Ricains à La Muzelle

Wednesday 11th July

A wooden house, 2 stores, one big terrace in the sun. Sheeps running around the lake. Glaciers up in the sky shining. As we take a look at the surroundings, 2 donkeys follow us to the balcony, walking with difficulty through the stairs.
They're searching for caress, I think.

But one starts drinking and eating from bowls placed on the floor.
A few seconds later, the hostess comes out shouting "No way! They're stealing the dog's food again !!" The dog was locked inside, and is clearly not happy. He pursues the donkeys that clumsily go down the stairs, terrified. Stairs obviously are not made for donkeys.
But the dog is not satisfied yet, he keeps running after the proud donkeys, not letting them in peace. They've got to learn. Dog food is not for donkeys...

My friend L and I stay on the balcony to watch the show. I notice a garden close by the house.

We are not in a hippie or a bobo place. It's a chalet "refuge", in the National Park Les Ecrins high up at 2200m. For 40 euros, you've got bed & breakfast, and dinner.
After half day of hike to reach it, we just relax drinking a canned beer close to the lake, and we enjoy the animals fighting.
Perfect spot.

It feels like there's not much people staying for the night. We will figure out when going inside for the dinner: Soup, lamb gigot (from the sheeps that are running outside- the best lamb ever)  vegetables, cheese and tiramisu.
An older group of 4 and a couple sit next to us. It's a "community dinner" as Bobos restaurants in Santa Cruz just do not know how to make.
I'm tired from the day. Don't speak a word, but listen. All the lakes, passes, peaks from nearby are mentionned in an 1 hour-talk. I don't know 80% of it. They all look like typical mountain local guys that just cannot speak of anything else than that. The Mountain.

But suddenly between 2 names of lakes: " So you're living in the States?".
Hum Hum.
"Oh, the Americans, they don't eat cheese or just this horrible melted one... What's that name? Cheddar?
And they don't hike over there.. Right?  But I've heard they've got good meat. At least."

I say almost nothing, in fact he does not even listen to me. But I think to myself : Cheese , yes they eat cheese. Cheese is tendance and blue cheese is everywhere surprisingly!
Another guy tries to save me: "No, man! I've been to the States, The westside, Huge national parks, Gorgeous! And people are really friendly. They've got some good wine too... Have you been there?".
"Good wine!? Everything is too much industrial over there.... No, I've never been and I will not. I'm not interested".

So many people think that way!!.. Why being interested? There are beautiful landscapes everywhere. Seing the American craziness on TV is enough! Massacres, cannibalism, proud people that think they manage the world.
Who will want to visit this kind of country that does not even have good food?

Persistance rétinienne

Sunday 1st of July

I'm back home, to France, my home.
Only for 3 weeks. But I'm back.

I was not even in the plane that I was already back.

The check-in line : families, children, friends, I hear French everywhere.
I'm happy. Happy not to have to think to understand.
Like if, even after 9 months in the States, my brain is still a mess, fucking confused when someone speaks English, and it tries to find the connection to this weird database, while saying "Fuck, I should know by now where are these wires !! "
My french wires are always connected, somehow.

It smells like holidays, people going or coming from. I really enjoy the company of the people surrounding me. Travels are always kind of stressfull.
But I don't feel stressed.
Even when a guy from the french airline starts to explain the policy : hand luggage no more than 5 kg.
"What is a hand luggage"? I ask to myself. I have my purse strategically huge to put books, sweaters, food. It does not count as hand luggage. I try to weigh my backpack and ask to my travel companion I met in the shuttle. " 5.5 maybe but you're ok".
9kg says the employee.
I then take off my bag, some shoes and my jacket saying my laptop is all left.
I'm lying. I've still a few gifts, and flip-flop over there, but I just don't want to transfer all to my other luggage. She nods. "That's fine. If there's a laptop, that's fine."
I feel relieved.
Among all the opened luggage and the clothes and stuff everyone is trying to organize at best, stressed by this "new" travel condition nobody was really aware, I was not really stressed.

I get a bit stressed however, when I arrived to the boarding gate. Sits fulled everywhere.
I try to find a peaceful place to wait.
Too much changes, too much trouble. I need to just sit and breathe.

The couples I sit next are all French, with hand luggages more than 5kg. There's a suspicious smell in the air that makes one employee checks the weight of the luggage again.
I don't understand anything.
But people are angry. And they make it clear to the guy: "What's that? We pay for having more than 5kg and you're still checking over an over?!"

I don't feel peace.
The guy across me is playing with a keyboard. "They're fucking assholes" he grumbles, adding these indefinable sounds "pff", "shit" and "what's the point".
His girlfriend next to her, she's reading. She does not even face her friend, but between 2 pages, she says "1 hour late ! That sucks. THEY suck!"
"Yes, they're assholes".
And an older couple next to me also complain for themselves but aloud like if they were talking to everybody but without talking to someone exactly. Maybe searching for espousal in the eyes of the others.

I'm not even in the plane that I'm already back.

I stand up, take all my stuff with me and search for a more peaceful seat. Maybe my laughing american travel companion is standing close by?
That's all I can do right now. I don't feel like hearing insults and negative thoughts.
I need rest. That's all.

Hours later, in the train to home. I ask a stranger for a cell phone. She helps me.
People are nice everywhere.
She helps me but still, a bit worried, she asks "You're not calling abroad?" Of course not, I think.
But still it's akward. Do I look like a foreigner or is it just because I got in the train in the airport station?
Same feeling in the press shop, while I'm handing what is for me a 20 € bill. The girl says "Oh, we don't have change for this, here!"
This? But it's 20 €!?
Looking my hand, looking back to her "Oh I'm sorry! I mistaked. I took mexican pesos instead!".
"You're going to Paris? Maybe you can find a way to change it there?".

Going to Paris? Fuck no! I'm 10 miles from my home town.
With my flip-flop, my californian hat and my mexican pesos, I'm back home.