Labor Day! And on a Thursday, score! Thursdays are the day I normally see my least favorite class. Today I lucked out doubly; not only did I not have to see them, but I spent the day at Michel’s farm with his wife, Delphine. Delphine spent a few months in the US when she was my age and has kept some very good memories of her time there – plus she speaks excellent English – and has been telling me that she will cook American or Mexican for me whenever I want. We finally got together today. She picked me up in the morning and we ran some errands before putting together an “American style” barbecue for lunch. It was not a bad approximation, but it is really difficult to find things like barbecue sauce here. It is funny, though, the images of Americans and American things that people have here that I discover every now and then. To them a grill out is typically American, which I guess is true, but their ideal grill out and mine are not the same. For example, Delphine thought that there absolutely had to be baked potatoes (which to me belongs more with a steak than a burger) and I was all “where’s the coleslaw?” Except I didn’t say that, of course. It was delicious, even sans coleslaw, and Michel had brought me some muguet or Lily of the Valley. Mom would be proud of me for remembering the name of the flower. Unfortunately, I didn’t – I had to look it up. Afterwards one of Delphine’s son’s friends came over to play. Michel stayed with them while the mom, Delphine and I went up to La Tour d’Aigues where they were having a pottery market. A lot of the stuff they had was just stunning, but most of it was entirely too expensive – who is going to spend 150€ on a plate? There was one table whose work reminded me a lot of Shearwater Pottery. I was admiring their bowls when my pedagogical advisor showed up. We said hi and I introduced her to Delphine. Just a few minutes before I had been complaining to Delphine about how worthless she was, so I’m sure her ears were burning like my cheeks were. I also ran into Tonton Simon and his wife. I was starting to feel popular.
When we finished at the market we enjoyed a drink at a café before heading back to Villelaure. Michel showed me an old 1940s army jeep that he has and intends to restore when he can get around to it, and got sentimental talking about how that car symbolizes America for a lot of the French. I have gotten used to people gesturing towards me whenever they mention the US in any way whatsoever, that it’s my fault that Bush is president, that we are at war, that children are fat and that people own guns, and I have gotten used to the French and their distorted images (positive and negative) of my country, its history, and its people. What’s weird is how these images can still elicit a very emotional response (also positive or negative) even when I have nothing to do with them. I guess I’m learning that it’s weird for the French, too, to be so grateful for, so puzzled by, and so disgusted with various aspects of American culture.
