The Good Life
Since arriving in France, I have done more reading and lounging than I have since the summer vacation after my sophomore year in high school. It is magnificent. If I get bored of reading (which is pretty tough), then I go for a hike or a run in the mountains. To be fair, I also do English lessons every day and am only able to converse freely in French, which isn't as easy as it sounds. I feel like I'm studying every time I have a conversation, which can be a pain in the butt. I don't know what other people do with their vacations, but if this isn't it then I think they're doing it wrong.
There are so many stereotypes of the French: striped shirts, berets, the Eiffel tower, baguettes, cheese, wine, coffee, threesomes and being snooty. I don't know about the rest of that, but baguettes, cheese, wine and coffee are words that very accurately describe my life in France. Granted, we eat fairly normally during the week, but on the weekend? Well, as my host mom put it: Fridays and Saturdays are for drinking, that's the good life. Yes, yes that is the good life. This Sunday we had croissants and coffee for breakfast; rice, steak, bread, cheese, beer, wine, coffee and chocolate for lunch; and pizza, beer, wine and fruit for dinner. Notice that breakfast is the only meal without an alcoholic beverage.
When I sent a message to a friend describing my lunch she asked, "Is the your family fat?" To which I responded, "Nope, quite thin." The only explanation for this, I told her, was that the French are actually magical. While I go for a run or hike almost every day, and failing that do some sort of yoga/exercise routine, my host parents simply work a full day. They firmly believe in naps. Maybe they burn more calories in sleep than the rest of us? Whatever they do, I really want to know their secret because all of the women seem to be gorgeous and petite. Clearly, I have more to study than just the language.
Unfortunately, I haven't taken any photos of the food (probably because I eat it before I even think about grabbing my camera), but I did go on a walk to the little village near my house my first week (and almost every day since, because all of the walking paths begin in the village).
There are so many stereotypes of the French: striped shirts, berets, the Eiffel tower, baguettes, cheese, wine, coffee, threesomes and being snooty. I don't know about the rest of that, but baguettes, cheese, wine and coffee are words that very accurately describe my life in France. Granted, we eat fairly normally during the week, but on the weekend? Well, as my host mom put it: Fridays and Saturdays are for drinking, that's the good life. Yes, yes that is the good life. This Sunday we had croissants and coffee for breakfast; rice, steak, bread, cheese, beer, wine, coffee and chocolate for lunch; and pizza, beer, wine and fruit for dinner. Notice that breakfast is the only meal without an alcoholic beverage.
When I sent a message to a friend describing my lunch she asked, "Is the your family fat?" To which I responded, "Nope, quite thin." The only explanation for this, I told her, was that the French are actually magical. While I go for a run or hike almost every day, and failing that do some sort of yoga/exercise routine, my host parents simply work a full day. They firmly believe in naps. Maybe they burn more calories in sleep than the rest of us? Whatever they do, I really want to know their secret because all of the women seem to be gorgeous and petite. Clearly, I have more to study than just the language.
Unfortunately, I haven't taken any photos of the food (probably because I eat it before I even think about grabbing my camera), but I did go on a walk to the little village near my house my first week (and almost every day since, because all of the walking paths begin in the village).
The village is disgustingly charming, of course. All of houses have Spanish tile and there are benches like the one above, which match the shutters of course, attached to most of the houses on the main 'drag'.
What would a French village be without adorable little wooden shutters to cover the ground floor windows? And in every town there are these trees that make shadows that remind me of cacti. Sometimes I get this weird feeling when I walk through the village that I've somehow been transported to Santa Fe. Or Spain.
The church of course has a bell that rings out the hour and half hour. Running through the village streets at sunrise while the bell rings the hour feels like time travel.
Adding to the fairly Mediterranean (or Spanish?) style of the houses, every door and window frame is painted to contrast with the color of the stones/adobe of the walls. Turquoise, pink, blue, white matched with dark stone or pure white walls or mismatched as above.
And last, my house. It looks fairly simple from the outside, but the interior is wide open and brightly lit, with multiple windows in every room, adobe walls, exposed beams and beautiful terra cotta tile floors on the ground floor.
When I have to leave here, I will probably leave a large part of my heart behind. How can you not fall in love with a place that is so obviously magical? Beautiful mountains, beautiful houses, delicious food, plentiful wine and wonderful people. It truly feels like I have been transported back in time. When I take my walks, there are old men and women out walking as well and every single one of them says, "Bonjour!" It's no wonder everyone talks about moving to Southern France. My first time was lovely, to be sure, but this is paradise.
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