Bondoufle

We claim our ground in Bondoufle, with Andrew's aunt and uncle in Bondoufle, about 40 minutes from Paris by train.  Our base camp for a month of explorations.

An assortment of granddaughters are staying with them at any given time.  The language barrier is not an issue with Estelle who mostly spends a lot of time screaming because she is sick.  Adeline understands most of what we say to her, but she repsonds in long stretches of French.  She chatters so earnestly, slapping her leg for emphasis.  And then it happens - she will say something and then look at me, clearly expecting an agreement or some kind of intelligent response.

"I have no idea what you are saying.  Can you say it in English?" I plead.
"Oui," she says, very matter-of-factly and then says...nothing else.

But then Helene (Andrew's cousin) tells me that no one can understand - Adeline is speaking fluent nonsense.
Garance and Constance both understand and speak more English, but it takes almost a whole weekend for them to overcome their shyness to try.

We spend a lot of downtime with the kids - dressing up dolls, kicking the soccer ball, playing tag, riding scooters, dancing to kiddie songs, playing the Game of Life (we were so rich!), chalking the parking lot.

Andrew dancing with Estelle

Playing dolls with Garance
and Adeline

Chalk

Andrew, Constance, and Garance help me
celebrate my 25th birthday!

Andrew challenges Garance to a soccer shoot-out

In Bondoufle, there is wine with every meal.  Always a cheese platter that goes around.  Yogurt or fruit for dessert.  By the time we've left, I continue to stuff myself with the first round of food, still unused to this system of courses.  Meal time is also conversation time, and we have long discussions -  about French politics and healthcare, comparing American and European education systems and simply sharing personal stories.  Aunt Henrie shines in her role of culture tour guide; and we are eager learners.  Uncle Denis tells fascinating stories of his childhood and of his hiking adventures.

We wander around the town, visiting the church for Mass in French, observing the ballot counting after the elections, trying to talk to Uncle Denis and Aunt Henrie's neighbors and shopping at the local grocery store.  Andrew walks into a small specialty store hoping to find some local honey, but his French fails him while talking to the shop keeper.  Struggling to remember the word for honey, Andrew resorts to sign language and sound effects - "buzz buzz buzz."  "Ah, miel!" the shopkeeper says, "No, not here."

Outside tourist towns, it is much harder to find people who speak English.  At the parish festival the first weekend, parishioners approach us to welcome us as new members.  They explode into the usual "welcome-and-tell-us-about-yourself" spiel as we stand there speechless, listening to the barrage of French with a polite yet bewildered expression.  At the first pause, we tentatively interject - "English?"

But it is refreshing to be surrounded by the French language.  It is almost like a language immersion experience, and by the end of the visit, Andrew and I are able to at least grasp the gist of the conversation and to distinguish words as opposed to just hearing a long, continuous string of sounds.