How perfect is that?

Two Saturdays ago, Lauren and I took a historic tour of Dunkerque with Virginie( the mother of the boys we teach English to...she also happens to be a social studies teacher in a middle school in Dunkerque. So, we got the full works!) This is the la Chapelle Notre Dame des Dunes. It's dedicated to Our lady of the dunes; in essence, it is a sailor's church. Dunkerque is a port city and for years was the major construction site for the France's Navy. Thus, as you can see, the church has several hanging boats in honor of the sailors. Also, there is a stained glass window in this church of Jean Bart, the famous corsaire who stole back the food supplies and saved Dunkerque. Religiosity+ sacred French pirates is just a part of what makes Dunkerque so wonderfully unique.

You know how it is in France, you gotta kiss everybody....and everything. Our little old ladies are so sweet! When we say flattering little nothings to show our love, they always grab us to give us more kisses on the cheeks. We are young enough to be their great-grandchildren. I love it when they do that though because it seems so extreme that I always feel surprised and impressed by their response.

Sometimes I just have to let our my hick when I see ridiculous French art! This sheep is a part of a contemporary art exhibit; it probably took a lot of time to make, but sometimes I'm amazed by what gets famous and what the French people scorn. They are absolutely horrified by the lack of gun control in the states, but just two days ago a couple and their daughter were shot. Just goes to show that making guns illegal doesn't necessarily stop the crazies from getting them...ok, I've done my American duty to the 2nd Amendment.

L'église de St. Eloi(the metal working saint); frankly, I sometimes feel like the Catholics are like the Greeks with their little saints for every single aspect of life. I think it's pretty cool to have heros and role models, but I'm very grateful that I can have a direct relationship with my Heavenly Father.

Unfortunately, there is no hunchback of this bell tower. The belfry was used back in the epoque for meetings of the bourgeoisie as well as a warning system. According to Virginie, it's a very Flemish architectural feature.

Panoramic view of Dunkerque from the top of the Belfry. Part of the tunnel from the Belfry to the Church was destroyed during the war. Roughly 80% of Dunkerque was destroyed during the war; it was the last city liberated! So, much of the city has been reconstructed in very untraditional ways for the Flemish building style; the normal brick in the area wasn't red. However, I prefer the red brick of the reconstruction period.

In a part of the park, there are stone hedges, if you will, with this black stone in the center. According to Virginie, it represents the path to illumination and knowledge. 

That is how many fries you will get for 2.80 Euros...Yes, it's far too much, but they are so good; I think they're fried two or three times. So much for French health conscienctiousness!

We actually live on Sports Avenue. How great is that?! Almost all other roads are named for historical or creative figureheads, but we got the sports street!

Yes and Yes! I have at last found a Frenchman that may be interested in me! Actually, I'm pretty sure that 85% of people wearing English don't actually know what it says. Only one man has taken an interest in me and he's an African...go figure=} Today as I was walking in the rain, a man greeted me with the Muslim Asalam alakeum--chalk another point up for being mistaken for a North African. This time it was a Maroccan. 

This picture is only funny if you speak French and read the sign properly. The sign says G. Malo....which if you pronounce it in French quand also be interpreted as J'ai mal au, meaning my _____(fill in the blank) hurts.We work with 80's everyday and "J'ai mal au" is probably the most often repeated phrase. So, it's pretty great that we live in the neighborhood of pain.

After church this last Sunday, we had some time to kill before catching our bus. We decided to take a stroll in a nearby park. It extended for a mile of winding  and wooded pathways. It was very charming.

So, I went to a massive city garage sale and found these little babies. Actually, I was doing my morning run and stumbled on the garage sale which literally extended for 4 solid blocks. There were probably at least a hundred people saling bric-à-brac. As I ran through the middle of it all, I saw these boats and thought of Brig. I know it's not a car, but I hope he likes one of them. It's much more appropriate as a gift from a port city.

One of our ladies that we visit had a birthday a couple of Sundays ago. Also she isn't fully cognisant, Lauren thought it would be a good idea to take her a "firework" bouquet. On the hour long busride, I wanted to read a bit of Les Miserables. I felt almost like an authentic Frenchy with my classic literature and my flowers....then a man started talking to me, noted my accent and asked if I was English. "No," I corrected, "American." "Yeah, I knew you couldn't be French when I saw you." What, the heck does that mean, huh? I'm thinking, "Probably because I have no fashion sense, maybe because I'm chunky(not actually super chunky compared to Dunkerquers), and a host of other silly self-deprecating ideas. "Well, you've been smiling at everyone," he stated as if it were obvious. Well, it turns out that it is a fairly obvious tell that I'm "not from around these parts." However I may adapt to the French diet and way of life, I'm keeping the American smile; and for all the Frenchies on the bus, I join with the Joker in saying "Let's put a smile on that face!"

So, for a couple of weeks, I decided to take it easy on the chocolate and pastries. French people have had an entire lifetime to build up a resistance to the ever present temptation to indulge in world-class cooking. Like an Indian exposed to some European malady, I caught it bad. However, after two short weeks of feeling some sort of self-discipline I caved to that ever familiar demonic lure of "You won't be here forever. You should take advantage of this while you can." Well, this is the evidence of me succombing to that devilishly delicious temptation.

This is what a French hoarder's home looks like....yeah, still beats the American version. In general, French people are very meticulous with their gardens(that's what they call their yards). Most homes have lots of flowers and trees; they're impressively clever with what little space they have. Even most appartments have a lot of plants.

We took a bike ride to Belgium before I got the bike stolen and this was the sign indicating we'd arrived in Flemish territory. I love the Flemish griffin! Unfortunately, it's the hard-core Flemish Nationalists that use the black on yellow version--which just happens to be my favorite.