Day 99

Would you be mine, could you be mine . . . won't you be my neighbor.

Ah, Mister Rogers.  Nothing like a 50 year old virgin in a cardigan and house slippers teaching your children about morals and proper social etiquette.  That being said, some of it must have sunk in over the years, because I would test out his teachings in an exchange that, like so many others we have had in this fair land, we could liken to no other.  The door bell rang early this Saturday morning.  Upon my wifes answer, a very friendly greeting was given by our neighbor.  The reason for her visit?  An invitation.  Coffee and cake at 16h.  My wife graciously accepted and we spent the rest of the morning worrying about how exactly we were going to communicate with these folks and how we were going to keep our children under control.

Our worry was for not, because despite our fears, our French has come quite a long way and we had a lovely hour or so in the company of our 90 year old neighbors.  That's right, 90.  Actually, he is 90 and she is 84.  A more pleasant couple you could not ask for.  There was a moment during the afternoon that I had to take a moment to realize "oh my god, I am actually having a social visit entirely in French".  There were moments where we had difficulty making sense of the conversation, but further explanations helped out and we ended up having a wonderful time without a word of English having been uttered.  I think this was one of those watershed events for me that I think will stick with me for the remainder of my life.  Their hospitality was limitless and they had even made concessions for our children as well.  Soda and lollipops were waiting for them upon their arrival.

They just celebrated their 65th wedding anniversary and he has lived in Bordeaux all of his life.  We looked through photo albums and shared our adventures with the use of an old atlas whose bindings had become so week that the cover easily separate from the entirety of the book.  We showed them our home on the map and in turn they showed us theirs.  Their home is quite grand for the two of them and they had an honest to god wine cellar.  The experience was so much fun, that I almost regret the decision to move.  ALMOST.  They are wonderful, but their hospitality does not make up for the crappy nature of Madame Chabou's Reform School for Girls.  Couldn't bad mouth the joint too much as we discovered quickly that he is actually Madame Chabou's cousin.  I only wish we had gotten to know them better a bit sooner.  That is however, the way it is with the French.  I learned that from our failed cultural training session.  The analogy is that we American's are like and Orange and the French are like a Coconut.  It is true I suppose.  The orange has a a soft exterior that is easily pierced.  We are easy to make friends with and our fleshy interior is at times not so sweet.  We are quite compartmentalized as well.  We put people into categories once we make "friends".  Not all are given the best.  Some we reserve for those chambers that aren't quite so juicy.  The French, however, are just the opposite.  They have a very hard exterior and it is tough to get inside.  Once inside, however, the center is large and wide open.  You get all the sweet coconut juice you can handle.

We could go on and on about this analogy, but I don't think it necessary.  The truth is there for those that have experienced both cultures.  All of this is just a very circular way of saying that once you get inside the inner circle with these folks, they treat you like one of the family.  That is a very wonderful place to be . . . especially for an Expat.  That is about all I have for now.  I will keep you posted as life carries forth.  Take care and have a bon weekend!