Jacque and I.
June 12-14, 2007
Frere Jacque (Brother Jacque)
Our next journey leads us 4 hours north towards the Belgium French border village of Houtwort.
We exit off the freeway and Jacque, our host for the next few days, awaited us in his Jeep.
We exchange greetings.
I rode in the jeep to his house. The best sounding jeep I have ridden in. Very good engine.
For the next two km we pass several suburb house, we veered left onto a flat winding road passing farms along the way. The cows pay no attention to us as if veterans of their own bread to the sounds of rumbling war machines.
We entered a tunnel of dark green trees. We drove towards the light at the end. We emerged to the sight of a sole house souranded by flats of potato fields and green grass bending in the gentle breeze. Freshly posted was an American flag waving in the front yard (or should I say field?)
A beautiful home.
This evening I laid witness to countless casualties.
Dinner was overwhelming. Dinner took at least 3 ½ hours to eat. The French way of eating is very different, at least at this house. First you get some mini teasers, like chips juice. Then about 30 mins later you get the appetizers with Champagne. Then 30 mins later you get some light cold meats. Then final after an hour of waitin arrives the main course.
After the main course comes wave after wave of plate. It was like Iwo jima or Anzio over again. It was Frozen Chosen all over again and the Chinese never stop coming over the hill.
Once I thought it was over (the dinner,) additional waves of forks, knifes and glass rushed me. Hour after hour they feel. Their laid a litter of dirty silver war all around me.. Blood from the medium rare roast stained the table cloth. Green pea helmets hid under jungles of lettuce. The medic, Nicole, came and took our wounded… I mean dirty dishes away and returned with replacements.
My stomached could not go on any longer. The human stomach isn’t meant to stretch so much. I wanted to cry. I wanted to run. But my manners kept me pinned downed.
Our stay here was excellent. Again we there was cross translation. In addition to French, Jacque spoked Spanish. He had learned Spanish after working for a year in Columbia. He also spoke fluent Flemish; with only a 4 km from the Belgium border he spoke it regularly.
English to Spanish to Flemish to French and back up the chain.
Jacque also learned somewhere that constant laughter was crucial to a gathering.
Frere Jacque (Brother Jacque)
Our next journey leads us 4 hours north towards the Belgium French border village of Houtwort.
We exit off the freeway and Jacque, our host for the next few days, awaited us in his Jeep.
We exchange greetings.
I rode in the jeep to his house. The best sounding jeep I have ridden in. Very good engine.
For the next two km we pass several suburb house, we veered left onto a flat winding road passing farms along the way. The cows pay no attention to us as if veterans of their own bread to the sounds of rumbling war machines.
We entered a tunnel of dark green trees. We drove towards the light at the end. We emerged to the sight of a sole house souranded by flats of potato fields and green grass bending in the gentle breeze. Freshly posted was an American flag waving in the front yard (or should I say field?)
A beautiful home.
This evening I laid witness to countless casualties.
Dinner was overwhelming. Dinner took at least 3 ½ hours to eat. The French way of eating is very different, at least at this house. First you get some mini teasers, like chips juice. Then about 30 mins later you get the appetizers with Champagne. Then 30 mins later you get some light cold meats. Then final after an hour of waitin arrives the main course.After the main course comes wave after wave of plate. It was like Iwo jima or Anzio over again. It was Frozen Chosen all over again and the Chinese never stop coming over the hill.
Once I thought it was over (the dinner,) additional waves of forks, knifes and glass rushed me. Hour after hour they feel. Their laid a litter of dirty silver war all around me.. Blood from the medium rare roast stained the table cloth. Green pea helmets hid under jungles of lettuce. The medic, Nicole, came and took our wounded… I mean dirty dishes away and returned with replacements.My stomached could not go on any longer. The human stomach isn’t meant to stretch so much. I wanted to cry. I wanted to run. But my manners kept me pinned downed.
Our stay here was excellent. Again we there was cross translation. In addition to French, Jacque spoked Spanish. He had learned Spanish after working for a year in Columbia. He also spoke fluent Flemish; with only a 4 km from the Belgium border he spoke it regularly.
English to Spanish to Flemish to French and back up the chain.Jacque also learned somewhere that constant laughter was crucial to a gathering.
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