A meeting with some Australian friends on a sunny day took me to my favourite café in the Tuileries – Chez Diane. On the way back, I went to see my favourite rose in the Palais Royal gardens. I don’t know what it’s called but it has the most amazing fragrance. We’re going to have another try at growing it from a cutting in August.
When I first got married in France and saw our livret de famille I thought it was very neat although I didn’t realise its importance. It’s a little book in which the details of your marriage are written and which is completed with each child. When you get divorced, your livret is updated as well. If you are not married, you are issued a livret de famille when your first child is born. If you separate or divorce, you get another one.
The first thing I discovered when my children when to school was the fiche d’état civil which was a piece of paper delivered by the town hall containing the information about an individual child taken from the livret. I even needed one when Black Cat started ballet! What a waste of time. What busy mother (or father) wants to go to the town hall and sit around waiting for a civil servant to copy information by hand onto a piece of paper?
At the time, the only ID in Australia was a drivers licence or passport and children certainly didn’t need ID if they stayed within the country! Fortunately, the fiche d’état civil was abandoned in the year 2000 and the carte d’identité became compulsory and free even for children.
So what exactly is a fiche, you might be wondering (état civil = civil status). It’s one of those funny words that has several meanings and no satisfactory translation usually because we don’t often have an equivalent concept.
The fiche d’état civil was a flimsy bit of A4 paper. A fiche can also be made of stiff paper or cardboard such as a fiche-cuisine which is a recipe card. Those cards we used to take notes on and put in a filing box in the old days were called fiches. Index cards, if I remember rightly.
At the doctor’s, you might be asked to fill out a fiche which I guess we would call a form. But there is also the word formulaire. I asked Jean Michel to explain the difference between fiche and formulaire. “Bonne question”, was his typical reply.
Its seems that a fiche is used to contain basic data whereas a formulaire is used to make a request, such as a passport or enrolment formula (fiche d’inscription).
Another popular fiche is the fiche de paie or pay slip which you are supposed to keep for your entire life if you want to get your pension.
A fiche technique is a specification sheet or spec.
A fichier is a set of fiches and therefore a file and that includes computer files which are also fichiers. If you want to be specific, you can say fichier informatique. Although ordinateur means a computer, the word informatique is used in most other contexts: informatique = computer science; il est dans l’informatique = he’s in computers; l’industrie informatique = computer industry. By extension fichier d’adresses is a mailing list.
And to go back to livret, when else do we use the word in French? A livret de caisse d’épargne is a savings bankbook (pretty rare these days), and a livret scolaire is a report book, though I don’t know if they have those any more. Livret can also be used to describe any booklet and even a catalogue for an art show, for example.
An opera libretto is a livret d’opéra.
Perhaps you know other meanings of the word fiche?
This week’s Blogger Round-Up starts with a post by Judy MacMahon from My French Life who shares 4 secrets spots for hot chocolate – I shall be the first to try! Next Phoebe from Lou Messugo takes us to visit the Blue Church in Bratislava – I’m so jealous because I didn’t know of its existence when I visited the city last summer. Anda from Travel Notes and Beyond then tells us the good and bad of Istanbul which will stand me in good stead when I go there in September. Enjoy!
The French know their chocolat chaud like no one else: it’s how they begin their day! After all, there’s nothing quite like a proper French hot chocolate – except perhaps drinking said French hot chocolate in Paris…
There are the classic, well-known spots to sip a hot chocolate in Paris. And then there are those little cafés that the Parisians would love to keep for themselves; but secrets have a way of getting out. Read more
After two years of writing exclusively about France, mostly about the area where I live and French culture, I’m diverging into wider pastures, so this, my friends, is my first offering not about France. I’ve been itching to write about other places I’ve been and having just returned from a trip to Vienna, Budapest and Bratislava I’ve decided it’s now or never!
Bratislava, the tiny capital of Slovakia, is only an hour’s drive from Vienna, making it perfect for a day trip. I had done a little research about the place and knew that I wanted to see the Blue Church, no matter what. And in this case the “no matter what” was a big black cloud and rumbles of thunder coming from the general direction of the church. Read more
It is difficult to judge a city of the size of Istanbul after a 5 day trip, but if I were to describe the little that I saw of it in just a few words, I would say: huge, crowded, majestic and unique. Huge, because the city boundaries cover almost 2,000 square kilometers, while the metropolitan region, or the Province of Istanbul, covers 6,220 square kilometers. Crowded, because everywhere you go in Istanbul you walk almost shoulder to shoulder with thousands of other people. Read more
After visiting Erasmo and having lunch in Treporti, we are on the vaporetto to Burano along with a lot of other people. They all get out and we join the throng. I didn’t remember it being this crowded seven years ago.
We enter what looks like a very expensive lace and household linen shop and see a lady making lace by hand. Burano claims to have the oldest tradition in Europe for embroidered/needle lace which was created in about 1500 using a needle and thread.
When we come out, we take the first turn to the right and find ourselves surprisingly alone. This is the Burano I remember from seven years ago, with its gaily coloured houses and quiet streets.
We wander around the back streets for a while then down to the lagoon and back through the canal until we rejoin the main square Piazza Galuppi. I want to visit a shop we went to last time that has a lace museum inside but we can’t seem to find it.
On the right there is a sign for the Venetian Museo del Merlotto housed in the historic palace of Torcello which houses the Burano Lace School from 1872 to 1970, but it’s not what we’re looking for. All I can remember from last time is that it was about midday and was very hot!
I decide to ask so we go into a shop called Dalla Lidia Merletti and I explain what I’m looking for. Yes, the museum is down the back of the shop! Cabinets containing lace line the long corridor and at the end is a room full of more lace ncluding lace dresses.
At the top of a wooden staircase is another part of the collection, including French lace. In the 1600s Burano embroidery became increasingly complicated and it soon spread through the rest of Europe. France imported Burano lacemakers to work in the lacemaking areas of France, particularly Normandy. We see an example of French lace.
Back in the shop, we are asked in French if we want to buy anything. I would like to find a piece of local lace to make a fabric panel to use as a bedhead in Blois. A table runner would seem to be a good solution. We finally settle on a very expensive piece but Jean Michel easily manages to bring the price down by one-third! The shop is not very busy and we are soon talking about home exchanges with the entire staff.
We walk out very pleased with ourselves and make our way back towards the ferry. A crowd has gathered around a band of gondoliers with accordeons and other instruments, all singing very loudly, particularly one man in ordinary clothes wearing a gondolier’s hat. At the end, the gondoliers all applaud and he walks off into the crowd. He was just a passer-by!
An ice-cream seems a fitting way to end the day while waiting for the vaporetto to go back to Venice.
You can’t think of Venice without bridges and the ones at canal-level all humpbacked to let the gondolas and other boats through. I loved them all! These are a few of my favourites.
“I love your blog. It’s terrible”. This comment was left on my daughter’s blog. I’d hate to think what the comment would be if she didn’t like the blog!
The reader making the comment is French of course and not aware that terrible is something negative in English. Like formidable. Telling someone they are formidable in French means they’re great whereas in English it’s means you wouldn’t like to get on their wrong side. Hardly the same, is it? In French you’d say redoutable or even terrible.
Il est terrible can mean that he’s fantastic or awful depending on the context. That makes it easy to remember, doesn’t it?
Although terrible comes from the Latin terribilis which in turn comes from terrere, to frighten, it now has several meanings in French:
1. Inspiring terror or fear e.g. Une terrible catastrophe
2. Reaching a violent or considerable force e.g. Il s’est produit une terrible secousse – There was a terrible earthquake
3. Very unpleasant e.g. Il a un caractère terrible – He has an awful character
4. Representing a large quantity e.g. J’ai un travail terrible à faire – I’ve got an enormous amount of work to do
5. And more familiarly, out of the ordinary, inspiring admiration or surprise e.g. Il est arrivé avec une fille terrible – He turned up with a terrific girl.
And there you have it – the English version of terrible meaning something positive, namely terrific, which is usually positive in English, except for expressions such as “There was a terrific storm”.
Formidable, which comes from the Latin formidabilis, which in turn comes from formido, dread or terror, has kept its original meaning in English, whereas as its meaning in French is always positive, whether the idea is colossal or imposing e.g. Une volonté formidable – Incredible determination, inspiring admiration e.g. un type formidable – a terrific person, or something astonishing e.g. C’est quand même formidable qu’il ne vous ait rien dit – It’s really astonishing that he did say anything to you.
So if someone tells you about un restaurant terrible, you can add it to your list of places to go!
This week’s blogger round-up is all about food. Paula McInerney from Contented Traveller reports on eating mussels in Brussels, which it’s a very popular food in France as well. We buy them on the Sunday market. And it’s the Fête du Pain in France, so I have two posts for you: first we have an historical explanation by The Good Life France then the ever-active Mary Kay from Out and About in Paris gives us Paris’ take on the bread festival including the best baguette competition. Enjoy!
I had to use the phrase Mussels in Brussels because it is a term that we have heard often and one that is quite amusing in a strange way. When we hear of a countries signature dish, we want to try it and we did.
I think that we fell for Brussels pretty much straight away and wondered at why so many people are so sceptical of this city as a destination. These are 2 posts where I stand up for Brussels as being a new hot spot for travellers Brussels: the new hot spot for travellers and Brussels – a little taste leaves me hungrier. Add to the mix that you get to try the mussels in Brussels and you cannot go wrong in my opinion. Read more
Bread, as everyone knows, plays a big part in the daily life of the French people – in fact 12 million people a day in France visit a bread shop.
From baguettes to boules – the long thin sticks of light bread, to the round tasty balls of bread, bread in France is part of the daily fabric of life.
Since 1996 a festival of bread has been held to celebrate the art of making real, traditional French breads. Taking place across France the festival runs for a week each May starting on the Monday before the 16th May – which is the Saint’s day of Saint-Honoré – the Patron Saint of bakers. Read more
Mmmm! If you’re planning to attend the annual “Fête du Pain” (Bread Festival”) in Paris, just follow your nose to the large tent in front of Notre-Dame Cathedral from May 8 to 18. It’s where French bakers and pastry chefs invite visitors to learn about one of France’s most revered professions. Not surprisingly, the celebration coincides with the name day of Saint-Honoré, the profession’s patron saint. Read more
If you have been reading this blog for a while, you’ll know that I am a cappuccino freak and have finally managed to produce something fairly decent at home. In most French cafés, however, the cappuccino leaves something to be desired. So you can imagine how much I was looking forward to a good cappuccino in Venice.
My first experience entirely lived up to expectation. We chose a small café opposite the lagoon, just down from the Maritime Museum. At the first sip, I knew it was good. Smooth and creamy the way I like it. Jean Michel had chosen some little cakes to go with it. Delicious.
So I was not prepared for the awful frothy one I got in one of our favourite restaurants, but since Italians don’t have cappuccino after midday, I forgave them. I did mention it however when we paid so they gave us some complimentary liqueur.
The next cappuccino was also a disaster. Instead of going back to the first place, we stopped at bigger café/restaurant next to the Zaccharia vaporetto station. As soon as I saw it, with that awful froth on top, I knew it was not the real stuff. We ate our cakes, paid the bill (which was twice that of the first place) and left.
The next place we tried was a pasticceria bar near the Ospedale. I went in and asked if they had “cappuccino vero“. The waiter looked askance but a second waiter – the one using the espresso machine said “si, cappuccino vero” – and it was!
So if you want real cappuccino in Venice, go to a small bar or a pasticceria and don’t order it after noon! Of course, now that I’ve tasted the real stuff again, I am no longer satisfied with my own efforts. I need to find an instructor!
We did a lot of walking in Venice and saw a lot of doors with often intricate decorations. These are just a few!
When you grow up in Australia, you know all about Venetian blinds. They are not nearly as popular in France and most people don’t know how to use them. We had them at the French university where I taught and I began each year with a lesson on how to open and close them! However, I had never really thought about the name until we got to Venice where our home exchange/rental flat had two sets that didn’t close properly.
Our French guide book, Le Routard, mentioned them, giving persiennes as a translation which is rather strange because persiennes are something quite different. They are what I call louvres, which is a funny word when you come to think about it as it comes from the French word open.
Obviously modern Venetian blinds are adaptations of the original ones. I checked out the windows in Venice but they mostly seemed to have wooden shutters or curtains with only a few Venetians on some older buildings. I found some slatted shutters or louvres on the Rialto bridge but they are hardly what I’d call a Venetian blind.
In fact, Venetian blind turns out to be very nebulous terminology and seems to cover various types of blinds, made of different materials (wood, metal, plastic) and consisting of horizontal overlapping slats held together with a cord so they can be rotated open or closed.
The generic term for blind in French is store which comes from the Italian stora, meaning mat. It also includes the sort of awnings you have in front of a shop or café in France. Like a blind, a store can be solid or have slats.
Those metal and glass awnings over front doors are called marquises by the way, which I think is a lovely term but I have no idea where it comes from.
Back to our blinds. Persiennes are mostly wooden but can also be metal with horiziontal and occasionally vertical overlapping slats that are fixed. They can be opened in several ways – outwards or upwards like a window, by sliding across, etc.
Some persiennes are a type of shutter or volet. A volet can also be solid and is defined as a covering over a window to block out the light from either the inside or outside. Most French houses have them and most French people prefer to sleep in almost total darkness.
This was very strange to me when I first moved to France as we only had Venetian blinds in our house and they weren’t necessarily closed. They certainly didn’t block out all the light. Once I got used to sleeping with shutters, I found it very difficult not to have them. Our flat in Paris only has roller blinds so I had curtains made with special light-blocking lining.
Our house in Blois has shutters that open and close inside and guarantee total darkness. A recent Australian visitor loved them – she said it was like sleeping in a cave!
A thought has just struck me – what is the Italian meaning of Venetian blinds is not our Venitian blinds at all, but the French persiennes? I hope someone will be able to answer me!
