When we returned the rental car, everything was, of course, perfect. Gas tank full / clean / no damage. I signed the return invoice, handed over the keys… and walked off.
Easy peasy.
Since ZC had to work early that morning, it was Anna who drove into Reims to pick me up after the drop-off.
On the way back, I asked if she wouldn’t mind quickly stopping in the small town of Fismes. I’d developed a bit of a slight tickle in my throat… again. I’d had the same thing while I was in Middelburg… though much, much worse… and figured I should pick up something to nip it.
I was beginning to feel quite confident about my French. I was remembering more and more words each day. Although it was all probably painstakingly incomprehensible to anyone listening to me… as I was, no doubt, completely butchering the language… I was still managing to string some words together.
I’ll admit it.
I was exceedingly proud of myself.
In the pharmacy, I managed to conduct my entire interaction IN FRENCH.
Well… let’s not get carried away.
When I say “entire interaction,” it wasn’t exactly a smooth, nor particularly deep conversation. It was very simple… very basic… with me mostly just pointing to my throat and coughing a little to further get my point across. BUT… I did it… without using a single word of the English language.
There was one amusing moment when the attendant handed me the cough syrup… and before I accepted it, I asked her what it tasted like.
“Quelle saveur?”
She glanced at the bottle, looked back at me and replied, “Plant.”
Plant?
What was “plant” flavour?
I had no idea what that was supposed to taste like… other than… well… an actual plant.
House plant? Outdoor plant?
I scrunched up my face… clearly unimpressed… and she immediately turned back to the shelf to see if there were any other options.
Honestly, I was fairly confident I would walk out of the pharmacy without cough syrup if my only option was… plant. Sure… my throat was tickly, and I’d been coughing uncontrollably… but I had to draw the line somewhere.
Plant was my line.
Thank goodness she found honey-flavoured syrup instead, so I went with that.
Oui!
Yay for miel.
But seriously… plant? Come on. What kind of flavour is that?
My little boost of French-speaking confidence didn’t last long after leaving the pharmacy. Not long at all.
On the way back to the car, I decided to pop into the local bakery to grab a wee treat for Anna, ZC and myself. I waited in line just like everyone else… and when it was my turn, I pointed at something that looked savoury and delicious… and I asked, “Végétarienne?”
I was feeling très Français by now.
The girl behind the counter responded quickly and inaudibly… and I had no idea what she said. Whatever she said seemed curt… and murmered, as if she had no intention of meeting me half way in the language department. Again, I just shrugged, smiled my biggest, most friendliest smile… and asked again, “C’est végétarienne?”
All I needed was a simple yes or no.
“Oui ou non?”
“C’est végétarienne?”
The word for “vegetarian” is practically the same in both English and French.
Vegetarian / Végétarienne.
How hard could this be?
Instead of being kind and courteous, she again muttered something under her breath, stormed off to the back… and returned moments later with a guy who looked thoroughly disturbed at having been dragged away from whatever he was doing in the back.
It was humiliating.
Demeaning.
Everyone in the bakery was staring at me. I felt like a complete fool who had no idea what she was talking about. All I’d done was ask if something was vegetarian or not. I hung my head and got out of there as fast as I could.
So… no treats.
I’d traded in treats for mortification.
And… I’m definitely not any closer to being bilingual.
I feel a little intimidated by the French… more so because I’m Canadian… and technically I should speak French. Canada is a bilingual country. I’m ashamed of myself. All those years of French classes… down the drain.
When I practice… or try to practice, I just want to get it right so desperately… and all that pressure builds up into this big ball of anxiety of not getting it right.
It’s awful.
Paralyzing.
I think, more than anything, I don’t want to annoy the French with my horrendous French. And I feel like I already am… with my terrible grammar and my awful pronunciation.
“Stupid American.”
Eeek.
That’s exactly what I don’t want them to think. I don’t want them to see me as just another brainless American. But maybe that’s exactly what I am.
I do try though.
For the next couple of days, I stayed in Longueval, which was where ZC lived. She had to work, so I figured it would be the ideal time for me to just enjoy some ”me” time. I could catch up on my blogs… and other assorted things. What I didn’t realize was just how humdrum that would get after a while. I can’t only really handle my own company for so long… and then I start getting squirmish. Sitting around doing nothing felt almost suffocating. It’s not that I couldn’t leave, but ZC was upstairs in the living room doing her online teaching classes, which meant I had to keep quiet. And for me, there’s only so much I can do in one space before the walls start closing in.
I was starting to feel lump-ish.
I was living on bread and cheese, not drinking nearly enough water and getting below-zero exercise. That is never a good combo for me. By the second day, I knew I had to get out of the house. I decided I would to go explore the nearby town of Fismes.
Now… granted… there’s not much in Fismes.
Not much at all.
I knew that.
But I desperately needed something to do… and I was fully prepared to walk the 7km to get there. I needed the fresh air, the movement… something… but… of course… the yucky winter weather had other plans.
It was cold it was windy, and in the end, ZC drove me in to the centre of town and dropped me off.
She dropped me off directly in front of a little café… and I went straight in for a cáfe au lait. One cáfe au lait quickly turned into two café au laits. The wind was brutal and there was such an intense chill in the air… that although I tried, a pleasant stroll through town was near impossible.
For me, anyway…
The crappy Canadian who hates the cold.
Every attempt I made at a short venture out, I only ended up at another café or restaurant to escape the chill and try to warm up again. I had been hoping to explore some of the World War II sites around town… but that didn’t exactly work out in my favour. Thank goodness for café and rosé.
Matthew, ZC’s son, came up on the Friday evening and we had a lovely evening of tarte flambé and delicious JL Bucher wines.
After a couple of lazy days, ZC and I set out on another adventure… this time to the nearby town of Château-Thierry.
I had marked it on my Google map at some point… though I couldn’t remember why. ZC had never been, so we figured it might be a fun place to explore.
On the way there, we made a stop at Château de Fère-en-Tardenois, a ruined medieval castle built in 1206 by Robert de Dreux, the grandson of King Louis VI. Though it has long since fallen into ruins, it was a fabulous place to stretch our legs and go for a nice stroll around such a striking historical site.
So… Château-Thierry is best known for being the hometown of Jean de La Fontaine, the famous French poet and author of “Fables.” Everyone will immediately recognize a few of his works if you look him up. Most of his stories had morals. He wrote “Le Lièvre et la Tortue,” which translates to “The Hare and the Tortous.”
In English, it’s more commonly known as “The Tortuous and the Hare.”
There was a museum dedicated to his life and his works, but unfortunately, it was temporarily closed.
We climbed to the top of the medieval ruins of the actual Château de Thierry, which dates back to the 9th century. It was meant to offer panoramic views over the Marne Valley, but neither of us were particularly impressed with what we saw. The view was a wide stretch of factories and bleak winter buildings.
Not exactly postcard material in February.
Think we need to come back in the spring or summer.
Château-Thierry played a major role in World War I. The Château-Thierry American Monument stands in tribute to the U.S. troops who fought in the region. We stopped to admire it and might have gotten a great photo… had it not been for the beat-up car, barely held together with duct tape… parked directly in front of the monument. The parking lot was enormous… and completely empty… yet these clowns had chosen that exact spot to sit and eat their McDonald’s meal. Right in front. I tried hinting that we would have appreciated an unobstructed photo, but they were far too absorbed in their fries and burgers to notice us.
The monument wasn’t as impressive as Vimy… though perhaps I’m slightly biased. It was a moving tribute… and after taking it all in, we wandered through the small information center below, learning more about the troops, the history and the battles fought in the region.
On the way back, we made a stop at Hottée du Diable… which, at first glance, looked like it translated to “the devil’s little hottie.”
Hmmmm….
Intriguing!
Not quite the name I was expecting for a rocky, mythical landscape.
For my last evening, we headed into Reims to see A Complete Unknown, the Bob Dylan bio-pic.
And then… it was time to go.
My time there had been wonderful… spending quality time with ZC, seeing Matthew and Anna again… but I knew it was time to go. That quiet traveler’s instinct that whispers, “Okay, you’ve stayed long enough.”
There’s definitely a comfort in pausing for a while, settling into a routine, relaxing, getting laundry done, sleeping in the same bed… but then, before you know it, the itch returns… the need to move, to explore, to see what’s waiting out there, just beyond the horizon.
I was off to Paris…
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