Sunday morning we checked out of our hotel, and after breakfast headed to Torcy, a suburb east of Paris, to attend church with our friends.
This was the second Sunday in a row that we attended our meeting being held in a language that we did not understand (except for French-speaking Dad). Whether it's proof that spiritual things transcend temporal things, or an indicator of how well I pay attention, I can't say that I've felt like I've missed much. Certainly, many members of the ward in Torcy were incredibly kind and attentive -- and that is something that needs little translation.
After church we went to our friends' home and visited, and ate galettes and crepes until it was shameful. Our kids all interacted sweetly, though ours only know escargot, and their's only know set, simple phrases like, "Do you have a cat?" that they are learning in school (to be fair, their six-year old speaks English significantly better than I speak Spanish after four college semesters... I fear that the U.S. does not know how to teach foreign languages... or I don't know how to learn them). One of their kids is taking cello lessons, so we were granted a lovely little concert, and gymnastics with the ball and ribbon is apparently big there, so we were also presented with a little performance. It was a cozy, happy visit. That had to come to an end, as everyone, except for our hosts, had trains to catch... We hugged, bisous-ed, waved, and loaded back into our rental car.
Our lodging for the evening was in Connelles, right on the Seine, in the Normandy countryside. The Normandy countryside is heartachingly beautiful.
The architecture is fairytale-like.
Poppies. The most well-known poem about poppies was actually written during/about the first World War by a Canadian:
Flanders Fields
By: John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
in Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
One generation later there would be more guns, dead, crosses, poppies. In this region June 6th, just three days before, marked the 69th anniversary of D-day.
Outside the door of our lodging.
Not the best picture, but there were les chats all over the property -- all with snapping seafoam-green eyes.
Also right out front of the door.
The countryside is stunning, but not always the easiest place to find dinner... Fortunately, there was a quaint place down the way: Jules and Jim -- named for Truffaut's French New Wave movie released in 1962 that was filmed in the area. I've not seen it, but did see Amelie -- which references it... actually, according to some sources, it is referenced, and has influenced many films and other art genres, and is even on some top-100-film lists. I apparently need to see it, especially now that I've seen where some scenes were filmed.
The food was amazing, though we thoroughly Americanized it (i.e. please cook the meat until it at least looks a little bit cooked). There was also an unfortunate few minutes when The Dad and The Boy were in the restroom, and The Boy decided to start singing for some unknown reason -- and could be heard clearly throughout the dining area.
Down the road from the restaurant is a mill originally built in the 12th century. I guess there's an important scene in the movie that happens here -- at the Moulin d'Ande. Movie aside, it was picturesque.
We ended the evening with the kids playing at a little children's area on the property where we were staying. Only for a few minutes -- though it was still light out it was late and we had an early morning planned.
