Le balcon magique

Before I bought the Clocktower Cottage I imagined a village life where I would know people, have neighbors, friends, and even be remembered by the market vendors as I did my weekly shopping. I imagined this would take time as people are often reluctant to approach strangers.

Well, I have been sitting on my balcony now for all of ten minutes and I have already had two interesting conversations with other Duraquois--a word I learned today. Actually, I am la Duraquoise, which is the feminine form to describe people from Duras.

A man driving under the clocktower arch, suddenly stopped and backed up so that we were nearly eye-to-eye. He said he was viewing "un moment sympathetique, " meaning me sitting in the sun with a glass of wine and a blissed out look on my face. He switched to English when he realized I was struggling to keep up my end of the conversation, and when he heard I am Americaine, he said "Ah, super," pronouncing it sooo-pair, as the French enthusiastically exclaim. He turn off the car and told me about all the American rock groups he liked so much. He mentioned the group Boston and I joked he must be the same age as me. "I am 21," he joked. "Me too," I said. He drove away wishing me a good evening.

Moments later, a lovely older woman on her way back from the post office stopped to ask me who will be watering my flowers when I am not here. She seemed very concerned, introduced herself as Janine, and pointed to her house with the pretty blue shutters, about 4 doors away.

My flowers seem to be a neighborhood talking point as Tina, another neighbor, with red shutters, stopped by and mentioned that she had watered them a few times lately, before I arrived. I encountered Tina at the market today, where she has a booth selling handmade jewelry. We chatted a bit about Carolyn and her career, and I ended up buying a couple of pairs of earrings. She mentioned the flowers again, saying she didn't want to commit to the job, but she may peek in on the flowers now and again to be sure they are not looking scruffy.

So as I am writing this, my neighbor, who is about 40 and lives with his mother, is listening to a U2 album and singing along at the top of his lungs. He must be shitfaced because he's really feeling every word and putting a lot of emotion into his performance. Too bad he's singing badly--I actually like this album.

Okay, I am back after a 20 minute conversation with Collette, who says she lives in the house with the shutters the same color as my new bistro set, which she proclaimed "tres, tres, jolie."

We discussed the quality of the meat at the butcher shop and she highly recommended the veal sausage. We discussed D-Day and the emotion Pres. Obama showed when making his speech at the anniversary ceremonies. We discussed how many English people have bought houses in Duras in recent years. Basically we just had a typical neighborly chat, which is exactly what I hoped to find here.

What I learned from my interactions today is that now I must introduce myself as Donna, in the house with the green shutters.