LOVE- DAY 6

This is very cliché, I know. But here it goes: I LOVE Paris.

LOVE-LOVE-LOVE.

I hope I get to back someday.

And actually, I should really say that I LOVE France: I LOVE Marseille; I LOVE Angers; I LOVE Giverny; I LOVE Versailles. I LOVE the people. I LOVE the buildings.I LOVE the history. I LOVE the food. Oh my. The food.

I came back a changed person. You have to LOVE a place that has that kind of power. I think about France probably every other day, at least. It is amazing how powerful that trip was.

LOVE IT.

I Fell In Love With France-Chapter 10

Let me tell you about how I finally understood Doug + food, the main source of bafflement for me for 25 years.

When we arrived in Angers from Marseille we were met at the train station by Mme. P and her daughter, Anne-Solenne. It was a joyous meeting for me and a reuniting for Doug. I immediately felt loved and welcomed.

Every meal we had with the P's was an event. The food was real. It was tasty. We ate in courses. And there was always bread. And cheese.

But this is what I went nuts over...

The tarts.

Mme. P made a rhubarb tart. Another day she made a fig tart...

And still another morning I found her in the kitchen putting together a pear tart. She was using her hands to measure the sugar and eye-balling the amount of cream she poured in. I laughed with delight! She wasn't following a written recipe, she was creating with la joie de la cuisson.

This pear tart sat by the window for a bit,

and later it became this:

I cannot tell you how GOOD this tart was. Oh my. I still think about how good that tart was.

And I'm sure that the reason it was so good is because only a short time before it became a tart, it was doing this in the yard:

And the fig tart? Me? Eating a fig tart? Well, yes. And it was delicious, too. And before those figs became a tart they were also hanging out in the yard:

Ahhhh...the secret to food that tastes good might be that it is REAL food, plucked from its source. *sigh* I wish I had a greener thumb.

On Friday night Mme. P had the two Elders over for dinner which was a lot of fun because Doug was the missionary who taught the P. family twenty-some-odd years ago.

Elder Scotty S. from Scotland:

and Elder Dylan H. from New York:

Notice how everyone is holding a knife? We must have been in the bread and cheese part of the meal.

It was a fun dinner even though I didn't understand a lot of what was said. Elder S. was very funny and he translated a lot for me.

And Mme. P was a gracious hostess

and it was a very pleasant evening.

On Saturday Mme. P gave us her car so we could go exploring. She also packed us a picnic. I have no words for her generosity and love.

We had our picnic at the Chateau Saumur in the Loire Valley. We had quiche! I know! quiche! in France! at a castle!

It was just too cool.

And more pear tart...

This is what made an impact on me: Meals are an event. Even when the food is simple (which it always was) it was a special time. It was a time to gather and to talk and to sit and relax. Our meals took an hour, or more. We ate in courses. We ate a plate of tomatoes in vinegar with some bread.

Then a plate of meats would be brought out. Or the quiche.

The tray of cheeses always came out.

And always there was bread. Usually a few different kinds.

It was so simple, and it was tasty and filling and artfully arranged

with flowers from the garden at each place setting.

And there were jams and honey and preserves to choose from.

On our last day with the P's, before we left for Paris, Sis. P had a special cake for us celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary (which was the reason for the trip).

This was from the bakery

and Mme.P lit the candle for us!
And it was soooooo good!

(But I actually liked the pear tart even better. That is how good it was.)

Because I couldn't do much (any) talking it gave me time to observe and think about things. Here's what I observed:

1) the food is simple

2) the lifestyle is simple

3) people in France really do have French doors in their house, in the house and leading to the outside

4) everything is small, and that isn't a problem. The P's kitchen is smaller than most people's bathrooms in the US, and yet the best food I've ever had came from that kitchen. Realizing that made me feel a little bit embarrassed at how much we supersize things in our culture (cars, houses, kitchens, bathrooms, meals, number of shoes/purses/coats/jewelry). Even our regular houses are much bigger than their regular houses. Its like we are ALL from Texas!

Now I understand Doug + food.

I really do get it.

We Are Home

They say

"Home is where your heart is".

I've left my heart in many places

(yes, including San Francisco...)

and that often makes me wonder

where my true home is.

One of the wonderful things about traveling

is how it expands your heart.

One of the wonderful things about traveling

to a different country

(and something I'd forgotten because it has been so long)

is how one can come back a different person

(if you allow it).

Yesterday as we started our two hour drive home,

from Gramma's house where we stayed the jet-lag-y night,

I was looking at the familiar sights of the canyon

through the car window

...the water falls

...the leaves beginning to change

...the beautiful Utah mountains,

and I thought about the new world

that now lives inside of me-

...the magnificent tower which we saw every day

...the never-ending supply of bread

which I couldn't get enough of

...the places where we ate every night

so full of character and energy

...the walks along amazing places

...the way of living

which for the most part is simple and focused

...the markets which were lively and tempting

...the adventures

(who wouldn't want to ride a bike in France?)

...the flowers

and flowers

and flowers

...the opulence, which was a little hard to comprehend

...the simplicity

(Oak Den in France)

...the castles which never ceased to transport me

to a romanticized version of medieval days

...the cafes which are EVERYWHERE

...the cheese

(and Doug's delirium)

...but mostly the people.

Wonderful, wonderful people.

(I don't know where the "stuck-up French people" thing came from.)

I have fallen in love with France.

I'm taking this whole thing slowly as I process the last two weeks.

But I'll tell you what:

I cannot wait to go back.

The Natural Life

Today we had a picnic in Vernon.

Vernon is north of Paris, in Normandy.

We were on our way to Claude Monet's Gardens,

but that story will come later.

We stopped at the market in the town square

and bought cheese and grapes and a tomato and some kind of meat

(with Doug buying it's best not to ask...)

and we also went to a Boulanger

and bought a small quiche and some brioche of Normandy

and we had our picnic on the banks of the Seine

beside a reconstructed medieval flour mill

on a really beautiful bridge that was bombed out

during the invasion of Normandy,

and we were enjoying our meal and the beauty around us

when I looked over by the bridge and noticed

a man standing next to the bridge-

just standing there-

and then it HIT me and I said:

"Doug, is that man p..ing?"

And Doug said,

"Welcome to France."

Mais Oui

Three words:

French

onion

soup.

In PARIS!!!

The End.