Later today the phone line will be disconnected and my year in France will be nearly at an end. So this is my last post from France.
There will be more posts on the blog to come when I return to the UK. I want to sum up the year and also fill in a few of the gaps - thoughts I have jotted down in notebooks and on my computer, but never got round to posting here.
I have a busy two days of packing and cleaning, but I feel that I've ended my year on a good note and I am ready to return to the UK.
On Tuesday evening we were taken out for dinner by a French couple who have become good friends. Although I have been plagued by wildly ambivalent feelings about our return, during the meal I thought "I really don't want to go back" and I suddenly felt very much at ease and ready to return.
I guess one of the feelings that had plagued me was a nagging doubt that I wasn't entirely comfortable in France. On Tuesday night that doubt evaporated.
I felt that I would be okay if I didn't go back to the UK - that I could live in either place. I'm not sure I can explain these feelings any more, but it has given me a real sense of peace.
One final thing I want to clear up before I log off is about the NHS and health care in Europe. I've noticed that a few people in the USA have found this blog via a web search - perhaps in response to the huge debates around health care in their country at the moment.
I am critical of some things about the NHS and have found the French system to be better is some ways. However, I do love the NHS very dearly - as do 99.9% of the British population.
My criticisms of some aspects of the NHS and my involvement with Crohn's and Colitis patient organisations and health care pressure groups in the UK are to make the NHS better - and to keep private health care out of the NHS.
My main grumble is that there is too much emphasis on budgets, internal markets and cost-efficiency in the NHS. I believe health care only works for everyone as a public service not as a business.
Having read accounts from young, middle or working class americans getting ill with Crohn's disease, I know I would probably have died or bankrupted my parents - or both - if I had grown up across the Atlantic.
If I was a US citizen and I had survived, I would be knocking on doors 24/7 arguing for health care reform.
There - I hope that is clear.
Au revoir!
Friday, 14 August 2009
Wednesday, 5 August 2009
Au revoir to friends
These last two weeks are about saying goodbye to our year in France and starting to focus on resuming life in the UK.
Yesterday I had conversations with an insurance broker, a very helpful BT call centre person (who I’m sure kept putting me on hold to eat their lunch) and someone in the overseas pensions office in Newcastle.
I’d forgotten how very easy it is to speak to people in English. I’m hoping everything is sorted out. Not surprisingly, buying a telephone line was much easier than cancelling our old one last year.
Last week we spend two excellent days with French friends we have made during the year. On Wednesday we drove west along the coast to see the American cemetery at Colleville-sur-mer, the Pointe du Hoc and Utah beach – so completing our D-Day visits.
We ended up at the old port of St Vaast la Hougue, once an important strategic naval base, somewhere we had really wanted to visit all year. Afterwards, we were invited back for dinner.
On Friday, another couple took us for a drive round the hilly region of Suisse Normande. Again, this was somewhere we were keen to see, but our reliance on public transport made difficult.
It was nice to tick these places off our ‘must see’ list, but the days out were a perfect opportunity to say “au revoir” to friends - and to invite them to visit us in Brighton.
The fact that we have met so many French people and made friends with some of them is a real bonus. We have learned so much more about France, its culture and its history because we have spent time with an interesting cross-section of French society.
It is said that it takes time to get to know French people. I think that’s probably true. The different stages and formalities are different to what I’m used to. I’m sure also, that I have done or said the wrong thing at the wrong time and that may be why some acquaintances did not turn into friends – or perhaps they just didn’t like me!
One obvious stage is the “tutoyer” stage, when it is agreed to used the informal “tu” form of saying “you”, rather than the formal “vous”. To use “tu” without this agreement can be seen as a huge insult. To be asked “Et on se tutoyie ?” - how about if we use "tu" with one another? – is a significant signpost on the route to friendship.
Of, course, joining many groups gives you the automatic right to “tutoyer” – like amongst football fans, students and in political groups. I guess it would be strange or even offensive to use “vous” in such situations.
If this process towards friendship is complex in terms of language, at least there is a code. The non-verbal cues and behaviours remain quite unclear to me. But I think I’ve done okay.
A smile, a firm handshake, looking people in the eye, waiting to sit down until you’re told to, not eating until others do, never refusing an offer of food or drink and always offering to reciprocate – these things seem to work in all cultures.
Yesterday I had conversations with an insurance broker, a very helpful BT call centre person (who I’m sure kept putting me on hold to eat their lunch) and someone in the overseas pensions office in Newcastle.
I’d forgotten how very easy it is to speak to people in English. I’m hoping everything is sorted out. Not surprisingly, buying a telephone line was much easier than cancelling our old one last year.
Last week we spend two excellent days with French friends we have made during the year. On Wednesday we drove west along the coast to see the American cemetery at Colleville-sur-mer, the Pointe du Hoc and Utah beach – so completing our D-Day visits.
We ended up at the old port of St Vaast la Hougue, once an important strategic naval base, somewhere we had really wanted to visit all year. Afterwards, we were invited back for dinner.
On Friday, another couple took us for a drive round the hilly region of Suisse Normande. Again, this was somewhere we were keen to see, but our reliance on public transport made difficult.
It was nice to tick these places off our ‘must see’ list, but the days out were a perfect opportunity to say “au revoir” to friends - and to invite them to visit us in Brighton.
The fact that we have met so many French people and made friends with some of them is a real bonus. We have learned so much more about France, its culture and its history because we have spent time with an interesting cross-section of French society.
It is said that it takes time to get to know French people. I think that’s probably true. The different stages and formalities are different to what I’m used to. I’m sure also, that I have done or said the wrong thing at the wrong time and that may be why some acquaintances did not turn into friends – or perhaps they just didn’t like me!
One obvious stage is the “tutoyer” stage, when it is agreed to used the informal “tu” form of saying “you”, rather than the formal “vous”. To use “tu” without this agreement can be seen as a huge insult. To be asked “Et on se tutoyie ?” - how about if we use "tu" with one another? – is a significant signpost on the route to friendship.
Of, course, joining many groups gives you the automatic right to “tutoyer” – like amongst football fans, students and in political groups. I guess it would be strange or even offensive to use “vous” in such situations.
If this process towards friendship is complex in terms of language, at least there is a code. The non-verbal cues and behaviours remain quite unclear to me. But I think I’ve done okay.
A smile, a firm handshake, looking people in the eye, waiting to sit down until you’re told to, not eating until others do, never refusing an offer of food or drink and always offering to reciprocate – these things seem to work in all cultures.
Monday, 27 July 2009
A foreigner in a foreign land
Growing up in and around London, I had some grasp of the difficulties people experience when they change cultures and emigrate to the UK. Having lived in France for a year, I think my understanding has grown a little.
I am not thinking about the impact of racism or xenophobia – although attitudes towards ‘les Anglais’ are complex, nuanced and shaped by historical events – but I am thinking about the small things of everyday life.
First there is an overwhelming sense of being somewhere foreign. The language is different, the customs are different and the institutions run in a different way. Often the most disorienting experiences are when a difference that you don’t expect jumps up and slaps you round the face – for me, the most alarming was the totally different style of language teaching. It was my only incident (so far) of total meltdown.
Language, of course, is key. My partner understands and speaks French at a very high level – higher than many French university students. However, when she returns to our home, she is desperate to speak English – her native tongue.
It is not that she dislikes speaking French, refuses to integrate into French society or chooses to disrespect France in any way. Simply, speaking English allows her to express herself with ease and to express exactly what she means and feels without any risk of being misunderstood.
Some French philosophers of language have railed against youth culture and its “corruption” of the true French language. They claim that one can only truly express one’s true self and be a fully-developed human being if you speak French properly, using all the tenses and grammar correctly.
Although I think their argument is elitist and reactionary tosh used in this context, I do think it gives some insight for those living in a country where they do not speak the native tongue. I have felt a huge frustration in not being able to express myself and my ideas to the people I have met. They have not seen or heard the real me.
I can understand how people living in a foreign country can become isolated, depressed and submerge themselves in familiar customs and pastimes from home. This is particularly true for those who haven’t travelled to work or study – those, like me, who are ‘the housewife’.
At all times, it was important for me to put my experience in perspective, to focus on the excitement and opportunities of my year away and to remember that it was just a year. If we had been staying permanently, I would have had to form different expectations and done things differently – like regular work or volunteering.
We chose to spend time with mainly French people. However, when we did meet others from the English-speaking world, I could understand how mixing with others with similar origins becomes an opportunity for immigrant people to rediscover their true selves – a feeling of liberation, mixed in with the sadness and sense of loss that one gets with nostalgia.
Another specific factor for me was having a long-term health condition. Although France has a magnificent health system, it was an unfamiliar one. I believed that I would be well looked after (and I have been), but I was always plagued with the anxiety that something would go wrong and I wouldn’t know how to access the help or advice I needed. That suddenly one of those unexpected differences would rear its ugly head and throw everything into chaos.
Throughout the year, I have had glimpses of how the experience of living in a foreign country could turn into a negative and self-destructive one. Loss of familiarity, belonging and identity is depressing and can turn into an alienation from society and a contempt for these different ways and of the local people.
It’s a sad, but understandable process – whether you’re someone come to work in the UK or a British ‘ex-pat’ gone to retire in Spain or work in some far-flung corner of a former empire.
I think I brought with me some skills that helped me profit from the year and avoid the negativity. Language was not one of them – although a higher level of French would have really helped!
A level of self-awareness and constructive self-criticism was useful to continually re-adjust and re-focus as time went on – because everything changes all the time.
I am quite experienced at setting myself goals and coming up with achievable small steps to reach those goals. Again, with everything changing all the time, small steps are what work – or not, and that’s where the self-awareness comes in to readjust those steps and goals.
Eventually, I devised a routine that, although I wasn’t working, meant that I was using my time productively with a good mix of going out, staying in, physical activities, mental activities and creativity. Without overstretching my rather fragile body, of course.
When I look back on the year one achievement was to survive a year in France, but I achieved a lot of other things too.
At the moment, I believe that I am managing my Crohn’s disease better than I ever have done before, something that is very pleasing. However, I am just a little anxious that I will struggle to take this achievement back to the UK with me.
I need to remember that there will be some reverse culture shock when I return – but I have shown I have the skills and temperament to overcome that. There will not be the issue of language and, for that, I am hugely relieved.
I am not thinking about the impact of racism or xenophobia – although attitudes towards ‘les Anglais’ are complex, nuanced and shaped by historical events – but I am thinking about the small things of everyday life.
First there is an overwhelming sense of being somewhere foreign. The language is different, the customs are different and the institutions run in a different way. Often the most disorienting experiences are when a difference that you don’t expect jumps up and slaps you round the face – for me, the most alarming was the totally different style of language teaching. It was my only incident (so far) of total meltdown.
Language, of course, is key. My partner understands and speaks French at a very high level – higher than many French university students. However, when she returns to our home, she is desperate to speak English – her native tongue.
It is not that she dislikes speaking French, refuses to integrate into French society or chooses to disrespect France in any way. Simply, speaking English allows her to express herself with ease and to express exactly what she means and feels without any risk of being misunderstood.
Some French philosophers of language have railed against youth culture and its “corruption” of the true French language. They claim that one can only truly express one’s true self and be a fully-developed human being if you speak French properly, using all the tenses and grammar correctly.
Although I think their argument is elitist and reactionary tosh used in this context, I do think it gives some insight for those living in a country where they do not speak the native tongue. I have felt a huge frustration in not being able to express myself and my ideas to the people I have met. They have not seen or heard the real me.
I can understand how people living in a foreign country can become isolated, depressed and submerge themselves in familiar customs and pastimes from home. This is particularly true for those who haven’t travelled to work or study – those, like me, who are ‘the housewife’.
At all times, it was important for me to put my experience in perspective, to focus on the excitement and opportunities of my year away and to remember that it was just a year. If we had been staying permanently, I would have had to form different expectations and done things differently – like regular work or volunteering.
We chose to spend time with mainly French people. However, when we did meet others from the English-speaking world, I could understand how mixing with others with similar origins becomes an opportunity for immigrant people to rediscover their true selves – a feeling of liberation, mixed in with the sadness and sense of loss that one gets with nostalgia.
Another specific factor for me was having a long-term health condition. Although France has a magnificent health system, it was an unfamiliar one. I believed that I would be well looked after (and I have been), but I was always plagued with the anxiety that something would go wrong and I wouldn’t know how to access the help or advice I needed. That suddenly one of those unexpected differences would rear its ugly head and throw everything into chaos.
Throughout the year, I have had glimpses of how the experience of living in a foreign country could turn into a negative and self-destructive one. Loss of familiarity, belonging and identity is depressing and can turn into an alienation from society and a contempt for these different ways and of the local people.
It’s a sad, but understandable process – whether you’re someone come to work in the UK or a British ‘ex-pat’ gone to retire in Spain or work in some far-flung corner of a former empire.
I think I brought with me some skills that helped me profit from the year and avoid the negativity. Language was not one of them – although a higher level of French would have really helped!
A level of self-awareness and constructive self-criticism was useful to continually re-adjust and re-focus as time went on – because everything changes all the time.
I am quite experienced at setting myself goals and coming up with achievable small steps to reach those goals. Again, with everything changing all the time, small steps are what work – or not, and that’s where the self-awareness comes in to readjust those steps and goals.
Eventually, I devised a routine that, although I wasn’t working, meant that I was using my time productively with a good mix of going out, staying in, physical activities, mental activities and creativity. Without overstretching my rather fragile body, of course.
When I look back on the year one achievement was to survive a year in France, but I achieved a lot of other things too.
At the moment, I believe that I am managing my Crohn’s disease better than I ever have done before, something that is very pleasing. However, I am just a little anxious that I will struggle to take this achievement back to the UK with me.
I need to remember that there will be some reverse culture shock when I return – but I have shown I have the skills and temperament to overcome that. There will not be the issue of language and, for that, I am hugely relieved.
Monday, 20 July 2009
Hands off our butter!
That double dose of Remicade™ really seems to be working. It has, as promised, knocked my Crohn’s back and I feel a lot better.
It feels like a fast-working dose of steroids, but without the side-effects.
I remember when I had a flare-up last November that my consultants were disappointed that I was put on steroids by the emergency doctor. They said I could have had more Remicade™, but I didn’t really understand how. Now I do.
What are the chances I can persuade my consultant in the UK to use the occasional double dose of Remicade™ when my symptoms flare up? Currently, I am more concerned about getting my next infusion booked in on time.
It has been pleasant to be treated in a health system where costs and budgets still seem to be less important that the quality of patient care. However, as I’ve said before, the new French president is very keen to change this.
One of the first skirmishes over cost-cutting has occurred recently in Caen. The hospital management introduced a reduction in the butter ration for patients’ meals from 15g to 10g.
This being Normandy, dairy products are a very sensitive issue.
The reaction from hospital staff and patients’ groups was swift and political – they denounced the attack on patients’ comfort whilst the director of the hospital was given over £400,000 of tax-payers’ money to upgrade his luxury house.
Although it worries me that the French government’s agenda is to run the health service as a business, it is heartening that serious protests are happening now over the first few job losses – and over cuts in butter rations.
The millions of people on the streets during the one-day general strikes earlier this year had the issue of cuts in the hospitals at the forefront of their minds. The French trade union movement have a habit of stopping unpopular government reforms.
In the UK, the symptoms of a market-driven NHS go further than butter rationing. People dying on trolleys in corridors, waiting lists, cancelled operations, post code lotteries and declining dental health are some of the realities that French doctors and health unions see just over the channel and which fuel the opposition to Sarkozy’s reform plans.
It feels like a fast-working dose of steroids, but without the side-effects.
I remember when I had a flare-up last November that my consultants were disappointed that I was put on steroids by the emergency doctor. They said I could have had more Remicade™, but I didn’t really understand how. Now I do.
What are the chances I can persuade my consultant in the UK to use the occasional double dose of Remicade™ when my symptoms flare up? Currently, I am more concerned about getting my next infusion booked in on time.
It has been pleasant to be treated in a health system where costs and budgets still seem to be less important that the quality of patient care. However, as I’ve said before, the new French president is very keen to change this.
One of the first skirmishes over cost-cutting has occurred recently in Caen. The hospital management introduced a reduction in the butter ration for patients’ meals from 15g to 10g.
This being Normandy, dairy products are a very sensitive issue.
The reaction from hospital staff and patients’ groups was swift and political – they denounced the attack on patients’ comfort whilst the director of the hospital was given over £400,000 of tax-payers’ money to upgrade his luxury house.
Although it worries me that the French government’s agenda is to run the health service as a business, it is heartening that serious protests are happening now over the first few job losses – and over cuts in butter rations.
The millions of people on the streets during the one-day general strikes earlier this year had the issue of cuts in the hospitals at the forefront of their minds. The French trade union movement have a habit of stopping unpopular government reforms.
In the UK, the symptoms of a market-driven NHS go further than butter rationing. People dying on trolleys in corridors, waiting lists, cancelled operations, post code lotteries and declining dental health are some of the realities that French doctors and health unions see just over the channel and which fuel the opposition to Sarkozy’s reform plans.
Saturday, 18 July 2009
My last Remicade™ in France
Thursday was my last trip to the hospital for my Remicade™ infusion. The next will be back in the UK in, hopefully, eight weeks’ time.
The blood test taken on Monday showed that I had quite a lot of inflammation, suggesting that the reason for me not feeling great over the last few weeks was my Crohn’s becoming more active.
As usual, I was assessed by a doctor before my infusion. I was then seen by the consultant in charge of the unit. She decided that I would need a double dose of the Remicade™ and that they wanted to “look inside me”.
My heart sank at those words. In the UK that would mean a colonoscopy or small bowel study and a wait of 4-6 weeks – in other words, just before or after our departure.
Then I remembered that we were in France and things happen quicker, but I was worried I would get an appointment the following week while we had visitors.
I was still mulling over all these possibilities when I was told to put on my shoes as the porter would be taking me down to have my scan in a few minutes.
So, I took the lift to the first floor, an ultrasound scan of my bowel was done, the results phoned up to the unit and my infusion hooked up – all within 60 minutes.
The results showed nothing particularly abnormal, with no serious small bowel strictures requiring surgery. I was simply stunned by the rapidity and thoroughness of the assessment. My mind was put at rest, rather than worrying for 4-6 weeks.
I think I’ve only ever had one ultrasound scan of my bowel done in the UK. In France and the US it is much more common. With good training and an experienced eye, research has shown that it is as accurate as other diagnostic procedures – especially in more serious cases. It’s also quicker, cheaper and less intrusive.
I’ve also never been offered a double dose of Remicade™ in the UK, but this appears to be standard in the US and France when symptoms return and the Crohn’s needs knocking back into shape. The standard dose is 5mg/kg of body weight, so the double dose is 10mg/kg.
In fact, there is an almighty battle at the moment over whether Remicade™ should be available at all as a maintenance treatment for new patients. For me, the drug has had a profound impact on my disease and my ability to get more out of life – this year would probably have been impossible without it.
The blood test taken on Monday showed that I had quite a lot of inflammation, suggesting that the reason for me not feeling great over the last few weeks was my Crohn’s becoming more active.
As usual, I was assessed by a doctor before my infusion. I was then seen by the consultant in charge of the unit. She decided that I would need a double dose of the Remicade™ and that they wanted to “look inside me”.
My heart sank at those words. In the UK that would mean a colonoscopy or small bowel study and a wait of 4-6 weeks – in other words, just before or after our departure.
Then I remembered that we were in France and things happen quicker, but I was worried I would get an appointment the following week while we had visitors.
I was still mulling over all these possibilities when I was told to put on my shoes as the porter would be taking me down to have my scan in a few minutes.
So, I took the lift to the first floor, an ultrasound scan of my bowel was done, the results phoned up to the unit and my infusion hooked up – all within 60 minutes.
The results showed nothing particularly abnormal, with no serious small bowel strictures requiring surgery. I was simply stunned by the rapidity and thoroughness of the assessment. My mind was put at rest, rather than worrying for 4-6 weeks.
I think I’ve only ever had one ultrasound scan of my bowel done in the UK. In France and the US it is much more common. With good training and an experienced eye, research has shown that it is as accurate as other diagnostic procedures – especially in more serious cases. It’s also quicker, cheaper and less intrusive.
I’ve also never been offered a double dose of Remicade™ in the UK, but this appears to be standard in the US and France when symptoms return and the Crohn’s needs knocking back into shape. The standard dose is 5mg/kg of body weight, so the double dose is 10mg/kg.
In fact, there is an almighty battle at the moment over whether Remicade™ should be available at all as a maintenance treatment for new patients. For me, the drug has had a profound impact on my disease and my ability to get more out of life – this year would probably have been impossible without it.
Sunday, 12 July 2009
C'est la vie...
I had half expected to be fighting a non-stop battle with colds this year.
I’m not sure if the viruses are any different here than in the UK, but a combination of my immuno-suppressive medication and the low-level stress of living in a different environment was always going to give the little blighters an advantage.
And I do seem to have had a succession of colds since the end of last summer, more than I usually get in the UK. What is typical – especially since I started on Remicade – is that I feel full of aches, with a blocked nose and sinuses and a lingering headache.
I also feel wiped out and exhausted, so it’s not always apparent if it is my Crohn’s playing up as well. Sometimes all this seems to trigger my guts to go haywire in any case.
It’s all rather annoying and frustrating as these colds interfere with me enjoying life in France almost as much as my Crohn’s does. And so it is good to have moan and feel sorry for myself from time to time.
Our French friends and acquaintances have all been very concerned about the ups and downs of my health, all of which has been very genuine and comforting. In the UK, I feel that talk about health problems creates distance between people rather than bringing them closer together – unless the problem is shared, of course.
I think I can support the theory that it takes much longer to get to know people in France than in the UK, but, unlike in the UK, conversations about health problems arrive very early in this process.
Bowels are a particularly common topic of conversation if the opportunity arises. Maybe this is something to do with the importance of food and drink in French life and culture?
Yet toilets are notoriously filthy (although much less than 20 years ago) and often unisex, with urinals next to the shared hand basin. It is still always a good idea to carry toilet roll or tissues too.
Although these differences freaked me out a little when we arrived, they are just normal now. Somehow, avoiding all mention of bowels and going to pristine toilets with piped music and automatic air-freshener seems weird.
Will I be able to re-adjust? Will I be seeking out the most filthy, smelly and overflowing public toilets in Brighton? I suspect the problem will be finding any at all.
As I have said before, I am a little anxious about going back to the UK and the swine-‘flu pandemic – there are still only 400 cases in France, mainly people who have had holidays in Mexico, America and Britain.
I know what to do – get registered with a GP as soon as I get off the ferry and take all the precautions I always do – but I cannot feel 100% relaxed about it all. Especially as I seem to pick up every bug within a 100 km radius.
I’m not sure if the viruses are any different here than in the UK, but a combination of my immuno-suppressive medication and the low-level stress of living in a different environment was always going to give the little blighters an advantage.
And I do seem to have had a succession of colds since the end of last summer, more than I usually get in the UK. What is typical – especially since I started on Remicade – is that I feel full of aches, with a blocked nose and sinuses and a lingering headache.
I also feel wiped out and exhausted, so it’s not always apparent if it is my Crohn’s playing up as well. Sometimes all this seems to trigger my guts to go haywire in any case.
It’s all rather annoying and frustrating as these colds interfere with me enjoying life in France almost as much as my Crohn’s does. And so it is good to have moan and feel sorry for myself from time to time.
Our French friends and acquaintances have all been very concerned about the ups and downs of my health, all of which has been very genuine and comforting. In the UK, I feel that talk about health problems creates distance between people rather than bringing them closer together – unless the problem is shared, of course.
I think I can support the theory that it takes much longer to get to know people in France than in the UK, but, unlike in the UK, conversations about health problems arrive very early in this process.
Bowels are a particularly common topic of conversation if the opportunity arises. Maybe this is something to do with the importance of food and drink in French life and culture?
Yet toilets are notoriously filthy (although much less than 20 years ago) and often unisex, with urinals next to the shared hand basin. It is still always a good idea to carry toilet roll or tissues too.
Although these differences freaked me out a little when we arrived, they are just normal now. Somehow, avoiding all mention of bowels and going to pristine toilets with piped music and automatic air-freshener seems weird.
Will I be able to re-adjust? Will I be seeking out the most filthy, smelly and overflowing public toilets in Brighton? I suspect the problem will be finding any at all.
As I have said before, I am a little anxious about going back to the UK and the swine-‘flu pandemic – there are still only 400 cases in France, mainly people who have had holidays in Mexico, America and Britain.
I know what to do – get registered with a GP as soon as I get off the ferry and take all the precautions I always do – but I cannot feel 100% relaxed about it all. Especially as I seem to pick up every bug within a 100 km radius.
Sunday, 5 July 2009
Le Grand Départ
This is a big weekend in France, with the start of the summer holidays and the start of the Tour de France bicycle race. Both are called the Grand Départ.
As I’ve mentioned, we are staying here in Normandy for our holidays. Temperatures remain reasonably cool here during the summer which is just right for me. Friends on holiday in the south are telling us it is too hot there – nearly forty degrees centigrade last week.
Unfortunately the Tour doesn’t pass through the west of France this year. After going to the Le Mans 24 hour race, I would have liked to catch one of my other highlights of the sporting year.
However, like last year, it will be a treat to watch as many stages as I want, live on TV. Most of the action is in the mid to late afternoon when I am trying to stay cool and resting at home.
I tried to claim that the 24 hours race at Le Mans was some sort of sporting metaphor that could help those of us with a long term illness. I’m not sure if I can make a similar claim for the Tour.
The race itself is quite brutal. The competitors put themselves through three weeks’ of physical torture that would kill the vast majority of people. The overall winner has to rely on selfless teamwork, perfect strategy, high-level psychological warfare plus amazing fitness and cycling talent.
Professional cyclists stand out from the rest of humanity by their extreme physique and their extreme single-mindedness. Everything is focused on winning and the high intensity training damages professional cyclists’ immune systems – so they are more susceptible to coughs, colds and viral infections.
Of course, focussing on winning means that there is an ongoing battle between the sport’s officials and those riders who use artificial methods to get an edge over their rivals. Drug scandals are so numerous in the Tour’s recent history that it is no longer a surprise when an amazing performance on a stage is found to be drug-fuelled.
I’m not saying there are any similarities here with the average person with Crohn’s disease (particular the performance-enhancing drug aspect), but I have been fascinated by the Tour de France ever since I came across it in my teens.
I could claim that cycling is truly a noble sport and shows us what we can achieve if we really set our minds to it. However, despite being a really enthralling and, at times, incredibly exciting three weeks, I think what it does show us is that being obsessed with physical perfection doesn’t actually make you a very nice person.
So, I will continue to follow cycling (see picture below from the Tour of Normandie earlier this year) rather than being tempted to get on a bike myself. I don’t think my body would ever forgive me – a leisurely walk or a dip in the pool is about as much as I can get away with.
As I’ve mentioned, we are staying here in Normandy for our holidays. Temperatures remain reasonably cool here during the summer which is just right for me. Friends on holiday in the south are telling us it is too hot there – nearly forty degrees centigrade last week.
Unfortunately the Tour doesn’t pass through the west of France this year. After going to the Le Mans 24 hour race, I would have liked to catch one of my other highlights of the sporting year.
However, like last year, it will be a treat to watch as many stages as I want, live on TV. Most of the action is in the mid to late afternoon when I am trying to stay cool and resting at home.
I tried to claim that the 24 hours race at Le Mans was some sort of sporting metaphor that could help those of us with a long term illness. I’m not sure if I can make a similar claim for the Tour.
The race itself is quite brutal. The competitors put themselves through three weeks’ of physical torture that would kill the vast majority of people. The overall winner has to rely on selfless teamwork, perfect strategy, high-level psychological warfare plus amazing fitness and cycling talent.
Professional cyclists stand out from the rest of humanity by their extreme physique and their extreme single-mindedness. Everything is focused on winning and the high intensity training damages professional cyclists’ immune systems – so they are more susceptible to coughs, colds and viral infections.
Of course, focussing on winning means that there is an ongoing battle between the sport’s officials and those riders who use artificial methods to get an edge over their rivals. Drug scandals are so numerous in the Tour’s recent history that it is no longer a surprise when an amazing performance on a stage is found to be drug-fuelled.
I’m not saying there are any similarities here with the average person with Crohn’s disease (particular the performance-enhancing drug aspect), but I have been fascinated by the Tour de France ever since I came across it in my teens.
I could claim that cycling is truly a noble sport and shows us what we can achieve if we really set our minds to it. However, despite being a really enthralling and, at times, incredibly exciting three weeks, I think what it does show us is that being obsessed with physical perfection doesn’t actually make you a very nice person.
So, I will continue to follow cycling (see picture below from the Tour of Normandie earlier this year) rather than being tempted to get on a bike myself. I don’t think my body would ever forgive me – a leisurely walk or a dip in the pool is about as much as I can get away with.
Tuesday, 30 June 2009
Summer programme
Summer is here and it is extremely hot and humid. I don’t do too well in such heat and need to be careful about getting dehydrated.
The weather was similar when we arrived last year and we eventually dropped into a sensible French routine of being busy first thing in the morning and then rest until the evening.
To begin with, we couldn’t understand why everything was closed for most of the afternoon and why all the council-run summer festivities didn’t seem to start until after our bed-time.
Brochures advertising the summer entertainment programme have just been released and there are, again, all sorts of events around the city in the open air.
All the events are free and, although a few start at 6.30 or 7pm, most start about 10pm when the evening temperature is nice and cool.
So we now have a busy timetable of music, street theatre, circus performances and open-air cinema to fit in before we return. And lots of lunches too.
The weather was similar when we arrived last year and we eventually dropped into a sensible French routine of being busy first thing in the morning and then rest until the evening.
To begin with, we couldn’t understand why everything was closed for most of the afternoon and why all the council-run summer festivities didn’t seem to start until after our bed-time.
Brochures advertising the summer entertainment programme have just been released and there are, again, all sorts of events around the city in the open air.
All the events are free and, although a few start at 6.30 or 7pm, most start about 10pm when the evening temperature is nice and cool.
So we now have a busy timetable of music, street theatre, circus performances and open-air cinema to fit in before we return. And lots of lunches too.
Saturday, 27 June 2009
Mirrors of time
After a slightly extended term (due to strikes and occupations), the universities in France are slowly closing down for the summer. Although a few students still have exams, many of the admin staff are already working on ‘summer time’.
My partner sat her last exam yesterday, writing a 4 hour essay on technical and social aspects of maritime history from 1500 to 1900 – in French of course.
We are now left with seven weeks before we return to the UK. This mirrors perfectly the time we had at the beginning of our year before Becky started her first course – an intensive French class – last September.
Our first seven weeks were a busy time of setting up bank accounts, getting a TV, telephone and broadband package, sorting out health cover and getting to know the local area.
In our final seven weeks, we will need to cancel these arrangements and start contacting utility companies in the UK. I will need to ensure a seamless transfer of my health care back to the National Health Service (I’m sure there will be further posts about this).
We are also planning trips and outings to do some of the things that we haven’t managed to do yet – like a evening visit to Mont-St-Michel and a guided tour of the D-Day beaches.
Most of all, we need to slowly say goodbye to our home for a year – visiting our favourite cafés and restaurants and absorbing as much of the atmosphere as we can.
For some time we have been thinking and talking about taking back some of the things we have learned about ourselves during this year.
We both feel we have changed and some of our excitement about going back to the UK is to see how much more we can get out of life there.
My partner sat her last exam yesterday, writing a 4 hour essay on technical and social aspects of maritime history from 1500 to 1900 – in French of course.
We are now left with seven weeks before we return to the UK. This mirrors perfectly the time we had at the beginning of our year before Becky started her first course – an intensive French class – last September.
Our first seven weeks were a busy time of setting up bank accounts, getting a TV, telephone and broadband package, sorting out health cover and getting to know the local area.
In our final seven weeks, we will need to cancel these arrangements and start contacting utility companies in the UK. I will need to ensure a seamless transfer of my health care back to the National Health Service (I’m sure there will be further posts about this).
We are also planning trips and outings to do some of the things that we haven’t managed to do yet – like a evening visit to Mont-St-Michel and a guided tour of the D-Day beaches.
Most of all, we need to slowly say goodbye to our home for a year – visiting our favourite cafés and restaurants and absorbing as much of the atmosphere as we can.
For some time we have been thinking and talking about taking back some of the things we have learned about ourselves during this year.
We both feel we have changed and some of our excitement about going back to the UK is to see how much more we can get out of life there.
Saturday, 20 June 2009
The Hare and the Tortoise
Something I have wanted to do since I was a boy is to go to the Le Mans 24 hour motor race. Last weekend I did just that – after all, the circuit is less than 100 miles away from Caen.
The 24 heures du Mans is one of the iconic sporting events. This year saw the 77th running of the event, which is – as the name suggests – a race run over 24 hours, from 3pm Saturday until 3pm Sunday.
More often than not, the Le Mans race is ample proof that Aesop’s tale of the hare and the tortoise is correct. Winning a race over 24 hours is a complex combination of not going too fast, careful strategy and luck.
I loved this quirky lesson about life long before I got ill with Crohn’s disease, but Le Mans has continued to fascinate me and always will be my highlight of the sporting year.
My life is divided up into small challenges, bigger challenges and absolutely gigantic challenges, and my trip to Le Mans definitely falls into the later category. My weekend was planned like a (well-planned) military campaign – completely timetabled, essentials packed for all eventualities and eating only jelly-sweets and drinking only water and energy drinks.
Whilst most other people were getting drunk or getting indigestion, my concentration was fixed on the race. I stayed up all night, took a trip into the forest to see the cars up close and I had an absolutely superb time.
I think it has been being ill that has encouraged me to grasp opportunities and do things I dream of doing. Coming to live in France has been one of those things. Going to Le Mans is another – I am delighted I was brave enough to go.
The 24 heures du Mans is one of the iconic sporting events. This year saw the 77th running of the event, which is – as the name suggests – a race run over 24 hours, from 3pm Saturday until 3pm Sunday.
More often than not, the Le Mans race is ample proof that Aesop’s tale of the hare and the tortoise is correct. Winning a race over 24 hours is a complex combination of not going too fast, careful strategy and luck.
I loved this quirky lesson about life long before I got ill with Crohn’s disease, but Le Mans has continued to fascinate me and always will be my highlight of the sporting year.
My life is divided up into small challenges, bigger challenges and absolutely gigantic challenges, and my trip to Le Mans definitely falls into the later category. My weekend was planned like a (well-planned) military campaign – completely timetabled, essentials packed for all eventualities and eating only jelly-sweets and drinking only water and energy drinks.
Whilst most other people were getting drunk or getting indigestion, my concentration was fixed on the race. I stayed up all night, took a trip into the forest to see the cars up close and I had an absolutely superb time.
I think it has been being ill that has encouraged me to grasp opportunities and do things I dream of doing. Coming to live in France has been one of those things. Going to Le Mans is another – I am delighted I was brave enough to go.
Saturday, 6 June 2009
D-Day and the British media
Living in France, we watch the French TV news and read French newspapers. We need to know what’s going on and what people are talking about.
Of course, we do keep an eye on the UK media headlines, but what is going on across the Channel is a little distant.
Something I did expect, but am still surprised about is the difference of emphasis between the media of the two countries. Even big international events like the US presidential election are covered in a different way.
Over the past month, the European parliamentary elections have been big news in France. There have been debates on prime-time TV, lots of coverage on the evening news programmes and in the newspapers, as well as public meetings in our town attended by hundreds of people.
It has been difficult to find very much coverage at all in the UK media and most of it has appeared to be anti-European.
Perhaps this British anti-European sentiment is easier to pick up when you’re on mainland Europe. One story that has been quite bizarre is the fuss around D-Day.
This weekend there are huge celebrations across Basse-Normandie, remembering those allied soldiers, sailors and airmen who were willing to give their lives to liberate Europe from Nazi tyranny.
In every town and village in the region, local councils, veterans groups representing all the allied servicemen and the various governments have organised and supported these commemorations.
All week the regional media has been full of soldiers’ stories and information about the events this weekend. Last night there was a stunning co-ordinated firework display that stretched all along the D-Day beaches.
Today, live footage of the official events has been on national TV from 9 o’clock this morning and will continue until this evening. Films and documentaries about D-Day and the battle for Normandy have been on numerous TV stations for several weeks too.
Yet the UK media is focusing on the claim that France has chosen to ignore the sacrifices made by British soldiers in 1944 and have deliberately insulted the memory of these soldiers by not inviting the Queen to Normandy.
I understand that anti-French rhetoric is always good for a few votes or to sell a few newspapers, but this is utterly ridiculous and I have found it quite revolting.
For their part, I think the French have handled this ‘crisis’ very well. They could have pointed out to the world that it was the British head of state who had chosen not to attend the commemorations (‘we’ don't do the anniversaries with a 5 in them, apparently) and clearly the Queen had already arranged her day-trip to the Epsom Derby.
Instead the French government continued organising a very moving commemoration, letting the British media continue to froth and foam at the mouth, and asked again, through diplomatic channels, if the UK would accept an invitation if issued formally. This time the answer was ‘yes’ and an official invitation was sent. End of crisis.
Of course, we do keep an eye on the UK media headlines, but what is going on across the Channel is a little distant.
Something I did expect, but am still surprised about is the difference of emphasis between the media of the two countries. Even big international events like the US presidential election are covered in a different way.
Over the past month, the European parliamentary elections have been big news in France. There have been debates on prime-time TV, lots of coverage on the evening news programmes and in the newspapers, as well as public meetings in our town attended by hundreds of people.
It has been difficult to find very much coverage at all in the UK media and most of it has appeared to be anti-European.
Perhaps this British anti-European sentiment is easier to pick up when you’re on mainland Europe. One story that has been quite bizarre is the fuss around D-Day.
This weekend there are huge celebrations across Basse-Normandie, remembering those allied soldiers, sailors and airmen who were willing to give their lives to liberate Europe from Nazi tyranny.
In every town and village in the region, local councils, veterans groups representing all the allied servicemen and the various governments have organised and supported these commemorations.
All week the regional media has been full of soldiers’ stories and information about the events this weekend. Last night there was a stunning co-ordinated firework display that stretched all along the D-Day beaches.
Today, live footage of the official events has been on national TV from 9 o’clock this morning and will continue until this evening. Films and documentaries about D-Day and the battle for Normandy have been on numerous TV stations for several weeks too.
Yet the UK media is focusing on the claim that France has chosen to ignore the sacrifices made by British soldiers in 1944 and have deliberately insulted the memory of these soldiers by not inviting the Queen to Normandy.
I understand that anti-French rhetoric is always good for a few votes or to sell a few newspapers, but this is utterly ridiculous and I have found it quite revolting.
For their part, I think the French have handled this ‘crisis’ very well. They could have pointed out to the world that it was the British head of state who had chosen not to attend the commemorations (‘we’ don't do the anniversaries with a 5 in them, apparently) and clearly the Queen had already arranged her day-trip to the Epsom Derby.
Instead the French government continued organising a very moving commemoration, letting the British media continue to froth and foam at the mouth, and asked again, through diplomatic channels, if the UK would accept an invitation if issued formally. This time the answer was ‘yes’ and an official invitation was sent. End of crisis.
Saturday, 30 May 2009
"Gutted"
I feel miserable. The local football team, SM Caen, just got relegated to the second division.
Tonight was the last game of the season and Caen lost 1-0 to Bordeaux, who – as a result of their win – lifted the league title. To make it an even more complex night, the goal was scored by a former Caen hero who joined Bordeaux last summer.
I didn’t manage to get a seat for the match – there were huge queues for tickets on Monday and touts made a lot of money from Bordeaux fans. With the match sold out, the city council put on a big screen in the town centre.
Like a lot of local people, I’m gutted by tonight’s result - I’ve been to see a lot of matches this season and I’ve had a soft spot for the team for a long time, ever since one of my favourite players got a transfer here in the late 80s.
Despite feeling miserable by a disappointing season and tonight’s relegation, I can’t claim to ‘feel’ it quite like real fans. I realised this at a match in November when Caen lost to huge local rivals Le Havre. The manner of the defeat – a late goal, totally against the run of play – added to the bitterness of the result.
Supporters around me were stunned, speechless and unable to move. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t feel as crushed as these people looked (although I knew how it felt), so I headed for the exit.
This action felt a little like a betrayal. But there was nothing I could have done. Had I stuck around and claimed to feel as bad as the others did, I would have been faking it.
Partly because of that match and partly because my health was poor over the winter (and it was freezing out on a Saturday night), I didn’t go to many more games. When I got back in the spring the confidence of the team and the fans that was so apparent earlier in the season had evaporated.
I will continue to follow Caen – they will always be ‘my team’ in France. I might even get to see their first game in Ligue 2 before I return to Brighton. And we will all be confident about the new season and getting promoted back to the top division.
Life is full of disappointments, but the true football fan is always an optimist – at least at the start of a season.
Tonight was the last game of the season and Caen lost 1-0 to Bordeaux, who – as a result of their win – lifted the league title. To make it an even more complex night, the goal was scored by a former Caen hero who joined Bordeaux last summer.
I didn’t manage to get a seat for the match – there were huge queues for tickets on Monday and touts made a lot of money from Bordeaux fans. With the match sold out, the city council put on a big screen in the town centre.
Like a lot of local people, I’m gutted by tonight’s result - I’ve been to see a lot of matches this season and I’ve had a soft spot for the team for a long time, ever since one of my favourite players got a transfer here in the late 80s.
Despite feeling miserable by a disappointing season and tonight’s relegation, I can’t claim to ‘feel’ it quite like real fans. I realised this at a match in November when Caen lost to huge local rivals Le Havre. The manner of the defeat – a late goal, totally against the run of play – added to the bitterness of the result.
Supporters around me were stunned, speechless and unable to move. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t feel as crushed as these people looked (although I knew how it felt), so I headed for the exit.
This action felt a little like a betrayal. But there was nothing I could have done. Had I stuck around and claimed to feel as bad as the others did, I would have been faking it.
Partly because of that match and partly because my health was poor over the winter (and it was freezing out on a Saturday night), I didn’t go to many more games. When I got back in the spring the confidence of the team and the fans that was so apparent earlier in the season had evaporated.
I will continue to follow Caen – they will always be ‘my team’ in France. I might even get to see their first game in Ligue 2 before I return to Brighton. And we will all be confident about the new season and getting promoted back to the top division.
Life is full of disappointments, but the true football fan is always an optimist – at least at the start of a season.
Monday, 18 May 2009
La grippe porcine
Watching the swine ‘flu drama unfold is not a pleasant experience for me. Especially living overseas.
I know that this strain of ‘flu is milder than the usual seasonal ‘flu that is passed around every winter, so I get irritated that healthy people in wealthy countries are panicking about dying but fail to follow the simple hygiene procedures that could protect those most at risk.
Everyone who has died from swine ‘flu in Europe has been suffering from a serious long-term health condition.
Although Crohn’s disease could be included in this category, the advice from the UK Crohn’s and Colitis charity, NACC, is that people with Crohn’s who are taking immuno-suppressive medication should not have an increased risk of contracting swine ‘flu.
The NACC statement goes on to say that, if symptoms develop, people with Crohn’s should go through the same process as everyone else and that treatment with the anti-viral drug Tamiflu should not be problematic.
Every autumn, I have ‘flu vaccination as I am considered ‘at risk’ if I catch the normal seasonal ‘flu. That is because I have a long-term health condition and I am taking immuno-suppressive medication. I guess that I am more likely to catch the disease and less able to fight it.
I am working on the same assumption will swine ‘flu. So I am still a little anxious.
And that anxiety is raised by living overseas and still not quite understanding the way the health system works. However, the advice here seems the same and the public information seem clearer than in the UK.
If I get symptoms, I will phone my GP and do what he says. I will also rest, stay well-hydrated and eat normally. However, I am hoping that I will escape the virus until I get back to the UK in mid-August. By then there may be a vaccine ready.
In the meantime, I will carry on with life as usual. I always wash my hands when I get home and before I eat. I carry an alcohol handwash with me when I am out too. And I have developed over the years an instinctive response to avoid people who look like they are about to sneeze or cough in my direction.
Of course, if this does become a full-blown pandemic I may stay indoors for a while – especially if the virus seems to become more virulent and the disease more serious.
I know that this strain of ‘flu is milder than the usual seasonal ‘flu that is passed around every winter, so I get irritated that healthy people in wealthy countries are panicking about dying but fail to follow the simple hygiene procedures that could protect those most at risk.
Everyone who has died from swine ‘flu in Europe has been suffering from a serious long-term health condition.
Although Crohn’s disease could be included in this category, the advice from the UK Crohn’s and Colitis charity, NACC, is that people with Crohn’s who are taking immuno-suppressive medication should not have an increased risk of contracting swine ‘flu.
The NACC statement goes on to say that, if symptoms develop, people with Crohn’s should go through the same process as everyone else and that treatment with the anti-viral drug Tamiflu should not be problematic.
Every autumn, I have ‘flu vaccination as I am considered ‘at risk’ if I catch the normal seasonal ‘flu. That is because I have a long-term health condition and I am taking immuno-suppressive medication. I guess that I am more likely to catch the disease and less able to fight it.
I am working on the same assumption will swine ‘flu. So I am still a little anxious.
And that anxiety is raised by living overseas and still not quite understanding the way the health system works. However, the advice here seems the same and the public information seem clearer than in the UK.
If I get symptoms, I will phone my GP and do what he says. I will also rest, stay well-hydrated and eat normally. However, I am hoping that I will escape the virus until I get back to the UK in mid-August. By then there may be a vaccine ready.
In the meantime, I will carry on with life as usual. I always wash my hands when I get home and before I eat. I carry an alcohol handwash with me when I am out too. And I have developed over the years an instinctive response to avoid people who look like they are about to sneeze or cough in my direction.
Of course, if this does become a full-blown pandemic I may stay indoors for a while – especially if the virus seems to become more virulent and the disease more serious.
Friday, 8 May 2009
The final stretch
My trip back to Brighton was a good one. It helped that the reason for going back was the marriage of two friends – a happy and fun event.
As I travelled across West Sussex from the ferry port to Brighton I did feel a bit of culture shock. I understood everything that people said and everything looked familiar, but not recent. In other words it was familiar as a place I used to live, but not quite home.
Like in November, as I came off the ferry and caught the bus into Caen, it felt like I was coming home.
Brighton is always very attractive in May and I think I am looking forward to returning – but not yet. I want to make the most of my time in France - especially as I feel like we are on the final stretch.
There are trips we want to go on and still places in Caen to visit. I have always wanted to go to the Le Mans 24 hour race and this is my best chance – the circuit is only 100 miles away, an hour by train.
I bought my ticket for the Le Mans just before my trip back to Brighton, so I am definitely going. I just need to work out the logistics of how I am going to enjoy the experience and not let my Crohn’s get in the way.
The whole of this year is testament to how it is possible to follow dreams, despite the impact of a long-term health condition. Before I came I knew, in theory, I should be able to enjoy the year – but I am growing in confidence the more this is proving to be true.
As I travelled across West Sussex from the ferry port to Brighton I did feel a bit of culture shock. I understood everything that people said and everything looked familiar, but not recent. In other words it was familiar as a place I used to live, but not quite home.
Like in November, as I came off the ferry and caught the bus into Caen, it felt like I was coming home.
Brighton is always very attractive in May and I think I am looking forward to returning – but not yet. I want to make the most of my time in France - especially as I feel like we are on the final stretch.
There are trips we want to go on and still places in Caen to visit. I have always wanted to go to the Le Mans 24 hour race and this is my best chance – the circuit is only 100 miles away, an hour by train.
I bought my ticket for the Le Mans just before my trip back to Brighton, so I am definitely going. I just need to work out the logistics of how I am going to enjoy the experience and not let my Crohn’s get in the way.
The whole of this year is testament to how it is possible to follow dreams, despite the impact of a long-term health condition. Before I came I knew, in theory, I should be able to enjoy the year – but I am growing in confidence the more this is proving to be true.
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
The rhythm of life
The last month has provoked a lot of thought. Family history and Becky’s studies have given us a strong attachment to this part of France, but an ambiguous one.
Our visitors – friends and family – have reminded us of our life in the UK and the fact that we will be returning there in the summer. I think this is also something I had mixed feelings about, but now I am looking forward to returning, but, equally, I can’t wait for another opportunity to live abroad.
Tomorrow I’m returning briefly to Brighton for a friend’s wedding – a very happy event – and also to see my family there.
Compared with the trip I made in November, I am very relaxed about this trip. I like how I now feel comfortable living in France. Last time I returned here with a suitcase full of stuff. This time I am taking a packed suitcase of things to Brighton and plan to return with, maybe, a jar of mango chutney and some teabags – but nothing more. We are happy with what we have here.
Although my health isn’t great and I am not able to eat a very wide variety of foods, I think I have found a good equilibrium in terms of looking after myself, resting and eating the right things. In fact, I think I am doing this better than I usually do in the UK – I have to remember how I have managed this for when we return.
This rhythm of life has also meant that I am sticking at some of the things I often find difficult due to fluctuations in my health. My guitar playing has improved considerably (although still isn’t very good). I have also been able to devour numerous novels and work my way through some non-fiction books too.
I think I have benefited from being away from all the day-to-day low-key stress and the comfortable rut I had found myself in. Not that there are no stresses here – very big ones like the language and totally different bureaucratic structures, laws and cultural rules, to name just a few.
However, I have seen me and my health lifted out of my normal environment and I think I understand more about how I can now get the most out of life when I get back to the UK. If that is the only thing I get out of this stay, it has been a very valuable year.
Our visitors – friends and family – have reminded us of our life in the UK and the fact that we will be returning there in the summer. I think this is also something I had mixed feelings about, but now I am looking forward to returning, but, equally, I can’t wait for another opportunity to live abroad.
Tomorrow I’m returning briefly to Brighton for a friend’s wedding – a very happy event – and also to see my family there.
Compared with the trip I made in November, I am very relaxed about this trip. I like how I now feel comfortable living in France. Last time I returned here with a suitcase full of stuff. This time I am taking a packed suitcase of things to Brighton and plan to return with, maybe, a jar of mango chutney and some teabags – but nothing more. We are happy with what we have here.
Although my health isn’t great and I am not able to eat a very wide variety of foods, I think I have found a good equilibrium in terms of looking after myself, resting and eating the right things. In fact, I think I am doing this better than I usually do in the UK – I have to remember how I have managed this for when we return.
This rhythm of life has also meant that I am sticking at some of the things I often find difficult due to fluctuations in my health. My guitar playing has improved considerably (although still isn’t very good). I have also been able to devour numerous novels and work my way through some non-fiction books too.
I think I have benefited from being away from all the day-to-day low-key stress and the comfortable rut I had found myself in. Not that there are no stresses here – very big ones like the language and totally different bureaucratic structures, laws and cultural rules, to name just a few.
However, I have seen me and my health lifted out of my normal environment and I think I understand more about how I can now get the most out of life when I get back to the UK. If that is the only thing I get out of this stay, it has been a very valuable year.
Saturday, 18 April 2009
Voyage into the unknown
It is not just me who has family links to Basse-Normandie, my partner Becky has history here too.
Like my father, Becky’s dad landed in Normandy after D-Day. He arrived with General Patton’s US Third Army at Cherbourg at the end of July 1944. Under-age, Becky’s dad fought in some of the bloodiest campaigns of the war - the break-out in Normandy and then defeating the Nazi counterattack at the Battle of the Bulge - before invading Germany.
He has never talked about his experiences, beyond a few, typically humorous, anecdotes. It is hardly surprising. He probably only survived because he spoke a little German (actually, he spoke Yiddish) and was looked on as valuable after all the official translators had been killed within days of leaving Cherbourg.
Becky and I visited Cherbourg this week, but it was not Becky’s father's footsteps we were trying to discover.
Between the wars, Cherbourg had been one of the major ports of departure for European migration to the United States of America. From the early 1930s liners departed from a grand Art Deco terminal to travel to New York. The terminal now houses a vast modern museum to the sea, complete with aquaria and a nuclear submarine.
In 1922, Becky’s grandmother left for a new life in America. Thousands of migrants from across Europe would huddle on the quayside, waiting for the liners to dock. The shipping companies would run medical tests and check papers before allowing passengers on board – the companies would be responsible for paying passage back to Europe for those who failed the immigration procedure at Ellis Island.
A few years ago, Becky and I visited Ellis Island and discovered in the archives that Becky’s grandmother had travelled with her sister on the Mauritania from Cherbourg to New York. Before that she had travelled from the city of Uman in what is now the Ukraine.
It was incredible to be in Cherbourg and to try and imagine the amazing adventures that the thousands of migrants – including Becky’s grandmother – embarked on from this port.
For many - particularly Jews from eastern Europe - this would prove to be a voyage of survival, with no family members surviving the famines of the 1930s, the second world war and the Nazi Holocaust.
Again, we were struck by the enormity of history in these lands, the terrible suffering of the last century that – thankfully – never quite reached the British mainland.
Living in mainland Europe has given us an opportunity to uncover the local history – made more poignant by family connections – and has allowed us to understand some of the nuances of how post war Europe has been shaped.
Like my father, Becky’s dad landed in Normandy after D-Day. He arrived with General Patton’s US Third Army at Cherbourg at the end of July 1944. Under-age, Becky’s dad fought in some of the bloodiest campaigns of the war - the break-out in Normandy and then defeating the Nazi counterattack at the Battle of the Bulge - before invading Germany.
He has never talked about his experiences, beyond a few, typically humorous, anecdotes. It is hardly surprising. He probably only survived because he spoke a little German (actually, he spoke Yiddish) and was looked on as valuable after all the official translators had been killed within days of leaving Cherbourg.
Becky and I visited Cherbourg this week, but it was not Becky’s father's footsteps we were trying to discover.
Between the wars, Cherbourg had been one of the major ports of departure for European migration to the United States of America. From the early 1930s liners departed from a grand Art Deco terminal to travel to New York. The terminal now houses a vast modern museum to the sea, complete with aquaria and a nuclear submarine.
In 1922, Becky’s grandmother left for a new life in America. Thousands of migrants from across Europe would huddle on the quayside, waiting for the liners to dock. The shipping companies would run medical tests and check papers before allowing passengers on board – the companies would be responsible for paying passage back to Europe for those who failed the immigration procedure at Ellis Island.
A few years ago, Becky and I visited Ellis Island and discovered in the archives that Becky’s grandmother had travelled with her sister on the Mauritania from Cherbourg to New York. Before that she had travelled from the city of Uman in what is now the Ukraine.
It was incredible to be in Cherbourg and to try and imagine the amazing adventures that the thousands of migrants – including Becky’s grandmother – embarked on from this port.
For many - particularly Jews from eastern Europe - this would prove to be a voyage of survival, with no family members surviving the famines of the 1930s, the second world war and the Nazi Holocaust.
Again, we were struck by the enormity of history in these lands, the terrible suffering of the last century that – thankfully – never quite reached the British mainland.
Living in mainland Europe has given us an opportunity to uncover the local history – made more poignant by family connections – and has allowed us to understand some of the nuances of how post war Europe has been shaped.
Sunday, 12 April 2009
Memories of the debarquement
When we came to Normandy I was aware that I had family connections to the region, but the last week has brought this history home to me.
My father – who visited us this week – passed through Basse-Normandie on two occasions during the second world war. The first time was fleeing the German advance that had cut off a route to the Dunkirk retreat in 1940. He was eventually ferried back to the UK in a Breton fishing boat.
The second time, he arrived at Arromanches two weeks after D-Day in 1944. He worked as an anaesthetist at the military hospital outside Bayeux and then set up a dental laboratory at the small seaside town of Langrune-sur-mer, just north-west of Caen.
The reason that the army needed a dentist so soon after D-Day is an interesting one. The combination of the rough seas of June 1944 and the fashion for young men to have false teeth meant that a lot of dentures ended up on the seabed. My father's laboratory was busy producing and fitting new dentures for the British troops.
So our trip to Langrune this week was an important family pilgrimage. During a previous visit in 1963 my father had failed to find the chalet where he had lived or the dental laboratory. But he felt in his bones that they were still there.
Whilst the rest of the family opted out of this wild goose chase, me and my 92 year-old dad trekked around the town. Taking the old church as a landmark, he narrowed down our search to the western edge of the town – still quite a large area.
Just as we were about to give up, my dad suggested we try just one more road, even though it was right on the boundary with the next town. As we turned down the small, unpaved road it looked like the old black and white pictures my father had taken in 1944.
About halfway down the road he spotted the chalet, still called “Marie Louise” and looking just like it had 65 years ago. It was a fabulous moment – not only had we succeeded in our quest, but it was very emotional for my father to reconnect with his past so concretely. And it was very moving for me to be there with him.
The dental laboratory was in the next street. It has been set up in a small workshop, which was now converted into a house. We had really hit the jackpot.
After living in Langrune for 3 months and looking after local people’s teeth as well as the soldiers', my father followed the advancing army to Belgium where he was based in Antwerp and Brugges.
Having a family connection to the events of 65 years ago probably helps to remind me of the history of this region of France. It is not a pleasant history. Even as the region was being liberated, thousands of civilians were killed in air-raids and ancient towns and cities were razed to the ground.
The Nazi occupation had divided the local people between those who resisted, those who collaborated and those who did neither. The memories of these divisions are deep and painful and the wounds still have not healed today.
My father – who visited us this week – passed through Basse-Normandie on two occasions during the second world war. The first time was fleeing the German advance that had cut off a route to the Dunkirk retreat in 1940. He was eventually ferried back to the UK in a Breton fishing boat.
The second time, he arrived at Arromanches two weeks after D-Day in 1944. He worked as an anaesthetist at the military hospital outside Bayeux and then set up a dental laboratory at the small seaside town of Langrune-sur-mer, just north-west of Caen.
The reason that the army needed a dentist so soon after D-Day is an interesting one. The combination of the rough seas of June 1944 and the fashion for young men to have false teeth meant that a lot of dentures ended up on the seabed. My father's laboratory was busy producing and fitting new dentures for the British troops.
So our trip to Langrune this week was an important family pilgrimage. During a previous visit in 1963 my father had failed to find the chalet where he had lived or the dental laboratory. But he felt in his bones that they were still there.
Whilst the rest of the family opted out of this wild goose chase, me and my 92 year-old dad trekked around the town. Taking the old church as a landmark, he narrowed down our search to the western edge of the town – still quite a large area.
Just as we were about to give up, my dad suggested we try just one more road, even though it was right on the boundary with the next town. As we turned down the small, unpaved road it looked like the old black and white pictures my father had taken in 1944.
About halfway down the road he spotted the chalet, still called “Marie Louise” and looking just like it had 65 years ago. It was a fabulous moment – not only had we succeeded in our quest, but it was very emotional for my father to reconnect with his past so concretely. And it was very moving for me to be there with him.
The dental laboratory was in the next street. It has been set up in a small workshop, which was now converted into a house. We had really hit the jackpot.
After living in Langrune for 3 months and looking after local people’s teeth as well as the soldiers', my father followed the advancing army to Belgium where he was based in Antwerp and Brugges.
Having a family connection to the events of 65 years ago probably helps to remind me of the history of this region of France. It is not a pleasant history. Even as the region was being liberated, thousands of civilians were killed in air-raids and ancient towns and cities were razed to the ground.
The Nazi occupation had divided the local people between those who resisted, those who collaborated and those who did neither. The memories of these divisions are deep and painful and the wounds still have not healed today.
Sunday, 22 March 2009
The first days of spring
Spring has arrived in Normandy. A week of sunshine was the prelude to the first asparagus of the year at Friday’s market.
We had a friend visiting and it was fantastic to be out and about, spending lots of time in cafés and taking a trip to the coast.
Seeing friends from the UK no longer makes us homesick. Hearing all the news about what is going on there makes us feel quite distant.
We read the British newspapers and are appalled and concerned by the impact of the economic crisis and the degeneration of people’s civil liberties.
However, our news is the French news – that is what affects us here. Although the crisis is big news here, the response is different.
As one of the big political figures said about the general strike last Thursday: “In a period of economic crisis sometimes it's everybody for themselves... but here, that's not the case. There is a collective force being born.”
Here in Caen – with a population of around 120,000 people – over 35,000 people took to the streets on Thursday. Across France at least three million people took part.
I managed to see something of the demonstration in Caen – the last time I spent the day in hospital having my infliximab infusion – and it was an amazing sight.
Engineers, civil servants, students and women from the perfume counter at Galeries Lafayette were all marching and demanding that ordinary people get the same protection from the economic crisis as the bankers are receiving.
Not much to ask eh?
We had a friend visiting and it was fantastic to be out and about, spending lots of time in cafés and taking a trip to the coast.
Seeing friends from the UK no longer makes us homesick. Hearing all the news about what is going on there makes us feel quite distant.
We read the British newspapers and are appalled and concerned by the impact of the economic crisis and the degeneration of people’s civil liberties.
However, our news is the French news – that is what affects us here. Although the crisis is big news here, the response is different.
As one of the big political figures said about the general strike last Thursday: “In a period of economic crisis sometimes it's everybody for themselves... but here, that's not the case. There is a collective force being born.”
Here in Caen – with a population of around 120,000 people – over 35,000 people took to the streets on Thursday. Across France at least three million people took part.
I managed to see something of the demonstration in Caen – the last time I spent the day in hospital having my infliximab infusion – and it was an amazing sight.
Engineers, civil servants, students and women from the perfume counter at Galeries Lafayette were all marching and demanding that ordinary people get the same protection from the economic crisis as the bankers are receiving.
Not much to ask eh?
Thursday, 5 March 2009
A new prescription
I’ve probably mentioned this before, but I am really impressed with primary care here in France and the outcome of having “too many” doctors.
This afternoon, I went to see my généraliste – the equivalent of a GP in the UK. I made the appointment this morning and saw him straight after lunch.
All I needed was a new prescription.
In the UK I never see my GP when I need a new prescription, I send in a repeat prescription form and pick up two month’s supply at my local pharmacy.
My repeat prescription has a ‘review date’ on the bottom, but all that happens is that when that date is reached another date appears.
Here a prescription is valid for 3 months. You take it to a local pharmacist, they keep a copy and you can go in at any time and get what you need from the prescription.
When the 3 months expires you must go back to see your généraliste for a new one.
This caused some confusion between the receptionist and me the first time I needed a new prescription – it was a surprise for me that I had to see a doctor and a surprise for the receptionist that I thought I didn’t.
And when you see the doctor, you get a 10-15 minute consultation with a full physical examination and review of blood results and of how you’ve been since the last visit, a discussion about any changes to your medication, a chance to ask any questions and then a new, hand-written prescription.
I’m sure many would say that the UK procedure is more efficient, but, given the potential dangers of the immuno-suppressive drugs I’m on, the French system is much safer.
This afternoon, I went to see my généraliste – the equivalent of a GP in the UK. I made the appointment this morning and saw him straight after lunch.
All I needed was a new prescription.
In the UK I never see my GP when I need a new prescription, I send in a repeat prescription form and pick up two month’s supply at my local pharmacy.
My repeat prescription has a ‘review date’ on the bottom, but all that happens is that when that date is reached another date appears.
Here a prescription is valid for 3 months. You take it to a local pharmacist, they keep a copy and you can go in at any time and get what you need from the prescription.
When the 3 months expires you must go back to see your généraliste for a new one.
This caused some confusion between the receptionist and me the first time I needed a new prescription – it was a surprise for me that I had to see a doctor and a surprise for the receptionist that I thought I didn’t.
And when you see the doctor, you get a 10-15 minute consultation with a full physical examination and review of blood results and of how you’ve been since the last visit, a discussion about any changes to your medication, a chance to ask any questions and then a new, hand-written prescription.
I’m sure many would say that the UK procedure is more efficient, but, given the potential dangers of the immuno-suppressive drugs I’m on, the French system is much safer.
Saturday, 28 February 2009
The unblocking of sinks
Yesterday I finally plucked up courage and unblocked the sink in the bathroom. The years of accumulated hair, soap and gunk was quite disgusting, but the satisfaction of seeing water flowing freely down the plug-hole is immense.
The sink seems to me a good metaphor for both the state of my Crohn’s and how I’m feeling being in France at the moment.
Firstly, my bowel is still taking some time to get back on an even keel after last week’s pain and vomiting. I know I have a couple of places of narrowing in my small intestine and, unless I eat a very low-residue diet, I get pain when food passes through.
There is no sink-unblocking solution to this problem. If there is food ‘backed-up’ behind the narrowing, it is a case of eating very carefully, drinking plenty of fluids and waiting. And trying to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
Ultimately I will need more surgery – but not yet.
Secondly, after being poorly with one thing or another since the end of last summer, I am feeling quite annoyed with life and that I’m missing out on the whole living in France experience.
This frustration is filling me up and stressing me out.
One thing I have to keep reminding myself that I still have five and a half months here. Another thing to remember is that this has been a fairly typical autumn and winter for me.
I generally get on with life and cope with long periods of inactivity without always becoming consumed with frustration, anger or depression. I have become very skilled at grasping opportunities when they arise and managing my expectations.
I get a lot done for someone who doesn’t do very much.
This chance to live in France for a year has been an amazing opportunity – and one I would recommend to anybody. But living abroad is challenging and does knock you off balance at times.
The problem for me at the moment is that I am beginning to see this opportunity through the eyes of someone who does not have a serious long-term health problem and who does not normally spend most of the year tucked-up at home.
Perhaps the gunk that needs cleaning out is the gunk of unrealistic expectations rather than the gunk of my illness (apologies for stretching the metaphor a bit too far).
Because, ultimately, I will get the most out of this five and a half months if I am focused on and excited by what I can do, not overwhelmed by the frustration of what I cannot do.
The sink seems to me a good metaphor for both the state of my Crohn’s and how I’m feeling being in France at the moment.
Firstly, my bowel is still taking some time to get back on an even keel after last week’s pain and vomiting. I know I have a couple of places of narrowing in my small intestine and, unless I eat a very low-residue diet, I get pain when food passes through.
There is no sink-unblocking solution to this problem. If there is food ‘backed-up’ behind the narrowing, it is a case of eating very carefully, drinking plenty of fluids and waiting. And trying to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
Ultimately I will need more surgery – but not yet.
Secondly, after being poorly with one thing or another since the end of last summer, I am feeling quite annoyed with life and that I’m missing out on the whole living in France experience.
This frustration is filling me up and stressing me out.
One thing I have to keep reminding myself that I still have five and a half months here. Another thing to remember is that this has been a fairly typical autumn and winter for me.
I generally get on with life and cope with long periods of inactivity without always becoming consumed with frustration, anger or depression. I have become very skilled at grasping opportunities when they arise and managing my expectations.
I get a lot done for someone who doesn’t do very much.
This chance to live in France for a year has been an amazing opportunity – and one I would recommend to anybody. But living abroad is challenging and does knock you off balance at times.
The problem for me at the moment is that I am beginning to see this opportunity through the eyes of someone who does not have a serious long-term health problem and who does not normally spend most of the year tucked-up at home.
Perhaps the gunk that needs cleaning out is the gunk of unrealistic expectations rather than the gunk of my illness (apologies for stretching the metaphor a bit too far).
Because, ultimately, I will get the most out of this five and a half months if I am focused on and excited by what I can do, not overwhelmed by the frustration of what I cannot do.
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