I’m finally back at the house after a 2 week vacation! After dreading this exended 24/7-work period, the house I had once felt trapped in seemed like a safe haven, where I had no troubles nor cares in the world. However, there were some parts of the past 2 weeks that were really quite lovely.
We left early Thursday morning, we headed to Rouen (a very old city in Normandy, northern France). I knew we were going to some sort of boat festival, but I didn’t grasp the full concept until I got there. Armed against the pouring rain with fancy, jet-black umbrellas, we joined the throng of people walking beside the city's river.
The boardwalk was lined with tents displaying a myriad of goods for sale. The river was crowded as far as the eye could see with boats: huge, ancient sailing ships from around the world. The Armada Festival happens every 5 years, drawing 15 million visitors over its 10 day duration. I can see why! We boarded one boat, which was beautiful. We then took a boat tour of the boats (only slightly ironic), which told us the size, names, and country of all the boats present. One boat, the Grand Turk, was actually featured in the Pirates of the Carribbean movies. Remember the boat that the British said was the fastest boat of all, causing a guard to remark in a spooky voice, “I’ve heard of one that’s faster… the Black Pearl.” Well, that boat, the british one, was there.
For lunch, I ordered a salad with something beef (my French is still not perfect). It came with some spread that looked like cheese, so I ate it over some bread. As I begin to smother another piece of bread with the creamy, sweet, cheese like substance, I asked Geraldine what it was. I spit out the rather large bite I had taken when she calmly replied that it was animal fat. After a good laugh, I jokingly held up a juicy round piece of meat that had once covered my salad, and joking asked if it was something to be worried about, like eyes. She laughed and said no, not eyes. Just the balls. BALLS.
I didn’t eat anything else the rest of the day.
For dinner, we joined a an Uncle who lives in Rouen. Jean Claude and his wife are very aimable, and are the people that I feel closest to in the family. They have twin 16 year old girls, and a vacation house in Palm Beach, Florida. Jean Claude is a golf fanatic, with a putting green in the front yard, as well as holes all over his office floor.
There were 3 men there who I did not know. They were friendly, and offered conversation bordering on shameless flirting. After eating barely anything all day, I was offered a glass of champagne. I obliged, loving champagne as I do, and in no time realized that this was a BAD idea. With an empty stomach, and a basically non-existant tolerance level, I found myself very tipsy in a matter of minutes. Playing French billiards with Antione (3 balls, no pockets) I suppressed the urge to giggle at everything that happened, concentrating will all my remaining attention on hitting the ball, which I missed several times. The men seemed to appear out of no where, continuing to smile and compliment me. When we sat down to eat, I grabbed a chuck of break and passed on the wine. There is no way I can babysit these kids under the influence. Crisis averted. The men turned out to be professional, trophy winning golfers. I got on their good side, so, bonus points.
The following morning, sporting a slight head ache, I headed south toward Angers with the family to visit Arnaud’s relatives. Upon arriving at the small, modestly furnished town house, I was shocked at how different the atmosphere was. His mom was very kind and gracious to me. His grandfather and grandmother were very talkative and curious about who I was. The showed me pictures of a relative who lives in Cuzco, and refused to allow me to clean up after meals. As the kids played outside in the small, fenced in yard, I felt happy. We drank wine before dinner (seulement je goûte… after the previous night I wasn’t taking any chances), and I savored the different wines of the region, all of which were really good. The specialty of this region was a vin sucre, or a sweet white wine. It was delicious.
The next day, we drove to downtown Angers. What a charming city! I actually prefer it to sprawling, touristy Paris. It was once a grand fort back in the times of civil war in France. It looked glorious bordering the Loire River. Now, the fort remains a museum, but the tiny boutiques and picturesque cobblestone streets attract a lot more visitors. If you are ever in France, you can’t miss this spot!
After 2 wonderful days in Angers, we headed to Yvoy-le-Marron, to the grandparents' weekend, hunting lodge-mansion resort. I was not looking forward to going back. For a few days, I watched kids non-stop, treasuring the moments of fun while playing football on the large grassy plain before the mansion, or when they watched T.V. and I read the only English book in the house, Harry Potter 7. For Bastille Day, we had a family bbq of lobster and some Moroccan couscous. It was pleasant. And Harry conquered Voldemort once again.
Tuesday and Wednesday we headed off to Futuroscope, a Parc D’attraction close to Yvoy-le-Marron. How fun! Though consisting of mainly video attractions, some with 3D glasses and others with moving seats, it was quite a nice place. The kids had a blast, playing on the outdoor climbing wall and playing on the playgrounds as well. I felt truly a part of the family. I had bonded well with Geraldine and Arnaud, and the kids were kind and respectful of me. We laughed together, and made some wonderful memories.
After returning to Yvoy-le-Marron late Wednesday night, we hit the road again Thursday to see nearby Orleans. Another charming town! The cathedral was magnificent, standing at the end of a huge road. This was one of the 3 cathedrals in France that the kings were ordained at after the passing of the previous king. We saw a glamorous wedding party outside the church while searching endlessly for a parking spot. After viewing the boutiques and quaint streets, we ate lunch at a restaurant in the Place de Jeanne D’Arc, facing an ornate carousel and fountain in the sun drenched square.
Friday afternoon, an uncle of Geraldine was getting married. It was to be a small affair, as this was the second marriage for the two. Again, we headed first to the civil ceremony, and then to the church. To my delight, I spotted a very good-looking Frenchman, about my age. Between drooling stare-spells, I chased the ever energetic Arthur up and down the side walk, attempting to look sexy and trés suave while doing so (though to what extent I succeeded I am not sure). We all entered in the church, and Garçon (as I had thusly named him in my fantasy, in English: boy) sat a few rows up, perfectly obstructing my view of the altar. I sighed and wiped the drool from my glossy lips.
There was no priest at the ceremony, as the previous marriages had not been annulled. A few readings were read, and hymns sung by a fabulous opera-esque vocalist. Then, Garçon stands up and walks to the altar. He slips a guitar on, to my surprise, and dedicates a song to the newly weds. Delicately singing “Alleluia,” by Jeff Buckley (many many know it from the first Shrek film, me among them), while strumming on the guitar, he stole every heart in the room. Hold up, I told myself. What’s the catch? There's no such thing as a single, hot, French musician in a Catholic church.
My intuition was correct when I sat next to his young, pregnant wife at the reception. He thanked me graciously for complimenting his performance. Feeling a bit embarrassed, I was sent home after appetizers, in the good grace of Lady Luck, to couche les enfants. I’ll just have to keep looking for Prince Charming.
Sunday, we headed home. It felt so good to be coming back. The kids have been going to the garderie everyday, so I have sometime to myself to relax. The family and I have been getting along much, much better since the talk. Though Gerladine still orders me around and snips at me for little things, like the way bowls are arranged, she is very cordial other times. I find the house pleasant, and no longer wallow in my lonliness and exclusion here.
That doesn’t change the fact that I’m counting down the days until I leave, though. In case you were wondering, it’s 29.
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