Right, so yesterday I was innocently eating lunch in a small park in a small village called Saint Leonard. This kid wanders over, watching me and my strange looking bike from a distance. He looked cautious, as if at any moment the tramp might pounce and devour him along with the pasta the tramp was cooking.
“Bonjour.” They speak French here.
“Bonjour. ” I replied.
The kid scarpered, running over to where his grandmother was sitting in her garden.
Later I learned that Attila, the kid, had told his grandmother, Dominique, that I was French. I guess I should take that as a compiment on my French pronounciation.
Dominique walked over the small park I had set my kitchen up in and introduced herself in good English. When she learned that I was going to be working in Anzere, she said I should stay at her place until I start.
So that was yesterday. I met Dominique’s husband, Jean-Richard. I met their daughter (mother of Attila), Vanina. Jean-Richard is a keen cyclist.
Today I spent the morning while Dominique was at work updating the blog, and in the afternoon we went with little Attila to Europe’s biggest underground lake, just 20m from where they live.
As Dominique promised last night, tonight’s dinner was a Swiss delight. Grilled cheese fondu.
It was a regular family and friends affair, with four generations of the Gilloiz family present, plus some friends who had travelled in New Zealand.
Dominique’s father, Remy (age 82, though you wouldn’t know it), did the melted cheese scraping.
This stuff is such good cheesy goodness. Served with taters.