A not bad quotation, one can even say it inspires me: “Writers write. If you want to become a writer, write.” Regina Brett. Thank you, Regina! Everything is simple, if you don’t complicate it… but it doesn’t always work out. We drive to the hotel, GPS tells us the way, we listen, look at the screen and drive. Outside it is 35 degrees of heat, and we are comfortable, you can choose the temperature; we drive into a French suburb, villas, cypresses.
GPS solemnly informs us that we have arrived “here is what you ordered!” Around us private houses, good houses, but they don’t much look like a hotel. We sit in the car, we think… I say to Vanya: “is there somewhere else to look besides GPS? Or is it time to learn French, to ask the local population? And one still has to find someone to ask! Au, France! People, where are you? I think it’s time to get out of the car and look for people in their richly vegetated villas.” 😻
Suddenly I see, in the shade, a middle-aged couple sitting, drinking coffee. I wave my hands in a friendly way, shout “Bonjour!” I say to Vanya: “Get ready to show the hotel address on the iPad.” Kind French people run to our aid. The man, thin, swarthy, tries to recall the English they taught him at school. Vanya such a “Norwegian giant” compared with him, shows the hotel address. The Frenchman: “Vi, Vi….” and then some words in English. I ask Vanya: “Did you understand?” (of course he didn’t, but he doesn’t admit it) but the Frenchman understands that we don’t understand how to drive, and with gestures shows that he will walk and show us the way, like, it’s quite close.
Well all right, we sat in the car, Vanya steers, the Frenchman runs. And then a feeling of shame seizes me, awkwardness at such an absurd situation: a person is running in the heat, and we have sat down and are driving. Another thought flashed through me, which I said aloud: “and how long is he going to run like that?” At last the Frenchman stopped and with his hand showed us a clear direction — turn onto a serpentine path that stretches down. The hotel was in a picturesque place; we would hardly have found it ourselves! Thank you, responsive person!
And a little about the French breakfast. (see Part 3, there is a photo 🤓) When you order a room at a hotel, then breakfast for the morning too…. so that it is “all inclusive!” That is what my Norwegian husband does. And he does right! His breakfast always consists of proteins, fats, carbohydrates. Proteins — that is “soft-boiled” eggs, Norwegian sorts of cheese, 82% butter, carbohydrates — several pieces of bread (he is used to baking bread himself), honey, jam, half a litre of tea. And in that way he eats for the whole day and already no coffees and fruits and even water during the day does he eat, drink or ask for (yes he never asks for anything at all!) The proverb: “eat breakfast yourself, share dinner with a friend, and supper…”? Well that is as each prefers…
In this cosy French hotel a small curiosity occurred. We came early in the morning to breakfast, found tables and what on the tables one could take oneself, set our table. Vanya asked whether to take an egg for me (he knows that I am “not very” about eggs, but a long road lies ahead, so one must eat an egg). In the photo you see everything beautifully and hygienically packed. Restaurant staff almost invisible (I compared it with Germany, which we had just driven through; there everything is precise: abundance of food, considerate staff in the hall).
My husband looks at those little jars of jam, the size of a thimble, and says “seems a bit little.” Yes, two teaspoons fit in one pretty little jar 😂. I say, “go take some more!” I feel he hesitates, it’s awkward for him, so big, to take from the common table. “Well then go, take another piece of bread!” I suggested, and myself I start breaking the egg. Good that I didn’t hit it hard; the egg turned out not boiled but raw, and good that it was on a stand!
I sit at my table and wait, maybe someone from the staff will appear, to explain the “situasjon.” I drink coffee, chew pastry, eat yoghurt, I see one thin Frenchwoman staff member appeared in the hall, already circling near me, looking over, wiping tables. I to her in English with a question: “what to do with the egg, it’s raw, I’m afraid it will break, and why did it turn out raw?” The Frenchwoman smiles welcomingly and sends me… to the egg-cooking machine that stands in the corner, at the end of the hall, like, you press a button there and the egg will cook for you “in any form” 😳 “Too late,” I thought as a joke, “I’ve already eaten, but I mustn’t forget to warn my husband.” Fortified by the French breakfast, we set off again south through France; we still have to hold out one day and sleep one night and we shall find ourselves in Spain.
