France--getting there and getting around

Back in June when my folks planned their trip we didn't know that the final week they were to be here Ryan would have to be in Minneapolis, so we planned a week in Normandy. We were all bummed that Ryan couldn't go, even more so because that meant I had to drive myself. I was relieved, however, to have good company and a fun week ahead. Before driving to Brugges, I had never ventured even within Maastricht by car. But having conquered Belgian traffic just days before, we set our little GPS to a remote address in Normandy where my parents' time share association has a chateau. There is no way on earth that we would have found the place had we not had GPS--we traveled down tiny winding roads through valleys and up hills on roads with widths barely enough for one car until suddenly there it was, on the banks of the Seine about 100 miles west of Paris. It was a cozy place made all the better with a bridge to an island in the river that had a park on it.

Like Brugges (and quite unlike Maastricht), we were on our own linguistically--this was definitely France, where seldom is heard an English word. Thank goodness for Madame Vergie Asper, French goddess of Austin High School. She honestly is the best language teacher I've ever seen, so I'm a lucky duck to have been under her tutelage oh so long ago. Everyone was kind and encouraging with my decade-old French that, when the words failed me, quickly became Swahili. As the week progressed, French came back more and more until, in Lyons de Foret, a woman told me I had a great French accent (and then seemed to wonder why more words weren't available to me--I had sounded fluent only a second ago). I'm sure she was being generous, but a big shout to Madame Asper--merci beaucoup for the pronunciation drills-- and Elodie (Elsa) for helping me (Aurelie) tend the dramatic French flame all those years ago! But a little attempt at the language goes a long way. For example, the first evening of our arrival we struggled to find a grocery store a few villages away and a kind woman who'd struggled long enough to understand my Franco-Swahili simply got in her car and lead us to the store. The week was full of kind folks doing things like that. The only sour apple was, ironically enough, at a tourist office!!

Anyway, once cozily set up in our little chateau apartment, we spent the Sunday in Giverny, where Monet's house and gardens are located. Lovely, lovely.