We’ve decided to sum up week 2 of our French voyage with… culture clash!
Last weekend we were sunning it up in Barcelona, and we have now crossed back into France through the Pyrénées, Toulouse, Périgueux, Bordeaux and into Brittany. The week before the Kiwis had found the Frog’s organisation questionable having stayed one night in a field and the next in the car in the middle of Barcelona, and this week we fully realised these Frog’s are a different breed.
Barcelona saw Benji get caught in a thankfully failed pick-pocket attempt, and get the hint of sun on his pasty body. The French boys ended up staying on the roof of an apartment building found open at 4am, while the Kiwis stayed in the car guarding cameras and computers. Cheers Froggies.
From Barcelona we rushed through the Pyrenees and the Valleys of Andorra for what was the biggest event of the trip so far… for the Kiwis anyway. We had scheduled to have a chat with Ex All Black Byron Kelleher about his new life in France playing rugby for Toulouse. Video of the event will show evidence of Kiwi knees knocking and nails being bitten, while the Frogs couldn’t understand why we were so awed to meet a fellow Kiwi. The moment we met him we no longer felt out of place, talking to us like one of our mates at home. Byron admitted he found the first three months very very difficult adapting to the culture, and it was nice to know we weren’t alone there. But he loved France and wanted to stay for a while, he just had to watch his weight as he had signed a sponsorship deal with a Foie Gras producer.
A big moment for the Kiwis…. meeting former All Black Byron Kelleher at his new home in Toulouse.
Through the Périgord and its medieval villages the Kiwis were lambasted for our lack of food culture. Having already ‘taken French gastronomy back 1000 years’ when we combined camembert and Foie Gras with bread, but we moved on a few days later to really making the Frogs angry. With typical French timing we ended up in the supermarket looking for lunch at 4pm having not eaten anything all day. With Benji and Mark’s stomachs on the verge of eating themselves, what do the Frogs buy??? A slimy camembert that could walk itself out of the store, red wine, bread, and goat’s cheese that Mark described as ‘wow, it smells like to goat made it too’! The Kiwis didn’t see this as good energy tukka so bought some Coca-Cola too. And holy smoke, did that make the cheese monkeys angry. We were yelled at, heads shaken, and nasty stares given throughout our late lunch… and they were serious! Coke is the devil to French cuisine apparently.
In Corrèze we wandered through a village called Collonges la Rouge and this is when we felt really awed by Frances culture and history. Built in the 14th-16th centuries by the rich lawyers and judges from the area, all of the houses/mansions were built with a dusty red stone, and if they didn’t have a tower were out of place. These must have been for the maidens of the area. Promised a bit of a lesson on Foie Gras (geese liver) by the Frogs, we managed to visit a producer in the countryside where we were told that the duck’s were ‘on holiday’, which to be honest didn’t surprise me. Maybe the ducks get 5 weeks holiday and a 35 hour working week here too?
So in Collonges la Rouge we feasted on some local Foie Gras at small resturant. Mark dodged it but I went for the ‘House Pizza’: Foie Gras, duck gizzards and mozzarella cheese. The Frog’s may not approve of mixing meat and cheese, but give me a chicken cranberry brie pizza any day. Mark did avoid the Foie Gras but got stuck with a local aperitif called Salers. From the gastronomic country of the world, deducing from its bright yellow colour and distinct flavour of composted grass, we were sure this was chilled cow piss.
To finish the week in Bordeaux we had a lesson in ‘Eau de Vie’ (water of life). This strong alcohol is made from the vapours of rotting fruit and we tried an apple concoction that was more than 25 years old. Typically from Normandy, we were told the locals were so attached to their ‘Eau de Vie’ that when the Germans invaded they hid bottles of the stuff everywhere- in fields, under the house and in barns. If you’re lucky you can still find bottles hidden there. If you’re unlucky you will drink it.
To be honest the flavour wasn’t too bad, it was just the melting sensation we had in our stomachs afterwards that was concerning.
So with some lessons in culture and a bit of a tough week in terms of ‘team building’, we have each found a French or Kiwi nickname to help bond. Benji became ‘Jean-Luc Courte-Berge (short legs)’, Mark ‘Gilbert Trapu (stocky)’, Max ‘Hemi Beanstalk’, and then Antoine seemed to accumulate nicknames like the plague; ‘Rangi Humpty’ (because he keeps injuring himself), ‘Michael J Fox’ (because he shakes like an 80 year old due to recently quitting smoking), and ‘Van Damme’ (due to his squarish head and resemblance to the muscles from Brussels).
We head to family this week in Brittany and will, I’m sure, be taught a few more cultural lessons and hopefully be able to survive without so many gastronomic faux pas, a skill we have so far been unable to master.
