Champagne & Rocking Chairs

The town of Vienne sits on the Rhone River, a Mediterranean-esque town in a lush green valley where ruined chateaux on the foothills overlook the contemporary world like wrinkled grandmothers in rocking chairs, silently observing modern life with nostalgic grace and quiet disapproval.

This was my weekend placement. I stayed with Lydia, another wonderful English teacher from the lycée with two of the cutest little French kids on the planet & a knack for good cooking.

After my exhausting Saturday morning, a traditional French dinner was very much appreciated. FIVE hours later, I had consumed apéritifs (appetizers), champagne, salad, smoked salmon, wine, full shrimp (yes, Carrie, this time you could see the whole body--I had to pull off the legs and head, complete with eyes--I squirmed, but I ate), pork cooked with pineapple, au gratin potatoes, bread, cheese, and une tranche of chocolate tarte. By 12:15 a.m., my head was spinning with too much French and my stomach was about ready to kill me. But oh--it was worth it!

I passed out, feeling like those old French kings with the huge stomachs about ready to burst their suitcoat buttons, on the pull-out futon that every French household seems to have for potential guests. It was perhaps the best sleep of my stay thus far.

Today's petit voyage to the flea market gave meaning back to the anglicism: "Someone's junk is someone else's treasure." Tons of chipped dishes, old film cameras, cheap romance novels, children's toys from the past 10 years, mismatched jewelry and rusty keys. I was in love. As I probably won't receive my first French paycheck (in euros!) until November, however, I settled with a French language mystery novel and a bit of French stationary--how could I resist, at ,50 euro centimes? :-)