Not going to lie, after going to the movies to see True Grit-VO (VO means with French subtitles and original audio) with my French family earlier this past week, I was struck with intense and unexpected homesickness. The Southern accents, the beautiful and dangerous countryside, even the exaggerated arrogance of the Texas Ranger made me miss all things that are Texas. We also received many school work assignments, without any real instructions as to how to do them, so needless to say, I was rather depressed most of this past week and slept as much as possible.
Friday though, because God loves me, the sun came out and it brought with it a cold, northern wind and drier air, but regardless of my extra layers, the sun makes me smile. Not knowing the sun was out though, and after staying up considerably late talking to my man, I seriously considered not going to class. Honestly, the only reason I did attend was because a friend and I had planned a shopping date after class. She confessed during our coffee break that she too, only drug herself to class in anticipation of our excursion. Giggling, we suffered through the last hour of class, went to take care of some administrative issues she had with housing and then off to centre-ville we went.
Walking through the stores, we would enter with a French greeting, giggle while speaking English to each other, and then switch back to French when we needed to talk to the store associate. Stopping off to get lunch we talked about our lives at home and she flat-out told me that I was crazy for leaving my almost husband right before our wedding. I shrugged and told her the timing of our story and that I miss him immensely. We continued our hunt by traversing down Rue Froide, which has many private boutiques, as opposed to the chain stores. Of course, that means the products are plus cher, but picking through one selection by a private designer, we found some dresses and shirts that were very reasonable and tried them on. One of the shirts fit me well, my twins almost didn't fit though (in those kinds of stores, one has to hope to be the designer's idea of the right size, because they only come in one size as they are hand-made). I asked if it made me look pregnant and she laughed and said no, that I just can't eat are large lunch and would have to wear nice shoes and jeans to dress it up, because it was quite prairie.
I couldn't argue with that, but I like country style. Speaking of country style, mimicked cowboy boots, pearl snaps, and earthy, prairie tones and fabrics are so popular here for the spring and summer. Ironically, I should have brought all of my Texan gear, as it would have been authentic!
After finding a few more rough diamonds, we both began a shoe hunt, that turned into sore feet and a realization that we'd been walking around centre-ville for the better part of five hours. We finally parted ways and I headed home to pack for the grand adventure that was in store for me this weekend. All ready to go, I sat on my computer and twiddled my thumbs until my host dad knocked on my door and said that we were leaving in 10 minutes. Ok, I was ready, after taking my things to the car, we sat inside waiting for my host mom to pack, as she had just gotten off of work. She came down the stairs laughing after about 20ish minutes saying that she meant 10 French minutes :)
The car ride to Champeaux took about and hour and a half and I was briefed on the way, that the family smokes, a lot, in the house, I would have a couch bed (but also the best view in the house), and that they are hospitable and fun. I was quite excited about everything except the smoking part. I really am an oddball here, because I don't smoke, but no biggie. Upon arrival, we were greeted by 4 dogs, one of which was the largest golden retriever I've yet to see, tons of people, and the faint aroma of Cayenne pepper.
We dropped our things inside and sat in the sun room that overlooks the bay to the Mont-Saint-Michel, c'était dommage qu'il était la nuit. We had an apératif of rosé champagne and cheese, then took our places at the dinner table. A burnt orange, suede type of table cloth graced the table, adorned with chocolate-rimmed plates, and dark blue wine glasses. In the middle of the table was a huge plate of deviled eggs with bright orange balls on them. Raising an eyebrow to myself, I recognized it as being caviar (which I've never had) and I've never been a big fan of deviled eggs because of the texture of the yoke, but I took a large breath and decided to get over myself. I took the first bite with an open mind and was pleasantly surprised! Caviar of salmon, it was delicious, especially in combination with the eggs, which for some reason I like now?
After that course, Yann, the matriarchal grand mother, brought a huge pot of something that smelled like a mild crawfish boil during summer to the table. She announced that in my honor, she made an American dish that is from a Louisianan cookbook. Opening the lid, I almost teared at the sight of jumbalaya. Everyone heaped piles onto their plates and ooed and awed over the masterpiece rolling around in our mouths. I was apparently the only one who knew what it was or had eaten it before. She asked me directly if I knew the name and a hush came over the table that seated a dozen people, et ensuite I uttered the name. Everyone giggled at the awkward syllables, and I just sat and listened to their thick French accents trying to pronounce the southern word.
The daughter, who is 16, was asking me all kinds of questions in l'argot and I only caught one of them, so I answered and her mother made her slow down and explain her other questions in standard French. She spoke a few words of English confidently after her dad picked on her about her slang, but after she heard me speak in English to my host mom, she didn't try any more English. She said she hadn't understood anything we said, and then ran into an English word that she didn't know, so gave up.
After dinner, the kids invited me to play a game called 1000 Kilometres. It's a simple board game of drawing cards and dishing out car problems to other people and trying to draw the cards to fix the problems and screwing other people over, all while trying to get to the 1000 kilometer mark. Guess who won? Oui, moi. I then joined the adults back in the dining room and listened to the conversations while trying not to inhale too much smoke. The dad, who is a famous French photographer-awesome guy, offered me some Scottish whiskey, never having tasted Scottish whiskey, I accepted and he poured me way more than I knew I could finish of ANY whiskey, but what the hell. I took a sip and it was delicious. It had a strong, earthy, peaty flavor, not like the sweetness of corn-based bourbon that I'm used to drinking.
I took a few more sips and we all called it a night. I went to take a shower and realized that the shower and sink were down the hall from the toilet. It makes sense I guess, I'm just not used to it. Once I stepped into the shower, I thanked the Almighty aloud, as the shower head was attached to the wall and I didn't have to turn it off in order to soap up! I retreated to my make-shift room that they barricaded with chairs to keep the dogs away from my bed and couldn't find my damn earplugs! I spent like an hour looking for them and crashed shortly after that.
The next day, I awoke several times to the sound of the two young boys running around screaming and shooting each other with nerf guns. Joy. When I finally decided to get up, I had some breakfast and my host mom told me that we were going to the Mont-Saint-Michel later so make sure that my camera was charged. Yes ma'am!
The drive was gorgeous, regardless of the fog that had nestled itself on the bay that morning, and I got to see so French countryside. I missed it so much, I'll never be able to live in the city permanently, I love wide open spaces and grass and trees and all that that entails too much. We stopped for a photo-op a few kilometers away and then drove up on it. It was truly breathtaking, I'm so glad that it was sunny, because I was able to take some amazing photos.
We walked up to the islet and upon entering the gates to the lower part, we were greeted by several cafés and souvenir shops before getting to the more impressive architecture. I was taking so many photos, my camera could barely keep up and I kept losing my host parents, as I was stopping to gawk every five seconds. I told them as we walked up to not mind me, considering France has turned me into a picture-taking fanatic.(Seriously, I hung out of a hole in the castle wall to get some pictures. No fear.) They just laughed and said to take my time, so we circled the islet up to the abbaye and my host dad said he'd meet us back out there in an hour, so my host mom and I went to get tickets. Being under French social security as a student and she being an artist of sorts, we both got free admission. Frickin' sweet!
We began climbing more stairs to the abbaye and I noticed that with the exception of the grand doors to everything, the normal everyday doors were almost too small for me, hence the picture. Tallness is a dominant gene? That's my rationale anyway. The spires, the gargoyles, ah c'est magnifique! We snuck past a big group of tourists who were waiting for the tour guide and entered the original abbaye itself. Walking in, I stopped in the middle of the huge doorway to let the feeling soak into my bones and then looked for the stoup to perform the Sign of the Cross, habitual to any catholic, and considering Catholicism is the closest faith I claim other than general Christianity, it was compulsory. We walked around in silence, honestly, what do you say in a magnificent structure like that?
We passed into the next room and then the next, she reading aloud the French explanation paper we received at the entrance and me walking around with a gaping pie hole and exclaiming that I wanted a picture in this huge fireplace and then that one. At the top, there is an open garden where it would be impossible to take a bad picture and so took several lovely ones. Rounding to the last room, there was an enchanting light beaming through the window and we paused for a bit, while I fiddled with my camera, trying to find the setting that would capture the essence properly.
We then took a turn about the gift shop, admiring the overly-priced merchandise, some of which I actually did buy, but where else can one find an embroidery kit of the Mont-Saint-Michel on a bookmark? Yes, I embroider. Old fashioned, I know, but it's incredibly relaxing and with the arthritis that runs in my family, I need something to guard the dexterity of my fingers.
We then walked back to the car, enjoying the breeze that would soon turn frigid, when ça t'as plu? interrupted my thoughts. My host dad asked if I liked it, I just turned around with giant, doe eyes and said, oui! Driving home, we had to stop for a herd of sheep that were crossing the road. Only in Europe.
Back at the house, Yann had prepared another enormous, gourmet meal and the same ritual commenced as the night before, except that we had another guest. A quiet man with intense blue eyes and hair that reminded me of Tim Burton when Tim Burton's hair was longer. He seemed quite fascinated by me, as I felt him looking at me often to see if I was laughing at a joke, but I'm used to that, being an alien and all. The young son ran into the dining room after desert and asked me if I wanted to play another round of the game from the night before. I smiled and nodded and he asked his grandma and mom if they also wanted to play, so the four of us squared off, and despite being stuck at the 100 kilometer mark majority of the game and Yann and the mother being neck and neck the whole game, I still ended up winning.
They then sent the kids off to bed and we convened in the dining room for smokes, whiskey, and conversation. Tristan (the dad) offered me a concoction of Canada Dry, Jack Daniel's, and ice (all of which are pretty exotic here), but I declined, just wanting to stand by the fire that was burning in the chest-high fireplace.The other adults asked who won and the mother said that I did. Encore? My host mom asked, and the mom (Isabelle) said yes, but they should have known that would happen, because they were up against a strong/tough American. I blushed and giggled, of course. They then asked me why I came to Normandie to study and I gave them the standard answer that I give everyone. My mother's family is French, they originated in Rouen (which is like an hour from Caen) and to learn French in general. They asked the family name and so on, and then my host dad told them about my great-grandpa being a medic during the war (that's what it is referred to as here) and arriving in Normandie shortly after the storming . It cracks me up, I think that and the fact that I am a huntress tickles him to pieces, because he shares those things with everyone, I don't mind, I find it flattering :)
Everyone's eyes grew larger and they asked all about my grandpa and then asked me to thank him for them. Many people do that, they will look me straight in the eye and thank me (as if I were the heroic one) or ask me to thank him for them. The French whom I've met thus far have great respect for Americans for that reason alone, which I find touching and it's truly appreciated. Of course the sense of the war is still very fresh here, especially in Normandie, so it's understandable. Yann herself, told us a story about she being here during the bombings and stormings. It's amazing to listen to the stories, because we Americans, in general, were quite removed from the actual fighting. It wasn't on our soil, except for Pearl Harbor, we weren't the ones who were invaded by Nazis, etc., it's quite an amazing feeling being here for that reason alone.
They also asked me about Texas, and I told them about line dancing, 2-stepping, honky-tonks, and skyscrapers. At about that time I was thirsty so I poured myself some straight Jack, and took a seat at the table. Tristan just laughed at my brazenness, I guess, and began talking to me about different types of whiskey and bourbon. They also coined a nickname for me. Petit oiseaux, (little bird) because that's how I eat.
I went into the salon a little later to lie down and digest. Suddenly, my host mom came looking for me and asked me abruptly if I wanted to ride in a plane the next day. Oui! Bien sûr! Wait. What? She said that the man who came for dinner has a private four-seater plane and offered to take three of us up in it the next day if the weather was nice. OMG! Is this really my life? ran through my head as I stood there with a hanging jaw. With that thought in mind, I went to bed.
The next morning, I helped myself to some Nutella-coated baguette and green tea. Right after I'd gotten dressed and put a little make-up on, my host mom came running inside, as she had been down to the beach for a cold dip, and exclaimed that we needed to leave soon if I still wanted to go in the plane. Needless to say, I was waiting at the door like a puppy needing to be taken on a walk before she even finished her sentence.
We hopped in the car and got lost a few times, I'm guessing that's what happened, considering we turned around on about five different roads, and then finally found the air strip. He handed us headsets and after a few pictures, we hopped inside. I have never been in a small aerial vehicle before, so I could hardly contain my excitement. My host mom and I were bouncing up and down like children waiting for recess and smiling like idiots while we waited for him to finish his check list.
Rounding up to the runway, we took off and began circling the area. As my ears adjusted to the change in pressure, I was trying to figure out the best way to use my camera. It got to the point where I was just pointing and shooting, because between all of the glares, fog, and low clouds, I couldn't see much and prayed that they came out just enough so that I could at least edit them well. They did, they look a little retro with the contrast, but it helped get rid of a lot of the fog in the pictures.
We began flying against the coast and bobbing up and down in the changing wind currents. I was too busy snapping pictures and uncontrollably smiling to be afraid or feel anything other than elatedness. As we rounded Granville, which is the peninsula-looking thing in these photos, I could see the outline of the Mont-Saint-Michel, and our pilot said that we were going to circle it. No. No way. There is NO WAY that I could be blessed and lucky enough to see one of the Medieval Wonders of the World from the ground up one day and then from the sky down the next!
As we circled in, I could feel my camera button getting hot from me pressing it so often and the little drops in altitude common in those small planes added to the excitement. The sensation of weightlessness, accompanied by the dropping of my stomach, the buzzing of sheer joy in my throat, and looking down on such a magnificent and magical place is a moment that I will always cherish.
After we landed and headed back to Yann's for a late lunch, we rode back in silence, contemplating the experience that we had all just shared. For lunch, we had pork that had been marinated over-night in black olives and rosé, then cooked to perfection with seasoned potatoes. Seriously, perfection. I cut pork with a butter knife, easily! We then had a pear and apple crumble for desert and laid around digesting for a bit.
Around an hour before sunset, my host parents said they wanted to take me on a walk, so I pulled on my twoish/threeish inch high boots that I'd worn that day, and we took a little drive to a biking and walking path. My host dad explained that we were going to see one of the stone houses that Louis the Fourteenth had commissioned to be built so to house soldiers who watched for English invaders and who basically acted as customs officers during the 18th century. So we walked through a field, the path was half mud and half stone, I was really missing my cowboy boots at this time, and we came upon the house.
Seriously, I would NOT have minded being one of Louis's soldiers if I had had the privilege of waking up and going to bed with that view everyday. The location is absolutely perfect, poetic even. We walked a bit more and then turned to go back, me trailing along far behind, a cause de my incessant photo-taking.
We then rounded back to the house and my host dad must have read my mind, because he suggested that we stay for le coucher de soleil. I love French, it's so poetic. This basically translates to the sun's bedtime or watch the sun go to sleep.
I climbed up on a huge rock in front of the house for a spectacular view and so that I could clearly hear the waves crashing on the rocks 100 yards below me.
Had I been properly equipped, I would have shimmied down the side of that cliff to get pictures of the rocks and the water, but alas, my cowboy boots and flashlight are in Texas. I'm hopelessly country, upon seeing the cliff, that was my first thought was to get my boots and hands dirty. After the wonderful sight and after realizing that I hadn't had any feeling in my hands or feet in a while, I climbed back down to rejoin my family.
We drove back to have a lovely meal of noodles, cheese, and lardon with baguette and handmade chocolate mousse before saying our mercis and au revoirs. What a trip. My batteries are recharged after a trip like that. I am ready for midterms now :)
Friday though, because God loves me, the sun came out and it brought with it a cold, northern wind and drier air, but regardless of my extra layers, the sun makes me smile. Not knowing the sun was out though, and after staying up considerably late talking to my man, I seriously considered not going to class. Honestly, the only reason I did attend was because a friend and I had planned a shopping date after class. She confessed during our coffee break that she too, only drug herself to class in anticipation of our excursion. Giggling, we suffered through the last hour of class, went to take care of some administrative issues she had with housing and then off to centre-ville we went.
Walking through the stores, we would enter with a French greeting, giggle while speaking English to each other, and then switch back to French when we needed to talk to the store associate. Stopping off to get lunch we talked about our lives at home and she flat-out told me that I was crazy for leaving my almost husband right before our wedding. I shrugged and told her the timing of our story and that I miss him immensely. We continued our hunt by traversing down Rue Froide, which has many private boutiques, as opposed to the chain stores. Of course, that means the products are plus cher, but picking through one selection by a private designer, we found some dresses and shirts that were very reasonable and tried them on. One of the shirts fit me well, my twins almost didn't fit though (in those kinds of stores, one has to hope to be the designer's idea of the right size, because they only come in one size as they are hand-made). I asked if it made me look pregnant and she laughed and said no, that I just can't eat are large lunch and would have to wear nice shoes and jeans to dress it up, because it was quite prairie.
I couldn't argue with that, but I like country style. Speaking of country style, mimicked cowboy boots, pearl snaps, and earthy, prairie tones and fabrics are so popular here for the spring and summer. Ironically, I should have brought all of my Texan gear, as it would have been authentic!
After finding a few more rough diamonds, we both began a shoe hunt, that turned into sore feet and a realization that we'd been walking around centre-ville for the better part of five hours. We finally parted ways and I headed home to pack for the grand adventure that was in store for me this weekend. All ready to go, I sat on my computer and twiddled my thumbs until my host dad knocked on my door and said that we were leaving in 10 minutes. Ok, I was ready, after taking my things to the car, we sat inside waiting for my host mom to pack, as she had just gotten off of work. She came down the stairs laughing after about 20ish minutes saying that she meant 10 French minutes :)
The car ride to Champeaux took about and hour and a half and I was briefed on the way, that the family smokes, a lot, in the house, I would have a couch bed (but also the best view in the house), and that they are hospitable and fun. I was quite excited about everything except the smoking part. I really am an oddball here, because I don't smoke, but no biggie. Upon arrival, we were greeted by 4 dogs, one of which was the largest golden retriever I've yet to see, tons of people, and the faint aroma of Cayenne pepper.
We dropped our things inside and sat in the sun room that overlooks the bay to the Mont-Saint-Michel, c'était dommage qu'il était la nuit. We had an apératif of rosé champagne and cheese, then took our places at the dinner table. A burnt orange, suede type of table cloth graced the table, adorned with chocolate-rimmed plates, and dark blue wine glasses. In the middle of the table was a huge plate of deviled eggs with bright orange balls on them. Raising an eyebrow to myself, I recognized it as being caviar (which I've never had) and I've never been a big fan of deviled eggs because of the texture of the yoke, but I took a large breath and decided to get over myself. I took the first bite with an open mind and was pleasantly surprised! Caviar of salmon, it was delicious, especially in combination with the eggs, which for some reason I like now?
After that course, Yann, the matriarchal grand mother, brought a huge pot of something that smelled like a mild crawfish boil during summer to the table. She announced that in my honor, she made an American dish that is from a Louisianan cookbook. Opening the lid, I almost teared at the sight of jumbalaya. Everyone heaped piles onto their plates and ooed and awed over the masterpiece rolling around in our mouths. I was apparently the only one who knew what it was or had eaten it before. She asked me directly if I knew the name and a hush came over the table that seated a dozen people, et ensuite I uttered the name. Everyone giggled at the awkward syllables, and I just sat and listened to their thick French accents trying to pronounce the southern word.
The daughter, who is 16, was asking me all kinds of questions in l'argot and I only caught one of them, so I answered and her mother made her slow down and explain her other questions in standard French. She spoke a few words of English confidently after her dad picked on her about her slang, but after she heard me speak in English to my host mom, she didn't try any more English. She said she hadn't understood anything we said, and then ran into an English word that she didn't know, so gave up.
After dinner, the kids invited me to play a game called 1000 Kilometres. It's a simple board game of drawing cards and dishing out car problems to other people and trying to draw the cards to fix the problems and screwing other people over, all while trying to get to the 1000 kilometer mark. Guess who won? Oui, moi. I then joined the adults back in the dining room and listened to the conversations while trying not to inhale too much smoke. The dad, who is a famous French photographer-awesome guy, offered me some Scottish whiskey, never having tasted Scottish whiskey, I accepted and he poured me way more than I knew I could finish of ANY whiskey, but what the hell. I took a sip and it was delicious. It had a strong, earthy, peaty flavor, not like the sweetness of corn-based bourbon that I'm used to drinking.
I took a few more sips and we all called it a night. I went to take a shower and realized that the shower and sink were down the hall from the toilet. It makes sense I guess, I'm just not used to it. Once I stepped into the shower, I thanked the Almighty aloud, as the shower head was attached to the wall and I didn't have to turn it off in order to soap up! I retreated to my make-shift room that they barricaded with chairs to keep the dogs away from my bed and couldn't find my damn earplugs! I spent like an hour looking for them and crashed shortly after that.
The next day, I awoke several times to the sound of the two young boys running around screaming and shooting each other with nerf guns. Joy. When I finally decided to get up, I had some breakfast and my host mom told me that we were going to the Mont-Saint-Michel later so make sure that my camera was charged. Yes ma'am!
The drive was gorgeous, regardless of the fog that had nestled itself on the bay that morning, and I got to see so French countryside. I missed it so much, I'll never be able to live in the city permanently, I love wide open spaces and grass and trees and all that that entails too much. We stopped for a photo-op a few kilometers away and then drove up on it. It was truly breathtaking, I'm so glad that it was sunny, because I was able to take some amazing photos.
We walked up to the islet and upon entering the gates to the lower part, we were greeted by several cafés and souvenir shops before getting to the more impressive architecture. I was taking so many photos, my camera could barely keep up and I kept losing my host parents, as I was stopping to gawk every five seconds. I told them as we walked up to not mind me, considering France has turned me into a picture-taking fanatic.(Seriously, I hung out of a hole in the castle wall to get some pictures. No fear.) They just laughed and said to take my time, so we circled the islet up to the abbaye and my host dad said he'd meet us back out there in an hour, so my host mom and I went to get tickets. Being under French social security as a student and she being an artist of sorts, we both got free admission. Frickin' sweet!
We began climbing more stairs to the abbaye and I noticed that with the exception of the grand doors to everything, the normal everyday doors were almost too small for me, hence the picture. Tallness is a dominant gene? That's my rationale anyway. The spires, the gargoyles, ah c'est magnifique! We snuck past a big group of tourists who were waiting for the tour guide and entered the original abbaye itself. Walking in, I stopped in the middle of the huge doorway to let the feeling soak into my bones and then looked for the stoup to perform the Sign of the Cross, habitual to any catholic, and considering Catholicism is the closest faith I claim other than general Christianity, it was compulsory. We walked around in silence, honestly, what do you say in a magnificent structure like that?
We passed into the next room and then the next, she reading aloud the French explanation paper we received at the entrance and me walking around with a gaping pie hole and exclaiming that I wanted a picture in this huge fireplace and then that one. At the top, there is an open garden where it would be impossible to take a bad picture and so took several lovely ones. Rounding to the last room, there was an enchanting light beaming through the window and we paused for a bit, while I fiddled with my camera, trying to find the setting that would capture the essence properly.
We then took a turn about the gift shop, admiring the overly-priced merchandise, some of which I actually did buy, but where else can one find an embroidery kit of the Mont-Saint-Michel on a bookmark? Yes, I embroider. Old fashioned, I know, but it's incredibly relaxing and with the arthritis that runs in my family, I need something to guard the dexterity of my fingers.
We then walked back to the car, enjoying the breeze that would soon turn frigid, when ça t'as plu? interrupted my thoughts. My host dad asked if I liked it, I just turned around with giant, doe eyes and said, oui! Driving home, we had to stop for a herd of sheep that were crossing the road. Only in Europe.
Back at the house, Yann had prepared another enormous, gourmet meal and the same ritual commenced as the night before, except that we had another guest. A quiet man with intense blue eyes and hair that reminded me of Tim Burton when Tim Burton's hair was longer. He seemed quite fascinated by me, as I felt him looking at me often to see if I was laughing at a joke, but I'm used to that, being an alien and all. The young son ran into the dining room after desert and asked me if I wanted to play another round of the game from the night before. I smiled and nodded and he asked his grandma and mom if they also wanted to play, so the four of us squared off, and despite being stuck at the 100 kilometer mark majority of the game and Yann and the mother being neck and neck the whole game, I still ended up winning.
They then sent the kids off to bed and we convened in the dining room for smokes, whiskey, and conversation. Tristan (the dad) offered me a concoction of Canada Dry, Jack Daniel's, and ice (all of which are pretty exotic here), but I declined, just wanting to stand by the fire that was burning in the chest-high fireplace.The other adults asked who won and the mother said that I did. Encore? My host mom asked, and the mom (Isabelle) said yes, but they should have known that would happen, because they were up against a strong/tough American. I blushed and giggled, of course. They then asked me why I came to Normandie to study and I gave them the standard answer that I give everyone. My mother's family is French, they originated in Rouen (which is like an hour from Caen) and to learn French in general. They asked the family name and so on, and then my host dad told them about my great-grandpa being a medic during the war (that's what it is referred to as here) and arriving in Normandie shortly after the storming . It cracks me up, I think that and the fact that I am a huntress tickles him to pieces, because he shares those things with everyone, I don't mind, I find it flattering :)
Everyone's eyes grew larger and they asked all about my grandpa and then asked me to thank him for them. Many people do that, they will look me straight in the eye and thank me (as if I were the heroic one) or ask me to thank him for them. The French whom I've met thus far have great respect for Americans for that reason alone, which I find touching and it's truly appreciated. Of course the sense of the war is still very fresh here, especially in Normandie, so it's understandable. Yann herself, told us a story about she being here during the bombings and stormings. It's amazing to listen to the stories, because we Americans, in general, were quite removed from the actual fighting. It wasn't on our soil, except for Pearl Harbor, we weren't the ones who were invaded by Nazis, etc., it's quite an amazing feeling being here for that reason alone.
They also asked me about Texas, and I told them about line dancing, 2-stepping, honky-tonks, and skyscrapers. At about that time I was thirsty so I poured myself some straight Jack, and took a seat at the table. Tristan just laughed at my brazenness, I guess, and began talking to me about different types of whiskey and bourbon. They also coined a nickname for me. Petit oiseaux, (little bird) because that's how I eat.
I went into the salon a little later to lie down and digest. Suddenly, my host mom came looking for me and asked me abruptly if I wanted to ride in a plane the next day. Oui! Bien sûr! Wait. What? She said that the man who came for dinner has a private four-seater plane and offered to take three of us up in it the next day if the weather was nice. OMG! Is this really my life? ran through my head as I stood there with a hanging jaw. With that thought in mind, I went to bed.
The next morning, I helped myself to some Nutella-coated baguette and green tea. Right after I'd gotten dressed and put a little make-up on, my host mom came running inside, as she had been down to the beach for a cold dip, and exclaimed that we needed to leave soon if I still wanted to go in the plane. Needless to say, I was waiting at the door like a puppy needing to be taken on a walk before she even finished her sentence.
We hopped in the car and got lost a few times, I'm guessing that's what happened, considering we turned around on about five different roads, and then finally found the air strip. He handed us headsets and after a few pictures, we hopped inside. I have never been in a small aerial vehicle before, so I could hardly contain my excitement. My host mom and I were bouncing up and down like children waiting for recess and smiling like idiots while we waited for him to finish his check list.
Rounding up to the runway, we took off and began circling the area. As my ears adjusted to the change in pressure, I was trying to figure out the best way to use my camera. It got to the point where I was just pointing and shooting, because between all of the glares, fog, and low clouds, I couldn't see much and prayed that they came out just enough so that I could at least edit them well. They did, they look a little retro with the contrast, but it helped get rid of a lot of the fog in the pictures.
We began flying against the coast and bobbing up and down in the changing wind currents. I was too busy snapping pictures and uncontrollably smiling to be afraid or feel anything other than elatedness. As we rounded Granville, which is the peninsula-looking thing in these photos, I could see the outline of the Mont-Saint-Michel, and our pilot said that we were going to circle it. No. No way. There is NO WAY that I could be blessed and lucky enough to see one of the Medieval Wonders of the World from the ground up one day and then from the sky down the next!
As we circled in, I could feel my camera button getting hot from me pressing it so often and the little drops in altitude common in those small planes added to the excitement. The sensation of weightlessness, accompanied by the dropping of my stomach, the buzzing of sheer joy in my throat, and looking down on such a magnificent and magical place is a moment that I will always cherish.
After we landed and headed back to Yann's for a late lunch, we rode back in silence, contemplating the experience that we had all just shared. For lunch, we had pork that had been marinated over-night in black olives and rosé, then cooked to perfection with seasoned potatoes. Seriously, perfection. I cut pork with a butter knife, easily! We then had a pear and apple crumble for desert and laid around digesting for a bit.
Around an hour before sunset, my host parents said they wanted to take me on a walk, so I pulled on my twoish/threeish inch high boots that I'd worn that day, and we took a little drive to a biking and walking path. My host dad explained that we were going to see one of the stone houses that Louis the Fourteenth had commissioned to be built so to house soldiers who watched for English invaders and who basically acted as customs officers during the 18th century. So we walked through a field, the path was half mud and half stone, I was really missing my cowboy boots at this time, and we came upon the house.
Seriously, I would NOT have minded being one of Louis's soldiers if I had had the privilege of waking up and going to bed with that view everyday. The location is absolutely perfect, poetic even. We walked a bit more and then turned to go back, me trailing along far behind, a cause de my incessant photo-taking.
We then rounded back to the house and my host dad must have read my mind, because he suggested that we stay for le coucher de soleil. I love French, it's so poetic. This basically translates to the sun's bedtime or watch the sun go to sleep.
I climbed up on a huge rock in front of the house for a spectacular view and so that I could clearly hear the waves crashing on the rocks 100 yards below me.
Had I been properly equipped, I would have shimmied down the side of that cliff to get pictures of the rocks and the water, but alas, my cowboy boots and flashlight are in Texas. I'm hopelessly country, upon seeing the cliff, that was my first thought was to get my boots and hands dirty. After the wonderful sight and after realizing that I hadn't had any feeling in my hands or feet in a while, I climbed back down to rejoin my family.
We drove back to have a lovely meal of noodles, cheese, and lardon with baguette and handmade chocolate mousse before saying our mercis and au revoirs. What a trip. My batteries are recharged after a trip like that. I am ready for midterms now :)
C'est grandiose, Ashley! The pictures are absolutely amazing. I love jambalaya and reading this made me want to go over to Frilly's and grab a bowl. I am so happy for you! I am so proud of how much you are learning and experiencing over there. Keep up the excellent blogging. I enjoyed our Skype chat today. Off to class!
ReplyDeleteOMGoodness baby!! I'm feeling refreshed and energized after reading about everything you told me a month ago. I'm hungry and envious of your trip, but I'm also glad that you experienced what you did.
ReplyDeleteI miss you and I love you!!
-hubby-to-be-