Letter from France 4

 

written May 10, 1989

 

Folks,

 

As I understand it, the passion play in Oberammergau (sic?) is next year. Might there be any Germans who are up to you two to making the necessary travel, lodging and ticket arrangements? As of today, most weekends in 1990 are still open.

 

Spring has come and all the sticks in the ground that looked so silly when I first got here have suddenly sprouted leaves and become trees. Ducks and geese honk at me as I jog along the canals, which helps me imagine I am racing along the motor route. The rats still continue to dive silently out of sight as I run past. With Spring come the visitors wanting to check out the school. I get to answer all the letters and phone calls that come in English. I think my job has expanded to be the public relations/welcomer/babysitter for the visiting English and Americans. Slowly I am building my empire and fantasize about one day becoming Monsieur le Directeur. Just think if they ever gave foreigners the vote.

 

As time goes on, I continue to become more and more French. Refrigeration, hah! Who needs it? Stale baguettes and creamy, moldy camembert have become staples.

 

Just finished a five-day break. Rented a car and went to Ronchamp to see the chapel designed by Le Corbusier. The backcountry roads here are wonderful; kilometer after kilometer with no cars around me except when you drive through the small towns. Passing the town squares you see the monuments to WWI. Decided on a whim to drive to Basel and got very homesick once I crossed the Swiss border. All of the sudden it felt like I was in a foreign country. In a park in Basel I happened upon another monument to the Great War. Thinking it odd to find this in neutral Switzerland I took a close look and, yep, Verdun was definitely mentioned.

 

Realized it was time to go to Verdun. The next day, in beautiful weather, drove through some pretty farmland. Verdun seems like a nice town but the strong memories will always go back to the monuments and the war.

 

About fifteen kilometers out of town is the museum and French cemetery located on the site of much of the fighting. Trench warfare. This area, decimated by shells, has old aerial photographs that show a complete lunar landscape. In the subsequent years a forest has regrown. I never had a chance to wander through a European forest so stopped the car at a likely spot to take a hike. (Really, I had to pee.) A bit off the road I found another monument to the war just like the ones in the small towns. Thinking it strange to find this in a forest, I discovered it marked the site of the once-town-hall of Fleury, a city that was completely leveled by the shelling. Nothing of the town has been rebuilt since the war, but signposts in the forest mark all the old streets and where the different shops and farms had been. The signs were in three languages so rue Mathelin was also Mathelin's Street. This became very touching when I found Petite rue Mathelin, Mathelin's Little Street. Quite an impressive little pee into history, chilling.

 

The next day was Victory Day in France and tanks were rolling past the school in parade formation. I know this letter isn't as cheery as it could be, but...

 

On the bright side, this weekend is the French juggling convention. Somehow, I have arranged it to drive the school van down south with eight students. After all the wheeling and dealing I find out that Toulouse is at least ten hours away by car and now have very mixed emotions about the week-end. With insurance restrictions, I am the only one who can drive.

 

The latest great discovery is comic books. I find that the pictures and a French-English dictionary can just about get me through a Marvel comic book. Spiderman and the Fantastic Four are not only battling villains, but second-language illiteracy, as well.

 

take care, Tôdd

 

copyright 1989 by Todd Strong

 

 

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