L'étranger

Descent into deepest France to celebrate the 60th birthdays of one of Mme A's cousins and her husband (successful vegetable farmers) at their superby appointed house [see extras]. We were about 125 and, other than my brother-in-law from Quebec, I was the only foreigner (as usual). The first three hours were l'aperitif where I surf conversations, laughing and commiserating where appropriate. Then we sat down to eat, consuming large plates of roast pork and ratatouille, accompanied by endless moderate rosé from the village of another cousin. Her husband sings well and we could have listened to him all afternoon, and almost did, but for the impenetrable comic song and sketch interludes. The meal was rounded off with champagne and desserts.

Then the great international leveller: petanque, played on a stony driveway. I was with my Québécois brother-in-law and a turkey farmer against another turkey farmer, a truck driver and a supermarket cold room supremo, and we won!

Finally, an old Renault pizza van chugged up the hill to the house so that yet more food could soak up yet more alcohol to the accompaniment of karaoke singing into the night.

I wish I could be more engaged in these events but, even after 27 years my French isn't up to it. Fortunately I'm accepted as I am, and to be a member of a large French family yields unforgettable experiences.