Sunday morning I dug the Magnifikids out of the bags. We cleaned up and dressed up a bit—thankfully my ballet flats did not hurt my blisters anymore—and walked down the hill to the sound of clanging bells from the église Saint-Michel.
Perhaps I will wander in and take pictures of the pretty little church outside Mass time. It is pale blue inside with wooden pews and some very nice statuary. There is a colorful St. Michael behind the crucifix, and large paintings for the Stations.
My 3yo was more interested in the art than he usually is at home and wanted me to tell him all about things, so I whispered in his ear and couldn’t listen to the homily. Which was too bad, because the priest was fairly loud, clear, organized, and slow; I bet I could have understood it.
I was a little bit amused because I have been here exactly three years ago and the readings were the same readings. The priest was the same priest. I wonder if it was even possibly the same homily.
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We had expected rain, and had therefore planned a day of resting. But somehow Mark had read a forecast that was completely wrong, and it had turned out to be gorgeously sunny. He had taken the younger kids to the crag the day before; today he wanted to take the older ones; but not all day. My turn first!
So we left the kids in the apartment with all the tasty food in the fridge and all the cookies and such, and went out for a walk and lunch.
I wanted my favorite, most reliable French restaurant meal: salade avec chèvre chaud. So we went to a crêperie that has such things: La Ferme. It is a little too chilly for my taste or Mark’s, even though many coat-wearing people were happily eating and drinking on the patios and terraces in the sun, so we asked for a table in the intérieur.
Because I was jonesing for a salad, I suggested we not drink wine, but have cidre brut instead.
It came in a 50-cL pitcher with broad, handled porcelain cups. Given that there was a cidre doux also on the menu which we didn’t order, I was surprised at how sweet this turned out to be; “dry cider” at home is pretty dry! This was nicely balanced, with noticeable apple to it, and it was going to work perfectly well with my salad.
I got what I wanted: a big green salad with a luscious vinaigrette, prettily and deliciously garnished with sweet, thin-sliced raw beets, the kind with a pink-and-white bullseye pattern in the slices, and long pared ribbons of yellow carrots. It had a few slices of salty, glossy air-dried ham, and three slices from a 3-inch-diameter log of goat cheese, with the friable texture in the middle and the creamy texture around the rim, each on a slice of toast. I dug in immediately, forgetting once again to take a picture. Sorry.
Mark ordered a sprawling buckwheat crêpe with lardons, cheese, and a bright yellow-yolked egg in the middle; it came folded in on three sides like a triangle, with a little pile of green salad in the middle. He ate about a quarter of my salad, too.
I got a few texts from kids wanting to know when we’d be back. “Still at lunch,” I texted.
“Mom it is almost 2”
“See you later”
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We elected not to order dessert and to walk around a bit and have coffee elsewhere. Many stores are closed on Sundays, but the town seemed to have been transformed into a giant end-of-season sidewalk sale for outerwear. I had to stop and let Mark do a little window shopping.
I didn’t need any gear, and was only briefly saddened because a few days ago (lacking our luggage) I had bought a pair of approach shoes at full price, and now there were some really nice ones in front of Arcteryx, of all places, in my size, and an awesome color, for €50. Drat!
Mark didn’t find the ultralightweight hooded windshirt he was seeking, so we went to the bar nearest the road uphill to our apartment, went inside (it was warm; I took off my scarf and my cardigan) and ordered two cafés allongés.
I like these because they take longer to drink. Mark thinks he prefers his espresso stronger.
We got more texts. I was ready to go home. And the teen boys were ready to go climbing with Mark.
(Incidentally, my daughter had had a fantastic climbing outing the day before. I didn’t blog it because I wasn’t there and didn’t take the pictures. But she was so proud of herself for finishing a difficult route that she had tears of joy and probably relief when Mark lowered her down.)
Today that girl was ready to go for a walk on her own in town. We coached her on where to cross the big street and what to do if she got lost, then gave her some money and the spare iPhone we use for such purposes.
She texted me back a photograph of what she had obtained:
Pistachio and raspberry something.
Then she texted me a picture of a tiny, one-item playground:
She made it back safely, and she and I and the smaller kids spent a quiet late afternoon in the apartment. Taking turns doing whole-family outings, fun things with just some of us, and resting: that is how it has to work.
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Dinner was prepared food from the Italian grocery store. I set out some cured meats, mozzarella balls, and olives to have with our wine, a Valpolicella Ripasso.
Ignore the licorice in the background. Doesn’t go with Valpolicella.
We snacked on this while we waited for three pots of water to boil our fresh asparagus ravioli, meat-filled tortellini, and long egg noodles.
And set three bottled sauces on the table.
With a little grana padano cheese, it was just fine for everyone. Mark and the boys relived their climbing adventure of the day. We drank wine and Campari-soda, and the children shared their candy (how is Italian sugar candy for children so amazing?) and we laid out our things for the next day too.
Good weather tomorrow!
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