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Published: November 13th 2008
Country roads
Not that much different from those in the U.S.13 hour meals, aperitifs with a monk, helping the baker get bread hot from the oven at 6am, scrambling around in the ruins of a 13th century chateau, a private tour of a 12th century monastery, the following are my experiences of the “France Profonde”.
As November 11th is a national Holiday in France, and I don’t have classes on Mondays or Wednesdays, Guillaume invited me to spend a long weekend out at his family’s farm in the Centre region of France. We met his cousin, aunt and uncle at their house in the suburbs of Paris and from there drove 2-3 hours south, past the small town of Vendome, past the small village of Montoire, and into the France profonde. We pulled up to Helene and Stephan's house, Helene being the younger sister of Guillaume's mother, at about 11 o'clock and got settled in for the night. This is where Guillaume’s mother’s side of the family lives, and her parents, two brothers, and one sister still live within miles of each other, each with their own farm and their own absolutely wonderful country home. The room we stayed in, that of Guillaume’s cousin, Brice, was just about exactly three
La ferme
I'm not sure what's growing here, someone said it was for the rabbits? times the size of my chambre de bonne in Paris. And that isn’t counting the rest of the house, and the amazing kitchen. This was the first real kitchen I have seen in a while, and it was amazing. I stood and just basked in the grandeur of a real, large, country kitchen while Helene served everyone tea.
The next day, Saturday, was the 50th birthday of Guillaume’s mother, Nicole, and the real reason for the get together. I feel I have to prefix this all by saying that I brought my homework with me on this trip, thinking that hey, we’re out on a farm, we can’t sit around and eat and talk ALL DAY, I’m sure there will be free time where I can get some of my reading and translation done… ha. No, no, Sara, this is France. You CAN just sit around and eat and talk all day. Festivities started at noon, with aperitifs of home-made fruit punch (alcoholic, of course, this is France we’re talking about), olives and a local sausage made from the blood of either pigs or sheep, I don’t remember. I was a little scared of that at first, but I have
La famille!
Nicole is on the left, her sister __, Cassandra, Guillaume and his cousin --. the try everything once rule, as long as it’s not poison, and it was actually very good, despite it’s gooey-uncooked-black-and-raw appearance. Then the family got together and sang a song they had re-written for Nicole, then Joyeuse Anniversaire, then Happy Birthday, then Felize Compleanos, because you might as well get as many languages in as possible, right? From there we sat down to a variety of quiche’s and a lovely potato salad, and I went to town until they told me that all that was just the appetizers, the real meal hadn’t started yet. Oh. While people digested, sitting around the long table the youngest cousins put on little shows for us and then one of the uncles passed out a word game. I love word games, but in a foreign language they can be a bit difficult. S-(One of the many cousins whose name I have forgotten) and I still managed to win though, as a few of the riddles had answers that were translations English phrases, and I was the only one there who knew them (i.e. a bad car can be called a lemon). As a prize for winning we had to read French tongue twisters aloud
C'est vache!
These calfs are just days old. in front of everyone, which was fun for me as I tried to pronounce the words correctly, quickly, without tripping over myself, in French. But hey, I did say I loved challenges when I applied for this program, didn’t I?
I did feel like a bit of a super-star though with the younger cousins, as my American citizenship made me an automatic novelty here. The Grandfather told me I was the third American to ever come to the farm, the other two being soldiers during WWII. So that was neat. I really enjoyed talking with the grandfather, though at points I had trouble understanding what he was saying (of course every conversation I had this weekend was in French, this is the country we’re talking about.) I really saw the generational attitude I’d heard about, about how the older generation that lived through the war still really admires the Americans and are still grateful for what we did then, as opposed to the younger generations that have seen us make so many mistakes. But the kids were rather star-struck, it seemed, asking me questions about what American’s think of the French, do I like their food? What’s my food like?
First legs
This little guy is only 3 hours old, this is probably the first time he's tried to stand, still shaky and wet from birth. Are our bakeries that same? It was this last question that really shocked them, as I said, well… we don’t really have bakeries like they do here, we mostly just buy bread in grocery stores. “What?! Packaged bread? How do you eat?” I loved Charly’s wide eyed astonishment “Oh, but I couldn’t LIVE without bread!” I had to explain that bakeries did exist, but they are more rare and nothing like the ones here, and that we have other delicious food that doesn’t exist here, and that we manage to survive despite the lack of fresh croissants.
Lunch followed the games, which was followed by more games and then cheese, conversation, desert, coffee, then cards, then the aperitifs before dinner, appetizers, conversation, dinner, cheese, conversation, desert, we finished the after-dinner-drinks at around 1am, so all in all there were things going on at the dinner table for a solid 13 hours. Of course some people would go for a short walk in place of sitting, and the kids would get up and run around, play upstairs and whatnot, but there was always some new course coming or some event that would require the whole family for a solid 13 hours.
Cheval
Cassandra trying to get the horses attention. I thought Thanksgiving celebrated food, but then I came to France. Even the grandparents were up conversing until 1/1:30 am, no one took a nap. I don’t know about the rest of you but I know in my family it is impossible to have a day devoted to eating where a nap break is not included. I felt rather foolish for anticipating the nap break and lugging my French dictionary all the way out there. Ah well, an unnecessarily heavy backpack isn’t the worst thing in the world.
The next day we slept in rather late, as wine had been flowing freely all day long yesterday, and also because things are a lot calmer in the country than in the largest city in Europe. That, and the blinds closed so completely in Brice’s room that even at 11am it still looked like midnight. But we did get up, and were met by Eric, the older of Guillaume’s mother’s brother’s, who took us out to his farm to see the new-born cows. Some were days old, one had just been born that morning, and we got to see as it tried its legs for the first time, still shaky and
Walking home
That's the grandparents farm in the distance. wet from being born. And then it was back to the grandparent’s farm for a repeat of yesterday’s day-long meal, left-overs and all! Which was great. The food there, oh man, I don’t even know how to begin to describe. All the ingredients come from within a 30 mile radius, and most all of them had been alive earlier that week (I don’t know about the sausage or the ham, that might have been dead for a while, but the jack-rabbit in the meat-loaf had been shot by the grandfather earlier that week.) The wines came from a bit farther a-field, though many of them had been stored in the cave for quite a few years before being pulled out for this occasion. And when I say cave, I mean cave, most every family in the region has a cave of their own for storing wine and spirits, and they are literally just doors that have been placed over cave entrances. Very very cool, but too dark for pictures. Sorry.
Sundays meal started around noon, and then went in much the same fashion as the day before, but Guillaume and I left at 8, as he had to drive his
WWI
The plaque is the names of everyone from the town who died in WWI, the stained glass shows an Angel mourning fallen soldiers. sister to the train station and I wanted to talk to my family on skype, because Sundays are the day to do that. Of course leaving early meant kissing everyone before going, and in a family of this size (grandaparents, their 5 kids and each of their respective offspring, all in all I think there was about 26-28 people there) this meant a lot of heads bobbing from cheek to cheek, a 10 minute process just to try and get to the door. And in this region of France they do 4 kisses, instead of the Parisian 2. As I said, lots of cheek bumping.
Monday saw us sleeping in again, as complete darkness is not contusive to waking up, but we eventually did and were met by Francois, the younger of the 2 brothers, to get our stuff and head to his house where we would stay for our last night. He showed us his farm, where he grows wheat, and we tromped around in the drizzling rain, as he turned over rocks and explained different aspects of agriculture while killing slugs and taking note of how many he found so he would know how much pesticide would be
necessary. We then took “the fun way” through the forest in an attempt to find deer, but all we found was places where they rested and lots of brambles that poked through my jeans. We came to a place where mushrooms were farmed, a large, warm pile of horse manure and urine and dirt, that he had us put our hand in so we could feel the warmth the decomposing matter put off. Turning over a handful you could see the steam rise and this, he said, is what pushes up the mushrooms. He then found us a good one and we ate it, which, I have to say, was the first time I’ve ever eaten a mushroom raw, fresh from a steaming pile of horse shit, before. Tasted nutty. I wanted to wash my hands.
After all that, we lunched with some of the family at the grandparents house, and then went back to Francois’s to visit the monks. There is a 12th century monastery directly across the street from his house, so he knows the monks well and we walked on in. I’m not sure exactly which order they were, but they wear black habits and are very
Don't be such an Ass!
Aren't they cute? Until they try and eat your sleeve, they are. friendly. As they know Francois‘s family well, they played with Eloise (6) and Cassandra (11) as they came in. It was quite something to be in the courtyard of an ancient monastery and seeing a monk in his long black habit chase little Eloise, pick her up and pretend to throw her around. We had some time before they had to give another mass, and so we got a special tour led by one of the monks of the monastery and the church, including a trip up into the rafters to see how is was all constructed, as he told us about the different periods of construction and what different symbols meant in different places. We came back after their mass and dinner to get a tour of the library and I got to hold a book that is older than the United States. It’s the one in the picture, if you can make out the roman numerals. MDCCXV. I’ll let you all sort that out. They asked me about the elections, and if Obama was Christian, and of which church. Though to most all the French Catholics I’ve met, protestant is protestant, so of course they had never heard
Inside the order
This is the dining hall of the monastery, dating back to the 12th century. of Congregationalists/United Church of Christ, still, it was fun to find myself in a slightly theological discussion, in French, with French monks. We left them to their studies afterwards and returned to finish our aperitifs at Francois's, when there is a knock on the door and it was one of the monks who had come over and brought with him the little orange kitten from the library. He sat on the couch and had an aperitif with us, and it was just very cool to be sitting in a wonderful French farm house, conversing about current events in French, with the farmers and a monk. And there were cheese-puffs, so that was a plus.
When he left, we sat down to dinner (about 10 pm), which consisted of the tiniest birds I have ever seen cooked. We each got one, and it was about 7/8 inches long, with its legs extended out behind it, maybe 2-3 inches wide. A whole pan of little tiny birds. And they were delicious. Cheese, tea, desert, and off to bed ready to wake up at 5:30.
Yes.
You read that correctly, 5:30 am. The alarm was loud and jarring, scaring any dream remnants that
Under the roof
We got a private tour of the attic to see the renaissance architecture of the roof, built like an inverted boat to symbolize that all the monks are literally "in the same boat". might have thought of being remembered right out of me. Up and dressed and out into the frigid still starry night to go see the baker down the street. The bakery was warm and delicious smelling, and the baker moved fast, throwing blisteringly hot bread in and out of the oven on a nifty palette-like slide-y thing. He let us try to help, but that bread is baked at a temperature of over 200 degrees Celsius, and 2 seconds after being removed it isn’t much cooler. So I got the throw some hot bread around, but I also got to help myself to the tray of still-cooling pain-au-chocolat’s that was sitting against the wall. There is nothing like a pain-au-chocolat fresh from the oven, the butter still melty and the chocolate gooey and warm. Oh man, it might have been painfully early, but that made it all worth it. That and just getting to be back-stage in a French bakery exchanging pleasantries with the Baker and his wife. We had some coffee with them while the new batch cooked, and he showed me his collection of Harley-Davidson and Jack Daniels memorabilia and we talked a bit about America. As I
climbing down
The light is from my flash, other wise going down this ladder feels a bit like descending into utter darkness, with older cousins waiting at the bottom to scare you. said before, I was a bit of a novelty in these parts. Of course, at 6 am my French was really quite terrible, but we managed to communicate.
The rest of the day was rather blurry, as waking up early is not really my thing, but I did manage to wake up enough to scramble around the ruins of the chateau that sat above the town. We traversed a donkey field, fought our way through some brambles, climbed over the barrier, and then had a fabulous view of the whole town, all it’s 600 inhabitants, spread out below us. Beautiful. Not sure if it was all legal, but I’m not really sure if there are police out here to do anything if it wasn’t. I’ve attached some pics so you can enjoy the view without the bramble scratches.
The train back to Paris took about 2 and a half hours, depositing us in Gare d’Auserlitz, where we returned to the French city life that so many come to see. I thought that perhaps with this holiday it would have been a perfect time for me to go visit another country for a few days, but I am so glad that
The church
This church is very old. I forget the date he gave, but I remember being impressed. It's old. I chose to go with Guillaume and see this side of French life that few who are not related get to see. I feel honored that Guillaume would invite me out to meet his family, show me where he grew up, and I loved seeing that side of him as he interacted with everyone. This was really the “real France” that people talk about wanting to see, but there are no tours to places like “Le Barre” or “La Glaciere” (the names of the grandparent’s and uncles‘s farms, respectively.). I’m not sure what sort of advise to offer for those who would be looking to experience this side of France. Find a french boyfriend like I did? Take in exchange students? You never know where a relationship will lead, you too could find yourself drinking martini's with a monk!
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Lynn Haskell
non-member comment
Living vicariously
Googled you on kartoo.com and got to your link, that was fun. Love reading about your adventures. Talked to Nancy Ferguson today and she and I agree that we love living vicariously through you. Continue writing and living the dream.