by Wendy
Flipping through television channels on a warm and sleepy Sunday, I noticed coverage of the Tour de France and was immediately transported back to an afternoon nearly 20 years ago.

My sister April and I are spending about two months in Europe, mostly in France. April has an internship in Montpellier lasting about 4 weeks. We live in a university dorm along with college kids from the U.S., Spain, Austria, Yugoslavia, Germany, Italy. It’s not as tight-knit (or cool) as the clique in the movie L’Auberge Espagnole, but there is a community – people hang out on the entranceway steps at night talking, sometimes singing or drinking and sharing food. Other evenings April and I join others on a walk into town to catch a movie or sit at a cafe, occasionally going to a discothèque or bar.

Being on a budget keeps activities pretty low-key. Plus the Mediterranean sun is really hot and often saps our energy. There’s no air conditioning in the stark dormitory bedroom/bathroom, so the window is usually open letting in a few bugs. April and I eat cereal with water since there’s no refrigerator to store milk. We wash out dresses in the sink and let them air dry on hangers in the closet since there’s no on-site laundry. We usually eat lunch at inexpensive places in town during April’s afternoon break and then have something like bananas or apples and baguettes for dinner. We queue up in the heat to call home from the phone booth outside. We feel like we can never drink enough water.

And it is a great experience, all of it. There are frustrations and aspects we do not fully appreciate at the time, but the opportunity to travel as a tired, broke student in Europe is defintiely a privilege. What makes April and me even luckier is that we also have occasions to step through a door from dorm life existence and into an atmosphere that reminds us of home.

As part of the internship program, April is assigned a host family as a local resource. Mr. and Mrs. B have two daughters, one living a similar summer in the U.S. When Mr and Mrs. B learn that April’s older sister has tagged along for the trip, they extend their generous hospitality to me as well.

Mr. and Mrs. B take the role of our host family seriously, picking us up in their air conditioned car for weekend outings. They drive us to nearby tourist sites and buy us refreshments while brushing aside our offers to pay. We don’t want to be greedy so we decline another Coke or water. They insist – the weather is so hot! They know what’s best. They invite us into their home for a beautiful multi-course meal with wine that makes us incredibly drowsy on the drive back to the dorm.

They provide us an important link to what we miss the most during our trip: our family.

We are invited to visit Mrs. B’s parents in the nearby town of Nimes. Her father was a beloved physician in the community, now retired. They are probably in their 70s, elegant and gracious. They reside in a small but well-kept apartment, with a balcony that looks out onto the front street. We are introduced and sit down for an elaborate Sunday lunch – bread and sausage, fish with potatoes and homemade mayonnaise sauce, bread and cheese, and dessert. April and I are not used to eating fish prepared with bones still in the fillet and try to keep our struggle as discreet as possible. We have no problem devouring the enormous ice cream sundae with almonds, whipped creme and caramel sauce.

Afterwards coffee is served, then Mr. and Mrs. B whisk us away for sight-seeing in Nimes, while their teenage daughter visits with her grandparents. We return a few hours later, wilted from the heat and from climbing beaucoup de steps up churches and towers. Not to mention the mental energy we spend trying to communicate in French. No joke! This concentration can wear. you. out. And make you so thankful for anyone who responds to your attempts with kind encouragement (like Mr. and Mrs. B), with no sign of impatience and ridicule.

We sit in the living room. The Tour de France is on television, and for a moment I forget weary discomfort and think about how cool it is that I’m watching the most famous of bike competitions, in France, with a French family. Mr. B is nodding off in a chair. Mrs. B drinks Menthe a l’eau, a bright green, syrupy mint water. This fascinates April and me since we remember the beverage pictured in high school French books, but had never seen anyone drinking it in person. We try to add a brief comment to the conversations here and there, but everyone is resting. The foreigners are no longer the center of attention, we’ve blended into the group, and we’re thankful. We’re allowed to relax, listen, and watch the bicycle racers on television. It seems a typical Sunday afternoon.

So that’s my long Tour de France story. Whenever I see the race on tv or even read an article in the paper, I think of Mr. and Mrs. B, their daughter, the grandparents. I’ve mentioned this family in a previous post – I wonder if they know how much of an impression they made in so short a time.

While I’m prone to nostalgia on Sunday afternoons, I’m often amazed at how powerful travel memories can be. Time passes and you have new appreciation for things you might have took for granted. Events that might have seemed ordinary take on significance for a kaleidoscope of reasons. People and places you’ve known only briefly are conjured up, making you pause and breathe a prayer of gratitude.