“Bonjour les poules! Je suis Jenny. Je peux avoir vos oeufs, s’il vous plais?”
“Hello chickens! I’m Jenny. Can I have your eggs, please?” ☺️
What else could I have said with my limited French? When I was sent with two little girls – one 5, the other 6 – to harvest some fresh eggs, I needed to at least show some respect to the Madame chickens (you know, be a good example).
And this was just one of my memorable experiences during a weekend in the French countryside.
I couldn’t decide which I liked better – walking in the forest to look for champignons (mushrooms) we can cook at home, or pick and eat wild berries on the side of the road.
It was also nice to ride our bicycles in the forest, but the path proved too rough for me so we had to turn back. Boohoo.
At home, it felt like childhood all over again – complete with children running around, bickering and a bit of crying.
I think I ate too much bread, sausages and cheese. I mean, who can resist the boudin (blood sausage) or yummy fromage blanc with fresh fruits and honey?
At the weekend flea market, a book about Imelda Marcos (one that had “thorn” and “carnivore” in the title) caught my eye.
I must have been staring at the book for too long, that the gentleman who owns the stall began speaking with me.
“Je viens à Philippines. Et Imelda Marcos est Filipa aussi,” I told him with my basic French.
I wanted to say that I neither worshipped this woman nor was I proud of her, but I guess I needed more advanced French for that. Besides, I’m sure he didn’t give a blink about my political views. 😁
Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The rest of our stay was filled with love and laughter (and lots of food!).
And yes, we ate the eggs from the chickens. Our tummies were full and our hearts happy. What more can we ask for? ❤️
Travel date: September 2016