Knowing a foreign language can come in handy.
I was staying in the idyllic village of Sainte-Cécile-les-Vignes, in Provence a few years ago on a ten-day small group photo tour with my sister. We were strolling the streets of the village with two other ladies when I saw some lovely flowers along the edge of the street. As I ventured over, I wasn’t certain if I was still on the village land or private property as I snapped the photos; I heard a voice asking me what I was doing – “Qu’est-ce que vous faites là?!” the voice demanded. There was a woman looking at me out her window. Embarrassed, I apologized for trespassing and said that her flowers were just so lovely, that we were on a photo tour, and I was so impressed by her beautiful blossoms that I had to photograph them. She asked where we were from as she wanted to know where her flowers were going to be seen. I said we were Americans and introduced myself, from California, my sister, from Hawaii and the two other ladies, who were from Nebraska.
She explained that the village was occupied by the Germans during WWII when she was eight years old and she was very frightened of these foreign invaders. The Americans liberated the village. They came in with smiles and treats for the residents, including chewing gum and chocolate for the children. She never forgot that day. She wasn’t afraid of them. The village was joyous; it was a new beginning.
She asked me to tell this story and to thank the people in our country. I am retelling this story to you as a reminder that we never forget kindness. She allowed me to take her picture.
I was in a French language immersion program at Coeur de France language school in Sancerre, in the Loire valley last summer. I’d heard of a man who acted as the unofficial “watchguard” and friends, who attended the school three years in a row, would look for him every year. This man was always looking out his window at the goings-on in the village I stayed in the school on the second floor and my window was directly across from his. I spent my time practicing the language, mingling with my new friends, and going on excursions to neighboring villages, but I never saw this mysterious man. I began to think he was a phantom, like Boo Radley in To Kill a Mockingbird.
On my last day in the village, I was picked up by the local taxi lady to be taken to the train station in the next town. I got in the taxi, looked up, and voilà! There he was! The taxi lady, like everyone else in this small village, knew him and she called up to him. He looked down and smiled at us. I quickly grabbed my iPhone to get this image. It was nice to finally see him.
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