When Francois and Teddy invited Misho and me to spend a week with them in Ambert, my expectations had been the following, in order of importance:
a) friends
b) cheese
c) rest
d) that I might, perchance, be able to wash my monstrously stanky clothes (although me washing my laundry might have ranked higher on Misho's list...)
I had not anticipated day trips to gorgeous nearby towns or Bulgarian Easter parties.
Your life, Bourget, is full of surprises. Which is funny, 'cos you hate surprises. When a book gets too stressful, you read the last page to calm yourself down. And do deep breathing. When a film gets too awkward, you get up and make a cup of tea. Or hide behind your knitting needles and peek through all the gaping mistakes in the hat you're working on. Surprise dates are simultaneously deeply romantic and "What the fuck? If you'd TOLD me we were going to the mountains, I would have brought my boots. But you didn't tell me, and now I'm wearing flipflops and can't feel my toes." Yet, you've chosen a life where every day is a surprise.
Go you.
Le Puy-en-Velay was about an hour drive south of Ambert, through the breathtaking scenery of Livradois-Forez Regional Park.
I don't even care if we get anywhere. I'd be totally content just looking through the window at this kind of nature for an hour.
But I'm glad we made it to Le Puy.
What IS this place?
Le Puy-en Velay is town of 20,000 people famous for its cathedral, lace and lentils.
It is a very well-rounded sort of place.
It's also famous for being one of the many starting places for the Camino de Santiago.
Why don't I start my pilgrimage here next September? I thought, mesmerized by the cobbled streets and pastel buildings and the cathedral at the top of the hill (not so much the lentils. I was not mesmerized by the lentils). Then I could spend a month walking through idyllic French countryside. And if I have enough money and energy and motivation by the time I get to the border, I could walk across the north coast of Spain too. Just another 500 miles. No big deal.
Towns like this will never cease to astonish this Coloradan who grew up in cities built around cars. With streets with names like 21 1/8 road and where 98 percent of the eating options are fastfood.
I can give almost anything a personality. It's my superpower. But I cannot give American towns personality. Because they feel more dead than the wooden spoon I named Leopold.
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| I like that spring somehow forgot about the one on the right. It finished with the one on the left and then took a nap. Which is something I would do, if Spring was my job. |
I like traveling with my Bulgarian for many reasons. He cooks patatnik for me, I can nap to the sound of him playing piano, he helps me not catastrophize whilst hitchhiking, and he's game.
Just. Game. For all the things.
Including when I ask him to pose next to a bell to which he bears a striking resemblance.
Francois' parents treated us to drinks in the cathedral garden.
I feel like these people have just adopted Misho and me for the week. I don't even feel like we're visiting friends. We're just... adopted. There's no other word. This family, who hardly even knows us, is giving us one of the most beautiful experiences of our six weeks.
I like this surprise.
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| The cathedral kitty who spent about an hour glaring at us from his perch. I want him. |
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| Notre-Dame de France |
As I'm going to spend the next two months couchsurfing through France, I asked Francois if he would help me get a French SIM card. I usually travel without a working phone, relying on Whatsapp, Skype and Facebook to communicate... but when I'm staying with a new person every two days for a month and a half?
Girl needs a phone.
So Francois spent twenty minutes helping me purchase a SIM card and getting it to work with my phone.
I'm not sure he realizes quite how much this means to me... If he wasn't here to help, I could definitely do it. Get a SIM card. I could find a way to communicate with my little-no French and set up the new number. But it would be tedious, embarrassing and take much, MUCH longer. I'm pretty sure no one would tell me that I want an easy life, but sometimes the little challenges -- like buying a SIM card at a shop where I don't speak the language -- get tiresome. And Francois doesn't even hesitate. He just helps.
We returned to Ambert that evening, and Luce made another one of her feasts. I don't think Luz is capable of cooking anything other than a feast. Every time I sit down at her table, my first thought is, Holy bananas, is this my life? Right now? Is this my life right now?
Then I start eating and pretty much stop thinking altogether. Because I can't think and fully appreciate such good food at the same time.
The next day was cold and grey, so other than a brief excursion into the yard to practice yoga in the grass, we stayed inside.
And it's great.
I coerced Misho into playing the piano for me, then snuggled up on one of the living room couches, wrapped in a blanket and drinking coffee.
Bliss.
Sometimes I feel so lucky that I can glean such enjoyment from moments like these.
We all went to the family restaurant that evening. And I lusted after the wine openers on the wall.
When the waiter brought me my pizza, my jaw may or may not have nearly dropped right into it.
THAT. Is a PRODIGIOUS amount of cheese. Is this even pizza? Is it allowed to be called pizza? It seems like it's just held-together-cheese.
But again, I did not complain. Nor did I finish it.
As the weekend was Easter and we had two Bulgarians in residence, we decided to make a Bulgarian Easter. And by we, I mean Misho and Teddy. I had originally planned to help make Bulgarian Easter, but by the time I got back to the house and the held-together-cheese had settled into my stomach, the only option was bed.
But Misho is a) a badass Bulgarian baker, b) ate a normal pizza, and c) a stronger person than me (as has been established). So he and Teddy stayed up late into the night and prepared kozunak, a traditional Bulgarian Easter bread. While I sadly counted off the remaining days I'd get to stay in Ambert and then slipped into a cheese induced slumber.
We painted eggs on Saturday. And I felt like a little kid again.
I haven't painted eggs in so many years... why not? I love painting eggs. Why did I let myself grow out of painting eggs?
The first three eggs are painted red (I'm guessing to symbolize the three days Christ spent in the grave), and then one red egg is rubbed on your forehead.
I'm not altogether sure why a red egg is rubbed on the forehead at Easter. I only find Bulgarians. I don't claim to understand them.
The kozunak and eggs were finished by late Saturday afternoon, so we set them up on the table to wait until the next morning. Like a Bulgarian Easter shrine.
There are few things better than celebrating a holiday with a welcoming family in a different country with different customs. I'm never going to forget the Bulgarian Easter I spent in Ambert, France.
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