June 30 Tubing Attempt

I have this grand plan to find the French version of river tubing. So everyone I come across, I flash them a picture of people floating down a river and ask “Do you know where I can find this?” Eventually I get the response I’m looking for – a giddy head nod and a beaming smile. I’m directed to a cute, quaint town that’s not quite on our GPS. Saint Leonard is where we find ourselves and it turns out they don’t rent tubes. Finding five tubes became impossible, as were kept being told “Will be hard, as they don’t use them in tractors anymore.” So although Saint Leonard is beautiful and relaxing in a Norman Rockwell sort of way, it’s no Red Wing tubing excitement. Not that I was trying to replace the glory of the Cannon River, but just perhaps get a French fix until I could get back to the good stuff back home.

On the way home we have a brutal trip to the grocery store. It’s always a mistake to visit the grocery without a list when you’re hungry, but somehow you always tell yourself you’re not that hungry and it’ll be fine. Then you wind yourself stalking through the aisles with a cart full of stuff like Andy Capp hot fries and a rotisserie chicken.

Eventually we make it back to our beautiful little home. T’Nealle pits the crowd of cherries we picked before we left and we proceed to make an awesome rhubarb cherry tart.

So, our friend Guillaume (G1) makes his way to town. He’s been telling me that there’s going to be a BBQ tonight, which sounds perfect. Unbeknownst to us, the BBQ is at our place. Good thing we made a huge tart. James musters up the man inside of him and summons up a fire in the grill. We stuff some meat and rice into grenade shaped courgettes, roast artichokes on the fire, and sear some sausages. All our new French friends are excited to feed us the wonder of melted camembert. I know it's a Normandy classic, but I doubt the store-brand, bargin bin tuilles of cheese we're inhaling are as fierce as it can truly get.

It’s a great, clear night. To hammer home the idioms that are lost in translation, jokes are told with emphatic hand gestures and “you knows!?” as punchlines, and we eventually all fade into a wine addled slumber.