When my host mom invited me to spend two days with the family at their country house in Bretagne in the West of France, I decided that that would be a much more educational experience than going to my Thursday lectures and listening to old guys drone into microphones for two hours. As it turns out, I was right.
I arrived in the little town by the sea La Trinitaine on Wednesday night. Their house, which was hidden behind a wall with a bright blue door, was a little cottage straight out of a fairy-tale, complete with a little courtyard. Inside was a working stone fireplace, and a winding, narrow set of stairs. I had walked into one of the storybooks from my childhood. I even got the guesthouse to myself to sleep in, which by the way, had an electric toilet, something I had never before encountered.
Unlike in Paris, where each morning inevitably brings the sounds of screaming children heading off to school, men doing construction, and dogs barking through my walls, there were no sounds to yank me from my slumber in the little guesthouse in Bretagne. I woke up on my own time, and went into the main house for fresh croissants, nutella, and the best vanilla yogurt I’ve ever had (made right there in Bretagne). After breakfast, my host sister, Vodka (the family beagle, not the beverage), and I headed out for a walk.
We walked past the medieval cathedral, down winding streets, and by old stone houses until we got to the center of town. It was like a cross between a medieval village, Marblehead, MA, and the Hamptons. Chic restaurants and stores, cute boulangeries, and a shop devoted to different kinds of biscuits all overlooked the water. Sailboats and motorboats of all sizes and colors were anchored at the port. This is where the frou-frou (yet classy and tasteful) Frenchies spend their summers. My host sister and I stepped into the Biscuiterie to browse the special cookies and jars of caramel au buerre sale native to Bretagne. Then we went next door to the store devoted to photos taken by a photographer native to Bretagne whose subjects are boats, ports, and other water-based scenes. We walked along the water on a path called le chemin de douanières (douanes= customs, as in what you have to go through to get into a different country), by rocky beaches and toddlers bundled up for the chill November weather.
After lunch, my host mom, Vodka (the beagle), my host mom’s sister, her dog Jenna, and I drove to a wide-open beach that stretched out for miles. The dogs ran through the dunes, scrounging for algae and shellfish, and we walked along behind them. After the fast-paced, occasionally pretentious vibe of Paris, I really felt like I could breathe.
Bretagne is well known for crêpes and cider, so we went to a crêperie for dinner with various members of my host family’s extended family, and of course ordered cider to go with our crêpes. My host mother steered me in the direction of the caramel au beurre salé and whipped cream crêpe, which was definitely the right decision.
Friday morning I woke up early to take a last walk along the water with Vodka. Despite the fact that I spent a significant portion of the walk yelling at Vodka to “Allez!”, I still managed to enjoy the view of the calm water, and to nod at the passing joggers. After our walk, Vokda and I headed to the market and checked out the stalls selling sausages, chocolate, scarves and jewelry. My host family had told me that I absolutely had to go the stand with the red and yellow tent to try a “kouign amann”, a special Bretagne pastry. It was a round, flaky spiral of butter, sugar, and dough; sticky and delicious. Poor Vodka thought it was for her and sat patiently looking up at me until she realized that she was out of luck.
My two days in Bretagne were incredible. Best of all, I bonded with my host family and spoke nothing but French for 48 hours. Now I’m just waiting for them to invite me to their chateau in the center of France…