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.

The Church in France

Well, it happened! Our dear friend Michael got baptized this last Saturday. Elder Evans came bouncing into the chapel with a glow and proclaimed, "This is the first time I've gotten to wear this on my mission!" I felt so incredibly lucky to be there for that experience. And since it's a very small branch and we got to help teach Michael, he asked us to speak at his baptism.

As I was preparing my talk, I had the idea to speak about baptism as adoption back into the family of God. I planned to speak a little about what it meant to be a real "Madsen," and talk about how through his baptism Michael was commiting to become a real son of Christ. I shared a little bit about how Megan was sealed to us, and how she is every bit as much our sister. Personally, despite the fact that I felt the spirit confirm my words and speak peace to my heart, I hoped I hadn't made my talk too much about me and my family. However, afterward Elder Alexander approached me and thanked me for my talk.

He told me that my talk touched him because he has been adopted 2 years prior to coming on a mission. In fact, he grew up with a single mother who died when he was 16. His party animal sister took him in to live with her and her boyfriend. The situation deteriorated and he eventually decided to run away to Provo because some of his Mormon friends (he wasnt a member yet) lived there. He wanted that stability that they had. However, he ended up not having any money by the time he made it to Provo.

So, with nothing more than his backpack (which had a Book of Mormon a friend had given him) he consigned himeself to sleeping on a bench in a park. However, a young man approached him. Prompted by the spirit, the young man invited Elder Alexander to stay with him and his wife(Les Miserables anybody?). For several days consecutively, they tried to help him catch the train back to  Northern Nevada, but every time it was delayed and stalled. Eventually, the train station announced that the trip was canceled indefinitely. Hmm, he decided to head back to Los Vegas where he'd grown up.

He found the church and signed himself up for seminary classes. For weeks he attended, giving spiritual thoughts as prayers as if he had always been a member. Finally, as the class was preparing to go on a temple trip, he asked if he could accompany them. The teacher agreed wholeheartedly. "Ok, well I should probably get baptized first" he nonchalantly stated. The instructors jaw dropped, "Wait a second! You're not already a member?!" Yes, every missionary's dream investigator! After 1.5 weeks of lessons, he was baptized. Eventually, a young couple in the ward adopted him into their family because both they and he felt that they were always meant to be together as a family.

After he recounted his amazing tale of faith, trial, and family, I better understood why Heavenly Father wanted me to start out my talk like this: "They say that you can choose your friends, but not your family. In fact, that's not at all true! This life is all about choosing whose family we want to be a part of--God's or Satan's. We've got to choose who we want to live with."

Now, don't we just look like good little sister missionaries in Nigeria!

Les Soldes

Pretty sure this coat costs somewhere around 300 euros. The scarf was 49.50 Euros.

This lovely leather number is nothing less than 400euros.

We were in a cheap little jewelry store when Lauren found this treasure. Seagulls are pretty common around here, so this is a classic pair of Dunkerque pride lenses....ok, that's not at all true. They may even be as wierd here as in the states, but it's so hard to judge what is wierd because so many people just wear whatever pleases themselves.

The market vendors circulate from neighborhood to neighborhood. One day they'll be in Rosendael, another in Petite Synthe, etc. It's pretty fun to see all the different produce and items being sold. There was an entire van filled with gourmet cheeses and another selling all sorts of meat, including horse. I've heard it's pretty good, but I'm not quite morally ready for that.

Every once in a while when I get lucky, I do something that I know with a 100% confidence will make my mother proud. There was the time that I told the referee that the basketball bounced off me instead of our opponent during a rival match. When I graduated with honors from Emmett, I knew she was proud. Once, I helped an elderly man who limped walk to church because nobody wanted to stay behind. However, those pale in comparison to the joy that I know she'd emanate if only she knew that I voluntarily spent 5.5 hours shopping this last Wednesday!

Not too worry, France hasn't really gone to my head that badly; however, it was an opportunity that even I couldn't pass up. For those non-Frenchies reading this, every year in July, France has a governmentally instituted period of major sales and discounts. It lasts for about a month and every week the prices get better and better as the merchandise practically flies off the racks and shoppers flood the streets.

However, even with the discounts, most of the clothing was still very much out of our price range. We ended up in two very classy stores for des femmes d'un certain age (middle aged to elderly women); and let me tell you, elderly women in France have some serious style and cash! I didn't even realize it was for older women until we realized that every other shopper inside the store was over 50...probably not very surprising for mom who knows that Eddie Bauer and Banana Republic are more de mon genre.

We did end up getting a few things after much searching. I found a bottle of Marc Jacobs perfume and Lauren got a Valentino perfume. Since we bought them together, it was 40%  for both of us. It ended up being pretty decent.

Famished after all the hard work of shopping, we went to a little sandwicherie. I decided to be adventurous and try a grilled cheese salmon sandwich which ended up being pretty tasty (the cheese was on the top outside slice of bread and there was a creamy alfredo sauce on the inside with the salmon). We went into a few more stores and found some very typical, dorky French sweatpants. In a coup de coeur, we decided to buy matching sweatpants. Yes, we really are that dorky. After a month of always doing the same activities, we've gotten into that missionaryesque groove of accidentally wearing matchy outfits, saying the same thing at the same time, and reading the other's thoughts. So, we added dorky French pants to the list of wierdness!
Finally, we called it a day and decided to come back later since Lauren had to special order some shoes( she wore her old ones down to Missionary nothingness and because apparently a size 10 foot is freakishly large in France).

Basically every clothing store has models wearing percentage sign shirts to indicate the "amazing prices!" After all of the discounts, it works out to cost approximately 10-25% less than clothes in America...pas éblouissant, mais une
réduction quand même.

À la recherche d'une aventure

The beautiful thing about living in a new and foreign place is the daily discovery and adventure hidden in every wrong turn, the occasional disaster, and the generally mundane quotidian details. Especially with such a talented gourmet chef as Lauren, every meal is a "chef d'oeuvre." However, Friday, after a long day of work, we decided to forego cooking for a culinary experience at the Afro-Antillais restaurant. We raced through the busy streets, crossed the town square plaza, followed a few windy backroads, and poof! We were in Senegal!

I loved the familiar sight of the African décor, le boubou(traditional African dress), and most of all the idea of once again being able to eat Yassa au poulet. However, as we were sitting there chatting, a young 20 something guy rushes in and shouts: "Are those your bikes?" "Euh, yes, why?" "One of them just took off with two guys!"

With Liam Neeson like reflexes, I demanded the keys for Lauren's bike. I raced out the door and frankly rather clumsily tried to detach her klunky 30 thirty year old "classic." When I finally liberated it, I raced down the streets with a thirst for revenge. With its less than adequate breaks and the bike lock in my hand, I narrowly avoided several accidents as I coasted through stop lights and angrily bounced off curbs. "Je vais les poursuivre! Je vais les astiquer!"(I'll find them! I'll beat them to a pulp!") I kept repeating to myself the violent mantra until I gave up and realized I might not remember how to get to the restaurant anymore.

After a much longer time than it should've taken, I made my way back defeated to eat. Thankfully, the food was already ready, but I wasn't seeing la vie en rose too well. In fact, I felt slightly disillusionned with what I had considered our perfectly quaint little Northern town where nothign goes wrong...arrivée! Nevertheless, I have a plan to recover Mary's bike(the lady who loaned it to me). I'm going to haunt leboncoin, the French equivalent of craigslist, until the culprit tries to sale my bike. Then, I'll catch him! That's plan A. Plan B is to knock over anybody on a bicycle that resembles the MKB that I had. Plan C is to just buy her a new bike. Naturally, I'm not a entirely excited about that idea, mais voilà, c'est la vie.

I'm hoping to question this fellow for further details. Undoubtedly, he sees a majority of the bikes in the area; so, I'm going to employ him and his dogs as scouts...solving French unemployment, cleaning up the streets, and restoring justice...please call me Jean Val Jean.

You know you're in France when...

1.There's a whole aisle in the grocery store designated solely for cheeses.

Oui, ce n'est que du fromage!

Jusqu'à présent, mon fromage préféré est le gouda au cumin! Ah, que c'est bon et pas trop cher en plus. Nous pouvons acheter un bon livre à 3 euros.

2. You're wearing the same outfit as the average Frenchman.

Who wore it better Hollywood? I'm still kind of afraid it was Laurent...Not only do we have to compete against other women, but other men too!

3. Every meal starts with an apératif, then the entrée, then the main dish, then the cheese, and finally a beautiful dessert.

Après deux assiettes de ce gateau au chocolat, je me suis décidée à me borner à un seul dessert toutes les deux semaines....la maitrise de soi n'est pas facile quand l'on est si entourée de belles tentations.

4.Breathtaking cathedrals dominate the skyline.

C'est un beau batiment, mais en réalité ce n'est qu'un hopital....ceci dit, les cathédrales sont toutes aussi magnifiques!

5. Those same cathedrals contain artwork qui remet en question ta connaissance de la Bible...Il y a quelqu'un qui se souvient de cette histoire?

I'm pretty sure this is the wierdest painting that I've ever seen in a so-called church building.

7. Trying to save an injured seagull makes you more friends than saying hello and trying to start conversations with people.

This is Gilbert. We named him thus for Anne of Green Gables...Lauren is the grown up version of Anne. Voici her lover. He loves French Fries, but I'm pretty sure they made him sick....let's just say it turned his caca green. Probably not a good sign.

8.You end up at an Irish concert performed by a Danish group on a Flemish beach in Northern France.

Apparently, the lead singer of this group has been at this for the last 40 years! Pretty impressive. Despite the "Drach" (Storm/orage) they kept jamming out for us. The stage crew was working hard to keep the instruments dry and to keep the crowd from getting electrocuted...For the most part, they succeeded.

9.Your average French home/meal is a barrage of produits défendus by the Word of Wisdom--from the wine to the coffee to the tea, we have a house and cellar of temptations(we don't have the right to get rid of it because it belongs to the association that we work for).

Le concept de réserves de nourriture n'existe pas vraiment. Cependant, il y a dans quasiment chaque maison une cave remplie d'assez de vin pour boire jusqu'au millénium.

Every meal we eat with friends consists of us refusing to drink alcohol, coffee, and tea. So, out of a desire to be courteous in some way, we end up drinking a lot of herbal tea; with a healthy dose of honey and cinammon, I've actually become fond of Camomile tea.

10. The 2 investigators and 2 BYU students that show up to church increase church attendance by 30%

11. Having conversations in the nude doesn't seem so absurd.

These women are discussing their new diet plans.

Sans aucun doute, c'est le Francais impudique le plus timide. Il a rougi quand Lauren a pris sa main.

12. Grass art is used to indicate the purpose of a location, building, or people.

Les Gens

By far, the thing that I love the most about working with les Petits Frères des Pauvres is that familiar joy of feeling weightlessly happy while being filled with the most rewardingly weighty feelings of love for people. Even though I don't know them all that well yet, I love the people we get to work with. They have lived some amazing stories! This queenly lady above is Yvette. She lived as a child through the horrors of the Nazi occupation in France. As she's grown up, her greatest pride and joy has been her "grand and beau mari anglais" (her big handsome English husband) and her Finnish Spitz.  She's every bit as regal and bright as her photo depicts.

I accidentally made us miss the bus to take this picture. I love the Flemish architecture here. The stormy sky offsets the rich reds and oranges of the buildings. I love the baroque/gothic mixture that you see in the buildings.  

Voilà Renée and Lauren. Renée is such a good sport. We share our silly girly stories with here and she just laughs and plays along. She spent her youth as a tailor, and unfortunately never had the opportunity of marrying. We love taking her on walks around the garden outside of the nursing home where she stays.

Wow, i think my eyes have as many wrinkles as hers!---a testament to the fact that I need more sleep.

Lauren loves Volvos....who knows why...oh wait, I think it's because she loves old people so much and wants to chauffeur them to their graves...yep, pretty sure it's for its usefulness as a hearse.

I have no idea as of yet why there are figures on top of this belfry; I'll look into it. However, what I do know is that one of the local heros is the famous pirate Jean Bart. He stole from the English to help the French--the French marine version of Robin Hood, I suppose.

These are little schémas to help us remember how to recycle properly. The top one says, "Nothing is lost/ wasted here; everything gets transformed." I thought it was a lovely analogy for the gospel. Even though the Lord requires us to give up/ throw out certain things in our lives, nothing is lost; what we abandon becomes something better, transformed by His grace and our sacrificial faith. Romans 8:28

The French seem to love lawn art! They have little shrub designs everywhere just like this tennis racket.

This is Merzaka, our precious little Algerian. She insisted on buying us ice cream....well, she tried to buy us everything just like a real grandmother, but when we refused the drinks, the sandwiches, the sausages, the pâtisseries, we had to get the ice cream to satiate her appetite for giving love.

This is during half time at the center square of the French-German match of the world cup. Holy Cow! The French people smoke soooo much; even beautiful, intelligent people. I know we've done a great job campaigning effectively against smoking in America because it always shocks me when "classy" people do it here. I can't help thinking through my Mormon and American lense, "Don't they realize how trashy that is?" Nevertheless, here in Dunkerque people are exceptionally kind and welcoming...as you can see, this man is smiling at me in a typical French fashion. Ok, all sarcasm aside, Dunkerquers are very kind, very agreeable people; I have been very pleasantly surprised.

We went to a festival on the 5th of July and I fell in love with this crazy mixture of dancing and fighting--nobody gets hurt! You just dance around play fighting! How cool is that...very French martial artsy, eh? Actually, I'm pretty sure it was developed in Brazil.