We're off to visit friends, Caroline and Julie, who live in a charming wee commune (St. Aubin du Cormier) in Brittany (pronounced 'bre-tah'). We spent a delightful 5 days with them in 2013 when they lived in Normandy and have received an enthusiastic invitation to visit with them in their new home. My last email to them went unanswered so I've a bit if a niggling doubt that they know we're coming today . . . in that email I also asked for directions to their home (their Christmas card return address simply said 'Le Blas du Maison Rouge' - no house number!). We exit the toll road and begin looking for a 'lower red house'. One of us had the foresight to actually google the address and remembered that it was shown on the road out of town . . . somewhere. Amazingly, astoundingly, miraculously we see this sign on the left side of the road, with an arrow up a dirt driveway: 'Le Blas du Maison Rouge'!! We turn in and check with a local farmer who assures us 'Oui, Oui, - maison Caroline and Julie'. The house is neither 'lower' nor 'red'. I think it's a French thing . . .
They are very happy to see us. Only one small problem . . . they're leaving tomorrow for the US! A friend of Caroline's from grad school has invited them to her wedding, something Caroline related in her email response, which is, no doubt, still in cyberspace. No matter, we go out for a lovely dinner at a local, very authentic restaurant, and all order gaillettes (a filled, buckwheat crepe but don't all it a crepe) and hard cider, both of which are very Breton.
This is a unique part of France. It could be Ireland there are so many redheads; the language is definitely Celtic; the identify fierce and the roads free (may not sound like much but all high-speed, controlled access highways in France are toll roads and they are very pricey). Not that long ago, a child christened with a Celtic first name could be denied French citizenship.
Packing up for the drive to the airport in Nantes.
Ever wonder what happens to all the unsold/day-old French baguettes? Caroline was curious and asked her local boulangerie if she could have the leftovers for her chickens and ducks and voila! Our endearing ducks can grab a bit of baguette very easily.
I'm channeling my inner Marie Antoinette but Tim's balking at bathing and perfuming the sheep! Stay tuned . . .
They are very happy to see us. Only one small problem . . . they're leaving tomorrow for the US! A friend of Caroline's from grad school has invited them to her wedding, something Caroline related in her email response, which is, no doubt, still in cyberspace. No matter, we go out for a lovely dinner at a local, very authentic restaurant, and all order gaillettes (a filled, buckwheat crepe but don't all it a crepe) and hard cider, both of which are very Breton.
This is a unique part of France. It could be Ireland there are so many redheads; the language is definitely Celtic; the identify fierce and the roads free (may not sound like much but all high-speed, controlled access highways in France are toll roads and they are very pricey). Not that long ago, a child christened with a Celtic first name could be denied French citizenship.
Packing up for the drive to the airport in Nantes.
We have carte blanche to stay as long as we want just please feed the animals . . . this cage has three rabbits, separated to prevent them from becoming 30 before Caroline and Julie get home.
These ducks are so endearing; you might be able to see that the one on the left has his upper bill cut, mutilated actually. I ask Caroline, and she tells me that the breeder from whom they bought them (as wee ducklings) did that to keep them from pecking each other. They really didn't notice but now that they are grown (the ducks, not Julie and Caroline), it makes it difficult for them to scoop up food.
A bonus - one or two fresh eggs every day, thanks to the hens.
Ever wonder what happens to all the unsold/day-old French baguettes? Caroline was curious and asked her local boulangerie if she could have the leftovers for her chickens and ducks and voila! Our endearing ducks can grab a bit of baguette very easily.
I'm channeling my inner Marie Antoinette but Tim's balking at bathing and perfuming the sheep! Stay tuned . . .
