Having been MIA for some months, I have decided to get out my rusty digits and get typing again. Apologies for the long yet necessary hiatus.
Finding myself once again living in the UK, 'Keeping up my English' may seem a little out-dated as a title; but suffering in the throes of the current economic climate [three tired words which I am weary of] finds me monotonously filling out forms and looking at CVs all day, the thought of writing something where I can be me me, not professional me, somewhat appeals. So Keeping up my English stays.
My final months in France turned out to be the opposite of the slow start to the year. The many months of glacial progression towards fluency began to pay off, and I got the chance to move to Samois sur Seine, a gorgeous village on the side of the river Seine, and also the home of the founder of 'Jazz Manouche' or 'gypsy jazz': Django Reinhardt. For those unfamiliar with old Django [before moving, I had only heard his name passed around in conversation but had not quite gauged how big he actually is in France], you may be familiar with his most famous song 'Minor swing', a song which became the theme tune of my final month in France. [Put it on, if you will, while you read this, just to get a true feel for the atmosphere of that last month]
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| Samois sur Seine |
So I moved in with three other French people, a mix-matched but familial and extremely welcoming bunch, to a busy house placed just 10 meters from the Seine. My female housemate had a studio-come-gallery in the basement/garage where she put on an exhibition for the village in my final week (pictured). In the evenings we would have wine [these guys really knew how to drink] and/or beer and/or mojito. It was interesting to have been welcomed into the bosom of a French community after skirting around groups for so long; as I mentioned in earlier blogs, the stereotype of the French being 'closed' is not totally false. In fact, what I discovered was that once you were welcomed into a group, the cultural differences are not all that apparent, we talked about everything that we would talk about at home; music, TV, politics. However, getting through the 'initiation' stage is far more grueling than I, as a Brit, am generally used to and this is what appears 'closed'.
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| the exhibition in the garage |
The living room had been converted into a fourth bedroom, where music would blast out in the evenings; generally Rosenberg Trio, a huge group on the Jazz manouche scene, or Rodrigo y Gabriella. I learned a lot about jazz manouche, its culture being totally intertwined with the village. On the way to work, I would drive past the traveling community to some rather hostile glances. I discovered an old-fashioned community where the men really are in charge, and in the evenings the kids play in the road and the mums would rap on our door to sell sunglasses. I really liked seeing how the Samois and gypsy community lived side by side, slightly wary of each other, but neither causing any trouble. And the fact that every member of the traveling community that I met claimed to be Django's grandson/daughter, showed the importance that the Reinhardt name still holds for its people.
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| The house, on the right with the red roses (French cliché) |
The traveling community had descended on Samois as it was, in fact, the month of the internationally renowned Django Reinhardt festival. I had not quite anticipated the significance of this when I arrived, but as my flatmates formed the heart of the organisational team, I soon realised what a big thing this festival was going to be. One Wednesday, I got home from a long day at work to find a queue of about 100 people outside our flat, waiting to get onto the island where the festival was warming up. The atmosphere was buzzing; old Belgian couples, young Brits, middle-aged Americans and Frenchies from all-over had swarmed to the village to experience the festival, right at the heart of the jazz manouche birthplace [our house was opposite the house that Django grew up in]. It was then that I felt pretty lucky to be living where I was living, and with the housemates that I had, who had managed to squeeze me a free pass! And so, despite being a little stressed by my double life of doing an 8-6 day job in a school for kids with disabilities and festival goer by night (Samois-style, which generally means alcohol), it was amazing. The house was over-run with guests, on one occasion I was kept up until 4am by Moldovan accordionist [and possibly one of the most talented musicians I have met] in the kitchen, with the famous festival performers taking to the guitar and voice. Retrospect does make that story seem a little rosier than reality (with a 6 am start the next day).
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| The main-stage featuring Rosenberg Trio |
So, with a large dose of Sod's law, my final week in France was probably one of the best I had. A balmy evening, listening to Ibrahim Maalouf, surrounded by 5000 people, my front door just 50 metres away, narrow boats piled up on the side of the Seine with people leaning off them to watch the bands and a cool [free] beer in hand...couldn't have asked for much more!
If anyone is interested in going to this festival next year, or knowing more, tickets are cheap and I would certainly be keen to go. Let me know!
