An ongoing series about uprooting our lives in America and moving to France. For what's happened before, see previous Jours of Our Lives entries here.
IT’S BEEN HARD to find that grounded place within myself in the last few weeks. First, I was working very hard. Then the house sold, and I felt rudderless and fearful. I had to feel the emotion, breathe it in and understand this chosen loss in a more visceral way than I had before. I believe I’ve been able to do it with some success. I’m moving ahead.
I went shopping for Blair’s birthday and filled a box with goodies for her—meats and sweets,
crackers and cookies, books, bijoux, and clothes. I wrapped every gift with fuchsia, chartreuse, and purple crepe papers and tied them with red and green bows. We piled the cache of birthday booty in a carton I’d snagged from a store and mailed it through the French postal service, paying for priority delivery. This was my daughter’s first birthday in 22 years that I haven’t thrown some sort of party, and it was important that our good wishes and surprises arrive on time. It was a festive cadeau!
Our first stop was the tiny village of St. Léry, which did not disappoint. St. Léry was pristine, with beautifully maintained houses and a glorious mansion just across the lane from the lovely 14th-century church with its smart Renaissance porch. The sky spit rain at us, but we didn’t care. We were just happy to be in such a place.
14th-century church with its smart Renaissance porch
The next point of interest was the Cháteau de Comper, where Vivian the Priestess (and Fairy) was said to have been born and where she raised her son, Lancelot, who grew up to become the most gallant knight of King Arthur’s Round Table. In other words, this was Sir Lancelot’s boyhood home—can it get any better than that? The chateau loomed over the countryside with its great walls, tower, and mystery. The gate was closed, and we couldn’t tour it, but Frida, Jim, and I peered through the gate and walked its line of walls. Viviane saw us, recognized good souls (as well as other temperamental women), and blew up a storm to say hello. There had been no wind at all—and then when we started taking photos, the gusts nearly knocked us down. I’m not kidding. It was weird. The
Lady of the Lake created such a breeze that her lagoon rippled with her breath. I told this to a French friend, and she said Viviane was jealous of Frida. (But what about me?)
Did Merlin understand what he was getting into with this powerful pixie? I think he did, but we drove on to Merlin’s tomb to ask him. The earth here was red with clay, and two slabs of schist marked the spot. Not a fancy French monument like one might’ve suspected—just simple and natural. When I told Merlin about Viviane’s gust of wind, his response was, “That was it? You got off lucky.” Frida and I both remarked that Viviane had certainly found her calling within the world of enchantment, and Merlin replied that he taught her everything she knew.
After that, Jim and Frida and I ambled down the path of the Fountaine de Jouvence (Fountain of Youth), which has magical powers as well. I stuck my hand in the still, unassuming pool. Leaves were strewn across the top of it. I dripped the water across my head and neck, and Jim did the same. I certainly want all the extra power and charm I can get—not to mention any age-defying minerals that this water might hold.
The forest itself is quite serene, with towering trees and a carpet of wild flowers and leaves and such. The town of Paimpont is in the heart of it—beside a sizeable lake that looked like a shimmery, liquid skirt adorning the abbey church and square. Jim, growing impatient with all this magic, had become cranky by this point, so he didn’t follow me down the main street to where I’d spied an interesting Merlin shop with lots of Arthur-related paraphernalia (as well as kitschy tourist junk). I had to have a souvenir and preferably a meaningful one. One of our dear friends from Arkansas, Greg, once told me that he knew I was half-fairy—which made Blair and Bret a quarter-fairy each. Of course, I loved that idea, since I’ve always longed to fly and make magic in my own right, and I happily claimed the heritage. I found the perfect fairy earrings and have worn them ever since. I also found a silver Holy Grail to hang on my necklace of icons that I’ve collected all over the world. Oh, rapture! I’d lacked a Grail, and since we’re on this quest, it couldn’t have fit more flawlessly.
After this, our last prestigious stop was the Val Sans Tour, the Valley of No Return. This is the land that Morgana, the fairy witch, forbade anyone who had been unfaithful to ever leave. Frida wouldn’t even go in. The cheating Diego (whose portrait was painted on her forehead) would’ve had to stay behind, and Frida didn’t want to take up residence there.
It was a lovely tour through tales and legends, and afterwards we arrived in Vannes in time for a wonderful dinner at a restaurant called La Gavroche. The décor, ambience, and dinner were in perfect harmony.
In fact, the whole weekend was a feast. We were invited for a Sunday double birthday lunch for our friend Alice and her and Guy’s friend Jean-Pierre. The soirée was to be at Jean-Pierre and his wife Veronique’s maison. We’d met them before at Alice’s and enjoyed their delightful company. I dressed up in my black leather skirt and jacket and off we went. Our contribution to the event was Mint Juleps made with Jack Daniels. Jim is a master at stirring them up, and the crowd agreed to their tastiness. Veronique set her table beautifully, with napkins and candles of blue and green, and we were presented the hugest platter of what must have been seven dozen oysters. Wow! They were right from the sea, fresh and briny. A perfectly cooked salmon came next, with lots of good wine—and finally a berry cobbler I made for dessert.
It was one of those amazing French lunches that went on for hours, with long conversations and laughs and incredible food and wine. We talked about some of the stories and press we’d been hearing—about how terribly Americans were being treated in France, not even being able to travel around the country. We were a group of two Americans, one British, and three French having a marvelous time together and grateful for our new friends. We couldn’t have been welcomed more graciously.
Our world is growing larger, our lives enriched.
Beth Arnold
Brittany, France
Late March 2003
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Merlin image via Wikipedia. Photos by Beth Arnold. Not subject to use without permission.
Beth Arnold lives and writes in Paris, where she produces her "Letter From Paris" new media project.
You can find the Chasing Matisse book by James Morgan here at Amazon--or you can find it in or order it from your favorite book store.
Jours of Our Lives illlustration by artist (and couturier) Elizabeth Cannon. To find out more about her, click here.
