Taken of the house the following day.

Fall Break. Although most of the students in my program are traveling to other countries this week, I decided to spend the first half of my break visiting a French family in La Flèche, a small town in the countryside two hours train from Paris. My happiness increased with the widening land as we drove 45 minutes from the train station to their red trimmed house. Various colors of blossoming rosebushes spread around the house and the vegetable garden. The only color missing upon introduction was blue, its vibrancy hidden by dark clouds that drooled over the house through dinner. Dinner brought the boys' two friends and a pot of bubbling cheese fondue to the large wooden table, now supporting six baguette wielding persons and a clueless Texan. However, after my first taste of the fondue, I quickly mastered the art of skewering the baguette, plunging it into the warm, golden thickness with deft figure eight movements, and removing the steaming bread—without dripping on the table—to rest ever so briefly on my cool white plate. Words, French or English, were scarce in those first minutes. Once we realized our stomachs would fill before the pot was emptied, we slowed our pace and our tongues recalled the ability of speech. After fruit, the boys helped clean up before we headed into the fog and small streets of La Flèche. The only signs of life were a few street lights and a couple of friends who joined our party before reaching the favored pub.