Day 8

Going where no Americans have gone before.  Today was to be a day of firsts.  So many, in fact, that I am not entirely sure where to start.  The day began as most have here in our new home . . . zero sun and the promise of rain.  What a magnificent day to purchase an automobile or two.  After buttoning up some administrative details we were off to our first appointment.  I wish I could say that over the course of this past week we gained a profound and thorough understanding of the language, but as you all know by now, this was not the case.  We were going to need some help today.  Strike that, we were going to need A LOT of help today.  Help came in the form of new found friends.

My wife is a bit of a hound dog.  She has a way of getting under your skin.  Loyal and trustworthy, the perfect companion.  She truly knows no stranger.  Over the course of this past week, she befriended a wonderful woman by the name of . . . Ok, I am not even going to attempt to spell her name, but all you need to know is that she is a magnificent woman with a wonderful family.  Having spent some time in the States, she was very sympathetic to our plight and offered her and her entire family's assistance in our quest for the perfect vehicle.  I am humbled and truly inspired by what I experienced today.  For those that call themselves Americans and have the audacity to speak ill of these people for their way of life, you can go to hell, because I would trade just two of them for a thousand of the close minded rednecks that wave the stars and stripes and believe that they are from the greatest country on the planet.  Our new friends would have gladly given us the shirt off of their backs, pants off of their waists and shoes off of their feets.  And yes, there is a story to that, but we will get to that in a bit.

We had assembled quite a team for this effort.  Two Americans (guess who), one gentleman from Czech and the French family I mentioned above.  You see, it wasn't enough for my wife's new friend to offer her husband's time to assist us in this automotive endeavor, she also took our children into her home and under her wing so that my wife and I could focus on the task at hand.  The morning was spent kicking tires so to speak at some of the local auto sellers.  We slowly began to narrow our focus as the realities of our budget began to hit home.  You see, this cast of characters each had their own way of things and the mix seemed to compliment each other as the day wore on.  I have intentionally not introduced you to our friend from the Czech, a co-worker from my wife's office.  Equally dear to our heart, I want to give him his own due later in this entry.

Our last stop for the morning was a Very shady looking spot where promise of a price point beater for yours truly to drive had us all chomping at the bit.  Now, it is important to point out that I began my day hoping to be ripping through the urban maze of narrow city streets in Jason Statham's bulletproof Audi A6.  What we had settled on was somewhat less glamourous.  The decision had been made to not split our budget down the middle and one of us was going to be left holding the short end of the stick.  Since the motorway is no place for a 2 horsepower sears and roebuck lawn tractor, I decided to throw myself on my sword and allow my wife the luxury vehicle of the fleet.

Staring down the barrel of a decade old sub-sub compact with a considerable dent in the front fender, the haggle was on.  I must note that she purred like a kitten.  Grey, I think . . . a little hard to tell from underneath all the filth.  After some very fast and tense words exchanged between our French friend and the moustachioed (second time to use that word in as many days) car seller, it was clear that this was not going in our favor.  I really shouldn't have used that word . . . Moustachioed that is . . . for it looked a bit more like the man had yanked the tails off of a pair of squirls and glued them to his face.  A portly fellow with a very bad attitude.  I suspect his attitude was soured by the fact that we were there just moments before the lunch hour and the businesses often shut down for lunch here.  We were clearly holding him up from his next feeding and I don't think he took this fact too well.

Never ones to fold under intense negotiations, we decided it best to fold and play the next hand.  We told the hair lipped thief where he could shove his jallopy and decided it was a good time to grab a bite to eat ourselves and check to see if our childen had offended our hosts or set their house on fire.  Lunch was to be with our hosts in their home.  A very beautiful estate in a small village a short drive away from the town where my wife works.  Three children in their lot.  Two daughters and one son.  The two younger, very comparable in age to our brood.  Peeking our heads in the young man's bedroom, it was clear that we were cramping our childrens' style and they did not need us babysitting them.  Already having had lunch themselves, they continued to play with their new found friends and we settled in to a very delightful and typically French lunch of pasta avec fromage (pasta with cheese) with a garnish of butter and dried tomato, jambon (ham) and of course vin rouge (red wine).

Now this menu seems tame enough, but there are some things I must divulge.  The ham for example was raw.  What I mean by that is that it was carved right off of the hock brought up into the kitchen from the cellar.  Absolutely delicious.  The main course of lunch followed by some unpasturized cheese, more bread and more wine.  The unpasturized cheese was an issue of comment from our host.  You see, these people know their cheese.  This isn't your pasturized and heavily processed crap we call cheese in the States.  This is the real deal.  Full bodied, very aromatic and covered by a moldy rind that must be cut off before consumption.  The blend of flavors was magnificent and I have to say this was the best meal I have had in as long as I can remember.  It was simple, basic . . . nothing overstated.  The flavors spoke for themselves.

It was all a bit surreal . . . treated as friends not as guests.  The sights, sounds and smells so delighfully foreign and inviting all at the same time.  Great food and very confortable conversation.  An hour (or so . . . no hurry here) comparing stories of our experiences in each others countries with respect and honor.  For desert, an icecream affair reserved for the holidays.  As the conversation wound down, the youngest of our children emerged wearing pants that were not his own.  Evidently had spilled on his own pants and was offered a replacement.  Transgendered though they may have been, he wore them well.  He was not the only one to be sporting the garments of his host.

The wife and I kicked off our shoes at the door as they were dirty and wet from the days adventure.  Within moments, both of us were provided with the last generation house slippers of our hosts.  I am still not certain whether this was a courtesy or a cultural exchange.  I thought perhaps it was an offense to be in anothers home in stocking feet.  We will have to figure that out before we start having guests of our own.  Either way, their I sat in the kitchen with these wonderful people, feet warmly snuggled into his own house slippers, sipping red wine and finding myself with very little desire to leave.  It was getting on toward 2 in the afternoon, and we had left our Czech friend with instructions to meet us back at our hotel to take a look at some vehicles in the big city.  Bidding our friends a fond farewell, we were off again to our next stop.

This was also our first experience with the kiss goodbye.  I am sure you have seen this custom in the movies.  A kiss on each cheek?  Upon greeting, my awkwardness was apparent and it deserved a giggle from the lady of the house.  Upon exit it seemed as familiar as the hug I extend my family when they leave my home in the US.  There is still an unwritten man code here, which I was ever so thankful for.  Dudes don't kiss.  You kiss the children, male or female, but men do not kiss other adult men.  I am as in touch with my feminine side as any man I know, but I am still not on level with snuggling up to another fella.  I might wear his shoes, but I gotta draw the line somewhere.  A warm hand shake goodbye and a round of kisses for the women and children completed our stay.

Back in town, we were to meet up with our Czech friend.  A very tall gentleman with a certain grace about him and a beaming smile.  The type of person you would find it hard to think ever gets mad or has their feathers ruffled.  My kind of guy.  Down to business with a quick gate, we were checking out the local shops with a purpose.  Within a half hour we had found what is to be our family vehicle.  The chariot that will escort my wife to work and the family on vacation.  It is a Renault.  Stoic, reliable, and dare I say it ? . . . Ugly as the day is long.  It is sort of a cross between a refrigerator and Frankenstein's ugly cousin.  It has all the styling sensibility of beef jerkey.  It's perfect.  You can't call it a mini van, you can't call it a cross over, you really can't define it at all, and I wouldn't want to.  I call it our French Escalade.  It seems to be all the rage with the family crowd and has more cubbies for your smaller items than I can count on my fingers and toes.

The best feature of the new family truckster.  Tray tables on the backs of the seats so the little ones can have their snacks on the fly.  A feature that may seem unfamiliar to some Westerners, but brings me back to my youth.  That's right, this is not my first exposure to French engineering.  Thanks to my Father's inspiration, I spent a portion of my youth tucked into the back of a French built station wagon.  Ah, the good ole days.  In spite of our early find, the desire not to have buyers remorse forced us to continue to shop for the remainder of the afternoon to be sure that this was just the right car for us.  Our Czeck friend?  By our side every step of the way without a hint that this might be an inconvenience.

Unfortunately our search for MY vehicle continues.  We should take possession of my wife's vehicle at the beginning of the week which will take some of the pressure off of having only one vehicle.  They have graciously agreed to let us keep the rental car for one more week, so we have a bit more time to find the right city car to suit my needs.  The truth of the matter is, we may not need that time.  You will never guess who gave us a call this evening upon our return to our hotel . . . our French friends from the North.  They had spent a portion of their afternoon searching for more options and have located a possible fit for me as well.  They even went so far as setting up an appointment and we are due to see it tomorrow.  The only thing I really know about it is that it has a dent in the hood and not quite enough horsepowers to beat a go-kart in a straight up drag race.  I guess I won't make it into the director's cut of Transporter 4 after all.

After my children's wonderful acceptance of the days events, we have promised them a trip back to the large city park to play for a bit in the morning.  I must admit I am a bit nervous.  After near death and incarceration, I am none to eager to jump back in the saddle.  They deserve this though, and we shall give it to them.  Back at the hotel this evening, it was apparent that the room had not been cleaned as we had hoped.  This is a problem, because the bedsheets are starting to feel a little like a fairway sand trap at your local golf course.  I watched a program once about Navy Seals.  The drill instructor drug this poor bastard out of the freezing water after God knows how many hours and them made him lie down and roll around on the sand until his body was covered.  They called this procedure a "Sugar Cookie".  It feels a little like that guy slept in my bed last night.  Something has to change.

Upon investigation, we were informed that the ladies didn't clean our room because they were afraid of our rabbid dog.  Knew I shouldn't have saved his life.  STUPID DOG.  We have promised to cage him up tomorrow in exchange for a freshening of the sheets.  I guess I will sleep with the Navy Seal for one last evening.  The need for laundry finally reared its ugly head as we knew it would.  Fortunately we were prepared with a jug of Le Chat (translated The Cat) laundry detergent that I drug home in my trusty little grocery cart.  The name has me a bit worried.  As I have already told you, food seems marketed after its sound under tooth and cars seem to be named after feminine hygene products.  If the trend holds, I am guessing that my close will come out smelling something like cat litter.  There seems to be a feline trend to many products as well.  I have a box of Lion cereal and a jug of Cat laundry detergent.  I somehow doubt this is a coincidence.  The odd thing is that despite this obvious reverence to the feline species, I have not seen hide nor hair of one during any of my outings.  I will get to the bottom of this and let you know.

Laundry has the wife and I up late and we now have our unmentionables scattered all over the hotel room in varying states of dampness.  They have three washing machines, which my wife has dominated for the evening and defended jealously, but only one dryer that does not seem to get the clothes quite as dry as you would hope.  Inspite of it's ineffectiveness, my wife has had to defend our items from being discarded onto the floor in favor of someone else's items.  At last check, my jeans are still quite wet and will have to be left in the care of the front desk for the remainder of the evening.  I hope I have pants by morning.  If not, this town is going to see a whole lot more of me than they care to.

Until tomorrow.