I'm Back!! ... sigh ...

Visiting the French countryside can be summed up in one phrase: what the hell am I doing in Paris??????

Okay. I have made peace with my being back in the suburbs, but still.

Let me tell you about it ...

Thursday I left from Paris on a train to Dijon, where I caught a second train to Champagnole. Champagnole is a town about twenty minutes or so from Clovis's village (a large village ... ahem ... of 720 people), which is called Crotenay. There to meet me, as promised, was Clovis and his mother and a girl I didn't know but assumed was his sister.

It turned out to be the Australian student (named Victoria, like my host mum) who's living with them at the mo'.

Anyhow. For those of you who know Clovis, his hair is longer. Slightly. But the difference is there. His voice sounds completely different when he speaks French and it took some getting used to. It's even more different when he uses when Victoria and I dubbed his "asshole voice" which I heard when he was talking on the phone to someone who was bothering Victoria (what a brother!).

Guy and Joelle (Clovis's parents) welcomed me without question into their house and into their family. They are some of the warmest, kindest people I have met thus far. And Guy ... you have to love him! He'll say something then laugh this wonderful laugh like he said the funniest thing ever and even if it wasn't funny, you can't help but laugh too.

Joelle is like my mom in a way.

Well. As beautiful as the countryside is, it has a sad paradox about it ... anyway, I think it's a paradox. I've never completely understood that word. Here is an example:

Clovis: What do you want to do?
Leah: I don't know. What is there to do in Crotenay?
Clovis: Nothing. Let's go to Champagnole.
(we go to Champagnole)
Clovis: What do you want to do?
Leah: I don't know. What is there to do in Champagnole?
Clovis: Nothing.

Those "nothing"s are a bit of a lie, though, because one night Clovis and Victoria and I went to Champagnole for kebabs which were different and are not shish kebabs. They're in a pita or something. Yummy.

Sunday afternoon (ie: the 29th) we left Crotenay for a veryveryvery small village about forty-five minutes outside of Poitiers. The village contained (according to Clovis) ten houses, several of which belong to his family, and a castle. In that castle lives a marquis. A real live one. As Clovis put it "He is under the impression that the French Revolution did not happen," that is to say, that he considers the members of the village commoners and he and his wife nobility. Crazy old fart.

The Durands (Clovis's family) have a small cottage in said village that smelled like Grandma and Papa's at Eight Point. It's bigger, however, with the entire top floor being a large bedroom shared by the three young people: Victoria, Clovis and myself.

However little there is to do in Champagnole/Crotenay there was (not surprisingly) even less to do in a population: 30 village. We found ways to amuse ourselves, though. A favorite of Victoria and Clovis's was to sleep, much to my irritation. However, in any new place comes new things. Many new things were introduced to me in Near Poitiers Place ... whatever it was called ... most amusingly, French raggae music. When he was listening to it, Clovis would close his eyes like he'd been smoking something and sway slowly in time with the music. I especially enjoyed the songs half in English and half in French.

We also went to a theme park called Futuroscope, which had a theme of ... the future. It was ... there. A lot of waiting. More enjoyable was later when me and Victoria had a song writing contest.

See, on the way to Futuroscope we listened to that oh-so-hearbreaking emo music and had a wonderful time making terrible fun of it. Then we somehow got competitive and decided to have a emo-song-off later. And ... we did. After dinner, under the influence of too much candy and a bit of wine from dinner, we set to work and both of us produced masterpiece emo songs which would break the heart of any preteen who has been dumped by their girlfriend of two weeks and whose life is, therefore, no longer worth living.

Clovis was the judge, but he got and went to sleep. Don't worry. We woke him up. He had stolen my bed, anyway, and therefore had no choice. Probably because he is a loser ("T'es nul, Clovis!" exclaimed Victoria) he refused to name a winner and declared us equals in the emo-song-writing industry.

Joelle was fascinated by the whole emo music thing and after Victoria explained it to her she insisted on hearing our songs. Gooood times.

Well, I have to admit, I am quite bored right now. I am going to leave it at this for the moment. If you have any questions about my trip, please, tell them to me.

I'll update later ... in a few days ... whatever.

Love always,
Leah