I'm in Central France for the summer, one week into my stay with a family that lives in the country.
What first impressed me upon coming to France was, of course, the food.
In the days since my arrival, I’ve effectively had
dessert at every meal (dessert FOR breakfast – Nutella and Madeleines, anyone?)
and a host of French staple foods. Not
wanting to appear too picky, I may
have stretched the truth a little bit on my application by saying Yes, I Eat
Fish (… tuna salad). However, I’ve branched out by having several different
types of fish, including some straight-from-the-sea coquilles de Jacques, which were similar to scallops. I’ve also sampled some of the cheeses that
are present at each lunch and dinner – Camembert, Gruyere, Vieux-Paner – the latter was
where I had to draw the line, because it tasted strongly of goat. Or what I imagine gnawing on a goat would
taste like.
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The children of my host family each have strongly different
personalities. However, they all share the French tactile quality. Bisous each morning! Bisous after school! Bisous each evening (kisses
on either cheek)! The 8-yr-old E likes
to pat my hair and the little C gave me half a dozen gushy kisses on the mouth,
which I had to assume was the custom until his father reprimanded him for it. He continued to attempt these, and I said
“Only on the cheeks!” And he said “And the nose, and the eyes!”
Most of the children in E's class at school are equally loving. Dropping her off after lunch consists of taking her up to the schoolyard gate, and then making the rounds kissing a dozen children and receiving their sticky, bonbon kisses in return. This is a new experience for me.
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As eager as the children are to love on you, so too are the neighborhood dogs ready to attack you. Almost every house in the neighborhood has a dog out in the fenced yard, probably for hunting, as my host mother explained. The Attention au Chien signs aren't for nothing -- these animals seem to take personal offense at your existence as you walk down the street, hurling themselves at the fence links and barking ferociously. The neighbors across the street named their German Shepherd 'Caline" (cuddly). Ha-ha, neighbors. If Caline ever gets loose and tries to attack me I'm going straight for the eyes. This must be how my dad felt growing up in a neighborhood of angry dogs.
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In terms of language, I find the two younger children fairly easy to understand,
but the older boy, T, speaks more quickly with a chopped Teenager Lingo. However, he is always willing to repetez his sentences for me. He’s explained some of the rules of
rugby for me, and goes around the house saying “Annah Kee-fair” with relish.
E, the girl, finds my accent funny and little C just wants to cuddle (calin, calin!). My host parents are very willing to explain words I don't understand, and we have spent several evenings talking over dinner about the differences between our countries and customs. It's been lovely.
Till next time!
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