Gettin' my Montluç-on

After a night on the inflatable mattress at Sukey's, we parted ways at the station after a much-welcome burger from "Quick," France's delicious answer to McDonald's. Once on the train, I had my first major linguistic faux-pas... an Arab teenager asked me a question while extending a hand towards me, and - not having understood a word - told him that I didn't have any money. It was only when he repeated his request that I saw the tablets in his hand and realised he was asking for a drink of water. I PROMISE I'M NOT RACIST.

I was met at Montluçon station by Monsieur Champeyrol, my portly and ebullient chauffeur/landlord, who immediately led me to the bar across the street for a beer. We quickly got chatting and all concerns about my language ability dissipated, and before I knew it we were back at his house. The upper floor plays host to three language assistants each year, and M. Champeyrol ("call me Champey") lives with his wife in the basement. They're retired, and have dedicated their free time to cultivating the most impressive garden I have seen in a long time - row upon row of juicy vegetables, fresh herbs and grapevines (see above). The Champeyrols are possibly the most hospitable people alive, having immediately offered me red wine, as well as home-made soup, bread and cured sausage for my first dinner.

After a hearty meal, several glasses of wine and plenty of friendly conversation, I decided to explore my new home town a little. Before I go on, some technicalities: France is split into "communes," small divisions named after the largest constituent town within them. I will be working in Montluçon commune, although I am living in the next commune over, which is called Prémilhat. As I wandered along the streets of Prémilhat in the evening sunshine, I spoke to several of my new neighbours who were out tending their gardens. All were incredibly welcoming, and it was unanimously recommended that I visit the nearby lake.

I came to the lake after a short walk. It was a fairly substantial size, perfectly clear and still and overlooked by woodlands and a camping site. There was also a little bar with a deck, perched on the lakeside. It was full of little lights which reflected on the water, and it all looked incredibly inviting in the dusk.

I went inside, sat at the bar and enjoyed a drink with the small cluster of locals who were propping up the bar. Everyone was curious about me and my job, and offered kind words and tidbits of local knowledge, as well as the customary, "Your French is better than my English!" I walked home with a full belly, a tipsy swagger and a sense of cotentedness. As I locked the door of my new home behind me, I found myself thinking that this is the kind of place I'd like to live in some day... oh wait, I do!

On that note, I eagerly await my first full day in Prémilhat. Bon soir!