La vie est douce

Je m'appelle Amelie. J'aime voyager en train, les galettes avec caramel du buerre sucre, est les  hiboux. Je n'naime pas ... hmmm, I can't think of anything at the moment! That must be because I have arrived in France and am now staying in a beautiful (if slightly dilapidated) 17th century stone farmhouse in the countryside of the Golfe du Morbihan, on a nameless lane between the hamlets of Brindivy and Kerdavid Duchantil. Every time I come to France, I'm reminded of why this country seduces me. It's something about the softness of the evening air and the gentle heat of the sun (so much less harsh than our southern hemisphere orb), and the lush countryside that, even though it is well-farmed, still has many stands of old oak trees and little pockets of forest with mysterious fern-fringed tracks winding into the shadows. The area where I am staying (near Carnac) is well-known as a region covered with megaliths and dolmens that are athousands of years old. When I'm walking through a forest and suddenly come upon a circle of standing stones covered in moss and lichen, I get a certain eerie sense of very deep history that I have not really experienced before. 

We have a family of tawny owls nesting in the barn by the house, and I have been privileged to see them a few times, either hanging out on the roof getting the late sun or, last night, swooping down over the garden on a hunting trip. They are such beautiful animals. Somewhat awkward and comical while sitting on a perch, but majestic on the wing. It doesn't get dark here until 10:30 or so at night, so I go for a walk about 9pm and get to watch as all the little night creatures start stirring in the hedges and fields as the sun goes down. 

Our little local village of Brindivy is a place where not much ever seems to happen ( though it does have an impressive Calvary and some 12th century relics, which I plan to investigate soon). However, it is the home of a legendary creperie, the Creperie du Puits. On Sunday nights, the carpark of the tiny church is packed with locals who have come to eat there, and I can see why. Tonight, I had a galette with half a dozen enormous, fresh scallops in homemade sauce, a half bottle of good Provencal rose, and a salted caramel crepe (my new love), served up with charm by the son of the owner and all for the princely sum of 15€. We will be back!

Oh, I am also happy to report that my French this trip is so much better than the last time I visited. I can actually have normal conversations (in shops and so on) without having to carefully think everything out and translate it all in my head first.