Well, the title is incorrect, there is an accent over the first e in fête, but the font that I am using for the titles doesn't have French character accents. Sorry, inner Frenchie is being a stickler. In the French version of Disney's Beauty and the Beast, C'est la fête is the song Be Our Guest in English. The music is not exactly translated of course, because it wouldn't flow and rhyme, so this song is essentially talking about a party :)
I thought it would be appropriate for yesterday.
Yesterday, I woke up so well rested, to the point where my body was one with the mattress and everything was tingling, due to the fact that the paralyzing drug that one's body secretes during sleep had not quite worn off yet. Everything felt completely revitalized for the first time since I've arrived here. After lying in bed and enjoying the sensation, I ate breakfast and my host dad said that he would be going to the small market in town in about 30 minutes if I wanted to go. I scarfed, threw on some prettiness, and we went.
It was just as cute as the other one, but in a different part of town. (Oh, and the tram strike is over! YAY! No walking an hour to class tomorrow.) So we bought steaks from a local butcher, some fruits, and vegetables. These markets are also a bit of a social event. While walking, my host dad ran into like four people he knew. We had gotten a ride to the market with the mother of one of my host brother's friends.
The friend walked back with us carrying a huge bag of discarded lettuce and veggies for my host brother's guinea pigs, and I walked back carrying a loaf of bread that was as big around as my waist, maybe bigger.
Walking down rue de Falaise, (the long road I walk to school when the trams aren't working) and stopped at the Celtic Bar on the corner. He said we were going to stop in to say "Hi" to a friend and have a coffee. Upon entering the charming place, a dog who looked like the Doc's dog on Back to the Future came to greet us. His name is Socrates :)
We sat at the bar and my host dad began talking with the owner and joking around, discussing our excursions at the market and my long voyage. I ordered the right coffee this time, (hehe) at the owner's dismay, I might add. He is a big wine enthusiast, so naturally, he likes for people to order wine.
Apparently, many bartenders here like to mess with you, especially if you order something that doesn't burn on the way down or make you a little tipsy. A memory sprang to mind of a Western that I've seen that told a man who ordered some water in a saloon to go stick his head in the horse tough outside, because they only served whiskey.
There is a word in French that has the connotation of being quaint and charming, down-to-Earth and small-town. Populaire. Ironic at the word's false English cognate. This place was very populaire. We finished and headed back to the house. After spending some time reading, two of my host dad's friends came through the door.
We greeted in the traditional French way of kissing cheeks and they handed over some fresh oysters and scallops they had bought at the beach market that morning. (It's funny, half the people I meet greet me in the normal French fashion, which I like because I don't feel so much like an alien, and some shake my hand when they find out that I am American. It makes good-byes more difficult, because I end up in an awkward game of limbo with these people.)
I tried to blend in with the wall paper during the food preparation, because I wasn't sure what to do. The Southerner in me wanted very much to help, but fear of getting in the way kept me glued to the wall or my chair. After a while I began to grow cross-eyed, trying to keep up with the conversation. Like any language between old friends, there is so much colloquialism and half-enunciated words, I was perilously lost often.
I sought refuge with my host brother and one of the friend's son, while the other adults went to a store down the street for salad and other supplies. They were watching Shaun the Sheep in the library. These videos are like Pixar shorts, but clay-mation about a farm. There's no dialog, for which I was grateful at that moment. It is actually quite a funny show, much can be said without words.
The boys ate and then were sent back upstairs to play, while we adults ate. I detest oysters, cooked or raw, regardless of my Cajun background. I stuck with the fried scallop salad, which was delicious of course. We had a white wine from Alsace, which was so smooth. I loved it! First French wine since I've been here and it was perfect. The conversation grew a bit slower, so I was finally able to participate a bit, which felt incredibly satisfying after stumbling over so many words early in the evening.
The girlfriend of one of them came over at that point, and we talked about classic rock, Def Leppard, and American music. Yay! Something about which I could actually converse! We then had a "dessert" of an Italian liquor that is made from fermented lemons. Limocello. It was incredibly sweet, but also very strong (took me a while to finish the glass). We then had tea and around 3 AM, a few decided to stay the night, and I climbed into bed.
I awoke this morning, several times to some horrible nightmares. Perhaps the stress and anxiety of feeling lost and unsure for the past week and a half finally manifested into a subconscious bubble that decided to burst. Of course they were about not being able to find my man, seeing him be killed, falling off cliffs, being attacked, gore, gore, gore. I have Stephen King nightmares, for those of you who don't know.
When I finally rolled out of bed, everyone had already had breakfast, shocker considering it was noon, and the others who had stayed the night, gathered their things to leave. Host dad informed me that we'd been invited to tea at his friend's house in town, by the castle. "It will be more tranquil, than last night," he said with a smile. Last night was an impromptu tea, that turned into a dinner, that turned into a little party. Those are always nice, and happen often in the US (especially in college towns) so I loved it. Tranquil tea sounded perfect after a party-ish night, so I was excited to attend.
We took the tram to centre-ville and walked up a charming, narrow alley that is so typical in old European cities, and passed through a gate. We were greeted by two well manicured gardens with fountains and varies plants that made the place seem like a European zen garden. The slight sunlight and thin clouds helped the affect feel even more romanticized. The house. The house was beautiful. Apparently, she bought it about twenty years ago and completely renovated it, keeping true to th style of the building (something about which Americans should take note).
The walls were mostly Caen stone and a glass fireplace was engulfed by the wall that separated the selon from the dining area. The floors were light marbles and woods, and the selon was decorated with plants that are actually very common in Texas, but quite exotic here, like cacti, palms, and other succulents. The furniture was of old world beauty with a hint of Versailles, and the wall that faced the gardens were stictly glass doors and windows, as to not obstruct the tranquil view. The stone walls lining the gardens had vines and the first buds of the season peeking out from wooden lattices.
After taking our coats and hanging them in a closet, she promptly invited us to sit and brought a tray of turquoise colored Asian-styled cups and teapot into the room and set it on the glass coffee table. I was still in such a state of awe, that I almost didn't notice her offer some chocolates to me. They were from a chocolaterie that I have been meaning to visit. Delicious.
My host brother went to play outside after eating his morsel, and the other two began talking about work and other normal things. I was still devouring the eye-feast that was the sight of this secret garden , very reminiscent of places I've imagined from some of my favorite books.
After observing everything in its entirety, so that I will never forget that beautiful place, I regarded my current hostess. She is tall, thin, and very stylish. She embodies the ideal French woman who carries herself with an untouchable confidence and takes care of herself and home in the same manner. She almost resembled that of a regal woman who should be living in said castle, as opposed to in a dwelling overlooking it.
We ventured to the Art museum of Caen after our tea date and saw an original Monet and several other wonderful, historical paintings. I must confess however, that my favorite pieces were by Garouste. They were twisted and interesting, making you want to learn more, but also making you feel as though your were in a dream. A nightmare. No boundaries or rules. I could have stood there all day looking at them.
We then ran into some more of my host dad's friends, so we retired to a cafe that is connected to the museum and I had the best hot chocolate that I've ever tasted. We walked back to the tram stop, and while strolling through an area of Caen which had been destroyed, but was rebuilt to exactly resemble that which had been lost, a sense of comfort came over me. I knew where we were, everyone seemed much less hostile, and the area in general seemed more inviting. I could feel the tranquility of the city seep through my skin, something which I have only been able to observe and not feel here, until today.
Tomorrow begins the strenuous program, for which I have traveled several thousand miles. I can only pray that I won't drown.
I will sleep well tonight. Time for a shower.
I thought it would be appropriate for yesterday.
Yesterday, I woke up so well rested, to the point where my body was one with the mattress and everything was tingling, due to the fact that the paralyzing drug that one's body secretes during sleep had not quite worn off yet. Everything felt completely revitalized for the first time since I've arrived here. After lying in bed and enjoying the sensation, I ate breakfast and my host dad said that he would be going to the small market in town in about 30 minutes if I wanted to go. I scarfed, threw on some prettiness, and we went.
It was just as cute as the other one, but in a different part of town. (Oh, and the tram strike is over! YAY! No walking an hour to class tomorrow.) So we bought steaks from a local butcher, some fruits, and vegetables. These markets are also a bit of a social event. While walking, my host dad ran into like four people he knew. We had gotten a ride to the market with the mother of one of my host brother's friends.
The friend walked back with us carrying a huge bag of discarded lettuce and veggies for my host brother's guinea pigs, and I walked back carrying a loaf of bread that was as big around as my waist, maybe bigger.
Walking down rue de Falaise, (the long road I walk to school when the trams aren't working) and stopped at the Celtic Bar on the corner. He said we were going to stop in to say "Hi" to a friend and have a coffee. Upon entering the charming place, a dog who looked like the Doc's dog on Back to the Future came to greet us. His name is Socrates :)
We sat at the bar and my host dad began talking with the owner and joking around, discussing our excursions at the market and my long voyage. I ordered the right coffee this time, (hehe) at the owner's dismay, I might add. He is a big wine enthusiast, so naturally, he likes for people to order wine.
Apparently, many bartenders here like to mess with you, especially if you order something that doesn't burn on the way down or make you a little tipsy. A memory sprang to mind of a Western that I've seen that told a man who ordered some water in a saloon to go stick his head in the horse tough outside, because they only served whiskey.
There is a word in French that has the connotation of being quaint and charming, down-to-Earth and small-town. Populaire. Ironic at the word's false English cognate. This place was very populaire. We finished and headed back to the house. After spending some time reading, two of my host dad's friends came through the door.
We greeted in the traditional French way of kissing cheeks and they handed over some fresh oysters and scallops they had bought at the beach market that morning. (It's funny, half the people I meet greet me in the normal French fashion, which I like because I don't feel so much like an alien, and some shake my hand when they find out that I am American. It makes good-byes more difficult, because I end up in an awkward game of limbo with these people.)
I tried to blend in with the wall paper during the food preparation, because I wasn't sure what to do. The Southerner in me wanted very much to help, but fear of getting in the way kept me glued to the wall or my chair. After a while I began to grow cross-eyed, trying to keep up with the conversation. Like any language between old friends, there is so much colloquialism and half-enunciated words, I was perilously lost often.
I sought refuge with my host brother and one of the friend's son, while the other adults went to a store down the street for salad and other supplies. They were watching Shaun the Sheep in the library. These videos are like Pixar shorts, but clay-mation about a farm. There's no dialog, for which I was grateful at that moment. It is actually quite a funny show, much can be said without words.
The boys ate and then were sent back upstairs to play, while we adults ate. I detest oysters, cooked or raw, regardless of my Cajun background. I stuck with the fried scallop salad, which was delicious of course. We had a white wine from Alsace, which was so smooth. I loved it! First French wine since I've been here and it was perfect. The conversation grew a bit slower, so I was finally able to participate a bit, which felt incredibly satisfying after stumbling over so many words early in the evening.
The girlfriend of one of them came over at that point, and we talked about classic rock, Def Leppard, and American music. Yay! Something about which I could actually converse! We then had a "dessert" of an Italian liquor that is made from fermented lemons. Limocello. It was incredibly sweet, but also very strong (took me a while to finish the glass). We then had tea and around 3 AM, a few decided to stay the night, and I climbed into bed.
I awoke this morning, several times to some horrible nightmares. Perhaps the stress and anxiety of feeling lost and unsure for the past week and a half finally manifested into a subconscious bubble that decided to burst. Of course they were about not being able to find my man, seeing him be killed, falling off cliffs, being attacked, gore, gore, gore. I have Stephen King nightmares, for those of you who don't know.
When I finally rolled out of bed, everyone had already had breakfast, shocker considering it was noon, and the others who had stayed the night, gathered their things to leave. Host dad informed me that we'd been invited to tea at his friend's house in town, by the castle. "It will be more tranquil, than last night," he said with a smile. Last night was an impromptu tea, that turned into a dinner, that turned into a little party. Those are always nice, and happen often in the US (especially in college towns) so I loved it. Tranquil tea sounded perfect after a party-ish night, so I was excited to attend.
We took the tram to centre-ville and walked up a charming, narrow alley that is so typical in old European cities, and passed through a gate. We were greeted by two well manicured gardens with fountains and varies plants that made the place seem like a European zen garden. The slight sunlight and thin clouds helped the affect feel even more romanticized. The house. The house was beautiful. Apparently, she bought it about twenty years ago and completely renovated it, keeping true to th style of the building (something about which Americans should take note).
The walls were mostly Caen stone and a glass fireplace was engulfed by the wall that separated the selon from the dining area. The floors were light marbles and woods, and the selon was decorated with plants that are actually very common in Texas, but quite exotic here, like cacti, palms, and other succulents. The furniture was of old world beauty with a hint of Versailles, and the wall that faced the gardens were stictly glass doors and windows, as to not obstruct the tranquil view. The stone walls lining the gardens had vines and the first buds of the season peeking out from wooden lattices.
After taking our coats and hanging them in a closet, she promptly invited us to sit and brought a tray of turquoise colored Asian-styled cups and teapot into the room and set it on the glass coffee table. I was still in such a state of awe, that I almost didn't notice her offer some chocolates to me. They were from a chocolaterie that I have been meaning to visit. Delicious.
My host brother went to play outside after eating his morsel, and the other two began talking about work and other normal things. I was still devouring the eye-feast that was the sight of this secret garden , very reminiscent of places I've imagined from some of my favorite books.
After observing everything in its entirety, so that I will never forget that beautiful place, I regarded my current hostess. She is tall, thin, and very stylish. She embodies the ideal French woman who carries herself with an untouchable confidence and takes care of herself and home in the same manner. She almost resembled that of a regal woman who should be living in said castle, as opposed to in a dwelling overlooking it.
We ventured to the Art museum of Caen after our tea date and saw an original Monet and several other wonderful, historical paintings. I must confess however, that my favorite pieces were by Garouste. They were twisted and interesting, making you want to learn more, but also making you feel as though your were in a dream. A nightmare. No boundaries or rules. I could have stood there all day looking at them.
We then ran into some more of my host dad's friends, so we retired to a cafe that is connected to the museum and I had the best hot chocolate that I've ever tasted. We walked back to the tram stop, and while strolling through an area of Caen which had been destroyed, but was rebuilt to exactly resemble that which had been lost, a sense of comfort came over me. I knew where we were, everyone seemed much less hostile, and the area in general seemed more inviting. I could feel the tranquility of the city seep through my skin, something which I have only been able to observe and not feel here, until today.
 |
| Oldest House in Caen |
I will sleep well tonight. Time for a shower.
Ah! Finally, a post! I have been diligently checking since the 4th and have finally been rewarded. The Boys and I just got back from a Super Bowl watching party at the brother-in-law's house. It was a lot of fun with good, Southern cooking. We had grilled chicken legs with buffalo sauce, hot dogs from sausage, burgers, and ribs. Mmmmm.
ReplyDeleteI, for one, love oysters. The white wine you drank sounds perfect! I would love to try French wine and eat fresh seafood. Heaven.
The buildings are beautiful. I wish we wouldn't tear down buildings and rebuild new ones here. I wish we could have old, old buildings and keep in touch with our history. Modern art. Modern buildings. Bleh!
J'adore Garouste aussi! I am so jealous you went to a French art museum. Was there a lot of gold in the paintings you saw? When I went to Uffizi in Florence, there was so much gold painted into each of the classical paintings: especially the religious ones.
I hope you have fun at your party tomorrow, or today for you. I anxiously await hearing about it. I hope we can Skype soon, sorry I have not been on.
Tu me manque. Je t'aime m'amie!
--Eskimo