It's A Small World, After All

After my hike last Sunday, I returned to my host, Francis's, house and met my new housemates and fellow students.  Bernadette Kelly is a former teacher from Wogga Wogga --is that a wonderful name or what --Australia.  She has done an enormous amount of travel and has spent time in France on sabbatical.  This was not her first time at a language school, though first here, so her French is significantly better.  Deborah Lyon is a real estate developer who lives in a small country town near London--and her French language skills are more similar to mine.  We all quickly became good buds.  It was a really much nicer experience to have other people in class, although I did enjoy my days having a teacher to myself.  But the best part was having 2 other people in the afternoon and evening to hang out with.

We arrived in class on Monday morning and met the 4th member of our class, John Steele.  John and wife Bonnie have a house in Menerbes and he has taken seversl classes when they have been here on their spring or fall visits.  Like every 1st day in class, we all introduced ourselves.  I began, in my best  French, by saying "j'habite a colorado".  John broke in to say he does too.  Startled into forgetting my French (not hard to do), I said "Where-I live in Durango".  His reply---"Telluride."  After much exclaiming, I asked if he were retired.  No, he says, I'm still practicing law.  Exclamations again--but I'm a retired lawyer,  I say.  So moving along, I continue and comment "je suis nee en Caroline du nord".  At which John comments, "so was I--in Hendersonville"  But he left at a young age and moved to Brooklyn, so we were able to stop the amazing string of coincidences.  But you have to wonder--what are the odds??  The world is truly so small.

A 4 person class is much different from a single person.  The conversations with Barbara became class exercises, more grammar, less free form, but with learning coming from the interactions among us.  It was clear that Bernadette had a much stronger grasp of the language, and, although she was working right along with us, she needed, and wanted, something more challenging.  Susan brought another teacher in and Bernadette worked on conversation with her after the second day.

We all still took our breaks together, with Barbara, at Bar Des Amis, next door.  Usually a coffee break, except when the red headed mademoiselle was the bar tender.  She was a source of much consternation.  There has never been a less service oriented person in the world.  Her primary occupation was doing crossword puzzles, making coffee was a sideline which she saw as a major inconvenience.  She did it badly and grudgingly.  When Thierry, the owner, was there, the coffee was excellent and he went over board to be friendly and helpful.  But mademoiselle couldn't be bothered.  One morning she refused to make the middle size coffees--there was only petit ou grand, although one could see all the moyen size cups on the shelf.  She just wasn't in a moyen kind of mood.  John made up for her, though, by supplying us with sacristain from the boulangerie across the street. Those pastries should be a controlled substance.

After class, the other two women and I explored.  One day we drove to Goult for lunch and spent the rest of the day wandering around.  This a village I had never visited before.  It is not touristy, but really lovely.  It is a hill town,with an old church, an old clock tower and chateau.  Although it had all the same stuff, it was different from every thing else.  I am always struck by how the towns have the same ingredients, but come out all different. Goult felt bourgoise, in a good way.  It was clean, the streets were swept, it was quiet, buildings were painted and well kempt  There was a feel of somebody taking care of things.  Here are a couple pictures.

     

A typical village house in Goult      

















The restaurant La Poste, where we
had lunch.






After class another day, Susan took us on a tour of towns east and north of St.Sat.  Check these out:

Sault, the village at the base of Mt. Ventoux.  It's always full of cyclists.  Left is a cafe beside the boules court. And a charcuterie, specializing in all things piggy.


















These two were taken in the teeny village of Brantes which clings to the side of a hill overlooking some of the most isolated country I've seen here.  It was a total Kodak moment.  Seems this little place is on the list of les plus beaux villages in France.  Who knew??

                                                                     

                                                                                 













And the last village---for today, anyway---Joucas.  Full of artists, but not so many tourists

Enough gorgeous, centuries old stone buildings for one day.  I'll save Rousillion for another time.

PS:  I JUST PREVIEWED THIS POST AND SAW THE PICTURES ARRANGED ALL SCREWY, BUT  I CAN'T SEEM TO MAKE THEM MOVE.  USE YOUR IMAGINATION TO MAKE IT ALL LOOK BEAUTIFUL.