Le Cafe

Salut tout le monde!

I have conquered the mighty mountain!
I have slain the hideous beast.
I have packed!

Well, I must say that it would be my mom who packed. However, I did contribute and I packed my large back pack and my small back pack. Today, it was a slow day in the south of France. I did not have time to be spiritual, nature loving, or productive. I was a teenager. I sat around, looked at things on the computer [educational, of course, on the election], listened to music, ate, and packed. Today we went to the cafe in the village and I would like to share a story of this experience. Usually I just walk in and walk out but today was different, I took a step back and observed the scene. Here we go!

We were trudging up the cobblestone sidewalk, huffing and puffing, until we had reached the cafe. It was a shabby looking cafe, and you couldn't even tell if it was open or not. The outside tables were stowed away, the chairs folded in the corner, and the ice cream signs flipped around. We walked through the door and it already felt French. The place was dimly lit, and the walls seeped out the smell of smoke and alcohol like venomous snakes. I glanced to my right and saw that there was a very strange furry thing pushed from the door. It was a contraption that would usually be found hanging straight down from the door, for decoration. Most people have commonly seen these where they are made of beads, or made of bamboo to show a scenery. I wish it were that clean. Instead, it was long furry strands that reminded me of extra long cat tails. The fur was dusty and smelled like the carpeting you would find in an old 70's house that hasn't been touched since. It was striped with orange and yellow and I found my face all scrunched up as I looked at this hideous dirty thing. There were two rooms to this cafe. The first room had no tables, but there was a little kids art easel, and some toys. The second room was more lively. There were magazine racks in the beginning of the room that held Marie Claire, travel magazines, French gossip, and some x-rated magazines that were displayed on a shelf that was visible to every eye that scanned the racks. [Oh pun!] It was gross and was way to publicly displayed, a mon avis, but thats the French. There were little kid magazines that were in plastic sleeves with dinky toys that would probably occupy a child for an average of 20 min. [I need to stop with this French bashing, I guess you can see how I feel about my experience here so far. Not very good.] I found the reason I entered this cafe, in a little bin full of lollipops. You are never to old to buy lollipops. Like a kid, my mommy [not saying "mom," but "mommy"] said that if I went with her to the cafe, she would buy me a lollipop! Yay! My mom had come to get money out of her account, cause our village has no bank. I selected my lollipops and began to observe the cafe some more. I turned around from the bin and was greeted by a huge hanging boar head! It was a big one and I couldn't help but stare. I grew up in the South and I had seen animal heads every where, but this one made me stop. It was so low to the ground, I could get a really good look at it. Its eyes were completely black, and the fur was a little fritzy [making that word up because its fur was fritzy, just fritz, fritz, fritz, not fur], and its mouth looked like it was in mid sentence. This was a big boar. A REALLY BIG BOAR! It had a monstrous neck and its snout was very dignified and noble. I imagine it was a beautiful animal when it was alive. I started to feel very sad for this boar because maybe it had a family. When I was in Corsica, I had turned around just in time to see two baby boars scuttle across the hiking path. They are very adorable and I couldn't help but wonder if that boar had little cute babies as well. I was not in the mood to be sad, so I turned my attention to the bar. The bar was pretty normal looking and I spotted some bottles of Pastis that looked very old. Hopeful, they just reused the bottle. There were four men at the bar. They all looked like men who did physical labor because of their pants with mud stains and tan wrinkled skin. They were all just having a beer and chatting. Now, I bet that an American man would not be caught drinking beer from their glasses. They were not very manly, but instead had a very nice tall U shape, with a little bottom that smoothed out very elegantly. I could not imagine seeing someone in the states drinking out of that glass, maybe a girl, but not a working man. I have grown up in a family that enjoys beer [not in the alcoholic sense!] and have had my tights used to brew beer when I was 6 [yeah Dad, I haven't forgot. I sometimes use this excuse to my dad to do something for me. tricky tricky. It pays to have a good memory!]. I also find it very strange that a Cafe, sells alcohol. In the states, a cafe sells croissants, coffee, and chai tea. The bar lady looked like she smoked a lot. Her skin had a gray tint and she looked very old. I knew that she was not that old because I had seen her daughter, who was very adorable, by the way. Once we had payed for the lollipops and gotten our money, we were ready to leave. We walked past the boar, magazine racks, and the funny cat tail door doohicky. The air was a lot fresher once we stepped outside, and we headed home. My sweatshirt still smells like smoke. Yuck!


I just want to say one last thing. I want to know who is reading my blog, so please comment below! Take off the mask Darth Vader, I already know my dad reads this.

Bisous,

Bailey