There’s a pedestrian route, designated GR223, running litorally all along the coast of the Cotentin peninsula between Isigny and Mont Saint-Michel (a total of 446 km). It’s called the sentier littoral or the chemindes douaniers.
There are similar coastal routes in other parts of France (over 4,600 km in total), thanks to a law which guarantees public access to a strip 3 metres wide along the entire coastline. It’s enforced pretty seriously – on one occasion the army was called in to blow up a private wall that was blocking access.
The result is some fantastically scenic walking routes, not only here in Normandy but in Brittany, the Basque country, the Mediterranean coast and elsewhere. You can dip in and out or walk all day.
Rugged coastal landscape at the Nez de Jobourg on the north-west corner of the Cotentin peninsula.
Slightly tamer scenery on the sheltered east coast of the peninsula.
The pathway is marked by these yellow bornes or milestones indicating the distance to the next destination.
Here Shiro is inspecting a German pillbox left over from World War II.
I’ve long contended that being in a foreign country is equivalent to losing 30 to 50 IQ points. I’m not talking about obvious language or cultural differences, or which side of the road you drive on. No, it’s the subtle differences in ordinary day-to-day tasks that trip you up.
Yesterday I tried (and failed) to use an automatic car wash in France, an experience that cost me 8 euros. To make matters worse, that’s the second time I have done that; exactly the same thing happened 2 years ago in a different part of France.
You see, in Ireland, when you want to use an automatic car wash, you first enter a code or a token, then drive into the archway until the sign says STOP, and then the car wash cycle begins. That is not how it works in France.
In France, you drive your car into the archway first, then get out of the car, go to the machine and conclude a complicated transaction involving buying and inserting tokens, and then remain outside the car while the wash cycle takes place.
So what happens if you are in France and try to do it the Irish way? As it happens, I know the answer to this question. You enter the tokens, get into your car and drive into the archway. Meanwhile the machine has attempted to start the wash cycle but becomes confused when it can’t detect the presence of any car. Then, when you drive in, the movement triggers a safety switch, causing it to shut down completely. In the end you have no choice but to reverse your still-dirty but foam-spattered car out and drive away, 8 euros poorer and feeling utterly incompetent.
For things like this, the way you are used to is so obvious that it would not even occur to you that it might be done differently elsewhere. If I told a French person that I had attempted to drive into the car wash while it was already running, with the intention of sitting in the car while it was being washed, they would probably look at me like I was some kind of maniac. Much like I would look at a French person in Ireland who attempted to open the door and get out of his car while it was in the car wash.
It’s a story with a happy ending: yesterday evening I tried again and finally got it right. Happiness is born of such small victories.
I often watch the Japanese TV news but I have a lot of difficulty in understanding it. The vocabulary is too advanced and the sentences too complicated and too quick for me to follow.
NHK offers a service for learners like me: it’s called News Web Easy. Every weekday, three or four stories from the day’s news are presented in simplified vocabulary, read slowly and clearly by a woman in an easy-to-understand voice. There’s a good variety of interesting topics. All of the kanji are glossed with furigana, and you can click on underlined words to see a definition.
After you have listened to and read through the easy version, you may then feel brave enough to click on 普通のニュース futsuu no nyuusu—the “normal” news clip. Of course this is much easier to understand once you know exactly what the story is about.
It’s interesting to compare the two (the easy and the normal versions) and see what changes are made. A big part of it consists of replacing “Chinese” or Sino-Japanese vocabulary with native Japanese vocabulary. For example, instead of 変化 henka, they might use the Japanese verb 変わる kawaru to mean “change”. Similarly, if they want to say that someone has been arrested, instead of using the word 逮捕 taiho, they substitute 捕まる tsukamaru.
This confirms something from my own experience: that native Japanese words are easier to learn, easier to remember and easier to understand than their Sino-Japanese equivalents. But why should this be? After all, the Japanese words are usually longer and more “complicated” looking than the Chinese loan words. Strangely, I think that this is a big part of the reason.
Typical Sino-Japanese vocabulary is bisyllabic, with words consisting of two simple syllables (drawn from a restricted set of possible syllables). This very simplicity has the effect of making the words less distinctive and memorable, and leads to lots of homophones. For example, 成功 seikou means success, but there are numerous other words, such as 製鋼 精工 性交, with the same pronunciation. Was the newsreader referring to success, steelworks, Seiko watches, sexual intercourse or something else? Usually the listener is just expected to figure it out from context.
There is another way, however: Japanese TV routinely captions its programs with Japanese subtitles. Not just news, but all sorts of general entertainment – if someone on screen is saying something, you can read it on screen. So even if you are not very proficient at understanding spoken or written Japanese, the fact that both are available can be a big help.
I recommend News Web Easy to learners at about level N4 or N3 who struggle with understanding normal Japanese news broadcasts, and would be interested in following current events while learning lots of good topical vocabulary.
A wonderful new word I discovered on this trip to Sweden: smultronställe. The literal meaning is “wild strawberry patch”, but the word is used to mean a special place that is close to your heart, that isn’t so easy for others to find, where you feel at ease and at one with the world.
Your personal smultronställe may be a quirky café, a woodland glade or a place with a fine view, far from the madding crowd. (Examples taken from the Wikipedia article.)
Ingmar Bergman made a critically acclaimed film called smultronstället (Wild Strawberries), in which the elderly protagonist dreams of fondly remembered scenes of his youth.
Lots of berries and fruit end in -on in Swedish: hallon, smultron, plommon, nypon, hjortron, lingon, päron, and on and on…
Our home in Sweden for these two weeks is in Plommongatan (Plum Street) and all the neighbouring streets are named on a similarly fruity theme: Rose-hip Street, Bearberry Street, Raspberry Street, etc.
So what about you, do you have a smultronställe where you can escape the demands of the world?
For our anniversary dinner, we went to Bloom in the Park, one of Malmö’s three Michelin-starred restaurants.
The setting is lovely—a deceptively rustic looking building in the shadow of the water tower in Pildamms park, a short distance (but a world away) from the bustle of Malmö’s shopping streets.
Bloom’s unique “concept” is that they don’t have any menus; nor at any point do they tell you what you are eating. They just bring you the food and allow you to experience it fully through your own senses, without any preconceptions. Of course it’s fun to try to identify the flavours and ingredients.
As with the food, you don’t choose your own wine. If you opt for the wine menu, they serve you wines chosen to match each course (and top up your glass generously as required), but they don’t tell you what you are drinking. Oddly, the wine menu is more expensive than the food menu.
On arrival, we were invited to go out to the terrace and relax in the evening sunshine with a complimentary glass of champagne. If you don’t drink alcohol, they’ll offer you a glass of lemon tea instead.
The dishes are highly inventive, with an emphasis on presentation verging at times on theatrical flair. For example, the bread was black and served on a bed of charcoal; the delicious post-dessert treats were served on a slate on a big heap of moss.
Most dramatically, at one point we were presented with test tubes full of green liquid, cooled with dry ice that overflowed all over the table.
These little “hamburgers” are made with a disc of blood sausage and onion jam.
We nominally had a 5-course meal, but between amuse-bouches, hors d’oeuvres and other in-betweeny courses, we lost count of the number of dishes we actually got. Each one was a visual delight.
Service was extremely efficient and attentive, and after the first few courses we felt that everything was happening so fast that we wondered if it would all be over within half an hour. But that wasn’t the case; in fact after the main course we were invited to have a break and take our drinks out to the terrace to stretch our legs.
After the meal, you are given a card with a web address and a password, so that when you go home, you can if you wish satisfy your curiosity and finding out what food you experienced.
Total cost for two, excluding service charge, was 2,475 SEK; each 5-course meal was 695 and the wine menu is 795.
In the southern part of Malmö is the quiet suburb of Limhamn, where we lived for a few months 15 years ago. In times past, Limhamn’s prosperity was underpinned by trade in two abundant commodities: herrings and limestone. Even the name of the town, lim hamn, means “lime harbour”.
The quarry from which the limestone was extracted is called the kalkbrott (chalk quarry) and is the biggest hole in the ground in northern Europe, extending over a square kilometre to a depth of 65 metres. I took some of these photos in January of this year and some in July. No prizes for guessing which is which!
As most of the excavation is well below sea level, the floor of the kalkbrott may well be the lowest-lying land in Sweden. Since its abandonment, it has been left to nature and the various levels have been recolonised by vegetation.
The limestone mined here was transported by a private narrow-gauge railway to a cement factory on the coast. Initially, the trains were drawn by horses, later with steam. In the 1960s, 2 km of the route was replaced with conveyor belts in an underground tunnel. Mining at the quarry ended in the 1990s, but the disused rail tracks still remained when we lived here in 2001. The tracks, fencing and signalling were removed in 2008 and the wayleave reverted to the city in 2009.
Compare these two photos taken 15 years apart:
Both photos show the Methodist church on the corner of Kalkbrottsgatan and Linnégatan in the centre of Limhamn. The one on the left, taken in the autumn of 2001, shows the railroad crossing signal and boom, and the tracks running along the street. In the photo on the right, taken this weekend, the rail line has been converted to a cycle track.
There used to be warning signs on the line saying “Gå ej i brottets bana“, which is a very clever double meaning. It straightforwardly means “don’t walk on the quarry railway”; but it also means “don’t embark on a life of crime”.
It’s a little ironic therefore that both the quarry and the cement factory have featured as scenes of crime in Nordic TV dramas. The very moving Wallander film Hemligheten (Secrets) opens with the discovery of a murdered boy in the kalkbrott. And the cement factory served as a suitably grim industrial setting for at least one typically tense episode of The Bridge.