Traveling To The Center Of France

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By the time you read this today, I may already be on my way to the airport. Yes, I am leaving Brooklyn behind for exactly 5 weeks. I know! Isn't it decadent to take so much vacation? But you will never believe if I tell you the truth. I have to take a vacation in France. See! You don't believe me, right?
The reason for the trip is simple. Since 1971, my parents have owned a stone farmhouse right in the center of France, four hours south of Paris. Every year since, they spent four summer weeks there. That is unti 2003. That is the year when my mother became gravely ill en route to this, her favorite place on earth. She never saw her beloved house again. Four months and five operations later, she passed away in a French hospital. She was unconscious for most of those long months. One of the last sentences she whispered to my father was: " Take me to my house and I promise you I will get better in a few days." After she had passed, my father, sister and I scattered her ashes under her beloved linden tree in the courtyard of the house.
Since then, my little family has made the trip to France every year determined to keep the place for future generations. We have started to make the place our own while keeping "Oma's" spirit alive. I think she would have been proud of us. And happy that we are keeping her memory alive for her grand-children. Now do you understand why I have to go?
The house is in one of the most beautiful areas of France, one that has not yet been discovered by too many tourists, though the Dutch seem to have developed quite an affection for it. The area is called the Auvergne. Yes, the Bleu D'Auvergne, Michelin tires as well as Volvic water come from there.
It is a rugged, volcanic area that is so lush that it resembles Ireland, except with better food and more spectacular mountains. The landscape is breathtaking. Curvy roads wind their way through beautiful valleys. They lead through small century old villages with beautiful stone houses, and right out again through fields of wheat and sunflowers. It is a magical place.
So by Thursday morning, I will be in Paris and by nightfall, I will have reached my mother's house.
I will continue to blog from there, posting about my summer life in the remotest of French villages. So keep on checking in. Pardon Me For Asking will just have a French twist for five weeks. And don't think for a minute that I will be forgetting DeBlasio, Scarano and Carroll Gardens. You can be assured that I will keep an eye on my adopted neighborhood. I may be far from the hood, but I have internet. So I will be watching and blogging with a wineglass in my hand. À bientôt!