Day Two

Day Two

Day deux. I had no idea what time they got up in the morning. I was hoping for a relatively late start since we didn’t go to bed until about one o’clock. To be honest, I just didn’t want to get out of bed. I was still feeling awkward being here and didn’t know what to do or what time to be ready for more tasks… So I didn’t get out of bed until around 8:30 when I heard the tractor already running. Crap! Alain was already loading the van with the plants to take to the castle for the day’s art fair. I didn’t want to waste anymore time, or have them thinking I am completely useless if I am going to sleep like that. Instead of taking my preferred (and much needed) morning shower I opted for a quick change of chonies, a splash of water to the face, and brush of my teeth. Waalaa, I’m outside, ready to do whatever is needed of me. (BTW, being in the most rural setting I have ever experienced, I felt like a complete a-hole with my Sonicare toothbrush buzzing away, hoping no one would hear it and come to investigate a strange noise because then I would look like a giant a-hole. Luckily, I brought a back up…)

I didn’t think much of the not showering situation since I knew we would be going to the art thing later that evening and I knew I would be able to shower before then. So, I was instructed on how to water the plants in the greenhouse. Got it. Done in twenty. Next, load up the car with water for the horses. I knew they had horses on a separate property but I wasn’t aware that we had to take them water every day. Sometimes twice a day. I’m not the most comfortable around large animals (and they can smell fear, right?!), of which whom have the potential of breaking many bones with one swift kick to the whatever and whenever. So once inside the fence with these gigantic animals, I’m emptying the jugs of water into the tub while they were getting too close for comfort and were nudging me with their snouts. I really didn’t want to be there.. and the only thoughts running through my head was “they can sense your fear, they can sense fear” and “how does a horse eat an apple?” And I knew a real horse’s mouth wasn’t going to my knee and it damn sure wasn’t going to tickle….

We finished watering the horses and loaded back up to go pick up their youngest son, Marjolain (try pronouncing that one!) who was at piano lessons. We pick him up, and off to the castle we go… wait, off to the castle?? No shower?! Maybe we we’re going early to finish setting everything up for the even later? Nope. We are here for the actual event. I’m in muddy hiking boots, cut off shorts, a blue t-shirt complete with horse slobber, hair piled on the top of my head, sweaty, smelly and hadn’t showered. But after a while, I didn’t care anymore. I realized most the people I had met on the previous night were still wearing their clothes from the day before. And, let’s be honest, deodorant isn’t the most popular toiletry in France. Compared to them, I wasn’t doing too bad. But, I was still the awkward American that could not speak the language. No one realized it until they were a few sentences into the conversation and I was finally able to cut them off and let them know I had no clue what they had said.

I’ve always heard things about the French, about how rude they are, blah, blah, blah… let’s face it, I think we all have. I can tell you first hand that it isn’t true at all. Everyone wanted to talk to me but then came the awkward explanation that I could not understand nor speak the language, then it was “ahhhh, merci.” And then it would happen again… I’ve met so many interesting (or seemed to be) people and there I was… the inept American mute, alone with my thoughts whilst surrounded by people, hearing their words and not understanding a thing…

But as awkward as it is for me, it is still really freakin’ cool to be here. In the garden area there was an old man with a bushy, white beard playing Spanish songs with a classical guitar. There was Marjolain playing classical compositions on the piano. There was their eldest son, Timothee (accent over the first e) carving things out of wood logs on a carving machine. Beautiful paintings are hung throughout the place, with lots of pottery and other crafts. Two rock bands are set up in a room that had a wine barrel in it the size of my old bedroom. Literally. It was huge. There was even a chick sitting in a tree in the garden singing opera! However, that was a tad strange and I couldn’t help but giggle when I saw her. I couldn’t understand the conversations but everyone understands music. Music is international. You don’t have to be from Spain to appreciate Spanish guitar music. You don’t have to be from Austria to appreciate Mozart or Beethoven. Most of the people don’t know more than five words of English but 90% of the songs the rock bands preformed were in English. They had written the songs themselves, which was apparent because they  didn’t make any sense and they just repeated themselves over and over… But that isn’t what matters. How does it sound? How does it make you feel? I can sing along with Andrea Bocelli in Italian.. Edith Piaf in French… Richie Valens in Spanish! That doesn’t mean I know what I’m singing about (I do know the translation of the song, La Bamba by the way) but I know I like how it sounds. I like how it makes me feel. And that’s all that matters.