My day has been one that no one will believe unless you were there with me to experience it. And since no one was, enjoy the story . . . It all began December 2006 . . .
Background Info:
I met with my former boss and discussed some ideas for the coming summer with her. They are studying France and so she was able to pick my brain on some things. Well at the end of the meeting I offered to purchase these things called "santons" and mail them to her for the summer.
This is where the story picks up. . .
Since December 2006, I have been keeping my eye out for these little creatures. During the holiday season they are everywhere. There are markets dedicated to just selling them. Stores that don't normally sell them, sell them. So I didn't think they would be hard to find. I would just need to visit their workshops and "Voila" it would be easy. I was WRONG, way WRONG! Having lived here for more than a year I am ashamed to say I should have known better.
For the past two weeks, I have been diligently searching for these creatures. There are seven stores in Marseille and I have visited every one of the 7, asking if I could purchase them---not have them, but purchase them. And their response, "No". Why? Because it isn't tradition--It isn't December.
Yesterday, I found a store in another town that said I could order them. Since these need to be in the states by May, I decided it would be best if I went there to get them myself. So I took a bus to Aix, went to the office of tourism, asked which city bus I needed to take, and took the appropriate bus. With map in hand I departed the bus stop in the direction of the store.
The name of the street I was looking for was Bouenhoure de Haute. Those of you who know french know that the word "Haute" means on top or high. I would soon realize the reason it was named Bouenhoure de Haute.
I eventually turned onto this gravel road, that had a slight incline. Let me paint the whole picture for you. To my left is a rather steep embankment (kind of like the road was carved out of a mountain) and to my right is a ditch that separates me from the interstate. You would see this scene in one of those lifetime movies where the girl gets abducted and is never seen again. I started to walk and take notice of the street numbers on the houses. At the bottom of the hill (I would later learn that it was a BIG hillmore like a mountain) the first house read 205 Bouenhourde de Haute. I looked at the address in my hand: 955 Bouenhourde de Haute. I thought "surely the next house won't be 206 Bouenhourde de Haute." Oh it was, and this wasn't like I was in a neighborhood, there were acres between houses. . . .
1 hour later I reach 856 Bouenhourde de Haute. And shortly after that I come across 955. Only to discover that the owner passed me in his vehicle on his way in and was in his drive way. I tell him that I am there to buy the santons and he shows me to the shop. As he is getting my order ready, I begin to look about the shop and realize that this isn't so much a professional looking store. Translation: He probably doesn't take credit cards. What do I have? A credit card. So I ask "Do you take visa?" He responds, "no, only cash." I'm not real sure what my face said, but I would love to have a picture of it. I respond, "Is there a bank near by?" Remember the hour plus walk, the acres between houses, the hill . . . there is no bank and I know it. He asked, "did you walk here?" I said, "yes". We were both thinking the same thing and then he speaks.
This is where he becomes my best friend!!
He said, "I have to go pick up my kids from school, I will drop you off at a bank, you can pay me, and then I'll take you to the center of town." You can bet your bottom dollar the whole family is rolling over this story tonight. He wraps up my purchase, we get in his car, have a lovely conversation about how cold it is, how strong the wind is (and I'm thinking you have a car--I walked up hill in it), how much I love it here, and what I'm doing here. Before I got out of his car he said, "you know people aren't buying santons right now; it really isn't the season." I chuckled and nodded in agreement with him. He drops me off at the bank and I pay him. I apologize for the inconvenience and you know what he said, "It is normal". I think to myself it is so far from normal.
This is what I have learned:
1. My dad was always right--take cash not everyone accepts a credit card (of course he told me that 8 years ago)
2. I still have an american mindset. Not everyone cares about making a buck, tradition is far more important to some.
Background Info:
I met with my former boss and discussed some ideas for the coming summer with her. They are studying France and so she was able to pick my brain on some things. Well at the end of the meeting I offered to purchase these things called "santons" and mail them to her for the summer.
This is where the story picks up. . .
Since December 2006, I have been keeping my eye out for these little creatures. During the holiday season they are everywhere. There are markets dedicated to just selling them. Stores that don't normally sell them, sell them. So I didn't think they would be hard to find. I would just need to visit their workshops and "Voila" it would be easy. I was WRONG, way WRONG! Having lived here for more than a year I am ashamed to say I should have known better.
For the past two weeks, I have been diligently searching for these creatures. There are seven stores in Marseille and I have visited every one of the 7, asking if I could purchase them---not have them, but purchase them. And their response, "No". Why? Because it isn't tradition--It isn't December.
Yesterday, I found a store in another town that said I could order them. Since these need to be in the states by May, I decided it would be best if I went there to get them myself. So I took a bus to Aix, went to the office of tourism, asked which city bus I needed to take, and took the appropriate bus. With map in hand I departed the bus stop in the direction of the store.
The name of the street I was looking for was Bouenhoure de Haute. Those of you who know french know that the word "Haute" means on top or high. I would soon realize the reason it was named Bouenhoure de Haute.
I eventually turned onto this gravel road, that had a slight incline. Let me paint the whole picture for you. To my left is a rather steep embankment (kind of like the road was carved out of a mountain) and to my right is a ditch that separates me from the interstate. You would see this scene in one of those lifetime movies where the girl gets abducted and is never seen again. I started to walk and take notice of the street numbers on the houses. At the bottom of the hill (I would later learn that it was a BIG hillmore like a mountain) the first house read 205 Bouenhourde de Haute. I looked at the address in my hand: 955 Bouenhourde de Haute. I thought "surely the next house won't be 206 Bouenhourde de Haute." Oh it was, and this wasn't like I was in a neighborhood, there were acres between houses. . . .
1 hour later I reach 856 Bouenhourde de Haute. And shortly after that I come across 955. Only to discover that the owner passed me in his vehicle on his way in and was in his drive way. I tell him that I am there to buy the santons and he shows me to the shop. As he is getting my order ready, I begin to look about the shop and realize that this isn't so much a professional looking store. Translation: He probably doesn't take credit cards. What do I have? A credit card. So I ask "Do you take visa?" He responds, "no, only cash." I'm not real sure what my face said, but I would love to have a picture of it. I respond, "Is there a bank near by?" Remember the hour plus walk, the acres between houses, the hill . . . there is no bank and I know it. He asked, "did you walk here?" I said, "yes". We were both thinking the same thing and then he speaks.
This is where he becomes my best friend!!
He said, "I have to go pick up my kids from school, I will drop you off at a bank, you can pay me, and then I'll take you to the center of town." You can bet your bottom dollar the whole family is rolling over this story tonight. He wraps up my purchase, we get in his car, have a lovely conversation about how cold it is, how strong the wind is (and I'm thinking you have a car--I walked up hill in it), how much I love it here, and what I'm doing here. Before I got out of his car he said, "you know people aren't buying santons right now; it really isn't the season." I chuckled and nodded in agreement with him. He drops me off at the bank and I pay him. I apologize for the inconvenience and you know what he said, "It is normal". I think to myself it is so far from normal.
This is what I have learned:
1. My dad was always right--take cash not everyone accepts a credit card (of course he told me that 8 years ago)
2. I still have an american mindset. Not everyone cares about making a buck, tradition is far more important to some.
