A Fairytale in Provence: part III

               On Saturday morning we were lazy and slept in.  That morning when we came up the stairs from the downstairs studio, before we went to the kitchen, I asked him to show me his room.  He walked me down the hall. In the corner was a shelf, full to the brim with wine glasses.

                ¨If you were an American boy, this would be full of sports trophies,¨ I laughed. ¨But nope. You have wine glasses, and lots of them!¨

                He has literally grown up swimming in wine. His maternal grandfather and grandmother lived in neighboring villages and met at a village festival. Raymond Marcel, his paternal grandfather was a wine maker who supplied the village cave with grapes for the region's signature wine. Likewise, my FWB's book shelves were full of years of class notes, the Hachette dictionary of wine, books on different wine regions, you name it. It moves me to know just how passionate he is about what he does, because he is a passionate person. In this way we are similar: we do not half ass anything. We love what we do with 150 percent. And I adore that about him.

               After the house tour, we ate a late breakfast at around 11h30...FWB's parents had been up for a while and had eaten but were with us in the kitchen. I was relieved. I like parents. I generally do meeting parents very well. I wanted to get to know them, and they clearly felt similar. It's not every day, or so I assume, that your son who was born and raised in a 700 person wine making village in the south of France brings home a Californienne. 

                FWB's dad is very similar to my stepdad. 57, gentlemannered, and apt to talk about politics and world news. He asked me about California and the presidential elections and I was having a great time chatting with him. FWB has his dad's bright blue eyes, a rarity for any Frenchman, who tend to be dark haired and dark brown eyed. But my baron is not: he has the brown hair but bright ice blue-grey eyes. I admit I cracked for them when I met him.

                 FWB's mom joined in and asked where we were going for the day. FWB rattled off a list of places of which I had no idea, FWB looked at the clock, said we should hurry if we were going to go château hopping, and ushered me out the door. His mom had invited us to lunch that day, but given FWBs plans, she pushed it back to Sunday. With grandma. Gulp.

                 And so we sped off off off through the Vaucluse and Drôme departments of France. We stopped first at the Chateau de Grignan, which is where the famous Madame de Sevigné, known for her letters, sojourned. The castle itself was the property of the Dukes of Adhémar, and much of the town has retained its medieval character. Additionally, the terrace had an amazing view, as it sits atop a hill overlooking the town.

              After Grignan, he took me to another medieval fortress, and while we drove, the song Without You (yep, you can laugh, Usher and David Guetta) came on the radio. I literally got teary eyed last year when he left as I listened to that song. He doesn't know this. But when it came on it made me think about having to leave him on Sunday and I got choked up. I had to stare out the car window in the other direction so I wouldn't get weepy. You can all judge. I'm not a crier, but this one makes me cry.

               Next, he showed me the castle of Suze-la-Rousse, which is where he trained to taste at the Université de Vin housed there.

               ¨It's no Berkeley,¨ he chuckled. ¨But it's a castle.¨

              Much of the weekend consisted of him showing me where he did his training, or places he did internships, or went to as a child. It moved me because it made me realize how much he is the product of where he's from, it gave me an unparalleled understanding of how he became the man he is. It also made me want, so so so badly, to show him California, to show him where I am from. To drive the length of the California coast and Sonoma and Napa and the Sierra Nevadas with him.

              ¨Il faut que je te montre la Californie!¨ I told him all weekend. He, on the other hand, would not stop using the word American all weekend. In all contexts. It was slightly excessive, his favorite word of my time there I would say. I explained this to M later that evening. She laughed and said it was because I am a foreigner, I am a mystery to him. In other words, it was a good thing.

              After the castle, we headed toward another local town, Carpentras, which happened to be on our way to Avignon. In Carpentras, we had one destination, and one destination only: the fromagère, Claudine Vigier, who was bequeathed the title of the Best Cheesemaker in France in 2009. We had to get fromage for the apéro we were going to that night in Avignon with Y and M and their friends JP and Bob. If you are in the wine business, you are also in the cheese and food business, because the French are damn serious about all three, and you are not a red blooded man in this country if you do not KNOW your cheese. We showed up a bit too early though, because the shop re-opened at 15h15, so instead we walked around the town all cutesy like as per usual.

              Once the fromagère was open, we spent half an hour choosing cheese for the evening. I love, love cheese, and so does the FWB. I thought back again to our first date, how while walking to the metro, I mentioned my love of cheese and then he wouldn't shut up about cheese. I didn't mind though.

              ¨There are 360 cheeses in France!¨ he exclaimed that night. He was wearing a green sweater that brought out his eyes.

               Then this weekend he taught me that there are 750 appellations d'origine controllées in the country. An AOC, in short, are the appellations given to certain regions for the production of their cheeses, wines, and other food products. They are heavily guarded and legislated, protected with an iron fist, often an indicator of prestige. Right next to FWBs village are some of the most prestigious AOCs in the world: the Chateauneuf-du-Pape, Chateau La Nerthe, the Vacqueyras, the Gicondas.

               Cheese in hand, we then went off to the Fontaines de Vaucluse, a natural spring in the mountains whose source is so deep geologists have never been able to figure out its actual depth. Oh my word. Stunning. The water is turquoise. We hiked to the source near the base of the mountain, scaled a rock, and sat next to one another chatting.

                And as the sun set, we once again were arm in arm. He opened the car door all weekend for me....I felt like a princess. We were off to Avignon again, to Y's for apéro, and an evening out on the town.

                I am still pinching myself.