Parc Bagatelle

French garden

Awhile back I wrote on my blog that if ever I were to write a book it would be about Parc Bagatelle.

Parc Bagatelle was nestled in a very chic area of Marseille, where mothers wore Prada, toted their newborns in cashmere. Sitting on the grass was taboo and instead of bringing toys for their children they carried their cigarettes and Louis Vitton bag. Yes, you might say Parc Bagatelle and I had very little in common, I felt like a bug in the world of hawks.

As I did not drive (How could I pass the driving test in French?) my only transport were my two feet and a stroller. (It amazed how the stroller could hold a one ton baby and eight of groceries, my arms were buffed.) Parc Bagatelle was the nearest place to our aparment for a baby who should have fresh air and a mother who needed interaction even if it meant only admiring others clothes, and trying to understand snippets of French conversations at the play ground.

As time went on, my routine remain the same. I went to Parc Bagatelle everyday at three. After Chelsea's nap, I would bundle her up, gather a few toys, a blanket, a book, some diapers, Petit Lu and off to Parc Bagatelle we would go. The other mothers I knew by their labels, their children by their French prenoms (names) that I barely could pronounce: Tristan, Aurelie, Celine, Guillaume, Kevin, Pauline…. In some small way it evened out since they could barely pronounce Chelsea's name. Her mother was labelled, "L' Americaine".

It was at Parc Bagatelle that I would meet Frances. I knew the moment I saw her that she wasn't French because she was:

  • laying on the grass with her baby bouncing on her knees,
  • wearing cutoffs,
  • and blowing bubbles in the air.

I pushed Chelsea in her stroller right down to the middle of the parc were Frances was camped surrounded by a million brightly colored toys and said, "Your not French!?!"
Frances looked up at me with her starlight blue eyes, blew bubbles in my direction and said, "Either are you. Where are you from?"

I started to cry. It had been three months that I had heard a word in English.



Comments

27 responses to “Parc Bagatelle”

  1. Oh Corey I love your stories………
    I love you
    Jeanne♥

  2. Oh how I feel for you in those lonely months!
    Your love must have been so strong to navigate through the strange new world with your husband. The Tower of Bables with designer clothes!
    I felt like in a sea of letters, unable to pick up any deeper meaning, during my first months in Italy. I went to school as if I were deaf to the noise of words around me, looking for signs of meaning.

  3. what amazing stories you tell Corey! I’m entranced! I can’t wait to hear more about your friendship with Frances, if you will share it 🙂

  4. jend’isère

    Of all places for such an experience, Parc Bagatelle:
    “A bagatelle is a short piece of music, typically for the piano, and usually of a light, mellow character. The name bagatelle literally means a “trifle”, as a reference to the innocent character of the piece”
    -Source Wikipedia.

  5. This is a perfect start to a book…

  6. If you write a book, Corey, may I please be your proofreader?
    _______________________
    Hi
    Sure!
    C

  7. Leslie Garcia

    Dear Corey, You always bring tears to my eyes with your stories…Parc Bagatelle…I love that name! You are a courageous woman!
    Love,
    Leslie

  8. wow… again, i am ready for the ride. drive on mme L’americaine! and thank you all over. xowendy

  9. Now I’m primed for more. Go on?

  10. YES, a book, there is one, or two, or many in you, waiting for the right time. Even a coffee table book with just images would be wonderful.
    Homesick for the language of your home, no wonder you cried. I cried when I saw the mountian range back home, funny how homesick can hit you. I am glad you found a friend in Francis. Do you still connect?
    Merry Christmas
    Love
    Marcie
    _________________________
    Hi Marcie
    Frances and I are still friends.
    C

  11. Julie Ann Evins

    Great story Corey, and can’t wait to hear all about Frances.
    I have a seasonal question & request. You may recall my little santon interest… Do you have a creche with santons for Christmas Corey ? I would love to see a typical French creche & santons as it would look in a French home so what better time to request a viewing. If you don’t have one, perhaps you know someone who does & I bet they would be delighted if you photographed it to show me how a French Creche looks. Having seen all the millions of santon charactars in Aubagne I have visions of whole rooms given over to the little devils !
    Sorry to set you an extra Christmas task, Joyeux Noel dearest Coco, Jxx
    —————————
    Hello Julie
    Yes, I will show you our creche, and the little santons too.
    c

  12. Ellen Cassilly

    Frances was/is a good friend to you. I’m so glad that you found her. I think that it is rather poetic that her name is Frances (sort of the plural of France) and she helped you through a tough time in France. Love and hugs. E

  13. Corey, that is so touching, your stories are so interesting!!!
    I love your style of writing, and yes you should write a book!
    Hugs,
    Margaret B

  14. Thank the Lord for Frances!! I bet she was thanking Him for you!

  15. That is such a touching story and I am so thankful you found Frances. I love being surrounded by the sound of french, but after awhile it is sooooo very good to hear your own language. I think I would have cried too.

  16. How heartbreaking to think that others were so indifferent to you. I’m sure I would have cried as well at hearing someone who spoke my language and put me at ease.

  17. Nice to see you’re not so lonely these days. Isn’t it hard bing a new mum and isolated at that most important time. Glad you found someone for comfy company. Love Katiebell

  18. More please. I love this story!
    Nancy

  19. I love this! What a rebel you are!

  20. Love this story and are you still friends with Frances?

  21. It must have felt like drowning in a sea of loneliness even though there were plenty of boats around , and then suddenly, someone gives you their hand & says ‘come on board”
    I felt your tears of joy.
    Bravo Corey. Thank you once again for another of your stories.

  22. Lovly photo! I know just what you mean about prissy French mothers decked out in Vuitton…
    so glad to have discovered your blog!
    xxo H

  23. Corey
    That would have me– sitting in the middle of the grass blowing bubbles — my children are long grew up– but I still keep a bottle of bubbles by my back door — to keep the magic alive least I forget.
    You are such a ‘dear one’
    Joanny the dowser’s daughter

  24. What a tease you are! I can’t wait to hear more stories of your adventures w/ the Rebel Frances and your happy discovery of each other.
    Oh, and I will be waiting…
    ::folded arms, tapping foot, looking at my watch ::
    ;oD

  25. I want to hear more of your adventures with Frances.
    Did your children ever notice how you were treated by other mothers?
    ~elaine~

  26. And a new friendship began?

  27. I have tears in my eyes.

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