Much of our time is dedicated to visiting expats (Americans and British) and local French people's houses for drinks and communication by charades
. We went to the neighbor's house and Collette was promptly bit by their dog two times after being guilty of "provoking by dog toy". She met a little French playmate there and they wildly swung between hugging each other and trying to shove each other to the ground to generate a decent fit of crying. Typical behavior for this age. Anyway, after some time the French kid (Malo) went to his parents and explained that Collette could not understand anything he was saying therefore he pronounced that she must be from the desert. Which desert I do not know.
Christy and I had the chance to go to a very nice dinner last night in a village without the little one. Very tasty indeed
Things we have learned: in a restaurant they will pour your wine but never your water, more men than woman wear capri pants. I like creme brulee almost as much as ice cream. The French speak another language.
We are still in the Dordogne and are spending our time eating, entertaining Collette, and going to open air markets. We recently went to a fete (festival) which the town's rugby teams sponsored. Upon entering the town square each person was handed a head cloth (either green or red) to designate their dedication to either team. At least that is how I interpreted it. They had two marching bands one of which was named "Veratis in Van", which loosely translated means "truth in wine". They played a very rousing and enthusiastic rendition of Louie Louie to the crowd's great delight. Collette was over stimulated and did her best rendition of the spastic Santa Cruz hippy girl dance for an hour and then promptly collapsed and then I had to carry her back to the car. Limp limbed and sweaty.