A Night With the Neigbors

So, upon my arrival last week I was greeted by many people in the neighborhood who had heard news about my presence. Among them was a small child, maybe 7 or 8, named Pierre. "American boy! American boy!" is what I remember from our first encounter, and then the shy face hiding behind Coline, wanting, but not wanting, to share his English with me.

A few days later was a knock on the front door with little Pierre and his excited little voice inviting us over for dinner on wednesday night.

Their house is gorgeous. I don't really know quite how to explain it, but the arrangement of everything was like a square puzzle and the material of things was like the perfectly painted picture you'd just arranged. It was great. The lighting, however, was the best. It set everything down into place. Maybe I'm talking about the house too much... but really. Amazing.

I greeted our hosts with a kiss and a handshake and walked through the foyer to the dining patio. As if their home wasn't striking enough, I was greeted by the most magnificent of sites. Staring me in the eyes was what seemed to be a thousand kiwis. There was a thin, but sturdy, metal framework above my head. Growing up and down and spiraling around the framework was a kiwi ?plant? I suppose it was something of a tree, but it certainly wasn't a tree. It grew much more like vines, but I've never seen vines so thick. In any case, it was what it was: A kiwi plant, growing to form four columns going up and an entire canopy to shade the patio. And kiwis. A lot of kiwis.

Mmmm.

But I didn't have any.

We kicked off the night with little Pierre teaching me how to play a French game called Pétanque. I'd heard about this game before, and had seen it played briefly during my visit to St. Paul de Vence, but I had never had the opportunity to play it. So the grown-ups took their seat at the dining table while the children played games. It was super fun.

And I totally PWND those kids' asses.

The first rule is: Jon always wins.

The game is simple: There is a small ball called the "cochonnet" and each player has two larger balls called "boules." To start, a player throws cochonnet anywhere onto the playing field. Then, each player takes a turn to throw a boule at the cochonnet from the point at which the cochonnet was thrown. The goal is to make your boules land and stay as close to the cochonnet as possible. You get a single point for having one of your boules the closest to the cochonnet, and you get two points if both of your boules are closer than any opponents boules.

Final score: Pierre - 4, Coline - 5, Jon - 11.

Let this serve as proof! The second rule is: Jon does not have mercy for women and small children.

I would have continued my slaughter, but I was beckoned to the dining table for a drink. White rum and lime for the men. Diet coke for the inferior women.

On the table was a tower of bread. It was sliced about half an inch thick, and I didn't realize it was a tower of sandwiches until I took my first bite. It was called Surprise Tower, which is very literal. It was a tower of circle sandwiches, about seven inches in diameter. Each level of the tower was a different kind of sandwich. The first layer was the best salmon I've ever tasted, which was fished in Norway. The other levels were equally tasty french words. :-)

Next up was pizza! Anchovies (a specialty from Marseille) and a lot of onions. Delish.

I've forgotten the name of the final dish. It was this little cake that looked a lot like ice cream. It wasn't. It was mashed avocado lying on a bed of grapefruit. On top of that was crab. And to top it off was grapefruit slices. The taste was subtle, but agreeable.

We finished off with cheese and a wine to compliment it.

I understood little of the table conversation. I've been working on listening, trying to dissect the language as it's spoken, so I can seperate words that seem to all be flowing together. I'm not very good, and even when I do seperate them, my vocabulary is limited.

I was invited to offer my opionion on 9/11 conspiracies, however, as this was one of the topics and I've had similar topics with Coline in the past. My answer was simple: It's all unclear. But there are a lot of unanswered questions and a number of coincidences.

The night ended with me reminding myself why children bug me so much. Why do they have to be louder than everything else around them? And why do they insist on running? Or interrupting conversations with inferior thoughts.

Whoever invented children needs to die if they haven't already.