Weekend in the Country

So while the rest of you hooligans were partying it up stateside this Fourth of July, I was passing a relaxing weekend with some family friends about an hour outside of Aix. Carla and Trey have known my parents since the Air Force days, when we all lived in East Anglia and Bess used to torture their son Will, who was at that time an infant. Nowadays, everyone’s all grown up, except for their 5-year-old daughter Cate, who is so precocious and clever that she might as well be. Will is almost seventeen, is practically an Olympic-level swimmer, plays the guitar, etc., while Alex is just a bit younger, speaks French like a native, and makes friends with the locals wherever he goes. I was invited for the weekend to stay at the incredible farmhouse outside of Pelissanne (complete with pool and ancient Roman ruin) their family lives in during the summers when Trey isn’t busy teaching young Air Force pilots to fly.

Carla met me on Thursday with Cate and a young French woman I met five years ago called Audrey. Back then, both of us were too shy and too inept at each other’s language to get along as friends, but I think this time we fared slightly better. At least, we managed to communicate enough to discover that we are both 20 and both going to school for biology (I think…she also wants to do something with her culinary skills. Biology may be rather different in France.). When I first got to the house in the country, I wasn’t sure – I never really am – if I should integrate myself into the “French kids plus Will and Alex” group or the “French adults plus Carla, Trey, and sometimes Cate” group, but I followed Audrey’s lead and ended up in an intense game of hide-and-seek tag.

Games…especially games involving running around at high speed in a strange and pitch-black environment, especially when the pitch-black environment involves things like large boulders, stone walls, deep pools, and ancient Roman ruins, especially if there’s a 5-year-old girl following you around, and especially if neither you nor the five-year-old speaks the language of the other players…are difficult. Needless to say, I got tagged several times. I am nothing if not brilliant, though, and finally found a good place for Cate and I to hide (against one of the previously mentioned stone walls, only this one was backlit so that you couldn’t see us unless you were literally standing on top of us), when the sprinklers went off. We trudged back to base in our dripping shoes and declared the game over, which was convenient, as the adult party was also breaking up and the clock was just striking 1am.

The next morning, after counting mosquito bites (fifteen), figuring out the espresso machine with Carla, and eating a chocolate croissant, I did…nothing. The remainder of the weekend was really all about eating, drinking, and lounging about. I drifted from the French kid group to the French adult group, gravitating toward the latter mainly because it’s easier to act awkward and detached around adults who are speaking French. They don’t tend to pop up, run around, or direct phrases at you that seem to require some kind of answer. I gave up on saying (in French), “sorry…could you repeat that more slowly?” and ended up making noncommittal noises, smiling, and half-shrugging, which didn’t seem to be the correct answer most of the time. So, I spent most of my day listening intently and responding cautiously to Audrey’s mother Suzan and some of Carla’s other friends.

I did pick up a lot of what was being said eventually, especially with Suzan being a fantastic translator of Argo slang for me. I learned a couple new words and phrases, like “dégueulasse,” “vachement,” and some others, which I have now forgotten. One of the more useful ones meant “to whine.” Oh well.

Cate was my most constant companion; we did a lot of swimming and put together several puzzles, including an awesome dinosaur puzzle. We also took a couple walks, and in Aix, we did some serious shopping. I didn’t get anything (expensive!!!), but at the market, Cate managed to collect a bracelet and a teddy bear, among other things.

The last day, Carla and Trey very nicely treated me to the most famous restaurant in Aix – Les Deux Garçons, or the 2G to those in the know. We can now add my name to the list of celebrities who have graced this street side café: Cézanne, Churchill, Piaf, Picasso, Ruzich, and Sartre. I can personally recommend the profiteroles (and the traditionally-garbed waiters and bustling street scene were equally satisfying to my taste for la belle vie). As of yet, I haven’t started any of my schoolwork…which is too bad, as I’ve got a 20-minute presentation on the French Resistance – yes, in French; yes, that’ll have to include the past tense – but then again, schoolwork isn’t really what I’m all about here. And I’ll definitely look back on learning not-quite-kosher words from French friends more fondly than I’ll ever recall even the best of grammar exercises.