The men, they smoke cigarettes elegantly like a woman taking a bite of a croissant. They seem classically elegant compared with australians, refined and full of old features like a face that has existed for centuries. There are wonderful faces to watch here, beautiful manners to observe. Their accent becomes hypnotic and their culture more mysterious by the day. The women, and their classical grace, full hair and olive skin, natural pouts and loving gazes. Even after almost 2 weeks it is as though france will never become familer or understood for me, i prefer to watch it all as if in a movie.

Last night we slaved over the pokey kitchen, navigating our way around the maze of utensils and strange ingredients. People came over with their wild children who played around the downstairs in french giggles and squeels, the imaginitive and contained maddness of apartment reared children.  They started us on oysters, salty nostalgia of clareville at lowtide. Then wine and the feast we made, grilled sweet pear salad with crispy pancetta and pine nuts, with warm risotto of parmesan, lemon and leek. After the feast, Pascalle and her daughter sang theatrical french songs on the piano while all the children danced an sung along. We watched from the door of the kitchen where we cleaned the plates after chesses and rhubarb tarts, then coffee and chocolate.   such an indulgent and rich night. 

xx