Homestay in Tours: A Weekend Salad

It was the first morning of my homestay in Tours, France. We had just come back from the market with our groceries.

Brigitte opened the front door and stopped on the mat at the entrance.

She made a motion like a dog paddling with her feet.

She was rubbing the soles of her boots on the mat.

Watching her, I did the same, with a look on my face as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

My shoes were dirty from the rain, and there was no shoe cabinet by the entrance.

I went up to my room, changed into slippers and came down to the living room.

I really don't like wearing shoes inside the house.

I sat on the sofa and said hello to Piroux, who was sitting next to me.

"Nice to meet you. Hello."

"Bonjour. I am eighteen years old, you know."

"Wow, you've lived a long time."

Piroux is the family cat. He has a dignified presence.

He's an old cat, so if you look closely his ears are a little chipped here and there, and his movements are slow.

While I was stroking Piroux's back, Brigitte called me.

She was going to make lunch.

Brigitte, still in her boots, took the groceries out of the shopping cart and packed them into the fridge.

Last of all she pulled out beets from the bottom of the cart and started peeling them.

Beets are a root vegetable, but they're sold already boiled, so all that was left was to slice them.

She filled the sink with water and let some roughly torn lettuce soak for a while.

After a bit the leaves turn crisp, so she drained them well and arranged them on a plate with the beets. Thinly sliced mushrooms went on the side.

From what I could see in the fridge, there was no store-bought dressing.

Brigitte quickly mixed vinegar, mustard, pepper and salt into a homemade "drink" and poured it into a pitcher.

Then everyone pours as much dressing as they like from the pitcher, and the salad is done.

We also tore off pieces of baguette to eat with it.

Last night's dinner had been heavy, so it was just the right amount.

While we were eating lunch, Piroux came into the kitchen.

He didn't seem to care at all about the newcomer, me.

Many students had apparently stayed here before, so he must be used to people.

Piroux moved to the window with the balcony and started meowing.

Without my noticing, the rain had stopped and it was sunny outside.

Piroux kept meowing, gazing at the garden of about ten square meters outside.

Led by Piroux, Brigitte opened the balcony window with a look that said there was no helping it.

Piroux then dashed out into the garden.

After Piroux had bolted outside, Brigitte shut the window firmly, just as before.

When I looked surprised, she said, "He always does this. He'll be back in a while."

After our simple meal, we moved to the sofa and talked for a bit.

She asked me a few things, like what kind of work I used to do and why I had come to do a homestay in France.

When I explained that I'd been a web director,

Brigitte said, "I'm hopeless with computers,"

and didn't seem very interested.

But I could feel Brigitte's kindness in the way she spoke and looked at me.

It was comfortable that there was no transparent flattery.

Maybe that was partly because I didn't understand French.

Anyway, nobody fussed over me strangely, and I could relax.

After talking with Brigitte for a while, I heard Piroux meowing outside.

I looked toward the sound and saw Piroux on the other side of the kitchen window.

After glancing back at the garden as if reluctant to leave, he scratched at the window with his claws and began to meow.

Brigitte got up from the sofa and opened the kitchen window,

and Piroux hopped lightly inside.

Then Piroux looked at me and said,

"That was a lovely walk. Why don't you go outside too?"

"Good idea, maybe I will."

When I told Brigitte something like "I'd like to see the garden too," she smiled happily and showed me around outside.

"I grow strawberries and tomatoes too," she said.

She explained things as we walked among the many flowers.

Across the garden there was another building, a one-room space big enough for table tennis.

Several beach chairs, like the kind you'd find on a beach, were set out, so you could lie back and read a book.

After a slow lap, she showed me the cellar last of all.

The cellar is right under the house and can be entered from the garden.

It was cool inside and a little damp.

I could see a washing machine at the back, and near the front a wooden wine rack set on gravel.

Rows of wine bottles stood there, with their regions written in chalk in front of them.

"While we're here, let's pick the wine for dinner. I like the wines from Chinon."

Chinon is a wine region almost 50 km from Tours.

She asked me which wine I'd like, but I wanted to try what Brigitte usually drinks.

When I said, "That one, then," Brigitte grinned and pulled out a bottle.

It looks like it's going to be a fun homestay.

To be continued