Todd Nelson, Les Americains!
On vous aime, on vous adore,
Vous êtes toujours les bienvenus, dans notre classe, à St. Castin.
—Sung to the tune of “Aux Champs Elyssées.”
They sang to us. Songs from le coeur—the heart—and one of them a song they had written to the tune of a famous French song. All of the kids in the school in St. Castin sang and danced for us on the final day of our visit. Each class had a song or gift. They gave us books in French—Tintin, Asterix, Le Petit Prince, poems—and a wonderful handmade volume of photos and inscriptions that they had secretively assembled to present to us. And at lunch that day they surprised us with escargots, having read that, for at least one student, this was a major goal of the trip. Butter, garlic. Yum. Bon appetite, Truman.
Earlier in the week it had been our turn to present gifts: Castine hats, favorite books, nametags, a football, and an American baseball bat. Yes, the Louisville Slugger made it through customs. Nino and Axel seemed to have a natural sense of the batter’s stance and promptly launched tennis and softballs over the heads of the fielders, but not as far as some of our sluggers who demonstrated how to take a ball downtown—right over the fence to the front yard of the church. Base running is a difficult concept to teach in another language, without a visual model. Why would I hit the ball and run counter-clockwise to random spots on the grass? Somehow the goal became getting tagged at third. But perhaps the intricacies of the games we saw—cesta punta, rugby, quillet—are suitable parallels for confusing the novices. Let’s not forget recess, in which the universal game of chase and tag is played with a different accent and the same intensity as at Adams School.
In our two days of classroom visits, the St. Castin kids presented their region: Béarn, the ancient kingdom of Aquitaine. We learned about their favorite sports, farming and food in the region. Emily and her mother presented viticulture—winemaking. We smelled silage and fertilizer used in typical farms. Before we had tasted it, we knew that foie gras is a much-prized regional food, as are the Jurançon wines, organic cheeses, breads, and beef. But it takes only a short drive down the road between St. Castin and Pau to see the flocks of ducks and cows in the pasture, fields plowed and ready for planting corn, and vines just beginning to bud and know that it is a special agricultural region. Every square meter of land seems groomed and productive. And the snow-capped Pyrenées preside from a distance
At our April 30th presentation evening we can regale you with photos of cathedrals and chateaux, and put a more vivid face on the host families and teachers and townspeople. But as with many sojourns, what I find myself carrying around is a feeling of connection and contentment, having found a warm welcome and a well of generosity and appreciation shared among strangers. But we are not strangers—we are cousins, now, beyond the level of sharing a script from the text of intertwined history. We are in the afterglow of recollections. Last week at this time, we were having lunch in Gourmançon…visiting the chocolate factory…presenting the painting to the mayor…walking by the Roman stone wall…visiting the pâtisserie…one more baguette.
The e-mails and photos continue to crisscross the ether after our return home. Little Arnaud writes, with his father’s e-mail account: “I miss you and I’m glad you came to visit. How do you say “soap” in English?” Their teacher Sandrine wrote: Quelle semaine calme, nous vous manquons beaucoup! “What a quiet week…we miss you a lot.” Hervé, one of the host parents, wrote, “The three boys were very kind and we hope they enjoyed their visit. They are the champions of hamburgers. One more time, I’d like to say that I’m very happy to have had this week together.” At the end of the week, right up to the airport good-bye—right before the security guards rejected the tins of foie gras from carry-on luggage—the most significant phrase being spoken may have been, “À la prochaine fois.” Until next time. I think everyone is rooting for a next time.