FrenchPressJourneys: July 2018

Jazz/Blues at the Brasserie in Monflanquin

Love these talented musicians! They play so many instruments. Most impressive is the harmonica.

Life has gotten back to normal here in Monflanquin after the World Cup. The Tour de France is still going on, but it does not have the same fervor as "le foot". Our heat spell continues. I try to make it to the pool daily to get in some practice. Still working on the breast stroke. My comfort in the water is amazing compared to last summer when I was terrified. The best time to go to the pool is mornings when there are less children flinging themselves into the water. The kids make me jealous and get in the way of my swimming exercises.

I have been gone so long I feel like I am away at summer camp. I forget the names of places at home and occasionally feel more French than American. My French friend Francoise invited me for lunch at her country home about 15 miles from Monflanquin. My car and I are still not at ease. It is an SUV that is too big for me. Well, I have learned my lesson. I will only accept a petite car in the future. Some people might prefer a big car, but it is a pain in parking lots and on all those narrow country roads.

I loved Francoise's house and vegetable gardens. She grows most of her food, cans for the winter, and even makes homemade ice cream. I tried to picture myself living in such a remote location, and honestly, I couldn't. I need people, and the liveliness of a town. It delights me when the mailman greets me and invites me to sit with his family to watch soccer or I run into my plumber at the bar. Market Day, Thursday is the most fun animated day of the week. Besides the pleasure of buying French produce, I see most of my friends in one place, and join friends for coffee to end the morning.

A new microbrewery opened here and a coffee/organic grocery store that serves lattes. Both are nothing like our American concept of these places, but bravo anyway.

That's about it for this week. Time to watch a Turkish movie on Netflix. I think I see Istanbul in my future.

Much love and good health to all,

Giselle

Roman City, with a beautiful cathedral and hostel for pilgrims.

Mid week, Francoise, Mado, and I head off east of Monflanquin to Figeac where the Champollion Museum of the History of writing is located. We stop along the way to get bread for our picnic lunch. The bread turns out to be something very special called pain d'epeautre made of spelt flour. It even has bits of orange zest in it. To Mado, it is akin to dessert. We will munch on it later after we visit the museum.

Figeac is lively, full of shops, cafes, and charm. The Tourist Office representative tells me of a concert this weekend put on by a school from Michigan called Blue Lake. They perform every summer. Francoise and Mado insist on telling everyone we meet that I am from a far off land called America but speak good French. The Museum of Writing delights me. It tells the story of Jean-Francois Champollion who was the first with his brother to decipher Egyptian hieroglyphics. It includes the history of world handwriting: Chinese, Arabic, Hebrew, and more.

Outside, the temperature hits over 90 degrees and humidity thickens the air. We finally find a shady spot to picnic. The haricots verts, tomato, and hard boiled egg salad prepared by Francoise is delicious and satisfying. We drinks lots of water and head out to Conques to visit the magnificent abbey and its cathedral renown for its unique stained glass windows fabricated by Pierre Soulages, France's equivalent of Dale Chihuly, only in black and white. Conques is a key pilgrimage stopover on the way to Saint Jacques de Compostelle. I am curious to see the monks who
preside here but can't find even one walking around town. Be careful what you wish for. Mado tells the religious bookstore clerk that this woman from far away America would like to meet a monk. She makes a phone call and before I could think of a way of to stop what is happening, I am standing before a man clothed in white. Graciously, he asks me to follow him in to the church where he ushers me into a small room and closes the door. Horrified, my imaginative mind immediately races to pedophilia and all the crimes that have come to light about the church in the United States. And where are Francoise and Mado?They have abandoned me, thinking I wanted a private session to clear my conscience or ask for advice.
Face to face with the man in white, I ask him to describe a typical day in the life of a monk. He spends the next half hour explaining the difference between a monk and a brother. He is the latter. Clearly, he looks down on monks. Honestly, I just wanted to talk about monks and cooking since some of my favorite cook books are written by monks. Never mind. It takes about three tries before the BROTHER realizes I am saying good-bye and thank you. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Before I left, he said please close the door.

Francoise and Mado ask if I am happy with my interview. What can I say, but fascinating, truly fascinating. Conques' magnificent cathedral is truly worth a visit. Although the stain glass windows are modern, they fit in beautifully. Next stop Rodez to spend the night. Since I had made the booking, I felt responsible. Fortunately, the hotel was welcoming. We each had our own air conditioned room for about 40 euros for the night. In the morning, we drove over to the Pierre Soulages Museum. His paintings are open to interpretation. Strokes of black, gray, and brown acrylic with a light patch somewhere to given the impression of illumination. Super modern, no message attached. Not my cup of tea, but it grew on me. The most fun is to share what each painting evokes, kind of like a Rorshach test.

Perhaps we saved the best for last: the Millau Bridge, an elegant cable stayed bridge, the tallest in the world, 343 meters high, two and one half meters long. It took three years to complete and is located in the Tarn River Valley.

As we headed back to Monflanquin, I reflected on the beauty of the sights we had seen, and all that I had learned traveling with my two French friends. And if you ever want to know the difference between a monk and a brother, feel free to ask.