Thursday, April 19, 2012
The Sharp Intake Of Breath

French class turns out to be a very merry gathering of Bisontins with an interest in improving their English. In greeting, everyone, including the men, kiss each other on each cheek. Scott Cogan, an American who has lived in Besancon for twenty-five years, voluntarily runs the class, which meets every two weeks in a member's home. Tonight we are the guest of Christian, who lives in a lovely house with a large garden in the heights of Besancon, not far from La Citadelle. His German mother-in-law has made two traditional German cakes, a streusel and a cheesecake, for the class, which will enjoy them during a pause in the class.

Due to my visit, the class asks me to tell how I met Elise: I was leaving a Lincoln Center restaurant with my husband, Bill, and Elise was playing the accordion on the street. I was so taken with the music I bought the CD, and, enjoying it very much, called the telephone number on the brochure in the jewel box to invite her to lunch. The telephone number was the home number in Besancon, and Jean answered. He gave me Elise's e-mail address and during the seventeen days of her stay, I took her around parts of the city that she might not otherwise have seen. That was two years ago.

After that, Christian asks me whether I know James Taylor, the folk musician. I do and say I like his music, which prompts Christian to play one of his recent CDs, then a concert DVD. I mention Joni Mitchell, and he loads a DVD of Woodstock, followed by a BBC DVD about the influence of the Sunset Strip on the creation of bands like Linda Ronstadt and the Stone Poneys, the Eagles, and soloists like Carole King, Joni MItchell, and Judy Collins. Comments are freely made by the women about the good looks of the young James Taylor, Graham Nash and others,which inspires a chaffing banter from the male contingent. It is all said in fun, and without an edge.

Once Christian turns off the DVD, Pascal and Martine (whose daughter was previously the long-time girlfriend of Jean and Elise's son, Basile), talk about their upcoming trip to Cuba, their second. I wish them a good trip --saying I am sure it will be very pleasant, and that Americans cannot generally travel there.

--"Except to Guantanamo!" says Christian jokingly, looking at me good-naturedly. I take the point, and the conversation resumes. With a sharp intake of breath --always a sign that the French are pausing nervously before making a declaration forcefully-- Martine says excitedly that there are no homeless on the streets of Havana, as there are in Besancon. --I have seen only myself, along with a group of homeless teenagers with dogs who park themselves along rue Battant at night, drinking and bumming cigarettes, but otherwise none. She also thinks the health care system in Cuba is great, even compared to the French. Also, she says, with another intake of breath-- everyone talks to you, whether they are a farmer, a policeman, or a person walking down the street --which seems a funny thing to say, since I see the Bisontins as quite friendly.

However, when I mention that the economy is in bad shape and "dollarized" --US dollars are accepted as legal currency everywhere, along side the Cuban-- and that even Castro concedes that the Revolution has not achieved its goals-- there is another sharp intake of breath before she tells me that "It's not entirely their fault" --and, sensing that I am about to hear, this time, a lecture about how terribly the United States has dealt with Cuba, I move off.

The class continues for a while longer, then breaks, to resume in three weeks at Martine and Pascal's, once they return from Cuba. It takes a while to leave, as everyone continues talking at a rapid pace, and the cars have to make a tricky turn onto the road without driving off the hill. Christian emerges from the house with a flashlight to help the cars exit the road safely, and we are off.

At home, I wash out my socks and underwear and put them on the line that hangs over the stair that leads to the bedrooms at Elise and Jean's. Elise has permitted me to wash out all my clothes twice during my stay, which has been a boon to my upcoming travels. I leave for Beaune in the morning on the 9:48 to Dijon, then change for Beaune at 11:40.

During my stay, Elise has made every meal, rolling out dough for every purpose within minutes. She shops at a store where she can by in quantity and stores non-perishable food and other items in the garage below. As a result, we are able to make an empanada gallega --a large tart of sardines, onions, and green peppers in a half an hour, within an hour. There are dish rags, aprons and cloth napkins everywhere, but no paper towels. Lentils are sprouted in a jar and used in salads; wine, beer and other alcoholic beverages are stored in bottles in the bathroom, whose sink is used to dry umbrellas after use. All is very spartan, but Jean and Elise live very happy lives.