There was a bit of work follow-up and oddly this time it didn’t feel like a vacation bummer, it is collaborative work on the new website and is exciting. While not my favorite to work while trying to play, Chris and I have a collaborative process that is productive and engaging. It is working. So far so good.
We were off to the market where to me the French women of the market sound like honeysuckle or morning jasmine. Bonjour! is said with such crispness. All I wanted was coffee. Which we had… with a view of an angry-looking French man. And by angry I mean that familiar look of hangover, caffeine needing “why the Christ am I awake” look. I wrapped up my morning with a fresh farm egg on top of left over four-cheese pizza.
Off to St. Emilion! https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint-%C3%89milion
But not before stopping at a truck stop along the freeway. Wow! Such a very different buffet experience. Not that the food was of the best quality, but at a truck stop diner in France (at least this one) – we had options for snails, oysters, Foie Gras, some spam-scrapple looking meatloaf spread (I skipped it) and a bottle of wine served prior to the bottle of water.
St. Emilion is beyond words and no wonder it is a Unesco world heritage site. I wasn’t sure what was more charming, the city, the people or watching Chris and Jean-Jacque meander the streets discussing the architecture, the people and the history.
Later that day JJ introduced us to a dear friend Alain in a nearby town, just into the region of the Dordogne. He and his now deceased wife Lillian have renovated an early 19th-century building that had served as the village restaurant for a small train station. Lillian died recently so Chris and I had the honor of visiting with Alain and JJ as they shared in stories, memories, and sadness in a home that was clearly built with love. Alain served us Lamprey, which the French know as Lampois- and a delicacy of sorts. It was simple, rich, saucy, French at its best and left the three of us nearly comatose as we make the hour drive back home to Angouleme. With a belly full of bread, butter, wine, onions, and parasitic fish, I drifted off (passed out?) to thoughts and dreams of wine-country and the days ahead.
randy marcotte - uncle randy writes here 