Today I met two frenchman and a french woman at a convenience store. They were outside, huddled over a map of West-By-God-Virginia, while I stared up at the rocky crown of Snowshoe’s neighboring mountain. (Snowshoe is a famous ski resort) The gentlemen were staring so fiercely at the map, machine-gun-rattling french, that I assumed they must be confused or lost. I was wrong.
But I did not want them to feel lost. Maybe you have been a stranger in a strange land- I have, and it is sometimes frustrating. I had been inside the store and watched the clerk try to speak with them en francais, but no avail. I felt like helping, but realized my french has nearly disappeared from memory. I am a bit sad, because french is such a fun language to speak.
I returned home to find a blog visit from France. It must be French in West Virginia Day. I am celebrating with the only pseudo-french item in my house- a generous helping of Leseur petit peas, sauteed in rich kerrygold butter. Magnifique!
So- to all you francophiles, I wish you bonne soir (and hopefully I didn’t get it mixed up with Portugese, Hititite, or Romulan- so it does read “Good evening.”)