Squished in a tiny van with five other people and over flowing amounts of luggage. Vacation started on the 17th and with me sick as a dog with an awful sinus infection. It continued to be freezing and after a few days of lying in bed not being able to move with out splitting pain, I asked to go to the doctor. My host mom called right away and the next day we were at the doctor's and I was on antibiotics. When I get sick at home I am usually one of the people who whines and whines, which usually leads to breakfast brought to me in bed with 'Friends' playing on my laptop and my dad asking 'Haven't you seen all of these episodes a million times already?' and me nodding, drowning my perfectly cooked French toast in maple syrup and whipped cream, and continuing to say all the punch lines before the actors. Here it was a bit different. I wanted to show my family how strong and independent I was, and I wanted to prove to myself that I could take care of myself on my own. I drank lots of water, took my Quercitin twice a day, and made myself put on that extra layer despite how poofy it made me look. I bared through the headaches and the sore red nose, but at some point I realized it was okay not to be strong. My host family was happily there for me, making me soup and taking care of me.
And so here we are, back in the car, a day before Christmas, on our way to visit Pierre-Yves' parents, George and Jaqueline. I used my beautifully crafted defense mechanism of sleeping. It has always been easier for me to fall asleep in car than any where else and in this way the, let's say 'loudness' of riding in a car with three little sisters was blocked out. We stayed in Christmas Eve, eating and drinking by the fire and me longing for the freezing cold, but always oh so very beautiful Feralito walk. We all put our shoes next the Christmas tree before going to bed so that the Pere Noel would know where to put everyone's gifts. The house is cute and small and with nine people sleeping in it, way overly cramped. I slept on a futon with Lola in the office and fell asleep listening to the hushed whispers of Malou and Louanne trying to sneak a peek at Santa Clause and the presents.
We woke up the next morning, ate the usual Nutella covered baguette dipped in hot chocolate and impatiently waited the cousins' arrival so that we could all open our presents together. After ten minutes filled with giggling, screaming and laughing there was torn wrapping paper covering the living room floor. We then proceeded to eat a sea food feast. I was adventurous in trying everything (even the food that was still moving on my plate) and went for seconds knowing this was not something that I would be eating again soon. And boy was I wrong. You will never believe what we had for lunch the following days as well. After over dosing on Christmas day I politely declined and instead ate the bread with the delicious home made foie gras.
We found time to go into the center of Nantes before leaving to go shopping and to look at Leonardo de Vinci's machines. It was freezing cold and for one of the first times I found myself wanting to complain and have a hissy fit, but not being able to and having to just suck it up. I couldn't feel my feet because of the cold and we were waiting in a long line to climb the giant fake elephant, which I wasn't too enthusiastic about to say the least, but my sisters had been looking forward to it for years. We finally came home and I ran upstairs, quickly put my feet into the tub and filled it with hot water. I panicked, tears running down my face as I watched my toes turn a dark gray. I screamed Carol's name and she came running and sat with me, rubbing my back until they were nice and pink again. I didn't stop crying, so many blocked emotions pouring out. I was missing my home and my family and wanting to go back for a few days, but at the same time hating myself for not being happier in the moment. All of my feelings came rushing back at once. The stress, the fear, and the loneliness that often falls.
Feeling better, my cheeks and eyes permanently red and puffy, I went downstairs. And for dinner we were making crepes. I don't think it's possible to understand the full extent of which this filled me with happiness. Crepes are what made me fall in love with France. Crepes are what put me in the kitchen so many mornings and afternoons, trying to figure out how to make them perfectly and then testing them out on my friends and parents. And there I was, cramped in a tiny, tiny kitchen with nine people, never ending crepe batter, and an atmosphere filled so thick with happiness, or maybe that was the smell of crepes. Either way, it put the warmest feeling in my stomach and I jumped right in, showing off my skills and not mentioning just exactly how much time I had spent practicing making the perfect crepe.
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