Sejour a la compagne

Today for work I went to a little country house about an hour south of Paris owned by the organization. The work was backbreaking--I got a tour of the house, played a piano that hasn't been touched for 50 years, got a tour of the herbs growing in the garden, listened to Yann play his accordian, drank tea made from the sage in the garden, and took a nap in the sun.







Plant growing through the floor. When I noticed it, the woman passing said, "c'est beau, n'est-ce pas?"




Yann playing his accordian. His father gave it to him when he was a little boy, right before he was tortured and killed by the Germans after trying to escape the prison camp (his father.) Yann is my favorite of the office. He takes care of me. I was feeling a little sick in the car on the way home and curled up into my prefered fetal position in the passenger seat. "Oh, ma pauvre petite Lola," says Yann. He always calls me "petite Lola" or "la petite americaine."
















So, as you can see the life of a young
intern/student is a rough one.
And having run out of pretty blue euros long ago, I've decided to go Crime and Punishment style and have tea for every meal.



The napoleon mug in action.

-- Post From My iPhone