Summer camp location assignment this year was a strike of luck. A region in France I hadn't yet explored, and just outside the last city on my must-see list (see next blog which I haven't yet written).
But before running off to civilisation, some exploration/team-building close to sweet home Tour de Buis was in order.
We definitely did not climb those hay bales infested by snakes (warning!). This is an optical illusion by the clever Dori.
Mostly we found hay, and fields, and other nature stuff. We also found big juicy red slugs, much to my curiosity. I had thought Aztec was joking when he adamantly recounted last year's hike.
Nobody really knew what to do with the little guy. Second breakfast?
Isère, outside of the cities, was exactly what you'd expect from French countryside. Farms, sheep, little creeks, and (most) insects provided a sweet little walkabout.
Let's have a hayday
I finally learned to duck to avoid the merging of face-web
smallest hummingbird known to american village
With 'Jazzy' herself
A trip to Vienne (france, not austria) on our day off together happened to be the time of their renowned jazz festival. Don't mind if I do!
Outside the festival deciding between a nap and shopping
(the authentic french lifestyle)
But back in the little town of Cour-Et-Buis, while waiting (because the waiting took much longer than the actual watching) for La Tour de France on a day off with Sprinkles and Yoshi (camp names, don't start judging parental choices), several select villagers swept us off right our feet with kindness, giving us a touching insight into la culture française.
Sprinkles prepares herself with the stats for the bikers
the anticipation grows...
It was over in maybe 20 seconds. Hope nobody had chosen that moment to go to the toilet.
After a few drafts (nobody's counting here), a couple grinning guys with thick northern accents invited us back to theirs to have a good 'french barbecue' with them and their wives.
The ever famous stinky fromage, including
Munster St Felicien and St Marcellin
Sprinkles and I exchanged hesitant glances and agreed with a shrug, 'why not?' They drove us down a winding road to a lovely cottage where we spent the day chatting, sharing music favorites, gorging ourselves on tomatoes, cuisse de poulet, brochette de sanglier (which I think they explained after the fact as being simply 'roadkill', and by which time we didn't mind) and all kinds of delectable cheeses, drinking wine from the Côte de Rhone, having siestes in the garden, and gently waking to continue the festivities with ice cream and champagne.
Everyone appreciates a good set of melons.
(please forgive me, Sprinx)
With Denis, Hélène, Laurence, and Daniel, our adoptive french family
What royal hospitality IS this? The exchange seemed to be based merely on our youthful presence and haphazard french while trying to tell stories about our little campers. We must have been amusing enough as they then took us to watch the 14th of July (the French independence day) fireworks in Vienne.
As a passionate couchsurfer, I can attest to many encounters with generous down-to-earth europeans. However, my experience from the site just makes the more random connections even more meaningful.
I don't need to read someone's 50-odd references or pore through their selfies in front of national monuments to know they have a good heart...
I just need to verify their supply of mouldy, smelly milk-based products.
Isère, outside of the cities, was exactly what you'd expect from French countryside. Farms, sheep, little creeks, and (most) insects provided a sweet little walkabout.
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