Les ponts de mai

We decided to escape city life for Bretagne, or Brittany for you English speakers. It’s the eastern pointy coast just under Normandie, (again, Normandy for the Anglophones). The bretonnais get teased for their hillbilly ways, but this aspect of these people fascinated me, much as people from Felton are colored for being banjo playing bible thumping hippies. Quite a combo, I know. Bretagne was one of the only parts of France to retain its native tongue through the Gaulles, the German Occupation, the wavering borders and the wars. Breton looks like a difficult language to learn, filled with lots of letters that look like they got lost and stumbled in drunkenly, like Basque, or, a better analogy, Welsh. Its roots come from the Welsh language, and although I never heard anyone actually speak it, I did see it on road signs. The city of Vannes, for example, becomes Gwened.

The month of May in France has become my favorite month. Les pont de mai, the bridges of May, mean that most of the holidays off were strategically placed on Tuesdays and Thursdays, for reasons linked to nothing in particular. Therefore, most companies also give the respective Mondays and Fridays off, and when I say most I mean all. There are THREE four day weekends in May. So Abder, Lisa, Casey and I rented a car and headed west to the coast Wednesday after work, with the rest of France. Once we escaped the traffic, the country roads lent themselves to Truffaut inspired imagery, complete with rolling fields, stone cottages and forgotten villages. Now, Bretagne is known for its rain. I had seen a picture of the house that we were headed towards, and I remember specifically scoffing at the pool. Trump card here. It was hot. We sat in the sun. Outside. Sunglasses. Cold beer. Plus, the house was NOT intended for a group of twenty something interns. More like rich couples, with solitary leather chairs facing floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the sea, fine art, giant bathtubs, fireplace, and, our personal favorite, a big screen TV. We held the couch down and soaked up a bit of Hollywood, made our own buckwheat crepes, then headed out and had oysters in a town celebrating something that called for musicians who chain smoked while they performed and weird regional seafood specialties. I watched kidlets dance in the exceptional sunshine to the band, wine in hand. It was pretty great. Back at the house, I found myself being drawn outside frequently, sat in a lawn chair and listened to the rustling animals and chirping birds be drowned out to the sound of crashing waves. I had forgotten temporarily that I’m not really cut out for hectic city life, so I returned to Paris regenerated.

Triple Threat...for now.

I have this image of my home. Its an eccentric but wise old lady home. I want there to be pieces of furniture dedicated to showing random shit I've collected. I want to have things that kids like to play with, that kinda gross some people out, that people can't guess where it came from. I want things that I had to hunt for, emblematic things, and things that don't mean anything to anybody else but me. I have done pretty damn good so far, in my not so humble opinion of myself. I have a bronze frog pressed with colorful stones that I bought in China. When you go through the intricate and elaborate process of making tea in China, you pour a small amount of each batch over the frog, a “here’s one for my homies” kind of idea. I have a hand embroidered umbrella from Nepal, a Henna stamp of an elephant from India, a mate cup from Argentina, and a kangaroo skull from Australia. There are two things that I refrained from buying because of their obnoxious size and weight, which I know kick myself for not owning. I sat with a man in Jaisalmer, India on the floor of his shop. There were floor-to-ceiling folded blankets of every color. There was a monsoon going on outside, and he invited me in from the rain to have a beedie and a chai. He had one blanket out and was telling me about its story. It came from the desert, and it was made from the dresses of Sunni and Shiite tribe dancers, sewn together to make a large throw. There were tiny mirrors stitched into it, which he said were meant to reflect the fire light when the women danced at night. I didn’t buy it because it was too big, it would have never fit into my pack. The second thing was a large wooden mask in Zanzibar. I found it while walking with a Maasai I met on the beach. Again, it would have taken up three fourths of my bag. I have decided not to make those kinds of mistakes again, and so I have embarked on my random shit from France hunt. Thing one- a tajine. The North Africans cook a meaty stew to serve over couscous in a dark clay pot with a peaked lid. I believe Creuset is now making them for a few hundred dollars. I bought mine for ten bucks. My coworker Abder took me to Porte de Clichy, where a large community of Arabs and North Africans live. “Magrebiens” have taken over Paris a lot since I was here last, which means wonderful neighborhoods filled with bright dashikis, strong smells of sheesha, and halaal butchers. Abder is French, but his parents were both born in Morocco, so he spoke to the friendly shopkeepers in a smattering of Arabic and French. The tajine we found was in a butcher shop, and it is dark brown, heavy, and has a simple carved design in the lid. Abder says its very traditional, and I can use it in the oven, over an open flame, or on a gas lit stove. Thing two- a copy of The Little Prince…that HAS to be purchased from les bouquinistes, the book sellers who line the seine. For those of you who don’t know, I have a tattoo of the cover on my side that I got in Aix-en-Provence when I lived there. I finally found it the other day, from a sweet old couple who complimented my french and welcomed me to Paris. Thing three- a garden gnome (See previous blog posting about the Gnome Liberation Movement). This one is proving to be more difficult than expected. I have located a bitchin market on the ile de la cite, the big island that separates the left bank from the right, that sells live birds and exotic flowers. I spotted one or two there, which are terribly ugly, but the more I think about it, the more they seem to fit into my requirements for a gnome to bring back with me. Anyone want anything weird?