Bordeaux
On the drive to Bordeaux, we watched the views outside our windows, turn from castle country to wine country.
Row after row of meticulously pruned grape vines lined both sides of the road. The pleasing palette of earthy brown and spring green set against the blue and white sky stretched as far as the eye could see.
We had left without a plan or a map and arrived in an area that didn't look like the Bordeaux that we imagined. After crossing the most ornate bridge, we arrived in the real Bordeaux.
Kurt and I have allowed ourselves to get what we call, wonderfully lost. It has been fun to happen upon one discovery after another. There is something magical and dreamlike about it. But it can have its downside. Not plan2ning has nearly left us on the side of the road because there aren't fueling stations every few miles as we are accustomed to in the states. We have had to eat ham sandwiches for three meals in a row because grocery stores aren't open around the clock in France. And, once again, forgetting that lunch is only served from 12 until 2, we nearly missed it. At just a couple of minutes until 2, we noticed the clock and dashed into a nearby boulangerie. We purchased the only sandwich they had left. It was just tuna. It wasn't mixed together in a salad. The tuna, lettuce, tomato, onion and pickle slices were layered so we tasted each ingredient. Of course, it was served on crunchy crusted, soft centered French bread. Delicious!
On our way home, we stopped at one of the many roadside family vineyards. It was another wonderful impromptu experience. We pulled off the main road onto a gravel lane which led to a large barn filled with oak barrels, accessories and, of course, it was stocked to the roof with their wines. We were welcomed over to a makeshift tasting table and encouraged to try them all.
We purchased a crate set and naively planned to ship them back to Kentucky. At the post office, they actually laughed out loud at us. Oh, well. We just had to drink them while we were there.
Back at home, Kurt made us pizza with goat cheese. I ate every crumb.
When I heard that the house didn't have air conditioning, I was a little worried about it being uncomfortably hot. But soon found that it got quite cold in the evenings, and I would have given anything for a Snuggie and footie pajamas.
Dinner with our American Neighbors
Later that night, we had a late dinner with an American family that was staying in the house next to us. What a wonderful coincidence.
We sat at our farmhouse table with the doors and windows opened. I appreciated every detail; the bird's serenade, the light breeze blowing through, the warm familiarity of English-speaking new friends, and, of course, the food. We had pork chops, cooked in a mushroom sauce, chicken with onion and garlic, buttered potatoes, and a fresh green salad with vegetable dressing. We had a toasted baguette with Thierry's vanilla fig jam, olives, grapes, cherve and camembert cheeses. We savored them all while we learned about each other's families. Mr. Stevens is a professor who takes his class to Europe each year. How lucky is he?
After dinner, we walked together to Monique's garden and stood there talking with our French neighbors until well after dark. While discussing the differences in the Stephen's northern accent and our southern accent, Jean Louis piped up and said, "Aah, rednecks!" in his French accent. After a good laugh, we came back to our house for extra dark hot chocolate and macaroons. It was such a great evening and were sorry that the Stephens had to leave for Paris the next day.
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