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Published: August 9th 2008
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Friday Night Football Dinner The first weekend was the end-of-the-season football tournament and celebration. Paul was part of the football club and our group was helping with preparation and clean up for the events. There was a kick-off dinner on Friday evening after the football game and the tournament and celebratory dinner and dance filled the next three days and nights.
Friday’s dinner at Mamie Bulles, a short walk from the pitch, began around 10pm, and we filled a long table set for 50 to 60 people. With 25 or so people on each side of the table, we were stacked up like books on a shelf to fit everyone in. I sat between Paul and a man from the team named Louis who spoke only French. Paul had told Louis I was concerned about him having a pleasant meal because I was not able to make conversation with him. Louis smiled wide and assured Paul this wasn’t a problem. I tried to make conversation anyway during the meal about what he did or how the food was, but not much was understood between us.
There must have been five or six courses with the meal and sometime
after the main course, but before dessert, Louis reached over and grabbed my right hand and clasped it with his. He then cradled our hands in the palm of his other hand and rested this embrace on his leg. Surprised by this, I remember looking straight ahead with thoughts racing in my mind about how I could handle the situation. I turned my head to look at him, hoping I could convey a facial expression to end this misunderstanding. But his face lit up, and a big smile came across it, and it was clear that language would be necessary to politely resolve this.
I leaned toward Paul and told him what was happening. I would say he didn’t think the matter was as urgent as I did to change, and in so many words, I felt like I had to negotiate for his assistance. Before he would listen to how I hoped he would help me, he first had to tell the rest of our group what was happening and they all shared a laugh about it. I wanted to be a good sport, but was feeling pretty rattled. In a calm voice I explained to Paul that
the gesture seemed innocence enough, and I didn’t want to take my hand away without being able to explain that I was flattered, but not interested. I asked Paul what I could say to Louis in French.
Paul leaned forward on the table around me to look at Louis and he began speaking in French. In about 30 seconds Louis freed my hand as Paul continued talking . . . and talking. While I wondered what could be taking him so long to say, everything seemed fine, as Louis and I exchanged smiles.
When Paul finished, I asked what he said. His explanation to Louis was that I was married, which I’m not, and that my (non-existent) husband was in the states. He included that when I returned to France, I would bring some attractive single friends with me, and maybe Louis would like one of them.
“What?” I said. This is why you need language skills. Don’t leave home without them.
Country Walk One Sunday I joined Celine and her mom for a “country walk”. These are organized walks that wind through private property and designated walking paths and regional roads to see the
countryside. Celine picked me up and we went to Chillac, a town two miles from Brossac. Sixty or more people were at the walk, a mix of French and English, many outfitted in hiking shoes, hats and walking sticks. With discretion, Celine told me a little about some of the people - he just left his wife for another woman, she is English and is always at the walks, they are really involved in community theatre - and it was fun to image these people in their lives.
We began walking and within minutes seemed to be tucked away on a secluded path. Our surrounds were a patchwork of rolling hills, tree groves, and farmhouses with streams of clean water trickling though the land. It was country-quite and smelled fresh. In the middle of rolling hills there would be a groves of trees the size of a football fields and trees were lined up with perfect spacing. I asked Celine if the trees were planted, but she said it was nature’s perfection. The trees were tall with ashy colored trunks. All the foliage was at the top, and under them it was shady and had an enchanting look. We walked through woods with walnut, hazelnut and pine nut trees, past farm houses made of stone and mortar surrounded with wild rose bushes and spring flowers, and there was even a small castle in the countryside that we could see in the distance. In a steady pace, we walked an eight-mile loop in about two and a half hours. The walk was a highlight of my time in France.
Brocante in Berdagnac Celine dropped me in Berdagnac, a village that is on the way to Chalais and about 3 miles from Brossac. I was meeting Ann and Dave there for a brocante, also called a vide grenier. A flea market would be an equivalent event in the states. There were 50 or more vendors set-up outside selling pictures, dishes, hardware, books, jewelry and other like household items. I have no doubt that with a trained eye many treasures were to be found. Loving dishes, I found a ceramic creamer that the lady selling it told Ann it was Limouge. This meant nothing to me, but Ann explained that Limouge was a collectible line of French pottery. Ann and I browsed the vendors’ stalls and she taught me about the pottery and glassware on display.
The brocante seemed to be a day-out event for families. Plates du jour and ale carte items could be purchased for lunch with alcohol sold at a bar that had been set-up outside, and there was a children’s carnival with rides and games. It was a hot day and when we finished looking, we walked back to Brossac where we were to join the others at the football tournament, and then later another dinner and dance.
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