the end of a whirlwind tour through my personal history, via new york, paris and finally: Lozère.
it's been years since i skiddadled through the narrow streets of la salle prunet, a village of less than 100 souls on the edge of la mimente.
the old people were still on their bench where i left them and pointed their rickety fingers at me: you're that american girl!
they were loading wood into the communal stone oven, heating it up for next night's bread. they still fete les prunes - where everyone brings a plum pie to eat in comraderie.
in the adjacent valley, Cocurès was having its annual fete. Delighted were we to be able to walk there, beer in hand like old times, though upon seeing the entertainment, we were more paralyzed by fear and imcomprehension. english tourists from the nearby campsites were overheard saying:
"i told you dude, french people are weird."
the buvette had lines as far as the village square, people lined up to buy bulk red wine and rosé, poured into 1.5L bottles of quezac for 4€. kids who were out way past their bedtime were having their eardrums torn and shredded by a sound system that was echoing within the valley. it was well past 1 am, yet, Pilou et ses danseurs were in full effect. the no good adolescent crowd, which i was once part of was milling in the parking lot, smoking cigarettes and mixing their own drinks. at one point they started throwing eggs at Pilou who stopped mid-song to scream, in his southern drawl "putain de emrde mais vous arretez oui les gros cons??" but back to Pilou.
France has a legend known as Patrick Sebastien, who has classy songs such as LMLeQ and c'est bien fait pour ta gueule with sexy dancers in their various costumes. every single song has a refrain that goes la la la la la la laaa la la la la la la la la laaa la la la la la la la la laaa la la.
Cocurès, has Pilou, is his official look-alike whom quite honestly, was undiscernable from the real thing. and this went on, until 3 am. long live la lozère.
it's been years since i skiddadled through the narrow streets of la salle prunet, a village of less than 100 souls on the edge of la mimente.
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| lozère tu aères |
they were loading wood into the communal stone oven, heating it up for next night's bread. they still fete les prunes - where everyone brings a plum pie to eat in comraderie.
in the adjacent valley, Cocurès was having its annual fete. Delighted were we to be able to walk there, beer in hand like old times, though upon seeing the entertainment, we were more paralyzed by fear and imcomprehension. english tourists from the nearby campsites were overheard saying:
"i told you dude, french people are weird."
the buvette had lines as far as the village square, people lined up to buy bulk red wine and rosé, poured into 1.5L bottles of quezac for 4€. kids who were out way past their bedtime were having their eardrums torn and shredded by a sound system that was echoing within the valley. it was well past 1 am, yet, Pilou et ses danseurs were in full effect. the no good adolescent crowd, which i was once part of was milling in the parking lot, smoking cigarettes and mixing their own drinks. at one point they started throwing eggs at Pilou who stopped mid-song to scream, in his southern drawl "putain de emrde mais vous arretez oui les gros cons??" but back to Pilou.
France has a legend known as Patrick Sebastien, who has classy songs such as LMLeQ and c'est bien fait pour ta gueule with sexy dancers in their various costumes. every single song has a refrain that goes la la la la la la laaa la la la la la la la la laaa la la la la la la la la laaa la la.
Cocurès, has Pilou, is his official look-alike whom quite honestly, was undiscernable from the real thing. and this went on, until 3 am. long live la lozère.
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| a little bit of rio in a little bit of france |
