Welcome To The Sticks (Bienvenue Chez Les Ch'tis)

"Bienvenue Chez les Ch’tis" was such a success that more than a third of the French population had purchased a ticket to director and star Dany Boon’s modestly budgeted comedy. This most watched movie in the world in March 2008 was still on screen in the cinema when I was there in end May. Ernest and Nicole had watched it once, but they so enjoyed it that they would like to share the joy with me. Thus, after our respective appointments in town on Monday, we went to the Mégarama which was located on the outskirts of Besançon.

The story was simple: A disgraced postal supervisor found himself transferred from the sunny Sopthern France to the bleak, linguistically challenged French-Belgian border region of Nord-Pas de Calais. He departed with the sad idea that his new life would be a nightmare but ended up discovering that the new environment was filled with warmth thanks to friendly inhabitants and helpful colleagues.

I would say that my life in Besançon was another version of the movie. When I left my family and school friends in January 1995, I thought that was the end of my happy life, although I was the one who had made the decision to explore France for the following years.

An organization was arranging my language courses in Besançon, a name which was totally unknown to me. Before my departure, I roughly studied the map of France and learnt that the city was located in the eastern part of France, near Switzerland and Germany. Being a South-East Asian girl who had always stayed in a small town and only obtained limited knowledge on Europe through a few geography text books in school and travelling books, I was very ignorant of the general differences among western countries and their languages.

When I first arrived in France on 6 January 1995, I was foreseeing myself to be a loner despite the fact that I was in a group of ten Malaysians. During the following eight years, I encountered so many wonderful friends and families in Besançon that I treated this city as my second home town. Thirteen years later when I stepped on the territory of France again, I knew that somewhere in this cold region of Franche-Comté, Besançonese were always welcoming me with warm and open arms.

Neuves-Granges: Marathon Lunch With Neighbours

"We've been having this house in Neuves-Granges for forty years. Some elders here still call us foreigners." said Ernest who himself loved to receive other foreigners in his village of eighty inhabitants.

Neuves-Granges used to have even less occupants. Since recent years, a slightly increasing number of young couples had opted to buy land and build their own houses there. Ernest and Nicole had befriended those newly settled families very fast.

Sunday, they were invited for lunch by their new neighbours Laurent and Sara. As I was around, they brought me along. When we reached the blue house, Bernard and Beatrice, another couple living next to them, were already there with their children. Each of the two young couples had three children. Coincidently each child from one family was close in age with the other child from the other family. So there were three pairs of teenage friends.

The hosts had a nice veranda, big enough to put a sofa set, a cupboard and a dining table. And it was still very spacious.

Needless to describe more, we began our meal with the snack sesson. The cute boy Louison and his lovely compagnon Beverly were among the first to pick at the crispy food.

Lola and her friend Ossana joined us soon after that.

The eldest of each couple were staying most of the time inside the house. I did not get to talk to them.

When summer is approaching in France, you can be sure that the sale of equipment for barbecue gets higher.

And the family set menu often includes several kinds of sausages cooked outdoor on the metal frame over a fire, accompanied by a combination of vegetables and semolina in salad.

As there were not enought seats for the children in the veranda, they were ordered to take their own food and eat it among themselves inside the house.

Louison and Beverly wanted to benefit the nice weather. The two neighbours ran towards the store

which was their playground.

As I had grown up in a residencial area in town, I was very envious of their childhood days in the countryside, embraced by the nature.

Later, Sara served us cookies and brownies that she had baked the previous night while Larent took out boxes of different types of ice-cream from the refrigerator. Second bottle of champagne was opened to accompany the dessert, after which some tea and coffee were brewed.

And you could be sure that the children would never turn down sweets at any occasion.

The neighbours from three families spent the whole afternoon together, sharing food and thoughts.

"The Parisians are going to celebrate Neighbours Festival on 27 May. Here, we don't need this festival to remind us that neighbours are around."

It was true. In Paris, most residents live in apartments and hardly see their nextdoor. In Neuves-Granges, the neighbours greet one another very often and pay mutual visits from time to time. Ernest and Nicole were the pioneers to receive outsiders in their house. And now they are blessed with hospitable neighbours. God is bringing new life to this village.

Fondremand: Medieval Village

Fondremand was 6km from Rioz. It took us less about less than half an hour to reach there. Although it was also not far from Neuves-Granges, I had never been there.

The medieval village was rich in inheritance and story. There was a castle of which the first elements dated from the eleventh century.

At the lower part of the village, the source of the Romaine spurting under the castle was caught in a basin.

The stream of the Romaine was very beautiful with pink and

white flowers on bright green trees on one side,

a grey stone path on the other side.
and the water was crystal clear!

There was a pavilion next to the stream.

About one hundred meters from the source we found the windmill which was in activity since the twelfth century.

There was a free guided visit with explanation on the mechanism of the wheel,

on the crushing of grain into flour,

and other machines.

After that, visitors were led into the souvenir shop where Ernest bought a packet of wholemeal flour freshly ground in the windmill.

Before we left Fondremand, we went up the village for a walk.

It was very eye-catching to see pots of colourful flowers everywhere in front of houses built between sixteenth and eighteenth centuries.

That was a short visit between the marathon meals on my first Saturday in France this year.

Neuves-Granges: Marathon Lunch With Friends

Ernest and Nicole had invited their friends for lunch in their house on Saturday. So after the breakfast, we began the preparations. The kitchen clock was showing ten.

I was Ernest's helper for the starter dish. Nicole was in charge of the main dish and dessert.

They liked natural light in the house. When they switched on the artificial lights somewhere, you knew that they must be in the kitchen as they spent a lot of time there.

When the guests arrived at twelve noon, they were invited to sit on the sofas to have appetizers. Crisps and peanuts were served in bowls that we passed around. Sweet wines were poured into our glasses that we clinked with one another. The French couples had specially taken out their bottle of Porto, a famous Portuguese wine, for their Portuguese French friends. And the topics of our chatting were anything, from nonsense to something serious. That lasted at least one hour!

That reminded me of that unforgettable weekend with the Toitot, my first invitation by a French family, in Neuves-Granges. The snack session had been so long that I had assumed that French people were too stingy to serve their guests other food than crisps and peanuts for lunch. I had kept throwing those foods into my mouth to pacify my hungry stomach, before I realized that was the prelude of the real meal.

This time, knowing that heavy dishes was going to be served later, I nibbled the junk food with more moderation. And finally, we were asked to move to the dining table.

The starter dish was a combination of grated apples, carrots, onions and crab sticks. The mixture was seasoned with salt and mayonnaise, moulded into small cups and then poured upside down on the plate. Ernest and Nicole had learnt the recipe and the presentation from other friends once they had been invited. Ernest creatively put a black olive on top of it and decorated the plate with salmon, hairy leaves of fennel, slices of cucumber and salad leaves with a dark sauce.

We received a lot of compliments from the guests.

Ernest and Nicole generously shared with their guests some goat cheese that David and Edith had just brought back from their trip in Portugal. It was accompanied by olive oil, chopped garlic and anchovy.

While the guests were savouring the artistic dish, Ernest went back to the kitchen to grill some duck meat that he had bought in packets from the supermarket. Nicole took out her lasagna, one of my favorite Italian foods, from the oven. After awhile, Ernest served the succulent meat cut into slices to eat with Dijon mustard.

The dish rich in protein and carbohydrate was so delicious that I almost swallowed my own tongue! Too bad I could not then master the functions of my digital camera that I had just obtained a few days before my flight. I was not able to shoot clear images when there was not enough light. As a result, I had to delete many pictures of the dishes that I had taken.

The following items of the menu of the day were salad leaves again, and a variety of cheese. Actually my stomach was already full, but out of gluttony I still tried a little bit of every type of the cheese on the table. With red wine, the tastiness of cheese was highlighted.

My greediness did not stop there. As the French say, "A meal without the dessert is not complete, and there is always a little space in the stomach for it." When Nicole's rhubarb tart was placed in front of me three and a half hours after the snacks, I still had the strong desire of having a bite even though I could feel my jeans tightened.

Ernest brewed some Arabian coffee and cut pieces of candied ginger, offered by their Chinese friend Ke, to end the marathon lunch. To help the digestion, we drove to a tourist attraction nearby to have a walk. When we came back from the visit, Ernest and Nicole again persuaded their guests to stay for dinner.

To make my description short, part of the leftover of the lasagna was turned into a soup in a saucepan by simply adding water and cooking it and blending it with a machine. That was the secret recipe from Ernest's mother.

This "light" dish served as main dish, was accompanied by salad and cheese during the second round of tiring the stomach, chatting and showing videos from eight o'clock onwards.

When the guests said goodbye, the kitchen clock was showing ten again.

Besançon: Pépère's Present Residence

Pépère used to tell me, "Every day, I pray Lord to bring me with Him, so that I'll also see Mémère again."

Pépère must be missing his wife very badly. After the children had grown up and started their own family, Pépère and Mémère had been accompanying each other in the old house until she died of illness a few years before I had first arrived in France. So I only knew her in pictures.

Although the Toitot and Chèvre families always spent time with him by having meals with him or inviting him to their houses, Pépère still felt lonely, especially after the crowd had left and that he was condemned to be alone again in his own house.

Nicole and Danielle at first failed to persuade Pépère to live with them as Pépère was too attached to the house, where he had injected his adulthood and family life for more than half a century. When Pépère's body grew weaker at the age of late eighties, he finally agreed with Danielle's suggestion to take care of him in Danne-Marie-sur-Crète, though not bearing to quit the house.

Two years ago, when I lost my father, Nicole and Danielle had also lost theirs.

Pépère's new residence, still in St Ferjeux, was only two roads away from his previous one.

Now, not only Pépère was staying with his beloved Mémère again, he had also reunited with his siblings.

And they had a very nice neighbourhood. The magnificent basilica was just opposite.

If you looked at the surroundings, you would think it was a beautiful garden.

I paid my respect to Pépère who was lying forever under the tombstone. This man of strong faith in Christ had devoted his whole life in loving and service people, regardless their relationship. I would never forget his sympathetic eyes.

Rest in peace, Pépère.

Besançon: Pépère's Former Residence

David and Edith had been absent a few weeks from Pépère's house which they were occupying temporarily. Ernest and Nicole wanted to go there to see if everything was well and to aerate the house.

"Pépère" is one of the names the French call their grandfather whereas "Mémère" is for the grandmother.

Pépère had worked as a conductor on train when he was young. After his early retirement, he was not completely detached from the railway, as his house was just next to it.

I used to follow Ernest and Nicole there. In the both kitchen and dining room, there were often family members of Toitot or Chèvre having lunch with Pépère who was living alone.

I missed the tarts that Pépère used to bake especially on Wednesdays: cheese tart for starter, and apple tart for dessert. Thinking of them could still make my mouth water! Even though he was an excellent baker, he still bought other small cheese tarts from a bakery shop nearby so that there was always someone to pass by the house for the delivery.

Pépère was no longer there, but we all felt very much his presence in the house which he had built all by himself.

"I was kept prisoner by the Nazi's army during the Second World War. The Germans divided the captives into groups and made me the leader of my group. We had to work hard for them but were only given some soup cooked with very few potatoes in a big pot. That's all the food we had for six months. Despite our starvation and exhaustion, we had to remain strong. When one of my group members fell, the army would just shoot at him. I managed to survive but my stomach had been spoilt since then. That's why I can't eat much food now..."

I understood why Pépère had always stayed slim. He would hardly digest a piece of roasted meat.

"When I first came back from the war, the little Mémère was waiting for me with the children at the railway station. She was so beautiful, like Mary. We had nothing for the living. So I had to start working hard for the family while building this house little by little. Life was miserable then..."

Nicole, her younger sister Danielle and elder brother Claude had spent their childhood in the house. They knew about Pépère's story by heart. Others just learnt it through Pépère's repeating narration. Sometimes when I was chatting alone with him, he would stare at me with his deep and gentle look.

"I can't talk with the youngsters nowadays. They're too happy and lucky. But you're far from your family. You know what is the suffering."

I would simply put my hand on his and smile at him.

Pépère used to grow his own vegetables and fruits. Now his garden was filled with weeds and flowers.

And fruits trees were also in blossom.

David and Edith tried to persuade Ernest and Nicole to leave their house in Neuves-Granges and stay in Pépère's house which Nicole had inherited. The intention was good as the children would like their parents to be in Besançon again, so as to save the trouble of travelling often half an hour to the city and to economize on the heating cost in their big house, especially in winter. But the decision would be too hard to make, since the elders were so used to their peaceful life in the countryside.

Ernest even fancied to convert the store room into an apartment in order to spend winters with Nicole.

"If your plan came true," I told Ernest, "I would set a tent and camp outside your apartment when I visit you again in future!"

Besançon: Attachment To Battant

The "Peaux'sitif" furcoat shop is located at 94, at the high end of the Battant street (rue Battant).

When I walked down the street and crossed the Battant bridge (pont Battant),

I could slowly traced my friendship with the Toitot to Grande street (Grande rue).

That Saturday afternoon in 1995, while I was window shopping alone at the Grande street, I met with Eckhard who was also idling alone by chance. This German guy was a classmate of mine and we had been quite close because of our mutual help in grammar and vocabulary.

Eckhard invited me for a drink in a cafe where he talked about the reason why he was learning French in Besançon:

One day he heard some nice music coming from a small church in Munich. By curiosity he entered the building and found an Asian lady who had also been attracted by the same music. Through their conversation in English, he learnt that Eriko, the Japanese sweetie, was learning art and the French language in Besançon and travelling in Europe. They had a good impression on each other, so they exchanged their address and began their correspondence.

As they got to know each other more and more, Eriko told Eckhard about her difficulty in expressing herself in English, the German gentleman decided to learn French in order to communicate better with her. And of course he chose Besançon on Eriko's advice, although the latter had already returned to Japan. When Eckhard came to Besançon, several people that Eriko had known were already ready to receive him.

"Let me introduce a French family to you. They are very nice people."

Without much hesitation, I followed him to the Battant rue and I can still hear the bell ringing when we pushed the door of the fur coat shop. The smiling faces of Ernest and Nicole appeared and approached us. The French-Malaysian friendship was then given birth.

Echkhard introduced me to them and I gave them a brief account of my profile in my elementary level of French. I was not the first Asian student they knew. Before me, they already had a small list: Eriko (Japanese), Takeko (Japanese), Qi-Yun (Korean), Jui-Chu (Taiwanese) and Philippe (Chinese from China). The couple had been trained with the foreigners to slowly articulate words and ask simple questions in their mother tongue.

It was early afternoon.

"Would you like to spend the weekend with us in the countryside?" said Ernest to both of us.

"With pleasure. But I have nothing with me." I was surprised at his prompt invitation.

"You just pack some clothes and come back here by six. We'll be closing the shop and leaving then."

The following eight years, I often walked up the Battant street alone with my rucksack at the same hour. And it became the most familiar street to me in Besançon.

Besançon: Peaux'sitif

The next day after my arrival in France, we had to go to Besançon city again because Nicole had a swimming session once a week, as part of her genetic illness treatment. Thus, every Thursday morning, traces of Ernest and Nicole could be seen somewhere in the capital of Franche-Comté.

After we had dropped her in front of the centre, Ernest went to the "Peaux'sitif" fur coat shop, where he had spent his precious career as a furrier for the past decades.

His name was still at the entrance, although he was no longer the owner, nor David, his youngest son, who had taken over the business before selling it off. The successor was a nice lady called Edith, who was coincidentally sharing the same name with David's wife.

Ernest had debuted as a young apprentice in the fur fashion line. As he had accumulated knowledge, experience and capital, he decided to leave his master and set up his own shop. For years, his professionalism, his dedication and especially his easy-going character had gained him a lot of popularity among his former customers.

Ernest's retirement did not end his passion for the career. He always made himself available to pass his knowledge and give advice to Edith each time when he went to Besançon. To him, hand making a fur coat is not only a craft, but also an art. A furrier is the magician who turns fragments of fur into a luxurious masterpiece that many women dream of putting on in winter.

Once I asked him if he missed the career. He said,"We worked very hard in winter. But in summer we had almost no income since the business was very bad. And it's getting worse these recent years. David was wise to get rid of it and have other plans for his own living. It is not a career with which you can earn make a fortune."

"But after all, this career has allowed you to travel a lot in summer."

"It's true. That's why I never regret. If I had cared more for money, I wouldn't have stayed so long in it."

And I might not have known Ernest and Nicole, whose former fur coat shop I would have never expected to step in since I was then only a teenager who had just arrived in France from a tropical country thirteen years ago.

Holding Hands

Before I met Ernest and Nicole, I had never observed couples other than my own parents.

Dad was a traditional Chinese man. In my memory, he never declared that he loved Mum.

He never gave Mum a kiss on her cheek.

He never hugged Mum tightly in his arms.

He never held Mum's shoulder for one minute except when he was urged to by his children during a photograph shooting.

I understand that Orientals are not as physically expressive as Westerners.

But I still wished that Dad had ever held Mum's hand,

Because that is one of the most affectionate ways God unites one human being with another.