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I just got home from a trip to France to visit my grandmother. It's something that my mother and I do about once year.
For whatever reason, this time it was really clear to me how differently we two see Bubry and the country as a whole. For my mother, Bubry is where she grew up, day in and day out. For me, it's a place full of warm and fuzzy childhood memories of my grandparents spoiling me for one month out of every year.
I have an inside outsider look at the culture and my mother has more of an outside insider one. By that I mean that she used to be very much a French person--an insider--but, having lived in the States for so long, she's somewhat removed now. It's the opposite for me since I'll never really be French like she is, and yet I have an intimate understanding of certain aspects of the culture.
For example, I understand the obsession that causes the chocolate aisle at a moderately sized French supermarket to look like this.
And stamps that don't just look like chocolate but smell and taste of it too make complete sense to me.
Of course, it's not just about being French: it's about being Breton. And there's nothing quite so Breton as eating crêpes one by one as they're made fresh in the basement or garage at your friend's house!
In this particular case, once we were all well fed, our hosts insisted that my Maman and I learn how to make crêpes.
Though a proper griddle and spreader are a necessity, the tools alone can not turn a ladle of watery dough into a lacey blé noir pancake.
photo by my mother
Crêpe-making is a discipline and an art where everything from the mixing of the dough to the temperature and greasing of the griddle must be considered.
The traditional beverage for the consuming of crêpes is hard cider, and, though there was no shortage of it at the table, this bottle managed to catch my eye. It's the Breton brand of cola! (Breizh is the Breton name for Brittany.)
As the back of the label indicates, it's the cola of the far west--an American expression that's used in French and that, in this case, includes a pun on the French word for lighthouses which are plentiful in a region that is bordered on three sides by water.
Bubry isn't on the coast, but we took a day trip to visit a cousin who lives on the Atlantic.
The tidepools at Fort Bloqué are phenomenal...
...and all the coastal lifeforms are lovely.
Spaghetti.
Salad.
Ocean lover.
I ♥ the coast too.
While in Bubry, my Maman and I spent some time cleaning the family grave.
I feel an obligation to do this, but not so much to my dead ancestors as to my grandmother. I know how important it is to her.
Funny to say it, but the Bubry cemetery is very homey to me. I think it has to do with all the time spent watering plants on the Le Carrer tomb growing up.
Bubry has had an open air market every second and fourth Wednesday of the month for the last 400 years...
...though I imagine that polar fleece was not always available!
I remember coming to see the chickens and rabbits that were for sale at the market when I was younger.
At the time, I don't think I was so clear on the fact that many of them would end up as lunch.
By far my favorite store in
