We have stuffed all our things into the back of the rental car, an enormous (to us) Volvo SUV that Mark is not enjoying driving, and made our way a few hours inland, from that charming just-big-enough walkup over the top of an office with a temp agency and a one-person tutoring center, to the ground floor plus walkout basement of a really charming house.
The house is so cozy but with plenty of room that it really makes me miss my college-age and grown kids. It has three bedrooms, two with double beds and one with a set of bunks, and we totally could have fit all seven of us once upon a time when children shared beds if we told them to and/or would have been happy to soend all their time on this sprawling sofa in TV room.
So far the only downside I have discovered is that there is no drip coffee maker, and so this morning I will need to go through at least six Nespresso pods all by myself.
I did find a battered French press in the cabinet, but I am skeptical as I have only the finely ground coffee that is the norm around here.
+ + +
I had laid out three different plans for the drive back, to be selected from as conditions permitted. The first we later found out would never have beem possible, because the tunnel under Mont Blanc is temporarily closed all this autumn. The second, which we used, took us along the coast into Italy, then across Piedmont to just outside Turin, then west under the Alps back to France via a different, 13-km-long tunnel called Fréjus, followed by some driving through mountain gorges. The third option was tunnel-free in just France, ended the same as the second route, but would be 90 min longer than the tunnel routes if they were to go smoothly.
I think maybe the best reason for the second one is so we could have lunch in Italy. Especially since with Mont Blanc tunnel closed, we can’t get back and forth easily to have lunch in Italy again. And even if lunch in Italy is just at a gas station grill.
Mark and Leo went through the cafeteria style line and got lasagna and “patatine steakhouse” while Simon and I went to the panini station. Simon, who is learning Italian as his homeschool language, told the busy man behind the counter, “Voglio un trancio di pizza,” and was perfectly understood.
(I told Mark proudly later, and he went: “Trancio! Oh, a tranche! A slice!” Indeed! Cognates are cool.)
Anyway, the man cut a generous portion of pizza from the case, enclosed it in a parchment-type paper, and set it to heating in the panini press. Then he went back to taking other orders. I wasn’t quick enough with mine, and a handful of coffee drinkers got theirs in first. I watched as he set a batch of saucers and spoons on the bar then turned to make the corresponding number of espressos, then set them up, then turned back to me and I asked for a panino frescotto from the case. He nodded and then went to fetch Simon’s pizza out of the panini press, put my sandwich in, cut the pizza in two and put it on a ceramic plate next to the lemon Fanta Simon had chosen from the fridges.
Leo and Mark were at the far other end at the restaurant tables, and people around me were eating standing at the bar. I asked the man, “Può pagare qui e mangiare allì?” while gesturing vaguely at the restaurant, and he spoke to me and I understood that the answer was yes, and in fact I could proceed to the cash register around the corner where I hadn’t noticed it, while my panino heated. I sent Simon with his plate and drink over to find Mark and went around to the cash register, where somehow, a cheerful “Scusi, signore, non so il sistema,” came out of my mouth as I presented my credit card. Even though I think maybe the right verb should have been conosco. Anyway, he answered me at length and at least part of that was something like, it’s not that hard, don’t worry about it, the only system here is that you give me money and I give you food and coffee.
I have not been studying Italian nearly as long as French, and I love the French language, but there’s something about Italian that makes it a lot more… relaxed, easy, and fun. Less energy pushing the breath out through the linguistic works. Less stress about getting it exactly right. And understanding it… I am pretty good at French aural comprehension, but Italian sometimes feels weirdly like I have a Babel fish in my ear. I couldn’t tell you word for word what was said but I get the important bits.
My sandwich was good. A boiled ham with a thick crème fraiche and an arugula pesto. Simon loved his pizza. While Mark was putting gas in the car I went back to the bar for an espresso, drank it standing up, paid in coins and went on my way. Arrivederci.
bearing blog 