View from the Pier

Honfleur, France

This photo was taken at our “home base” of Honfleur during our first home exchange, to France.  This charming, picturesque seaside village was the perfect introduction to the cultural immersion that home swapping offers.  In the heart of Normandy, it’s accessible to all the history and beauty of the region.  According to guidebooks, Honfleur merits an afternoon excursion; by staying in the area for the duration of our two-week visit, we enjoyed spending at least part of almost every day exploring its main attractions, as well as its nooks and crannies.

Honfleur’s narrow inner harbor, built in the 17^th century, is enclosed with tall, skinny buildings in a palette of pastel hues.  Cafes ring the quay, the rainbow shades of their linens and table umbrellas adding another layer of color to the scene–we enjoyed many a meal here of moules, or mussels, served with French fries, and gallettes, a traditional French buckwheat pancake similar to a crepe.  Elegant, tall-masted boats daub the harbor’s waterline, the reflection of the sails creating shimmering smudges of white in the water.

The Vieux Bassin was one of many sources of inspiration for the ecole de Honfleur, a community of painters fostered here by native son Eugène Boudin (1821-1898).  He started his career as a clerk in a framing shop his father owned.  The painters who were among his customers encouraged Boudin’s artistic aspirations. Corot, Isabey and Huet were among the first ones to join the artist’s colony, headquarters of which was Boudin’s St. Simeon’s Farm.  In 1854, at 30, Boudin met the teen-aged Monet, who grew up in nearby Le Havre, and encouraged him to paint outdoors, thus playing a pivotal role in the dawning of the Impressionist movement.

En plein air is a French expression which means “in the open air”–its popular usage refers to painting outdoors.  In the mid-19th century, working in natural light became particularly important to the painters such as Monet who would become known as the Impressionists. The popularity of painting en plein air increased in the 1870s with the introduction of pre-made paint sold in tubes–previously, each artist had to create their own materials through a laborious process.   It was during this period that the “French Box Easel” was invented. These highly portable easels, with folding legs and built-in paint box and palette, made excursions to the beach and other outdoor sites less of a difficult production.

The Musee Eugene Boudin, located in the former chapel of an Augustinian monastery, holds 92 works by its namesake, as well as paintings by Monet and other impressionists. Its first floor is home to the Desire Louveau room, offering a rich ethnographic collection of costumes, accessories, lace, furniture, dolls and dresses of Upper and Lower Normandy.  The display of 19^th century lace bonnets reveals that the design of each head covering identified from which village the wearer hailed.  The exhibit is accompanied by paintings that provide cultural and historical context for the styles of the times.

American humorist Erma Bombeck, quoted above, was a beloved fixture in homes across the country from the mid-1960s to 1996 for the humorous context she provided on suburban life.  Over the course of her career, she wrote more than 4,000 newspaper columns chronicling the everyday life of a housewife. At one point, her witty commentary was read twice weekly by thirty million readers.  Bombeck also published more than a dozen best-selling books.

Erma was a staple in my home growing up–her column was one of my early reasons for reading the newspaper.  Both my mother and father took great pleasure in her humorous perspective on parenting, often reading aloud certain passages that hit close to home.   Erma’s column offered a comfortable area of common ground with my parents during my teenage years–to her credit, she served as both the translator and comic relief we often desperately needed. It is a special gift when a humorist’s appeal can span generations–Erma was her era’s Matt Groening, in my book.

Erma also gave me an early lesson in finding my own voice. In high school, public speaking was a mandatory part of the curriculum.  Despite being an extrovert, I equated standing behind the podium with a painful exercise in self-consciousness.  For one segment of the class, I read aloud a Bombeck column, and was astonished to later learn I had been chosen to participate in a state competition based on my interpretation.  In a textbook case of not recognizing that it was my instinct in selecting the material that had resulted in my selection, I decided to read a Kahlil Gibran poem at the competition.  Alas, my voice was–and is–decidedly more Erma than Kahlil.  I was awkward, overwrought and my public speaking career was over before it began!

According to The Independent, Jacques Lanzmann’s incredible career began at age 12, working as a farmhand in the Auvergne area of France.  In 1943, he joined the Resistance with his older brother Claude (who went on to direct films such as the nine-hour 1985 epic Shoah).  Caught by the Germans and due to face the firing squad despite being only 16, Lanzmann was so “determined not to die while still a virgin” that he escaped. Back in Paris after the war, he drove trucks, worked as a welder and on a building site. He also began painting before ending up in Chile, where he mined copper.

Jacques Lanzmann’s first novel “La Glace est rompue” (“The Ice is Broken”) was published in 1954, as a result of his brother Claude submitting the work to Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre. The following year, Jacques wrote “Le Rat d’Amérique” (“The American Rat”), a fictionalized account of his time in South America.  His literary career later continued as a theatre critic, journalist, and publisher. He participated in the creation of the mens’ magazine Lui, penned 70 songs for France’s king of pop Dutronc and was also responsible for the French adaptation of the musical Hair.   In the Seventies, he became a professional gambler and wrote a couple of best-sellers. Fond of traveling, he was a chronicler on the television channel “Voyage” from 1997 to his death.

Whew!  How much more life could you pack in, I wondered, awed by his energy and accomplishments.

I only became acquainted with Monsiuer Lanzmann after his death, through his widow Florence, who was our Normandy home exchange partner.   The domain’s name was inscribed on the garage and greeted us when we arrived:  La Grange Romancière.  As an aspiring scribe, I felt a wonderful giddy moment of serendipity upon seeing it–loosely translated it means, “writer’s barn.”

Florence clearly adored Jacques and we felt his presence at the 16^th-century half-timber farmhouse that we called home for those two weeks.  Copies of Jacques’ books were on the shelves, and graceful but masculine Japanese swords hung on the walls.  In showing us around, Florence brought us to the porch of his study, a tiny outbuilding on the perimeter of the property.  She didn’t open the door, but with a wave of her hand, encouraged us to make ourselves at home.

On our last day at La Grange, Tom called from outside.  Coming to the door, I saw he was outside Jacques’ office.  “Come down and let’s take a look” he said.  I felt uneasy, that somehow I was prying; Tom reminded me that Florence had showed us to the sanctuary’s door.  He was right, and I shook off my sensation of voyeurism.  The study was intact with the personal effects Jacques enjoyed around him as he wrote, including little jars of sand labeled with the names “Sahara,” “Gobi” and other deserts he had trekked.

Fingering copies of some of the more than 35 books he authored, I felt again a wave of admiration for this man with such a passion for life.  Opening one, I saw a handwritten inscription:  “Il n’etait pas superstitieux mail il croyait aux premonitions et aux choses du hasard.”

My schoolgirl French sufficed for me to get the gist, and I drew in my breath at what I understood it to say:  He was not superstitious but he believed in premonitions and things that happened randomly.

“Moi aussi, Jacques,” I thought and grinned.  That moment of communion with a man I never knew has given me many moments of encouragement and inspiration since.  Lanzmann, Bombeck and Boudin clearly gave us everything God gave them, and we are the better for it.

http://en.ot-honfleur.fr/Eugene-Boudin-Museum,0,0,34.html

http://www.eugeneboudin.org/

http://www.ermamuseum.org/home.asp

http://jacqueslanzmann.typepad.fr/