what we've got

It’s been a year since Jennie and I left England to move to Geneva Switzerland, and later to nearby France where we live now. I won’t go into the sentimental details of the ‘anniversary’ – suffice to say that there was a little reminiscing over a glass of champers last night, thinking about the year that has passed – so instead here’s a list of how French life is great and the things I miss about the UK. In no particular order…

Why I love France

Weather. It’s hotter here in the summer than the UK, there are more days filled with sunshine, and it’s relatively consistent and predictable too. Summer last year was like the feted one in 1976 in the UK, the one we think all summers should be like. Since meteo.fr is particular to my specific area, the forecast seems always to get it right. There are some indifferent days, of course, but generally it is less damp than England, less gloomy. The barbie gets more use. Conversely, when it snows, it is colder than the UK, colder but a dry cold. What this means is there is a greater range of…

Outdoor activity. In the summer you can plan days out because it’s likely you’ll get decent weather. Since we live in the countryside, more or less, we have some excellent hiking, golf, cycling, climbing, swimming… the list goes on. We have a tennis court and football ground at the end of the road. The key thing is, as the winter comes the sports only get better: when it’s snowing, we go snowboarding or snowshoeing. It’s this kind of year-round activity that is one of my most favourite things about this place.

The mountains and the water. We live in the Rhône-Alpes region, so as you might expect there are lots of mountains and there is lots of water. We live around an hour or so from some of the best Alpine locations anywhere and I can see the Salève and Jura mountain ranges from my window. We have Lakes Geneva and Annecy, which we plan to boat on soon. What’s more, we have Geneva on our doorstep, so we get to do all the city things, too – and there are the all-important opportunities for work.

Food and wine. I’ve done some independent studies* on this and, in short, food is better in my part of France than in the UK. Much better. Even local stores have local produce, lovingly laid out and presented. (There is one exception, as you’ll see.) Even the small fact that France loves whisky, as do I, seems as if it is just the right place. The aisles dedicated to cured meat and cheese found in the hypermarché should be enough to convince you of its culinary superiority; if it doesn’t, try some of the local wines from Satigny, or the Rhône, or…

Secular, liberal, republic. So far, I’ve counted the physical things, like weather and mountains. But there are political or philosophical things, too. One of the latter is the fact that France is a modern, democratic secular, liberal, republic. This generally coincides with my approach, my politics. It doesn’t mean that France is without its issues. But nor does it mean that these high ideals are completely detached from public life either. You’ll find them in bars and restaurants and in the fabric of life out here. I even found a copy of Camus’ ‘L’etranger’ at the local supermarket.

People work to live, not live to work. Shops are closed on Sunday here (some large supermarkets are open in the morning) and often closed on Monday, too. Many more close for a long lunch, between 12.00 and 14.00. It’s annoying sometimes and takes getting used to, but it illustrates how the French try to put living before working. It’s not perfect, and we’ve been affected by strikes and so on, but it’s something I can believe in (and not just because I’m lazy, either).

Before you get on the plane (or not, as the case might be) to leave it all behind, there are some downsides, at least as far as I’m concerned…

What I miss about England

Family and friends. You have to leave your family and friends behind. That is, unless you can take them with you. I’m working on the latter. You get more popular when you live in a nice place and I try to convert every member of my family who comes through the door to move out here. France isn’t a million miles away, either, and it’s only a short plane flight to go to the UK. We all do a lot of social networking stuff, too.

Newspapers. The quality of newspapers here is very high. Le Monde, Le Figaro and even the free or cheap newspapers like 20 Minutes focus on more on news, not just gossip. But since I’m still learning French, I can’t read them effortlessly, which is how I like to read a newspaper, especially at weekends. The French Paper is quite good but it doesn’t have the frequency or sheer heft of a good old weekend broadsheet, stuffed with magazines and reviews.

Marks and Spencer. There’s plenty of good shopping out here, but there’s nothing like a Marks and Sparks. It’s the corduroy, you see – the cardigan. There is one in Geneva but it sells only clothes for women and food. However, I can order online, and it’s fairly cheap at around £5 to ship to France, so all is not lost.

Curry. Despite an ongoing fervent search, I still haven’t found a convincing curry house. The curry in Geneva, even in what appear ‘authentic’ places, is adapted (read ‘made innocuously bland’) to a Swiss and French taste in the places I’ve been. It’s just as well my wife Jennie is a great cook. On a related note, you can get Marmite and baked beans (other staples) but they are often horribly expensive.

Language. It’s hard sometimes to know that everyone around you doesn’t understand what you might want to say, that you are divided by a language, even if you might share common interests and beliefs. The answer is to learn French. If you’re like me, you might find this tough. But when you get a moment of breakthrough – perhaps you listen to the radio, and understand what is being said, at least in part – it is completely rewarding and worthwhile.

I can’t say I miss UK culture – music, tv, movies – because we get them all here. Without them it would be difficult, I think. And I can’t say we’re completely immersed in French culture, either. Some of it, especially some of the pop music and comedy shows, I’m happy to leave aside for now.

If you think these lists amount to my succumbing to the temptation (common in other ex-pats, I’ve found) to criticize their home country when they leave it, then think again: I love the UK and always will. A move away from home can mean that you love it just the same, not less. I’ll be supporting England in the football World Cup. It’s just that I now have another couple of teams to shout for, too – France and Switzerland. Addition doesn’t mean dilution.

But the biggest thing I’ll take, though, is not necessarily to be found in either the UK or France and is this: we feel good because we took ourselves from our relative comfort zones and tried something new and challenging; that we developed a new confidence and broader outlook that comes with the huge upheaval of moving to a country with a different language and culture; that we’ve not just sat and thought it would be nice to move, but actually gone and done it.

It’s not that people don’t do this kind of thing every day, or that it’s particularly unusual or daring or brave. We’re none of those things. It’s just that it is unusual for us, a challenge, something that has allowed us to be different from ourselves and one we’re lucky to say has worked out wonderfully. And who could not love an area like Haute-savoie when it has the motto: ‘In tartiflette we trust!‘ This is a place I’m happy to call ‘home’.

*I mean I’ve eaten in both France and England quite a lot.

What does it mean to be French?

The French have began a process of reflecting on their national identity by asking what it means to be French in the 21st century. Ostensibly this is happening as a result of recent perceived issues with parts of the population that are felt to have not integrated into French society, at least as some see it. But it also appears uniquely French itself, in that it represents another way in which the French undergo a perpetual (it seems) analysis of their language and culture, their politics and ideologies, their people and beliefs.

A strength of a society (and its individuals) is calculated in its ability to accept and respond to criticism, to solicit it even. Inevitably, the Grand débat sur l’identité nationale (The Debate on National Identity) will attract criticism of the French. One thorny issue that appears frequently when considering French identity is the perceived conservative attitude to its language and culture.

The BBC’s ‘From our own correspondent’ outlines this single, but significant element, by expressing it as a desire of the French to embrace their own culture jealously, even at the expense of others:

The French collude in the over-praising for two reasons, one good, one bad. The good reason is that they are genuinely fond of their culture. [...] One realises after a while that the French view their [celebrities] almost as members of the family. They enjoy going to see them in the same way they enjoy catching up with the latest family gossip.

The bad reason is that it is all about self-protection. Succumbing to sycophancy, after all, is a way of reassuring oneself that all is good in the world, when clearly it is not.

As an outsider and relative newcomer to the country, I’ve yet to form a picture of what it means to be French, but I’m learning a great deal (it wouldn’t be fair, either, since I wear rose-tinted spectacles having fallen for the place). I probably never will satisfy a complete conclusion but what I can say is that the national debate on what it means to be French appears to me a clear-eyed approach to learning more, good and bad, about itself.

And when you point such a focus elsewhere, it’s only a matter of time before the focus rests on you, and rightly so. I’m from the UK, so I wonder: what does it mean to be British? And by extension, what does it mean to be me, or be you, and where you’re from?

I’m going to take one seemingly independent observation, then another, and then make an obvious one of my own (I call it iSynthesis).

Apple is likely to announce the launch of a new tablet-based Mac, probably called (if you are to believe the hype) either the iPad or the iTablet. No real news there – you knew this already. But the thought preoccupying everyone is: no one knows what we’re meant to be doing with it. Charles Arthur in The Guardian echoes the sentiment:

Here’s a story from the near future. It’s been a long day. Finally throwing aside the cares of work, you slump down on your sofa and pick up that shiny new device you bought the other day. […] it’s Apple’s stylish new iPad (iTablet? iSlate?) – a smooth 10in screen with no keyboard, like an iPhone on steroids. You pick it up, turn it on with one swipe of a finger, and begin to . . .

At this point, the picture goes hazy and freezes. The reason: […] still no one is certain what the hell their creation is actually going to be for…

There, that’s the first of the observations. Many people will want one, many will buy one, but if we’re going to justify the price – thought to be around £1000 – we better know how we’re going to use it.

Now for the second, seemingly unrelated observation. In another section of The Guardian, (the wonderfully-named) Mercedes Bunz tells us how iTunes might save the publishing world through simplifying the ‘micropayments’ approach for buying newspaper content:

Payment has to be simple and elegant. Click and run, and don’t think about it. Apple can offer that: there are more than 100 million iTunes accounts with credit cards already. If the transactions are batched so that the fixed cost is amortised across multiple articles, iTunes can offer readers a simple and elegant way to pay, and readers like that.

Now, for the third and final observation, my own. No doubt you’ve already guessed it: what we’re going to do on the iTablet is subscribe and purchase electronically-published content through iTunes.

The signs are there: The New York Times is considering switching to a micro-payment system; I understand from Bunz’s article that various publishers have been in talks with Apple about distributing their content; some newspapers are already using alternative methods of creating revenue through such approaches as the aforementioned The Guardian‘s iPhone app.

I’m not the first to put two-and-two together and I won’t be the last. iTunes might be the future, whether you like it or not, of some types of publishing.

Snow capped mountain: Le grand piton 1

Originally uploaded by Phil Greaney

We had snow in the mountains here this morning, a light dusting on the trees at the top. It was cold and grey and I expected more later.

But when I went out walking this afternoon I noticed that the snow in trees had melted, and the sky was blue again.

I watch the meteo for signs of snow here and elsewhere. Wintersports enthusiasts following the weather religiously, of course – there is great cachet being the first to snowboard or ski.

Colossus computer at Bletchley Park: before even my time

Hmmm. A history of web browsers – that’s not a promising title, you might think. Well, you might be right. But whilst glancing through the browsers in this short well-presented history, I started to remember when I first use the web.

Ah, my first time: I used Netscape, probably around 1995 or so, where I used to work. We had a single PC – despite the fact that we sold and repaired them – sat on its own in the corner, as if on an altar. It was on dial up I think. Colleagues asked if I knew about the ‘world wide web’ – so revered was it back then that we often used its full title – and saying ‘no’, they invited me to have a go. The cursor blinked in a little box onscreen. ‘Just type in anything’, they said. So I did. I typed in ‘monkeys’.

Before long (although longer than we’re used to now) a list of monkey-related websites appeared. Nowadays, this event is forgettably commonplace, but then it felt an almost overwhelming experience. I tried again, thinking it might be a ruse. But no, entering something else – I have forgotten what I typed – worked just the same. We all looked at each. Nobody said anything.

And so looking through the list of browsers I’ve used is part informative, part nostalgia. There is probably a rule for technology nostalgia somewhere, following the numerous rules that have sprung up, but I’d like to suggest a new one: the cultural value of a new piece of technology can be measured in the length of time it takes to become nostalgic about it. The shorter the length of time the more valuable.

You can’t fool nostalgia – it’s red in tooth and claw when it comes to the survival of the fittest memory, an instinctively-driven evolution to save and remember those things that mean the most to us. For me, it was Netscape and the wonder of world wide web. What about you?

Jennie Lee building, home of ed-tech at the OU

I’ve just finished the final of three courses in my masters in online and distance education (MAODE) from The Open University (pending failure and resit, which right now seems horribly pessimistic). It feels good to finish, especially as I got married half-way through the first course and moved from the UK to Switzerland and then France at the beginning of the third course. My background is in American short story minimalism, so learning the approach, methods and practices – immersing myself in the new discourse, one might say – was in itself fascinating, before I even got started on the subject-related stuff.

Study can become addictive, so I’m wondering what I can study next. Perhaps a geology course might interest me, since I’ve become a bit obsessed by mountains; or there’s always photography? Or perhaps abandon formal study altogether. I’ve certainly decided to do this for the subjects that are central to my academic and work life. Not that there isn’t any more to learn: but I want to write and research independently. Shorter courses can broaden my learning in those areas that I’m inexperienced in. I might even doth some maths.

But for now, I’m weaning myself off study with the lighter but by no means less interesting The Great Courses ‘Museum Masterpieces: The Louvre’ DVD set, which discusses a selection of some of the great artists and their work. Then I’ve got their ‘How to Listen to and Understand Great Music’. And there’s French, too – and… well, almost everything I do seems to involve learning at some level.

I’ve my peers on H800 to thank for making it such a happy, interesting and useful experience. Many of us used Twitter for sharing ideas, tips and support. Now it’s a bittersweet feeling to symbolically close the Tweetdeck tab where I had kept a search for the hashtag ‘H800′ so I could follow what people were writing about it. Bye bye MAODE, hello everything else.

Most mornings I wake up and say the same thing, which you might generously call a mantra to start the day. In a former life in the UK, I would say (normally to my wife Jennie, where it made barely a little more sense, but sometimes to myself) upon throwing back the bedsheets:

I’m going to have a shower, you absolutely shower. I’m off to work to keep you in the manner to which you’ve become accustomed.

Day in, day out, the script remained the same. Nowadays, since the move to France, I have changed my tune a little. Now I’m more likely to say:

Another day in paradise. What’s the weather like, Jen? Sunny?

And most often it is sunny. But the price we pay for il fait du soleil are storms, violent ones, ones you’d remember for ages, ones you’d bring up in conversation months or even years later. Every silver lining literally has a cloud – in this case, a big angry one, full of thunder.

And so as we went to bed last week we expected the storm to come, as it does, and light the night sky, and crackle and fizz overhead and then pass, and then become calm. When the thunder woke us up at around 2.30, the sky was ominously filling with light. Clouds flickered endlessly in an almost seamless trail of light all over the sky. When sensible, I unplugged all the sensitive electrical equipment and returned to bed.

I dozed for about ten minutes then BOOM! an explosion jolted us awake, its sharp crack infinitely nearer than the thunder. Knowing we’d been hit, but not where, we ran about the dark house – the fuses had blown – with an unsteady torch, trying to find the source of the smell of sulphur.

It wasn’t until light that we saw the chimney had been struck, and that shards of debris lay on the grass and in the drive. We’re more or less the tallest house on this road so there was no surprise we had been hit.

Lightning strikes

If you look carefully you can see the large slab left sitting on the roof, and the tiles that have been uprooted by it. That night the water seeped in, moistening the plaster, dripping into the comble (can’t help smiling when I write that word, it’s like a Womble, but with more emphasis on meaning ‘loft’ or ‘attic’ space). It doesn’t look much in this photo, but for the record, being hit by lightning isn’t fun.

In the morning, as tiredness washed over me and I dozed, I imagined that the strike had affected me some way – like the bite of Spiderman’s arachnid, or countless other SuperHeroes subject to radiation, venom, or the madman’s experiment – perhaps I, too, would now have hero powers? Maybe I can fly, or, seemingly more prosaically, have great insight or understanding?

But I had none of these things. I was, and am, just Phil Greaney – with a broken chimney.