MY HAPPY PLACE
LA CAMPAGNE
This past weekend was one of the best weekends of my life. Simon took me to his house in the campagne. I don’t think I stopped smiling the whole time. EVERYTHING was picturesque.
THE LOOK OF GLEE
On Thursday, as Simon was rounding the corner in anticipation for my arrival from the Madaline train stop – we locked eyes and had this même (same) moment of glee. We were finally off to the campagne – something we’ve been planning for weeks now. Off to his “best spot” on earth. His happy place (and soon to be mine too)!
CAR TALK
We tended to leave early so that we missed the holiday traffic but every now and then we would get in a bottleneck situation that would cause Simon to exclaim “what is going on?!”. Just writing it makes me laugh. I find it so funny how exasperated he gets – he finds it funny that I find it funny so we spend a lot of time in hysterics.
Simon told me that when he visited America for the first time at the age of 7ish – EN ROUTE to Disney World, no-less – his most vivid memory was that of Americans on the highway…”following the rules.” He said “it shocked me that no one tried to cut the cue when traffic was stopped” – unlike French who are trained to speed around the cars while saying putain (french equivalent to f#$%k!) under their breath. Something he demonstrated on a regular occasion – even though as he was acting it out he would say with a guilty tone “I don’t like this.” Again, it makes me laugh! It’s like his tone expressed permission to do it anyway.
While we were driving out we talked about only two things: Windmills and my car-rides with my mother. That’s really all we had time for… the two things. My French is still tres beginner (especially with no tutor Manon or school) so it takes me HOURS to get out words. He asked me if I like to drive (which he let me do out in the country one morning. J’adore!) and instead of saying “oui” or “non” to speed it along. I naturally, with mon professeur there to correct, I decided to fill him in on how… I do like to drive, but really I love to be ridden around.
The story went something like this… my mom would drive me around every time I came home from college.. before I unloaded the first laundry basket of dirty clothes or went to the loo, I would get out of the driver's seat, hug her, hand over the keys, and then head straight over to the passenger seat where I would take residence for hours while she would ride me around my hometown to see where people moved, new houses being built, what new roads were being paved etc. It took me FOREVER to explain in French but he got the gist with my LONG story that riding was probably, definitely, almost always what I would préférer.
CAN. YOU. IMAGIN?! Sweet Simon, had never heard of doing this and had nerve heard it taking SO LONG. Took us the better part of the trip and then we started on topic deux – windmills.
Simon’s business is about saving the planet. He invests in renewable energy assets by way of solar panels and windmills – anything that prevents the use of petrol. So as we journeyed out to the country, we began to see windmills popping up everywhere.. He told me that people in France don’t like the way they look. “You mean like how they didn’t like the Eiffel Tower at first?!,” I asked. (I had learned this nugget on one of my umpteen tour de jour days a few weeks ago.)
We had a good laugh. Because the most famous of landmarks in all of the world was once shielded from the Frenchman’s eyes when it was complete. They couldn’t stand the site. Isn’t that funny?! That’s with everything though, no? Change isn’t accepted off the bat.
I remember once, that my hometown, Conway, installed ornate lights on the Main Street bridge – Something that is considered quite beautiful now, and actually serves as a means of identification when you see drawings of “River Town”. Alas, I remember hearing an adult say, after the lights were in place “you might as well paint the bridge neon!” They hated it. Everyone seems to hate the new… that is unless they are the ones who bring on the newness. Simon – brining new ways to generate energy. He LOVES the way they look!
And give it time – if the countryside of France is anything like my hometown of Conway, everyone will all want a windmill in their backyard!
TOWNIES
When we pulled into the town of Ponthoile our first stop was the butcher. Here Simon bantered with Alexi (owner) as he placed an order for cote de boeuf, rillette, andouillette sausage. Two things in which I had never heard of before (rillette, andouillette) and yet by the end of the weekend I was craving seconds and thirds!!
We then made our way through the small town and pulled into the driveway (of the most magical country ranch-styled family home with nothing but green trees and flowers as far as the eye could see) Simon immediately gave me the grand tour. It reminded me so much of my family’s beach house in Garden City. A cozy home built for family memories, play, and use. It isn’t too precious to mess up – it’s exactly like ours… meant to be lived in and loved.
Upstairs, Smion pointed to a desk and said “this is where I spent three months over the pandemic.'' I couldn’t imagine the joy that would have been. Looking out at miles upon miles of green, hearing nothing but the vaches (cows) mooing in the afternoon, and a train that sounded every hour in the distance. Paix (peace)! [sidenote: Simon also told me about his time at Catholic boarding school – he could practically recite every prayer and expression of a priest “paix” was said a lot in his monologue! How I learned the word!]
EXCURSIONS D'UNE JOURNÉE
Our first evening, Simon took me EN ROUTE to Saint-Valery – a town on the Somme bay (a bay that Simon kept saying falls close behind the San Francisco Bay and Bay of Islands.) This town took my breath away – from its beauty and, if I'm honest … the shock. Everyone there was yelling the F word as they pointed at the water!! In Simon’s words, I thought “what is going on?!” This is when I learned that seals are called phoque (phonetically sounding EXACTLY like f#%k)! There were seals all around us frolicking in the water. One in fact tricked me – swore to Simon it was a log. It wasn’t!
Here, we took a long stroll, read about the history of their hunting methods (where the live sitting duck (now replaced in most areas of the world with a wooden mallard) originated). He told me a funny story about the one time that he tried this hunting method…and, well…got a little mixed up. Needless to say there was a sitting duck just not with the world live in front of it any longer.
The temperature dropped that night and so we built a fire while he grilled the cote de boeuf on a Weber!! Felt like I was home. That night we (pretend 20 year olds again) stayed outside until almost 2:30am! We didn’t even realize it was as late as it was – that’s what happens when you’re in campagne. Enjoying life, listening to silence in between dance songs on repeat, drinking calvados and amaretto … all while looking for Mars (I was CONVINCED I SAW IT). Over the many hours spent under the stars we were BOTH lucky enough to see (different) shooting ones. Magnifique!
MAY THE WEEKEND PROGRAMMING BEGIN
FRIDAY morning it was a bit dreary and we set out to La Marine where Simon nearly squealed with glee when he saw that she had fresh salicorne. This is a seaweed of sorts yet ummmm SO MUCH better! He bought us that, along with bulot for me to try (he paired this with a homemade mayonnaise that he made with a - shhhh don’t tell him I'm giving his secret out - 3 minute 30 seconds cooked egg. Fluffy and delicious!), moules, and sole (his all time favorite fish).
When we got home he started preparing the mayonnaise and I started chopping garlic, shallots and basilic. We had the best time cooking – we became masters at it. It’s basically all we did all weekend. Wake up. Go to the marché aux legum, or boucher, or the marché aux poisson... Come back, cook while drinking beers, open a bottle of wine for lunch, feast on the most fresh and scrumptious meal, finish with a digestif, take a siesta, “make sport” of some sort, open another bottle of wine after we return, and REPEAT into the wee hours of the morning.
Every day was my favorite! He may stop believing me (I said it each day!) – but for real. Everyday kept getting better and better. I had to pinch myself that it’s real.
Friday really was (one of) my favorite days. After we ate a pot of fresh mussels, drank beer, snacked on bulot with his fresh mayonnaise, and took an outside nap under an apple tree (where a ladybug landed on my pant leg just as we were drifting off! Just sayin!! Those of you who know about my ladybugs know they come to me ALL the time. Italians would say this is luck. I say it’s flow!), we went on a bike ride. A bike ride that neither of us expected to be as long as it was – 4 hours in total and a feel-like of uphill both ways.
Simon is a cyclist, a pro tennis player, a high speed runner… a sportsman! I am NOT. I’m a master lounger, leisurely peddler, and tennis amateur. Although, I can turn up the volume of my talents when the spotlight’s on me – and turn up did I!
We reached the destination – Cayeux-sur-Mer – and it was worth every stride of our pedals. The band was belting, women were dancing, we were drinking beer and taking it in. one of my favorite memories of the weekend. So much fun!! On the way back we got caught in a bit of rain. I was losing volume fast and Simon was committed to me catching up with him. Each time I would get close enough for him to touch me – he’d reach out, grab my arm, and pull me along as HE turned up the volume and sped us home. We were flying!
We made it home and ate the best meal (ahhhh it will keep happening throughout this EN ROUTE… but really though.. This one WAS (one of)) the best meals!) Sole with fresh salicorne. Simple, and prepared all by Simon. I sat, kept him company (another thing I am superb at doing – bring on that kind of sport and I’m ALL IN!) and drank a beer. That night we stayed up late again but this time we had the giggles. We laughed so hard in the kitchen when we were cleaning up – it became a kind of dance party. Reliving our infamous “20 year old night,” a month ago, at Castle in Saint Germain.
Saturday we had a tennis match to get to by 11am. Even though by the time we got to the courts I realized we could have played at any time. Sweet Simon – he’s always busy. Mon professor of French took on a new role during this particular hour. He became mon entraîneur (coach). He was telling me exactly what my tennis coach tells me in Charleston. MOVE. You have to MOVE. Ah, here we go again. How many times do I have to explain?! I am BETTER at lounging!
All jokes aside we had a great hour of hitting. He practiced his serves while I stretched and then we were off to make lunch.
Before we were courtside – Simon took me to pick up our legumes. It’s a CSA concept. You call ahead, place your order and drive by to claim it. Our basket was FULL of carrots, cucumber, basilic, cauliflower… you name it! After, we went to get butter, cheese, and yogurt at La Laiterie de la Baie. The most precious store clerk got so excited at my attempt to speak French, that as we were leaving, she offered me a gift of two fresh apricot and cherry yogurt drinks. Tasted like dessert!
We returned to have andouillette sausage for lunch with fresh salad. The sausage tasted like nothing I had ever eaten before. So good though! Simon had taken me to Chez George last Thursday night, impromptu, where I had the greatest meal of my life (oooops it happened again!). Filet de bœuf sauce au poivre – their specialty. It was cooked to perfection and drowning in a creme fresh sauce that was practically drinkable. Simon perfected the replication of the sauce for our sausage. Tasted EXACTLY the same! Fresh creme fresh, mustard, salt and pepper.
If you guessed siesta after this – you’d be right! We napped until almost 630PM. It was a rainy afternoon. So the perfect occasion to snooze.
When we woke up we drove to Le Crotoy to see the other side of the bay. It was another precious town and full of festivities (the holiday weekend after all). The kiddy rides were blocking the harbor view.. “What is going on?!”.. Was Simon’s response.
We found walnuts (no pine nuts were to be found in this town – didn’t they know we were determined to make pesto with our fresh basilic?!!!) and came home to make pasta. I had prepared fresh pasta dough (thanks to my new skills from Tuscookany school) the day before when I woke up from the daytime snooze before he did. It was PERFECT! As I rolled out the dough (ok, Simon helped!! He “makes sport” a lot after all – so has the muscles) and cut each noodle to the perfect (yet wildly imperfect) size, Simon made the pesto (with a mortar and pestle).
As we ate, Simon said (and is still saying) that it was the best pasta he had ever eaten. And it really was! We paired it with the yummiest bottle of red wine before we loaded up on tiramisu (that got me all kinds of stressed out hours before. Damn you egg yoke for splashing into my egg whites! No meringue made. We adjusted and still licked our plates clean with the end result!) and amaretto … with a cigarette. I mean, it felt like the Italian thing to do!
Sunday we went exploring. He drove me back to the butcher, where I had been practicing all morning what I would say to Alexi. When we arrived, Alexi was nowhere on site and I had to improvise with his mother who was reporting to Butcher duty. We got pâté de campagne and veal. We then made our way over to get fruit at this fair of sorts (again, holiday weekend after all). Turns out Alexi was THERE! He was cooking for the town. It reminded me of every small town. It’s true – every small town, is every small town, is every small town! Même. Conway has the same kind of feeling on a holiday weekend.
Here though, I got to tell Alexi in person all the nice compliments I had rehearsed. And best yet – Simon beamed when I stepped into a crowd and started talking in French. Alexi was beaming too. I think I made him blush with all the words I used to gush over the meat we had prepared from his shop. He had made me blush too – with the meat sweats after every meal! So only thought it was fair.
Simon took me on a ride through the country to a statue commemorating the Caudron brothers. The two brothers who took the first EVER actual propeller aeronautical flight. These two brothers changed life as we know it and they were from THIS small town. The house they grew up in was directly in front of the statue. What a treasure!
Next, we were EN ROUTE to Nolette Chinese Cemetery. A cemetery that contains the graves of 841 Chinese men employed as labour force by the British authorities during WWI. The really insane part about this – was that all the headstones were met with next to the MÊME (same) date as the one next to it… or a day or so after. A wave of death swept through this community within days.
When we were walking to the car he handed me the keys. I drove us home. As I mentioned earlier, he had told me before that the only rule in France when behind the wheel is to go as fast as possible. I think he was kidding. But I couldn't be sure… so I kicked up rocks as I sped out. Pretty sure I saw him smirk.
We made two more incredible meals when we got home this afternoon. Starting with a beer while we snacked on the paté de campagne. I cooked carrots in the freshest butter (that we had just bought from La Laiterie de la Baie) and sage from his mother’s garden, while he prepared the veal with fresh cut rosemary and the same butter. We sat outside and enjoyed it all! THIS was the best meal we had had yet. We had wine with the meal, amaretto to follow with the left over tiramisu, a coffee after that and since again… felt a wee bit Italian (not really at all!) we smoked a skinny cigarette. We laid on the grass after until the rain moved in. I called it a “massive” storm – which made us both laugh. He said that’s a very American thing to do .. exaggerate. I find it to be another même. I mean… who is he kidding?! The French (him being one of the main ones) invented exaggeration!!
WHAT IS GOING ON
One of Simon’s favorite questions is … “What is going on?!” – this is what I heard when all of a sudden Simon jumped up and ran to the hedges. We had just sat down for an afternoon aperitif (gin lemon and rosemary) when we heard the galloping of – must have been – 30 white cows running to the field behind the house. It sounded as though they were being chased by something. The sound of fear. It got us cackling. And then we caught their fear. As they started to settle in and get quiet…they also started to STARE at us. We got quiet too. With the exception of Simon’s spontaneous “WHAT IS GOING ON?!!” blurts. At that moment we realized that THE ONLY thing separating us from them was a single chain from one post to the other.
Fortunately something struck one of their attention and they were all moving in tandem over to the next field.
In short… rather … long. Last weekend was INCROYABLE! We have since joked about how I should have stayed there – not return to Paris – so that I could hide out and not be summoned by the US of A to board DELTA Flight 85 to Atlanta on Wednesday. If only that was a real option!
I am now in my final week of Paris and soaking it ALL in. I love it here!
Stay tuned for my final PARIS EN ROUTE next week. For now.. I am off to make homemade ravioli for a dinner that is sure to empress!
Xxo ac
I love your blog, and I am so happy for you.
❤️❤️