided to wait and see if the medications would work, and they did help a little but not enough. In the meantime,  my  wonderful and kind English friend Jan who is a nurse  reassured me with information I could understand.   But I continued to feel really uneasy about my health, homesick for my family,  anxious and sad. Something clearly was off.  One  American friend asked me why I needed to be a "hero" and stay all summer just because I had originally planned to do so. So  yes I gave up. I booked a flight to NYC   to spend  time with family and then  another flight to Portland to go home.  How did I feel about leaving? Regretful of course, but I knew I had made the right decision.  It was time to be kind  to myself, to go home, and get medical attention in the context of a health care system I could understand.  By the way, despite my competency in French, I felt very lost trying to understand the French medical terms.

Finally, I learned a few important lessons this summer which I will share to benefit others who may become ill while traveling.  I do realize my situation this summer  was unique because I living in a village among people I know. But here goes:

1. If you don't feel well in another country,  get medical care immediately even if you don't speak the language and want to avoid the hassle, inconvenience. and expense. Find a translator. Don't wait! Forget the sightseeing plans.

2. Allow yourself to be vulnerable and ask for help. Don't feel you have to put on a front. Just because you are on vacation doesn't mean real life stops.  

3. Ask for what you need be it from the local pharmacy, your traveling companions, neighbors, friends, and even strangers. Cry if you need to. I think I did freak out my French friends who never get to see me upset, but so be it.  They all reacted with concern and compassion.

4.If you feel you have tried everything, just go home and take care of yourself. Don't let pride, shame , or stubbornness stand in your way.

I am  truly burned out from my  first ever being sick experience in Monflanquin this summer.  I am going home to Portland to sort out my health issues.  Although, it is very  hard to accept that I was so unhappy in my usual happy place, I do accept it.  And despite all of the suffering, I did manage to make new friends and grow closer to people who have known me a very long time.  In addition,  I learned a lot about the French health care system. But most important of all, I  was reminded that it is okay to give up when a situation becomes physically and emotionally  overwhelming and go back to the familiarity and comfort of home.

A Tribute to Older French Women

Older French women invite you to Sunday lunch. Plan on sitting at the table at least five hours. They serve course after course passing the bread pouring the wine.  In between bites, conversation about everything and nothing fills the room.  As memory begins to fail,  much gets repeated. I usually don't mind. It makes for an

authentic French lesson. Older French women serves dishes like the ones pictured below. Nothing comes ready made out of a box. Everything is fresh and fresh tasting.

Pea and bean salad

Charlotte aux fraises

Very sadly this summer something weird  is going on with my digestive system, and I can't eat with my usual abandon.  Amazingly these older French women who are in their late seventies and early eighties can.

My sweet neighbor Marie-Therese who is 86 years old told me yesterday that she drinks a cup of coffee before bedtime every night and sleeps like a baby. What is her secret???  I love living next door to her, and although I  often don't understand half of what she says due to a very thick regional accent, I always file away a tip for how to age with grace.  We often meet spontaneously around 9:30 P.M.  I tend to water my potted plants at that hour. She goes for a short stroll at the end of the lane to look at the sky and see what the weather holds for us  tomorrow. No Google weather  forecasts for her.

So many older French women live alone in the village. I can easily think of a dozen.  They keep up with their friends and families and continue to invite people for the traditional Sunday lunch. And even if I can no longer partake as I used to, I admire their  unfailing tenacity in preserving this very old and honored French tradition.

 

OMG I BOUGHT A CAR

 Here I am behind the wheel of my new to me used  automatic Toyota Aygo 2014.

It came with only 24,000 kilometers. I am still getting used to driving it, but it is really easy to manoeuver. Thankfully, its small size makes parking a breeze.

I did not arrive in France intending to buy a car, but it makes sense financially. Authentic Garage  which sold me the car is even willing to let me keep it on their lot after I go home. Also, a very kind friend has offered me her barn out in the country.

It is wonderful to no longer worry about the scratchy rental car. Europcar refunded me the money I had paid for the rest of the summer. Apparently, the repair of the scratch which I paid out of my own pocket met their approval.

 I am still learning something new about the car every day. I caused quite a scene at the gas station  Saturday when I couldn't figure out how to open the gas tank. We pump our own gas here. Luckily, my friend accompanying me thought to pull out the manual and located the correct button.   The driver behind me also helped.  I must say whenever I encounter a problem here, and I have encountered many this summer,  a patient kindly person appears to give me a hand for which I am truly grateful.

Trouble in Paradise

Not the normal blog post pictures.  Wednesday morning, I returned to my car parked in the car park close to my house to find someone had keyed both doors on the passenger side.  My first response was shock and disbelief. Who would do this in my little French village? Why?  Over the years, we would occasionally have trouble from bored teenagers.  In my former home here, a group of teenagers broke into our courtyard storage or "cave" as we call it,  fitted it with a bench they stole from the village, and used our little storage area as a smoking lounge. Clueless we wondered why we kept smelling cigarette smoke in our living room. It all  took a while to sort out, and finally we put a big padlock on the "cave."

After discovering the nasty scratch, I spent an hour and a half at the Gendarmerie. Three gendarmes came out to survey the damage. Nothing much ever happens in Monflanquin.  It was decided I should report this incident and fill out an official report.  The gendarme who took down all the information was very kind and dreamy looking. I emerged with a ton of papers. This seems to be the norm in France.

 Would my insurance cover this damage? Yes,  I did call and check, but I knew from a past rental car mishap, I would need to fill out a million forms, and provide all kinds of documents. Instead, I went to the local garage with its stellar reputation. The body work guy quoted me 250 euros for the repair. 

It seemed reasonable to me, and I knew the rental car agency would charge at least double. So be it. I did get the nasty scratch repaired at the local garage. It looks as good as new, and tomorrow I will return the car to the rental car agency in Bergerac.

However, my relationship with this garage named Authentic Garage (I don't know why) did not stop there.  Since each time I come to Monflanquin, my rental car bill totals at least $3000 due to my need for an automatic car hire which costs a lot more in Europe, Bill and I discussed the possibility of buying a used car to keep here. I asked Authentic Garage if they could find me a used automatic. Thinking, this would be highly unlikely and could take months, I was shocked to learn they had two automatic cars for sale on their lot. I set up an appointment to meet with Philippe, the designated used car salesman. Whatever you think about used car salesmen,  forget it. Philippe was so kind, patient, informative, and tuned in to what I need in a car, I dubbed him my professeur de voiture. As my car teacher, he showed me all the car features etc etc. As competent as I am in French, I don't do much car vocabulary.  I test drove the car and found it easy to drive.  And ???? To be continued in my next blog post.

Two Homelands

I am so pleased to be writing outdoors on our terrace. Last weekend, a special device (don't ask me the name, please) was installed to enable access to the Internet on the third floor of the house including the terrace. This changes everything. I can work from up here, regard Netflix, talk to friends and family on What's App, etc. 

It's been over a week now since Bill returned home to Beaverton.  Honestly, it has been rough without him.

He arrived here in Monflanquin with me so it is only now that I am finding my Monflanquin  rhythm again. I think living through a pandemic makes me more sensitive than usual to the absence of my safety net, i.e. Bill.  Right after he left, I knocked over a little lamp. The  light bulb broke but left its base stuck inside the lamp socket ,if you know what I mean.  When I posted this on the family What's App, the immediate reaction was unplug the lamp before doing anything else.  I felt torn: comforted that  nobody wanted me electrocuted and  miffed that of course, I know at least to unplug.  I needed pliers to get the remains of the light bulb out. Bill's  heavy tool box lives in a cupboard I can't even reach. So I found an accessible screw driver and proceeded to mangle the base in which the light bulb was stuck. Urgh!!!  Enough, I thought!  I need my own lightweight tool box. My best friend Amazon France provided me with a few options.

I chose this one because I  actually understand the use of what's in it , and part of the purchase money goes to breast cancer research. It is  truly portable and easy to store within arm's reach. During the week, I reached for it to make a highly important repair. My mask adjustment piece had fallen off leaving my mask too loose. To get the piece back on, I would have normally used a crochet hook which I do not own here.  One of the pointy screwdrivers made for an excellent substitute. My ladies' tool kit  came to the rescue and was worth the money!

I am also missing someone with whom to share dilemmas.  Those who live alone can perhaps offer advice. I am fortunate to have  many wonderful friends in the village, but it is not quite the same as having an inhouse resident with whom to bounce off ideas, doubts, fears, and reflections. Luckily, texts and phone calls help alleviate this problem with the US/France time difference taken into consideration.

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I promised to write more about Cafe Philo.  David, a retired  American philosophy professor opened this combination book shop/coffee shop in 2020.  His wife Margaret gives him a hand  when she is not  teaching online.  The shop is filled with philosophy books as well as novels, cook books, and really  books of all genres. Most books are in English, but one section is devoted to French books. My favorite bit of the shop is a display table with philosophy books for children.   Augie, David and Margaret's dog plays a big part in the Cafe Philo experience. He is just as friendly and welcoming as the shops owners.  David and Margaret kindly displayed  my book, MY LITTLE FRENCH VILLAGE in both French and English, in

the  Cafe Philo front window.

Appropriately, I will leave you with a  philosophy question.  If anyone out there has two homes or two homelands, two places that call to the heart,  have part of your heart in two places, how do you reconcile the two home experience?

   It is very tricky as Bill and my dog are in Beaverton, and I am here  by myself in my beautiful French village. Thoughts? 

 

Looking back from Cafe Philo in Monflanquin

View from Cafe Philo

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 It's the last day of May. I left home May 7. It does not seem that long ago.  When we finally got to the Chopin Airport in Warsaw May 17, the agent told us we could not get on the plane to Toulouse because we did not have the correct Covid Test. We needed a PCR test rather than the rapid Covid Test we had taken in New York City.   I stared at the agent. I stared at Bill. To the agent, I presented my vaccination card. No, France does not care about your vaccinations.  I stared at Bill and the agent again.  It occurred to me to ask for the manager of Air France.  She arrived with the same story. If we boarded the plane without the PCR Test,  Air France would be fined. Well, we can't have that,  I thought.  Clearly, we would now miss our flight and be obliged to find a Covid testing facility in Warsaw. I pictured me and Bill, already overtired, hauling our suitcases all over Warsaw in search of a health center. Luckily and amazingly, we found a Covid testing center across from the departure gates in a Marriot Courtyard Hotel.   We filled out confusing Polish forms, got jabbed, and looked forward to getting the results online in 24 hours. In the meantime, we needed a place to spend the night. I rebooked our flight by phone as there is no Air France desk at the Chopin Airport.  The person who handed me the confusing Polish health center forms showed me how to call Air France with my American cell phone.  Rebooking turned out to be super easy and free of charge.  Now, where to stay? We asked about rates at the Marriot Courtyard and immediately reserved a room for the night.  Once installed in our room, we felt comfortable and safe and grudgingly accepted we would not be flying to France until the following day. We ordered room service which I never do, but now deemed a necessity as Covid restrictions in Poland, prevented us from dining in restaurants.  We spent the day reading, watching Netflix, and looking for our test results online.  Fortunately, we got them around dinner time and printed them at the hotel's business center. We dined wearing blankets on the hotel's terrace.  That afternoon, I insisted on walking around the deserted airport for exercise. At the one open coffee spot, I engaged in conversation with the barista. I don't know how but the subject of Jews in Poland came up. According to the barista, Poland does not acknowledge Jews. They are culturally invisible.  They don't exist. She told us she herself is Jewish.  I decided if I were further detained at the airport, I would come back to interview her. 

More about Cafe Philo in my next post......

Eating Our Way Through Warsaw

• Enjoying a snack on a lovely pedestrian street in Warsaw.
• All of Poland rejoices as outdoor dining resumes luckily the day we arrive.

Bill enjoys Polish breakfast

 

So happy to drink coffee

 Still unsure of what lies ahead at the Polish border, we play tourist and visit the Warsaw Museum of Culture and Science near our hotel. A cool creepy exhibit about world wide spiders fascinates us. We amuse ourselves by finding each spider in its cage though many elude us.

Warming beetroot soup

As we make our way to Old Town,  we get caught in an unexpected downpour. What to do? Eat lunch and wait it out. My choice of warm beetroot  soup in a mug accompanied by cheese and potato pierogi hit the spot.  

I am on a mission to find some amber for which Poland is known for my sister.  In each shop, we enter we are ignored by shop keepers on their phones. It seems to me that they got out of the habit of having many  or any customers due to Covid restrictions. Fortunately, Poland will slowly transition  to a new normal with tourists and shoppers.

That evening Bill craves Mexican food which suits his vegetarian or as I call it "cheese-atarian"  diet.  Amazingly, we find FRIDA within walking distance of our hotel.  I order a Polish bloody Mary and am happy to find both vegetarian and vegan options. I am neither but am in the habit of approaching meals with a non meat mind set as we now have both a vegan and a vegetarian in the family.

Mexican food at Frida's

A Polish Bloody Mary

Something for everyone

What would Frida Kahlo think?

We thoroughly enjoy Frida's, and on this is our last night in Warsaw, we pause to consider our good fortune to be able to travel.  Onward to France!

So many Fridas

 

Starting Out JFK to Warsaw

 

I left Portland May 7 on the red eye to New York City to visit the kids before heading out to Poland then France. Uncharacteristically,  I ordered a smoky bloody Mary at Deschutes Brewery in the terminal. I must be cocktail deprived. It tasted earthy, smoky, and  qualified for the best Bloody Mary ever. I felt liberated, freed from an unknown pandemic restraint. Savoring each lusty sip, I thought about the upcoming plan to enter France once again through the side door with my EU Polish passport. Was I any calmer than last year ? More confident perhaps, because the plan worked once before. But so much uncertainty  about regulations and restrictions in both Poland and France filled me with dread. Did I bring the right documents?  Would Bill with his unwelcomed American passport be allowed in?

Our first  series of hurdles took place in JFK at Lot Airline's check in to Warsaw, Poland.We needed the PCR test not the Rapid Covid test we provided. Fortunately, our vaccination cards helped, and the agent relented. Next our luggage turned out to weigh too much for carry on Lot Airlines. To avoid paying two checked baggage fees, Bill managed to stuff 3 kilos from his suitcase into mine. All that exertion must  have elevated his body temperature because the Covid testing thermometer turned red. The agent looked at me, and said he can't travel. She tried several more times. Finally, he got the green light.  Unlike the silver lining of traveling in September 2020 where we enjoyed rows to ourselves, this flight was ridiculously full. Moreover, the number of people improperly wearing a mask infuriated me. Honestly, I feel quite violent about it.  Hide those noses, people.  Also, wear compression stockings, ladies. Those swollen ankles look so unnecessarily painful.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

 What a day!  Quite nervously, I  had driven  to Woodburn for my first dose of  the  Covid 19  vaccine courtesy of Moderna.  It was not the vaccine that made me jumpy but driving on the freeway. I hardly drive at all these days and  am always fearful of freeway driving.  The French system of autoroutes with  roundabouts  feels more comfortable to me especially after driving extensively around Monflanquin during my last two visits. But, I needed to get that vaccine, was fortunate to get the vaccine appointment, so off I went to Woodburn.

Later that day, I was happy to be home and snacking on apple and cheese in the kitchen when suddenly I became aware of a  persistent  and foreign rapping sound.  I got up and walked toward the direction of the sound. Much to my horror, I spotted Maggy behind the tall window adjacent to the front door. But she was outside instead of inside.  Maggy can go out to the back yard as she wishes through her dog door. The back yard is thoroughly enclosed. How the heck had she managed to get outside to the front door? As I let her back into the house, I stared at her with astonishment and bewilderment. Was this dog really Maggy? I checked her markings.  Yes, those markings were indeed Maggy, and that dog was not a  double but indeed Maggy herself.

I flew to the backyard. It took only minutes before I spotted the problem. Several boards  of the fence had rotted along  the side where Bill keeps his canoe which blocks the view of this part of the fence. A big gap stood open providing the explanation for Maggy's escape into the neighbors yard with access to the street.  My mind went immediately into creative problem solving  mode. Bill was in New York so the logical solution of fence repair would have to wait.  I remembered the baby gates which we keep who knows why. One of the gates provided perfect blocking of the rotted fence board gap. For good measure, I added two lounge chairs, against the baby gate, a wheel barrow on its side further down to discourage exploring. Against the wheel barrow went two spiky dog  furniture deterrents. Way down on the opposite side, I placed another baby gate and a broom for good measure. Yes, I love this dog with all my heart and all my soul. Just the idea that she had escaped horrified me.  But then the fact that Maggy  politely and persistently rapped on the front door to be let in made me laugh. She could have gone off anywhere, but chose to come home to her two square meals, doggy treats, warm bed, and family.  My opinion of Maggy's intelligence increased dramatically after this incident. She can find her way home and know to knock on the door to be let in. What next? Maybe I could teach her to ring the front door bell.

Drink Up!

After being told by health care providers  for the upteenth time that I need to drink more water,  I decided to purchase this 64 oz motivational water bottle.  With it's cheery water level marks, the bottle gives me undivided attention throughout the day. My favorite is "Do it for yourself" at 9 A.M. Of course, why would I think to drink 64 oz of water for anyone else? The 7 A.M. GOOD MORNING in caps strikes me as endearing especially during a pandemic. Clearly, this water bottle is my new best friend.

64 oz motivational water bottle

 As drinking water bores me unless the temperature reaches 80 degrees,   I find it helps to add fruit to the bottle. Not only does the fruit provide flavor, color, and verve, but  I can munch on the edibles at the end of the day.  Frozen raspberries turn the water into a beautiful still life and and  add a nice zing.  Frozen blueberries give it the blues which unfortunately feels like too much.  Oranges and tangerines  reliably  transform the water into a supplemental source of vitamin C.

Best of all, I am happy to report this water bottle works. I never imagined ever being able to consume 64 oz of water daily, but now I do. Bill claims the water bottle must be designed for giants. Yes, it can be awkward to shlep around, but it's cap handle  design allows amazingly sturdy and trustworthy portability.  Why does this water bottle work for me? it makes me feel accountable. I don't want to disappoint its encouraging messages.  One thing I know about myself is that if you tell me something is homework, I do it. It must be the teacher in me.

So drink up, folks.  L'chaim!