le sud: le premier jour

well, i came back from the south today. it was an amazing trip, and to be completely honest, i'm a little sad to be back in paris. the south of france was beautiful, better than anywhere else i have been so far. the architecture was bright and colorful, but quaint and old. the weather was gorgeous, the clouds were bright and fluffy and stood still in the sky, and the blue was almost electric neon, shining down in shades i had never seen before. the sun was bright but there was a slight wind to lessen the burn. i am so tan, i finally feel mixed again. it took six days in the south to undo what seven months in london/paris had done to my skin color!

meeting ro's family was both like and unlike everything i had expected. there was nine of us, four couples and a baby girl of six months. a couple of days before we were supposed to leave, i looked up french etiquette online. i was told, by multiple sites, to always always always bring a gift. so i walked myself to monoprix, and bought a potted plant. bright orange gerber daisies, with lots of leaves. but that didnt seem like me, nor did it seem like enough. anyone can bring a plant, especially an unmarked one that was only five euro. so i hunted through my newly-acquired phildar stash and stumbled upon two skeins of dk purple wool blend that just wanted to be made into a baby dress. so i started it, realizing i had less than 48 hours to both knit the dress and prepare myself. i knit until six in the morning, and in my fatigue, forgot to shut the window on the freezing storm that was pouring down on the paris streets. i would feel the effects of that later.

the day before our departure, ro's aunt decided that she wanted to meet me as well. she had been trying for months, after realizing i was illicitly staying in her shared home with romain, when she and her husband went out of town. [i threw away a tampon. she's going through menopause. not a hard puzzle to figure out.] i had managed to avoid meeting her, stating the obvious fears of speaking english, social faux pas, etc. however, that excuse becomes a little ridiculous once youve agreed to stay with a boys parents for a week. meeting the aunt seems a little less daunting...

so, after ro's work, i met him there with my valise in hand. she was incredibly nice, and only laughed about ro breaking the rules and letting me stay there. she didnt seem mad one bit, whereas i had expected her to at least chastise. she spoke frenglish, just as i do. she offered food and left us alone, heading to bed. it gave me more hope for the next day.

due to the aforementioned open window, i spent the night in a cold sweat, unable to sleep but unable to wake up. i kept sneezing, coughing, and shaking romain to bring me water and mouchoirs or tissues. i barely slept an hour.

the day broke bright and early, and i felt like my head was going to explode. but i ripped myself out of my bed, wanting so badly to dress myself properly for the first meeting. we arrived at the train station right on time, and i passed the four hours knitting furiously. i was still unable to finish, upon arrival, only the ties on the dress were left. we sat for twenty or so minutes, until his mom arrived. a short, small woman dressed in jeans with bright grey roots and auburn hair stepped out of a dented dark turquoise car. this was not what i expected. where was the majesty that being rich and french affords? where was the haughty attitude, the condescending smile, and the judging looks? it was then that i realized i was not in paris anymore. i was in the south. i had heard things were different, people were different, but i had not realized. she bounce-stepped before me awkwardly, shyly, and i could tell she was searching her words, trying to speak english. i knew the moment she gave up on that, because out came a bubbling stream of french syllables that i could never have hoped to understood. bright turquoise eyes, a mirror of romains, stared welcomingly at me, waiting for an answer. i only smiled, said i didnt understand as we both looked at romain for translation. that would be how it was for the rest of the trip, for mme clerc did not speak a word of english. what she did speak was made-up in her head, [she liked to add "-ly" to words] and i had to work harder to decipher her english than her french. but she was a beautiful, happy woman who was frustrated by our language barrier and unbelievably excited to have her sons at home.

his dad arrived moments later, in a separate car. the family has eight people, traveling anywhere is an adventure to say the least. the car matched more what i expected, european, shiny silver paint and dark leather interior that smells like rental car. the man was also more what i expected, polos and khakis, pressed to fit. until he spoke english in a quiet friendly rumble, his face split by a smile and creased by laughlines. his ears, his jaw, his nose, all reminded me so much of romain. it was amusing to see romain standing in between them, and be able to match each feature of his with theirs. because my parents are different races, its much harder to assign specific features to each. this was a novelty i am not used to.

we waited a couple hours for his brothers to arrive, making chitchat in the car, in the rain, and in the station. chitchat when you dont know each other is hard enough, chitchat between the significant other of a child and its parents is even harder, but chitchat when you dont speak the same language is impossible. the combination of all three was overwhelming for my already sick body, and i fell asleep, my head on romains lap in the back of the car.

then, suddenly, his brothers were there. it was like a storm hit.  i was met by delighted cries, kisses, and baby coos. expecting to be forgotten in the jumble of reunion, i took a step back and prepared to wait. it took only seconds before i was swept up in a cloud of bisous, immediately greeted. i answered every question, but clung to romain. one thing not made evident by this blog is i dont like to speak. i'm not a talker, i was raised by the silent types and prefer to be that way myself. not a single thing about this family was quiet, the chatter was nonstop and switched languages so fast i could barely keep up. however, in those six days, i learned more french than i have during my whole stay in paris.

we drove the forty minutes to his house, and i was treated to views of blossoming early vineyards and mountains painted by all the best impressionists.

his house was large, two sprawling stories, and bright yellow. it was situated at an angle, running diagonal to the street, and set back a few hundred meters. a pool and a garden that would be better called a forest surrounded it, a terrace covered in bright yellow flowers was on one side. bright aqua shutters bordered each window and each door, much like every other house in the south. i had never seen a cuter, more quietly stylish, house.

by the time we got to his house, i could barely stand i felt so sick. unsure of whether i was ill or simply always looked this way, romain's mother tentatively asked me i needed some medicine. i responded quickly that yes i sure did, and she pumped me full of three different pills, handed me a robe and some slippers, and turned to play with the baby.

it was only two at this time, and lunch was promptly served. we all gathered around a very large table and began to speak. romains mother brought out a couscous and a cucumber dish that i was very pleasantly surprised to discover i liked. i ate my fill, rejoicing that the food was so light and perfect for me. i had feared that my stomach would not be able to handle the french eating habits, and was so happy to find that fear unfounded.

that was, of course, until she brought another dish. i had forgotten that french meals all have three courses. it was an amazing meal, but i could barely eat more than a few bites. romain explained my stomach to his family, and i was met with sympathetic glances. being able to only eat one course seemed interminable to them.

after lunch, we all gathered around, sat and talked until dinner. we ate a meal of fresh french and spanish charcuterie. possibly the worst thing i could have eaten for my stomach, but the best tasting thing i have had in a while. i discovered on this trip that i could subsist solely on baguettes, saucisson, and goat cheese without a problem. dinner was fewer courses than lunch, but not by much. dessert was an almond butter fudge, brought back from spain, i forgot the name, if anybody knows it, please tell me!

 we stayed up talking until midnight, and romain would not allow me to go to bed before any else, declaring it insufferably rude. so i nodded off in my chair a couple of times, head clouded with cough medicines and fever. my fever broke during the night, and i woke up the next morning refreshed and with only a slight sniffle that would persist the rest of my stay.

but it is one in the morning here, i am worn out from a day of travel and this entry has already gotten quite long. i will post more details tomorrow, what we did on the rest of the trip. goodnight! i'll leave you with one last photo!