Those Are Some Sweet Buns

Those Are Some Sweet Buns

Today was bread making day to sell at the market in the park in the village of Le Plan. It’s a long process that begins around 7 in the morning and doesn’t end until 5 in the evening. By 5:30 all of the bread has been sold, all of that work for such a quick turn around! It was a crap ton of bread, too. Lots of mixing, kneading, shaping, kneading again, and shaping again; it’s quite tiring work. And each one has to be in a perfectly uniform shape, which is not easy to do. The entire thing is a hands on process. There is no Kitchen Aid mixer, just your hands, from start to finish. From mixing the flour and water all the way to burning your hands while grabbing the loaves off the paddle when taking them out of the giant wood-fired oven. I’m really hoping to be able to make it when I get home. I know the ingredients; it’s just that there are no measurements… I need strict instructions when it comes to cooking. Not to mention, I will also be missing the awesome, wood-fired ovens so I know I will not get the same product as I am getting here… But, dang it, I’m going to try!

The best part of bread baking day is that it’s also pizza baking day! I have had that ratatouille pizza four out of the five days I’ve been here and I hope the trend continues! It is so amazing. And the wine that is paired with it… Oh. My. Gawd!... I really hope I am able to bring some home with me. However, I know that even if I do find the same bottle from the same house in the states, it won’t be the same…

I also can’t wait to try and make the elderberry flower drink. It’s tasty. There are a lot of plants here that are also in Southeast Texas so I think my chances of finding them are pretty good. I was so excited today when I came across a honey suckle for the first time in FOREVER. But every time I tried to get the nectar out of it, there was nothing there. All dry… The last one I tried before giving up had so much hope. I picked it at the right point off the stem, I had a hold of the perfect spot on the pistol, and once the head of the pistol was almost out, I could see there definitely something coming out with it (imagine my excitement)!!!! And… it was a bug… Whah, whah, whah… So, I gave up…. I’m going to get one though. I had to explain to Alain what I was doing because they apparently do not do that here. I’m hoping to be able to have him try it.

Whilst failing at reliving a childhood past time, we were out collecting the elderberry flowers so we could make more of the drink the next day. I had my shear in hand (which was the same knife that I had used to cut my pizza at lunch. I’m sure it was not washed since then because their dish cleaning system is quite different from ours.. as in it hardly exists) crawling through he most painful bushes and trees known to man, which just so happen to want to grow right on top of the elderberry trees… Well, to make a long story short, while crawling through the woods with a knife, I cut my finger open… I didn’t want them to make a big deal about it so I didn’t tell them. I just became a bit more awkward than I already was and pretended like nothing happened. Every time I had the chance, I was applied pressure like you wouldn’t believe. I just had to stop the constant flow of blood so they wouldn’t notice it dripping everywhere. Somehow, with lots of pressure, and maybe a bit of “the force” (cause I was staring at it ever so intently, ya never know) it stopped. I don’t think they noticed, although they may have been talking about it right in front of me, even to me for that matter, I wouldn’t have had a clue. But as soon as we got back to the house I nonchalantly went up stairs to retrieve a band-aid from my little First Aid kit I had brought (I knew I would need it), went back down stairs for dinner. Which was ratatouille pizza again, and there at my place setting was the same knife that I’d used for my pizza at lunch, cut down elderberry flowers with, and sliced my finger open. And it still had not been washed… F@#k it. It’s just a little bit of germs….

Day Three

Day Three

Jour trios. I’m learning a tiny bit more French everyday. As long as I learn more than I knew the day before I’m content. Even if it is only one more word, it is still progress!

Today was an easier day.  I’m getting more and more comfortable here with Alain, Marie, and their sons. Marjolain is 16, very respectful and plays the piano beautifully. Timothee (accent over the first e) is 18 and is at that tender age where he likes to show off in front of girls. Me included. It’s ridiculous, but funny. He has no desire to learn English but we have both studied Spanish so we try to communicate via broken Spanish. Neither of us is very good at it. But the good thing is that I have noticed I have stopped asking myself, “What the hell are you doing here?” I woke up around 8 again, filled the water jugs to take to the horses, and helped Alain weed some grass that had taken over his potatoes. There was a lot of grass to root up, but it was raining a bit so we weren’t out there too long before we headed back to the house.

Once we got back, we saw two mama hens with their chicks on the side of the road. Not exactly the best place to let your babies play, Mother Hen… Then we saw that one of the cats was creeping up through the bushes towards the baby chicks. Instead of witnessing stock footage from Animal Planet, we intervened and had to run around catching all of the baby chicks and the mama hens to put them in a cage away from the cat. I was okay with crawling through rose bushes to catch the chicks but after Alain had caught one of the hens and just threw it at me to hold, I was a bit apprehensive. There I was, holding on to the hen’s wings for dear life. I didn’t want to drop the damn thing so he would have to catch her again. She was trying to flap her wings to get away, and I was scared that I was going to be missing an eye shortly…. Baby chicks are cute and soft. Adult chickens are scary and look at you like they are going to kill you.

But after that episode, there was a bit of a lazy mood in the air since it had been raining off and on. Alain, Marjolain, and I just sat around the table while Marjolain put wood into the oven to heat up not only the amazing ratatouille pizza, but also his pants. The pants were placed on a rack above the oven to dry. The pizza was obviously inside the oven. We ate he pizza, drank some amazing Bordeaux, and just talked. We talked about the difficulties of the English language as well as the difficulties of the French language. They did not like that the words three, free, and tree all sounded the same. They were blown away by the example sentence I gave them of, “I saw a man saw a log.” And I thought French was hard…. We talked a little about current events with the U.S. and France and I showed them a few pictures of San Diego on my phone. It was a very nice interaction.

Things are getting easier here everyday. Thank goodness…

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. 

Day One

Day One

First day on the farm was quite an adventure. The husband, Alain, is still in the process of learning English but it is coming along very well with the help of fellow American WWOOFers. I was picked up from the train station at Cazeres sur Garonne by Alain and we made the awkward trip to the farmhouse where Marie, the wife, had already begun making the butt loads of bread they bake every Thursday for the week. I walk in, “Bonjour,” Bonjour.” “Je ne parle pas Francais” … “Eh, non Inglais” … Awesome. To say the least, there is a lot of silence between Marie and I….

As soon as I arrive, I am given my first task: to prepare the pizza. For everyone that knows me, knows I do not cook. It scares me. But, ok! Prepare pizza! It was easy! I poured a ratatouille on top of the dough and shredded fresh cheese (important to note, it was from the cupboard, not the fridge) with a grinder thingy and folded the remaining dough back onto the pizza. Done. I didn’t screw it up! Whew! By the way, that pizza was amazing. Note 1: I must learn to make the dough and ratatouille AND the homemade elderberry flower soda. Note 2: Find out what elderberry flower is.

Second task: Help Marie take the bread outside to the gigantic wood-fired oven that was so large I was half expecting to see the charred remains of Hanzel and Gretel inside… All of the mounds of dough were in a row along a big wooden plank. I take one side, Marie the other. We walk it outside. Easy. We’re not even out the door when you hear a loud CRACK! And everything goes crashing to the floor. Dough flying about, onto the might-as-well-be dirt floor. It wasn’t my fault whatsoever but who’s side was it that broke?? MINE… of course. I hadn’t even been there an hour…. F@#k. Eh well… Not a big deal. Pick it back up, don’t even try to dust the dirt off the dough (because that is not going to happen) and into the oven they go. They were still good! I probably ate that piece today! Or we sold it… Heh…

Third task: Help load a piano and woodcarving machine into the van to transport to the castle… castle? Quoi? Yes, a miniature castle (aka giant mansion) that was built during the Renaissance (complete with a moat!) for a little art fair on the following day. Okay… We get to the castle and there are only the artists, crafters, friends of theirs, and of course the people who live there setting up for the event. And there I am meeting everyone, ever so awkwardly, with a “Bonjour.” “Bonjour.”… kiss, kiss.. “Kristen.” “Insert name.” “Blah da blah da Frenchi blah” … “Eh, je ne parle pas Francais” … “Ehhh, oiu.” And again. And again. And again. I didn’t think people whose cheeks I hadn’t pretended to kiss would ever stop piling out of this castle. Made for a slightly awkward time.

Once the piano and wood machine had been set up in their respective places, in the courtyard of the castle, we said our au revoirs and headed back. Well, we tried to… We ended up getting stuck behind a small precession of kids dancing, adults carrying small torches, and a little marching band. It was the celebration of the village saint, Saint Jean… ehhh…. Leubleau (last name not remembered. It’s not Leubleau) Alain, who was driving, became slightly annoyed by not knowing about the parade, just wanted to get home. I, on the other hand, thought it was the cutest thing ever. A tiny little parade complete with a marching band and kids dancing in the most picturesque village in the South of France?? Eh, oui. But this was at 10 o’clock at night, mind you. And this was the pre-dinner parade. That has been my only qualm with France thus far, aside from not being able to communicate with anyone. Not eating dinner until 10 o’clock or later… That is usually when I go to bed. Not sure. I don’t go to bed until 1:00 or 1:30. By the way, I need a nap.

My One Way Ticket to a New Life

 There I was...  Sitting in the terminal at Charlotte International Airport waiting to catch my flight to Boston, starting my series of three flights which will eventually land me in Paris, France.  I purchased a one way ticket on a whim, trying out my newfound spontaneity.  I'm usually a very methodical person who requires lists and itineraries in order to feel at ease.  So, to say the least, I was far from at ease right at that point.  One hour before departure and I'm getting more nervous by the second.  I'm alone, flying to a foreign country where I do not speak the language, I have to find my way through airports, train stations, hotels, taking me all the way to Cazeres sur Garonne in the south of France to live with complete strangers doing odd tasks of which most I have never done.  The excitement is building more and more as I type this.  And when I say excitement I mean nervousness.  There is a small part of me saying, "WTF. What am I doing right now??"  And it doesn't seem that small right now.  But hey, maybe it's not nervousness at all.  Maybe it's just the double shot of espresso I had just downed...  Why did I do that?!?  My stomach can't handle that right now!

   With flight one down, Boston looks awesome from the sky!  I should have just vacationed there!  They speak English!  Well, sort of...  I was wandering aimlessly through the wrong terminal (of course) and once I finally did break down to ask for help, nope.  No help whatsoever.  Instead I found a younger guy was kind of attractive once you got past the Boston accent (not a fan).  But I do remember him smelling amazing!  I think it was the two pizzas he was carrying and I had not eaten much on the plane...  But he pointed me in the right direction and I was off again.  

   Flight two was the long one but it wasn't too bad.  But really, what is it with me and long international flights and getting the one freakin' seat that doesn't recline?!?  They always recline!  Unless I would really like it to...  But I got past that and watched "The Artist".  Of which I really enjoyed it.  And it being a silent film I wasn't too upset at having to listen with just one ear since I did not have the stupid two pronged headphones that are required to planes...  But overall, a decent experience.  

   Landed in Dublin...  Well, to make a long story short...  You have to go through security all over again for a connecting flight??  Really, Dublin??  Dumb.  So I barely had time to shop for a fridge magnet that implies I've spent time in Dublin when obviously, no I haven't.  Eh well...  Next time.  

   Then Paris!  Talk about an amazing customs department!  "Bonjour, bonjour."  Stamp.  Done.  Awesome.  But then it hit.  Nothing is in English!  It's an international airport, why is everything only in French??  The effects of the double espresso came coursing back through me as I was trying to find the right train that would take me where I needed to go.  But as it turned out...  That was easy.  The hard part was getting on the right train since nothing was in English and you don't know which platform your train will show up until it's already getting set to leave the station.  

   The past 24 hours has been a hazy, sleep deprived blur, but somehow my ass is sitting in the room I reserved for myself in Toulouse in the south of France.  I survived day one!