It's snowing in BURGUNDY
8, Fevrier, 2013
Today, I rise from my Burgundian bed, open the shutters, et quelle surpris, the rooftops across rue du filet are covered in snow. I stumble down the stairs, open more shutters, stare into the courtyard, oui, there it is again, neige.
This year, my French leave finds me in La Charite sur-Loire, a small provincial town, home to about 6000 content French folk. Now, I have only been here for five days, but the reserved spirit of the French, feels to be thriving and well. Like many towns, everywhere, small business is struggling, but the desire to both evolve and survive is apparent.
The lovely home I find myself renting, is a village house. Inside the house, you are quite unaware of the movements on the rue, mais, when you open la porte, you are immediately on the rue, and the surrounding world is upon you. I found this quite unsettling at first, especially when many eyes were focused on moi when I could not secure the lock with the key, but after a few bonjours, and welcome kisses from Madame across the rue, I have accepted and adjusted to the intimacy of the neighbourhood.
Mostly, these initial days have found me walking, familiarizing myself with the shops, sleeping and reading. And of course, cooking. This town has sixteen bookshops, I have made a friend with the proprietor of the previously enjoyed English language shop. Demain, the Farmers market comes to town, my pantry is excited and so am I.
A bientot, Barjo
Today, I rise from my Burgundian bed, open the shutters, et quelle surpris, the rooftops across rue du filet are covered in snow. I stumble down the stairs, open more shutters, stare into the courtyard, oui, there it is again, neige.
This year, my French leave finds me in La Charite sur-Loire, a small provincial town, home to about 6000 content French folk. Now, I have only been here for five days, but the reserved spirit of the French, feels to be thriving and well. Like many towns, everywhere, small business is struggling, but the desire to both evolve and survive is apparent.
The lovely home I find myself renting, is a village house. Inside the house, you are quite unaware of the movements on the rue, mais, when you open la porte, you are immediately on the rue, and the surrounding world is upon you. I found this quite unsettling at first, especially when many eyes were focused on moi when I could not secure the lock with the key, but after a few bonjours, and welcome kisses from Madame across the rue, I have accepted and adjusted to the intimacy of the neighbourhood.
Mostly, these initial days have found me walking, familiarizing myself with the shops, sleeping and reading. And of course, cooking. This town has sixteen bookshops, I have made a friend with the proprietor of the previously enjoyed English language shop. Demain, the Farmers market comes to town, my pantry is excited and so am I.
A bientot, Barjo