Kenavo (farewells, part 2)

Yesterday, I left Brittany. It was a mixed-bag of feelings:
Happiness with an excellent time there
Sadness that it was over
Awkwardness that I was being ridiculous waving to friends while sitting across from a very attractive Frenchman in first class.

This post, however, is not going to be a discussion of yesterday. I'm going to talk about Saturday, my real day of goodbyes.

Note to everyone: NEVER agree to two meals (even if one is called an apéritif and the other is called "come see my house") in one day in France. Though delicious and highly amusing, it is something of a stretch for any person's stomach. Oof.

Saturday at lunch, ma belle cavalière, aka my Breton dance partner, came and picked me up for a visit at her house. This visit ended up being a crazy delicious six-hour lunch with her family. Magret de canard, merguez, veal sausage, lots of cheeses, marinaded anchovies (even if you think you don't like anchovies, try this if you get the chance), homemade ratatouille, cheeses and a lovely strawberry tart. It was a really enjoyable meal and another fun look into French family life, including teenage angst. (The French: they're just like us! Only not!) Sidenote: there was the usual overabundance of bisous, even from the random neighbor boy who came by. Now that I'm in Paris with Americans, I have to say I actually miss bisous. I did not expect that to happen. It was really jarring for me today to meet people and not have the usual bisous/enchantée routine.

At the end, ma belle cavalière and I went on a little tour of Pont Scorff:

There was a very Breton wedding going on, which we crashed (I mean, the doors were open...). We also did a little tour of the artist ateliers around town. If you're ever in the region, I definitely recommend a trip to Pont Scorff. Not only is it completely charming and authentically Breton, the many artist studios are interesting, unique and filled with warm, talkative people. The pays de Lorient region where I live is Breton but does not always look so. During World War II, it was heavily bombed due to Germany's encampment there. America was the bomber and we managed to destroy everything but the German submarine bases. Pont-Scorff, only 30 or so minutes from Lorient, however, seems to have escaped completely unscathed. The current town hall was the former house of a prince and interesting sculptures are waiting to be discovered around the town. The cour des métiers d'art is a great place to go if you're searching for a unique gift. Fortunately I had left my wallet at home and couldn't be tempted into buying any pieces. 

Balloons all ready to fly away. 

This outfit earned me many a "Mais t'es toute belle ce soir!" 

The very Breton wedding. The door were open and we actually went in to watch. 

After the little tour, I was returned chez moi so that I could then be picked up to go to an apéritif at the president of Spered Kewenn (the local Breton association). I knew going into the apéro that it was very possible that this would be one of those apéros that is actually a dinner. I still thought, however, that the apéritif would be a somewhat short affair. Silly me. Silly, silly, silly me. It was six hours long and could have definitely been longer had people not needed to get up to vote in the morning.

It was an unforgettable evening. My Breton classmates and a few members of my dance class were in attendance. I was so incredibly touched that they all turned up to wish me farewell and a hopeful à bientôt. One of my classmates made me a little bag hand-embroidered with a Breton pattern and another woman baked a cake decorated with an American flag (myrtille for the blue, bananas for the white and strawberries for the red) and a single Breton flag. Another classmate made a far (a type of Breton cake) with apples. SO DELICIOUS. Normally fars are made with fig. Apples take the cake. Miam.

Hand-embroidered bag. 

A Breton-American cake. 

An apple-far cake. 

As the night wore on, after the champagne bottles had been emptied and the wine bottles dwindled down, the singing started. As it was the first Saturday of May, I sang My Old Kentucky Home (far away).  Breton songs were sung, as well as the French drinking song, Il faut que je m'en aille.

After the tea and coffee, but before les pruneaux. 

To finish off the night, we had traditional pruneaux. These are prunes soaked in eau de vie. At that point, my properly drunk classmate told me how much the class was going to miss me and how wonderful it was to have some youth in the class. He said that my being there allowed for such a night to happen. Normally it is only the "extremists" that sing Breton songs at a dinner, but because of me, even non-extremists partook in such an occasion. "Tu as marqué le coin," he said, but the truth is that I am the one that has been most changed and most marked by them. It's hard to part, but I know that I will always be welcome back. 

Buvons encore une dernière fois (Let's drink another, one last time)

A l'amitié, l'amour, la joie (To friendship, love and joy)

On a fêté nos retrouvailles (We've enjoyed our meetings)

Je m'ennuie pas, mais il faut que je m'en aille. (I'm not bored, but I must leave) 

-- Graeme Allwright