La Vache!

Long known for its fierce independence – the dukedom of Brittany did not join the French nation until 1532, and Saint Malo (where we spent our fourth and final week), still flies its own flag higher than the French bleu-blanc-rouge – la Bretagne has a language uniquely its own. But, with the passage of time, the old dialect has faded away, and though an occasional yc'hed mat (cheers) or kenavo (good bye) can be heard at Breton gatherings, most of the original vernacular has yielded to the prevalence of the French tongue.

Shaped by the intricate social swirl of the medieval courts, French is subtle and nuanced, rife with indicators of culture and class. The closeness of French relationships is measured by the language used, whether the informal you (tu) or more formal you (vous) regulates the conversational exchange. Generally, vous is used with strangers, elders, and in formal work settings, while tu is used between friends and family.

What a surprise, then, for us to discover that within French Rotary clubs, tu is always used between Rotarians. This week, as we toured the beautiful harbor of Saint Malo by boat, visited an avionics company and a fertilizer maker, ate fresh seafood and drank champagne, our Rotarian hosts use only tu with us, as though we were already family.

“Americans are like cousins!” said Ernest Menard, a Rotarian and founder of a major furniture making company based in Plancoet. After we toured his factory, he treated us to a lunch at a chateau where we dined on salmon and sipped a garnet Bordeaux. After nearly four weeks of winter-like cold and rain almost every day, the sun shone down and the temperatures climbed into the balmy 60s. We nibbled on cool bites of strawberry purée and listened to the hum of a lawn mower outside.

Aside from the tu and vous distinctions, the French language, ever stratified, also has “familier” words. These are reserved for informal settings between friends. We knew we had officially been welcomed into the Rotarian community when our hosts, laughing, taught us one of their favorite (and most familier) expressions.

“La vache!” they’d say, talking about politics or the weather or the price of gasoline.

Vache means cow, and “la vache” is, well, a lot like “holy cow!”

Later, when we had the chance to milk a real Breton cow (a first for all of us, and definitely an unforgettable experience), we thanked the farmer who welcomed us on his farm.

“Tu as aimé?” he asked. You liked it?

“Incredible!” we said, laughing and passing out high-fives for our good milking skills.

“Oh, la, la,” he said, smiling and shaking his head. “La vache!”

Abers

As we enter the third week of our French sojourn, we finally join the Britannic coast. Here, the sea churns against the jagged rocks in a turmoil of oceanic saltwater. So different from our own tranquil gulf, who coquettishly raises her hem at the passing tides to reveal a scattering of sand dollars or a scant space of sandbar, here the sea withdraws in a rushing flurry, a French cancan of flowing water and bare land.

There are tracts of space where the current has invaded the continent, cutting a swath with its fierce, salty tides. Called “abers” in French, these tributaries of the sea are fully engorged at high tide, a playground for the sailboats that dot this part of France. But when the tides depart, flowing at a gallop back to their Atlantic origins, the abers are suddenly dry and the white-hulled boats litter the silted ground.

The last week has flowed in a tumultuous coming and going of activity: a new Rotary club every night, visiting a crepe factory and a French battleship, touring the air traffic control center at Brest. Like the tides, our energy levels have risen and plummeted, sometimes exposing our own dry abers and the scattered bones of fatigue. But, also like the sea, the flow of energy returns.

As we prepare to enter our fourth and final week, saying goodbye to the host families of the club of Landerneau that have so warmly welcomed us into their homes and hearts, we even now feel a final surge of enthusiasm for the week to come. We will follow the coastline northward, in the direction of Saint Malo, but also westward, towards the Atlantic, the United States, and finally home.

Amitié

In Fougères, a medieval city encircled by stone ramparts, where the original castle still stands but the marsh that once surrounded it has long since been covered by cobblestones, we gathered around a table for lunch. Our Rotarian hosts poured wine and talked about the finer points of American and French culture.

"I love America," the president, Jean-Claude, told us. He talked about the apartment his wife's sister has in Boca Raton and how much he enjoyed visiting Los Angeles and New York. "After September 11th, I visited one of the firehouses near Ground Zero." Here, he paused, les larmes aux yeux (tears in his eyes). "I gave them a flag from our Rotary club and said that la France recognized their bravery." He reflected for a moment. "You see, there has always been this connection between the French and Americans, this amitié – friendship."

The conversation flowed elsewhere as we moved from roast duck to strawberry tarts, from full red wine to strong black coffee, but the sentiment hung in the air. After the meal, we progressed to the country home of Armand Tuffin, French general and friend of George Washington, who came to the aid of America during the Revolutionary War. Our Rotarian hosts lead us to the field behind the stone house where a two-hundred year old magnolia tree towered above the green field.

"This was a gift from George Washington to Armand Tuffin," said Jean-Claude. " Here, American soil has blended with French soil."

We admired the vielle dame. In places, her bark crumbled beneath our fingers, but blossoms still covered her branches. Jean-Claude cupped a bud in his hand, waving us closer and smiling.

"You see, even now, our friendship blooms."

After paying our respects, we returned to the van. We crossed green fields, where cows grazed and grey moss spanned stone walls, arriving at last at one of the American cemeteries that mark this part of France. So close to Normandy, where American troops stormed the beaches during the second world war, it is the final resting place of those who gave their lives for the Allied cause, the soldiers whose blood once blended with French soil.

We knelt and touched the earth. The white crosses, each etched with the name and state of the fallen, shone brightly against the green lawn.

"This," Jean-Claude swept an arm across the expanse of the more than 4,000 graves. "This is amitié."

* * *

On Saturday, we spent the day at the annual conference for District 1650. We were enthusiastically welcomed by the Rotarians of the district and even performed our own Floridian version of the Beach Boys’ hit, California Girls. The theme of the conference focused on Rotary’s humanist role in the international community, and we were honored to take participate in the event.

Epanouissement

On the eve of our first full week in France, we have begun to sink into the poetic cadence of la Bretagne. As we shake free of the last tendrils of the "décollage horraire" (jet lag), the French language fills our waking hours and infiltrates our dreams. Thus, it is no surprise that we should be so thoroughly taken with the word épanouissement, which flows off the tongue in a linguistic glorification of its meaning, "to bloom."

We have arrived at the beginning of spring, the threshold of what is perhaps France's most beautiful season. Yet, as our twin-engine, Paris-Rennes flight descended through first a layer of clouds, then rain, into fog, it was clear that the perennial summer of southwest Florida had become as distant as the Eastern time zone.

We were greeted in Rennes by the Governor of district 1650, Brigitte Delahaye, and transported to the house of Genviève Paquet, President of the Rotary Club of Laval. Our hostess poured champagne ("A real French welcome," she said ) as we shivered in overcoats. Rain poured down, saturating the air with moisture.

"A toast," said Claude Theraud, leader of the GSE team from Brittany that visited district 6960 last fall. He raised his glass and rolled his eyes to the heavy clouds overhead. "May it only get better from here."

We smiled at our French hosts, saying santé (to your health) and clinking glasses. The effervescence of the champagne kept pace with the pattern of the raindrops, and as the bottle emptied, the deluge lessoned. Overhead, the clouds parted, and the sun shone down, casting a watery light on our welcome party and releasing the green scent of spring.

In French, épanouissement can also refer to individuals, a personal opening or development. Here, in our partner Rotary district, our team has already begun to blossom. We have made great progress in our language skills, growing more assured with each passing day. On Monday, the very beginning of our week in France, the Rotary club of Chateau Gontier hosted our group. During lunch, several Rotarians encouraged us to try the well-known specialty of the city, calf's head stew. Alissa enthusiastically tried each part of the dish - cheeks, brain, and tongue. When the waiter asked if she had enjoyed her meal, she said in her most practiced French, "Your tongue is very delicious." That spurred a round of laughter from our Rotarian hosts and made for a perfect cross-cultural story.

Perhaps the most important development so far is the budding relationship between the team members and our host families. Each of us has been so warmly received, so thoroughly welcomed into the international Rotarian family, that it is hard to imagine this is only our first week in-country. Tonight, we gathered at a restaurant here in Laval, the team members and our host families. As we passed steaming plates of couscous and dark red bottles of wine, the conversation flowed around us, a mixed melody of English and French, and our voices spoke in a harmony of beautiful beginnings.