Filed under: Stories, Europe, France
"I'm lost. I'm late. I'm sorry," I blurted into the phone, in French.Silence.
"So, Monsieur Manouvrier, if it's OK I would still like to meet you today."
"You are an hour late. Do you think I have nothing better to do? You Americans think you are so important?" he bellowed, barely breathing between salvos. "Do you think we are so honored to speak to an American that we will stop everything else in our lives?"
I wanted to shout, "You know nothing about me!" But since it was my last day in the Dordogne, and since I wanted to meet this man before I left, I pleaded, "Please, may I still come?"
"Fine," he replied. The slam of the receiver reverberated in my ear before I could ask him for more directions.
As an American who had spent many years traveling in France, I sometimes felt like the honorary town piñata, enduring swing upon jab about my accent, my nationality, and the political leanings of our President who, I had constantly to remind people, was not a personal friend of mine. But despite the occasional bashing, I had also become a defender of the French, charmed by the generosity of those who had welcomed me, a stranger, into their homes, and seduced by their pervasive and earnest joie de vivre.
So, alone in a three-chimney village somewhere in southwestern France, at a crossroads, literally and figuratively, I had two choices: I could abandon this meeting altogether or I could exemplify American perseverance. Though the first thought soothed me for a solid five minutes, I folded up my map and set out, knowing that the long road ahead was more than just the one I was lost on.
Continue reading Lost and Liberated in the Dordogne
Lost and Liberated in the Dordogne originally appeared on Gadling on Fri, 27 May 2011 09:00:00 EST. Please see our terms for use of feeds.
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