A few select moments

School started once again yesterday, and it's back to the routine. But vacation...

My cousin Jenny just happened to be in France during the first few days of my vacation, and she stopped by to visit. We had a really nice time walking around Aix and Chambéry. We had not spent significant time together in probably 4 years, and it was nice to re-meet her. Thanks for taking us out for pizza Jenny!

I was invited to spend part of the week of vacation at my friend Maxim's house with his parents and other friends. They have an old (200 years+) rustic vacation home in the mountains Annecy that is within 5 minutes walking distance from the lake in Annecy and has a really nice view of the mountains from every window. Ah yes. I spend most of my vacation reading by the fireplace, eating two-hour, 5-course meals at both lunch and dinner, sleeping, disgusting the family with my breakfast egg and cheese-eating habits, trimming apple trees, and admiring the crisp blue, automn sky.

I went kayaking one morning and decided that I needed to take a refreashing swim in the lake. The strikingly clear waters of the cleanest lake in France had tempted me the moment I sat in the kayak, and as I began to sweat the waters only called louder. I awkwardly changed into a swimsuit the mom had brought to the dock and stood in perfect balance and composure, awaiting my destiny. I took my arms out from my side in perfect "t" formation, took a zen breath, and jumped. Idiot. I think my blood froze upon contact. I couldn't feel my feet for 40 minutes afterward. As long as I kept my chest above the water (read: latched onto the dock), I could breathe. I managed to swim around a bit before loosing muscle strength in my arms. I felt refreshed for days. The men in the family worshipped me, while the women kept checking for fever or debilitating disease.

For Halloween, I decided prepare a meal for the family to thank them for hosting me. First, however, I found it necessary to teach them a few useful Halloween terms like "Trick or Treat," "marshmellow," and "muuhahaha," obviously the word that scary Halloween creatures say. The latter expression was difficult for them though, because French people can't pronounce the "h." "Hah hah hah" becomes "a a a."

For dinner I decided to cook "ethnic" food and prepare enchilladas. The family eagerly crowded around me and my Old El Paso enchillada kit to absorb the Americain culture I was imparting. It's a good thing that "4-cheese, Mexican blend with queso" doesn't exist in France, because it turns out that grated swiss cheese is infinitely better for Mexican food. Oh, and black beans don't exist either. But they loved the food. It was a hit. I had also wanted to roast marshmellows in the fireplace that night for dessert. Big, white, fluffy marshmellows that swell and singe with heat. I found my marshmellows in the grocery store. Small, colorful, fruit-flavored marshmellows that taste like burned gummy bears when roasted. But I pretended all of this was normal, since the marshmellows I had imagined do not exist here, and I proudly showed the family the art of marshmellow roasting.

Next time on Sarah's Adventures in Franceland, my mandatory visit to the doctor: no flimsy nightgowns necessary here. TBC...