She can do as she pleases: Changing Places.

This last week has been amazing.

I feel at home with Brigitte. Her house is so perfectly homey, it's incredible. The entire place is like an ode to her and Holley. All over the house there are little quotes about believing in your dreams and chasing your love. There are fairy lights above the kitchen and letters on the wall from ex students who the both of them have taught. I'm living in the spare room and I have a little bookcase where I keep my food and my clothes and things are strewn all over the floor.

I will move into the datcha on the 10th of November. Claire leaves at the end of October, but as of this Friday, I will be off in Bristol! Visiting Tilda in her new abode. I managed to wrangle getting my last Friday off before the holiday and I leave nice and early that morning. Can't wait for the excitement, the post-university, the holiday, the England, the possible Wales, the TILD.

Have been grocery shopping a lot. It's hilarious, takes a lot longer than usual, especially because I am carrying my bag and it takes a little while to get to Simply Marche, the cheap supermarket. Trying to find some things that I count on at home, garlic in a jar, basil in a tube- non-existent. However, vegetables are cheaper. Goats cheese is delicious, buying baguettes from Festival du Pains around the corner is so amazingly French. One does not buy bread at the supermarket- if you buy sliced bread, it is called 'American loaf'. Something I am loath to be connected with.

Have met Brigitte's daughter, Charlotte and the girl who lives in the datcha, Claire. They are both lovely, speak excellent English and the house is a wonderful meld of French and English, they let me practise and I practise with them also. On Saturday, I helped Charlotte translate information about the Chateaux that she works at. It was crazy difficult, she had already translated it and sometimes it was close to perfect, but didn't sound quite right and involved turning the sentence around completely so that it said the same thing again, but sounded better. It's amazing how sometimes you can't explain how a sentence doesn't make sense.

Claire is wonderful, she comes and talks to me and sits through my flustered French- and the disaster that was Saturday night. A teacher from school invited me to dinner- Carole, I take two classes a week with her, and she is married to another teacher from school, he teaches maths. Dinner was at 7.30. I needed to leave at 10 to 6 in order to get there promptly.

Of course, at quarter to, I realise that I cannot locate my key.
The key I had gotten cut the day before. I had not left the house that day and vividly remembered unlocking the gate the afternoon before (whilst lugging my exceedingly heavy shopping bag). After tearing through my room, my bags- finishing getting ready, screaming and searching, then swearing when I realised that as Brigitte was out, I couldn't even get out of the gate. I was literally trapped in the house. Then it started to rain.

Saviour! Claire comes running into the house, dropping off the dog, absolutely soaked. I pounce! Start stumbling through loud panicky French about me losing the key. She agreed to leave the gate unlocked, lent me her key so I could get out and managed to almost keep a straight face in my panic. Running out into the rain, I throw up my umbrella, immediately getting stuck in the fence. (In related news, I bought an umbrella- it has a button to make it pop straight up!)

Powering along that street, literally talking to myself in French (I have to plan ahead, as thinking on the spot is not always safe). The rain is pouring down and I trod in puddle after puddle. Thanks to the humidity, thanks to the rain, thanks to the walking, I manage to re-curl my hair, soak my shoes and stockings. I was angry and power walking and then something great happened.

Tours has a foot and bike bridge. At night time, it is lit by blue lights. I stepped onto the bridge and BAM. I realised I was in France, walking across the Loire River over a bridge that is lit by beautiful blue fairy lights. Magic.

Dinner was great- I ended up only being 5 minutes late, which in French time, of course, is ten minutes early. Brigitte told me that any other Australians she has met make this mistake. We are annoyingly punctual. I spent dinner with Carole, her husband, another English teacher (she doesn't work at my lycee) and her husband. Mostly French. They talk so so fast sometimes, but it's great to try and follow. Times like this, when it almost clicks, where I can make myself understood are perfect. We ate galettes, a traditional Brittany dish, they're basically pancakes with fillings. Mine had eggs and cheese. I tried a bite of Carole's as well- they were all tittering, not tellign me what was in it. Tasted like powerfully salty bacon- turned out to be pig's guts. so, I have now tried, pig's guts and pig's ears. They are both disgusting.

Welcome to France.

This morning, I skyped the family, I pottered around starting this post and headed off to the Sunday market. There are clothes, jewellery and accessories, but mostly food. Vegetables, fruit, bread, meats and pastries. Plus some ready made stuff. I successfully bought figs, baguettes, a pain au chocolat and a capsicum. Every sold there is cheaper and local. Amazing. Amazing. And then. Everyone was packing up and I was checking out the fruit at a stall. The man working there asked me if I wanted some, whether he could help me, all in rapid French. I ummed and ahhed and he cottoned on, asking if I spoke French. A brief conversation, culminating in him getting incredibly excited about me being Australian, calling over two friends to ask me about kangaroos and then giving me two bananas for free. FREE BANANAS. I love France.