Hmm, I haven't seen a dog in church, in a playground or the supermarket, so I guess there are limits. But in restaurants, cafes, post office, mairie, etc. dogs roam with their owners. The dogs are all very well trained and pay no attention to other people. The one aspect of all this that I find disconcerting, though, is the dog poop. It's literally everywhere. One morning we woke up to find dog poop right in front of our door! The worst place of all was in Montpellier, in the streets in front of stores and restaurants, the owners let their dogs stop and poop. So far we have been lucky and the kids haven't stepped in it. Our local paper, though, did have mention of it, exhorting the residents of Montpeyroux to be conscientious of the mess it creates. Since then there seems to be a difference on the main street.
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The World Cup Finals Part II
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Earlier I had mentioned that the final game of the World Cup was being celebrated, but instead of going to the village plaza, we went to the local café. They were offering a dinner, so we decided togo. We paid 45F per adult for the dinner, which consisted of little grilled fish as appetizer, unlimited local wine during dinner, and a dinner of frites (fries) and shish kebob of tender pieces of beef separated by very thin slices of fat. It was delicious.
Before dinner a local man was painting everyone's face (and body, if so desired) with grease paint, in the French colors. Renato immediately wanted his face painted, so I took him to get it done. Then Guillermo convinced me to do it also. Andoni wouldn't look at me for several minutes, but finally we convinced that I was indeed his mother! I couldn't get Guillermo to get his face painted, but I think it had more to do with vanity than putting non-Brazilian colors on.
Not only was the game extremely entertaining, but so was watching the crowd reacting to the game. I don't think anyone really thought that they could beat Brazil, so when the first goal took place, the people were yelling and screaming and blowing some really loud horns hidden under the tables. By the end of the game, when France finished beating the Brazilian team with that last and dramatic goal, the village exploded in firecrackers, horns, yells, song and dance. Before we had even gone to the party, Renato was cheering for France. By the time I had painted my face, I too had decided to cheer for France. After the first goal, Guillermo himself was routing for France. It was quite an emotional event, being in France while 1) they sponsored the event, and then 2) won the World Cup for the first time in history. It was quite appropriate, after all.
The aftermath was rather raucous, as scores of cars paraded in and out of town, blaring their horns and yelling. I think things finally settled down around 2:00 P.M.! It didn't keep the kids awake though, thank goodness.
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July 14 (or Bastille Day) celebration
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The next night was the celebration of July 14th (Bastille Day as we know it in the US). In Montpeyroux, it was celebrated the night of the 13th. The local square, where the statue of the Virgin Mary is, was converted into a party area, with tables and chairs to sit about 200 people. We headed down to the dinner around 8:00 P.M., only to find that everyone was taking their own plates, utensils, cups, etc. I ran home quickly to pick those things up and head back to the party. We found seating right next to our American landlady and her family and guests and settled down for a night of fun.
Things were slow to start, but eventually bread and wine were brought. Bottles of rose, red and white wine were brought to the table by teenagers in T-shirts spray-painted the colors of the French flag. Soon after, salad was brought, much to Andoni's delight. It was full of tomatoes, his favorite vegetable, as well as chicken gizzards. I had eaten several before I was told what they were, and in fact, they were delicious and tender. Then the rice dish was brought, tasty and with plenty of vegetables mixed in. At this point Julie, our landlady, told me to go and look behind the main building in the plaza and see how the rice was prepared. As I headed there, I could see a fire burning, rather like a camp fire. There was a large wood burning fire going, and in the middle of the fire was a huge pan (and I mean huge, as in the width of a kitchen table) full of rice. It was quite impressive!
The main course showed up around 10:00 P.M., thick slices of ham with a tasty light brown sauce (I think it was called madere). Finally dessert was brought, thick chunks of a Brie-type cheese and delicate slices of an apple pastry.
In case you think I'm focusing too much on the food...well, it's hard not to focus on food in France. It's everywhere, everyone talks about it, and it's just simply delicious. I was told by the man who I spent an hour talking to (in French, no less!) that Americans live to work, and the French live to eat. At least I think that's what he said!
The dinner ended abruptly as everyone flooded out of the dining area and started walking down the street toward the winery. Guillermo and Renato had already taken off down the road, so the baby and I walked slowly through the crowd waiting for the action to start. In about 15 minutes, the fireworks started, and Andoni alternated being alarmed and fascinated. At the end of the fireworks, I took him home to bed, and went back to the party. Our neighbor was home already, and so kept an eye on him.
By the time I returned, the party had started and everyone was dancing. We spent the next hour or so dancing with everyone. We closed down the party in the early morning.
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We visit the local butcher twice a week. He sells raw meats, cold cuts, pates, several prepared dishes such as a squid salad, rotisserie chicken (roti), and grocery items. It's quite an engaging place, with too many options for purchase. Paul, the butcher, is very patient with my French, and somehow understands what it is that I need to purchase. I discover a salami that the kids love, a cooked ham that is great for sandwiches, the squid salad for Guillermo, and other delicacies. I really like going shopping at the local butcher!
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An evening out in the village
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One evening, our landlady Julie offered to keep an eye on our sleeping children. Guillermo and I took advantage of the offer, and went to the local café to play table soccer. As we entered the café, all conversation stops and all heads turn to watch us. There were about 10 people there, including one woman and her five-year-old daughter. They all listened as I stammer through my order, and one person helped me figure out how much money I need to play the soccer game. It was all very pleasant, and I could tell they were curious about us.
Later we took a long walk around the village, enjoying the strong gusts of cool wind that blow through the village. We walked down to the end of our street, and stood staring up at the stars for quite awhile. There are no lights down there, and the wind blows very heavy, moving the branches of the trees wildly. This is my favorite place at night, although I think I'd be scared to be there alone at night. So we stand there quietly for a while, holding hands and watching the brilliant stars.
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Aside from that walk with Guillermo, we have had little time to ourselves. Our walks in the village are usually with the children. Renato and I love to walk along the streets and look at the doors of the houses, and try to find dates in the walls. So far the earliest date we have found is across the street from us. A house has a date of 1575. Further up the road there are two houses with dates from the early 1600s. So the date of 1575 would probably make our house more like 400 years old rather than 300.
When I take walks with Andoni, we have to walk slowly and examine each stick and stone in the road, and take a short sitting spell at each interesting stoop. I never would have had the patience to do this back home...there's just never enough time. We walk along, looking for dogs and cats to pet, and talking baby talk (he's only 1 ˝ years old). I have met more people here during my walks with Andoni than any other way. He greets people with his tiny baby voice 'bonjour,' and then waves goodbye and says 'au revoir.'
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Climbing in St. Guilheim-le-Desert
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One day, we leave Renato at his summer camp in Aniane, and drive to St. Guilheim-Le-Desert, which is about five minutes from the camp. We park at the foot of the village, and put Andoni in the stroller. We walk up through the village, which is very quaint and beautiful. The only mar on its charm are the vast quantities of tourists, of which we are just drops in the bucket. We stop in the town square to rest from our walk up the hill, and to give the baby a snack. By now the Abbey is closed and won't reopen until 2 P.M.. I very much want to see the cloisters in this abbey, since it is from this location that many of the beautiful pieces in the Cloisters in upper Manhattan came from. I have read about the story in French, and what I gather is that a rich American purchased many of the artifacts from the abbey and took them to NYC to set up in his house. After several years, they because the property of the city, and the Cloisters was built. I grew up three subway stops away from the Cloisters.
So we decided to climb higher in the village, and shortly came across a fountain of water coming out of the side of a building, and running down an alleyway to a stream. The sign above the water says that it is drinkable, and so we fill our bottles with water. It is, in fact, very cold and very delicious, and much better than the calcium-laden water of Montpeyroux. We decide to fill our wine bottle with this water on our way home.
We continue up, and come to a fork in the road. In the distance, some ruins are visible high up in the hills straight ahead. |
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