A group of cheery people sitting around a plastic garden table under an umbrella greeted us as we approached. Ivan and his mates shook our hands and welcomed us effusively. There was much cross-talk and excitement at our arrival and nary a word of English to be heard. We sat and were given drinks and snacks and then plied with questions. G answered some from the left hand side of the table; I tried to cope with the ones coming from the right. More people kept arriving; more introductions; more names to instantly forget. I thought my face would never recover from all the smiling. One by one, everyone around the table explained what they did for a living, and what a diverse gathering: mechanic, lecturer, car salesman, bus driver...
One neighbour arrived and thrust a fresh-baked warm loaf into Guy's hands. A gift! When we expressed interest, he invited us to come and see his bread oven, and the home that he had built, just across the lane. So G and I followed him home and inspected his enormous hand-built stone oven, which sat outside where most people would have the garage. Indoors, we were taken on a guided tour of the ground floor - the kitchen, dining room, bathroom, his hand-made wooden stairs. His home was very French, very functional, with its tiled flooring and absence of soft furnishings.
Back across the road and Christian, who works at the local Renault, wanted to know whether we had hired a car and from where. Had we ever driven an electric car? Well, no. My experience of electric vehicles was confined, at that point, to listening to the stealthy arrival of the milk float in the early mornings in England, followed by the clink of bottles as the empties were replaced by full. But I digress. Realising that we were electric-car virgins, Christian leapt up and insisted that G and I have a look at the one he happened to have parked in the driveway.
Very nice, I'm sure. A little white panel van. Lovely. No doubt handles well, etc. Yawn. What's that? You want me to drive it? Oh! Well, I suppose, since G has been getting stuck into the grapefruit schnapps, it falls to me to be designated driver, only I hadn't planned on driving at dusk an unfamiliar electric panel van backwards up a tiny driveway with stone walls inches away, and I hadn't planned either on driving "Faster! Faster!" along single-lane country roads while G perches on stuff in the back and peers between the seats, loudly swapping French phrases of enthusiasm with the electric-car salesman extraordinaire on my right. Did I mention it was an electric (read SILENT engine) left-hand drive vehicle, and that I was undergoing an intense and spontaneous cultural exchange program while trying to stay on the road?
We returned to the gathering as if nothing had happened. I mean, dinner guests leave my home in groups of three and four to go off on jaunts around the countryside all the time.
Dinner was served indoors. We adults sat around a large central table in Edith and Ivan's open-plan living room, while beautiful Oceane - the only child - snuggled and later snoozed on the sofa with the cat. Ivan insisted that I sat next to him, G on my other side, at the one end of the table with the men, while the women gathered at the far end of the table. The men were full of bonhomie (and booze) and were loud and garrulous. The women watched and laughed and indulged them.
First came onion soup with broken-off chunks of home-made bread. Delicious. And filling. G was encouraged to do the traditional thing and add a little red wine to the last spoonful of soup, the bowl then raised to the lips...You would think he had split the atom, such was the excitement when he complied!
Next came the cheese. No cowering camembert and crouching cheddar here. These were big mamas of cheeses - large, unapologetic chunks and rounds of local cheeses, served with more of that wonderful bread. Delicious. And filling.
The main course arrived after a short expectant wait. Tête de veau is, well, literally, the head of a calf in all its g(l)ory. Luckily for us, it had been carved up before it arrived at the table and looked no more than a pile of unfamiliar bits of meat and fat on a plate. Ivan helped me to a serving of cheek (blerk), G got the tongue (blerk) and Ivan took a bunch of fat (the best, according to him). Double blerk. I had a good go at mine but quickly reached my limit and started making excuses. G soldiered on a little more. Ivan kept asking if we liked it, but also "no pressure". Not so very delicious. But filling.
Dessert. A couple of large gateaux to choose from. Delicious. And I was full to bursting. Coffee, more alcohol.
The evening went by in a blur of talk, laughter and, for me, anyway, only sketchy comprehension. But it was fun and warm and incredible to share something of our new "near-neighbours'" lives, and we were full up with the human kindness of it all.
We staggered back to the hotel at one in the morning, having conducted a very animated post-mortem of our first-ever fête du premier mai. It was simply unbelievable, the warmth and welcome we had received.
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