Les premiers jours

Ça fait déjà trois jours qu'on est ici à Rennes...Alors, il faut commencer à écrire...

What better way to begin the journey to this special region then by boarding a plane right on the tarmac. This was a first for me and to be honest, it gave me more of a thrill than I expected! We may have been flying within France (from Paris to Rennes), but it felt as though we were departing into another land entirely. Now after being here in Brittany for a few days, it is clear that we in fact were.

The cab ride into Rennes, the capital of Brittany, was lively to say the least, the driver being a spirited Bretonne who proceeded to tell us in her heavy French all about how her hometown of Dinan was the best, most authentic city on the northern coast and that if we wanted to "grossir" while we were here, "il faut manger du kouign amann!" (a traditional breton recipe for a fluffy yet caramelized gâteau, or cake, made by layering dough with lots of butter and sugar.) This she felt was "la recette la plus bretonne," even more so than the celebrated caramels au beurre salé.

Right away, I have been indelibly struck by the intensity of this region and its people. If I had to choose two words for Bretagne, they would be fierté and âme, pride and soul. The people are unapologetically proud and constantly aware of being Breton, and as such are deeply, emotionally tied to this region, enmeshing it as a part of their spirit. I have already met several people in Rennes who off-hand have spoken to me in detail about the history of how Bretagne became Bretagne, and I could see in their eyes it was as if they were speaking to me about themselves. My host mother, Yseult, is no exception.

Getting off at our métro stop, Charles de Gaulle, is like stepping into what feels like an indie French movie. Not a word of English can be heard and young adults sit outside cafés smoking and throwing around french slang, or "l'argot." Yseult tells me that adults systematically keep with "la politesse" by always addressing others with a "bonjour," and leaving them with an "au revoir." She says this as she pours some of the regional speciality of "cidre" for me to try before dinner and talks to me about her home of Carnac, which lies on the southern coast of Brittany.  

Below is my room, along with Yseult's rambunctious cats, Pika and Curly. What can I say, even the cats are beautiful here.

Dinners here are a much slower, intentional process that begin around 7:30 or 8 p.m and end near 10 p.m, when the sun finally goes down for the night. Yseult and I both like to drink tea, so in the morning we sit down and drink it from bowls while having either fruit or brioche with preserves before leaving for the day. The ease of our conversations and the sweetness of her place and personality help alleviate my homesickness.




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