Bretagne avec Herve

"Yes, I had a fine trip over" I fibbed again and again as I replied to the well intentioned question of "C'etait un bon voyage?". I had just arrived (40 minutes late thanks to my train) at the Brittany home of Herve's grandparents after a 5 hour trip that included 3 hours with a group of unsupervised little French kids who entertained themselves by running around and yelling in the faces of sleeping passengers. In any case, my arrival at the picturesque and overflowing Brittany summer house with Herve, his father, his friend Benois, his stepbrother Daniel, three of his cousins from Strasbourg, his aunt and uncle, and of course his grandparents, was a relief. Friday night was quiet and I did nothing more than eat, play ping pong, and meet the people I had not yet met: Herve's father who was exactly like Herve except he had brown hair, was thirty years older, and had a slightly quieter, gentler, but less exuberant way about him-the profession of minister fit him perfectly; there was Herve's grandfather who reminded me a bit of my own grandpa Yevsey in that he was extremely rational and intelligent and talked for a long time and very slowly; I was lucky enough also to meet Herve's grandmother, Mami Rose, who was one of the most adorable elderly people I've ever met and just being around her made me feel warm, comfy, and welcome; Benois was awesome as well and I think the most accurate way to describe him would be a less silly and more secular version of Herve-if it's true that you can judge a person by the friends he chooses, so far Herve has earned an A+.



In any case, Saturday morning we woke up early and Herve, his father, Benois, Noemi, Daniel and I headed to Dinan, a very touristy medieval city in Brittany. It was one of the most charming little French cities I've seen with its steep cobblestone streets descending towards the ports and the galleries and cafes on every corner. We visited the cathedral, browsed through the markets, explored some galleries, and walked along the old ramparts overlooking the city before reluctantly returning to the car. The car ride home featured an unexpected (for me) musical accompaniment: Herve's father put on a CD of traditional Jewish songs in Hebrew as well as English and German and everyone in the car knew the songs and sang along. I actually hadn't heard some of the songs in years and it was nice to be reminded of them (though strange to hear them in German). After lunch at the house, we headed to rainy Mont St. Michel. The mountain was packed with tourists but every bit as beautiful as described. We walked along the mountain city and the abbey trying to escape the tourists and the howling wind, but the real magic began in the evening. Around 7 PM, all of the tourists disappeared from the mountain and the Abbey opened up all of its formerly closed rooms. We "snuck" back into the abbey without our free tickets which made Herve's overly law-abiding cousin comically freak out. Then musicians filled the chambers of the abbey, the sky cleared up, and the mountain was lit up. There were lots of musicians, but after leaving the flutist to listen to the harp, Herve and I just stayed put. I don't know that I've ever experienced something as perfect as those 15 minutes Herve and I spent listening to the harp together in that beautiful Abbey but it was over too quickly and then we were headed back down the mountain.
Sunday morning was thoroughly relaxing; I had a lovely wake up courtesy of Herve and then after some breakfast, we just played some ping pong (Swiss style), went on the swings, and lay in the grass. After Benois left on his bike to go back to Switzerland, we went into the city of St. Malo. It was a beautiful and festive city on the beach with high walls surrounding the city. I insisted that I didn't want to go swimming, but the beach kept calling and we ended up building a little sand castle with moats and walls and all to try to stand against the tide. A little German boy was watching us jealously, so we told him he should help us out. As Herve remarked with a hint of bitterness, he was maybe nine years old and already spoke almost fluent English. After our castle was flooded, we walked on the city wall and looked over the beach. Inside the city, there were galleries, little pods of artists, and patisseries everywhere. We also had a fun experience with one of the street performers who decided to incorporate me and Herve into his show, but I'll leave off the details. We finished off the day by playing a traditional French beach game with Herve's family- I forget the name even though I've heard it tons of times but it essentially involves trying to throw a big ball as close to a little ball as possible. I made it to my train in time, though a part of me wished I would miss it. This train trip went much more quickly as I had a lovely train neighbor who entertained me with stories in French for the entire 5 hour trip. And then I had a week of actual work!