Road trip!

I am typing this on a French keyboard, which means that every fifth letter I write is wrong. Z is where A should be, M is under my right pinky finger, and for some reason I have to use the shift key in order to make a period. The shift key is also in the wrong place, of course, along with the comma. Thank goodness for autocorrect! Oh, and Google France will not unhide password characters on the login page, so it took be about an hour, 8 verification codes, and a LOT of swearing to get logged in on my Airbnb host's computer.

All of this is a fitting introduction to today's story about our first roadtrip in France! Somehow Mr. Sullins and I, despite having three undergraduate and one Master's between us, neglected to select "with tolls" on our car's GPS system before striking out. And, being totally dependent on GPS to get around, our 3 1/2 hour drive to Annecy by way of Lyon turned out to be a 6 1/2 hour drive to Annecy by way of Nowhere l'Est! See for yourself:

 Yeah. Whoops. We sure saved money on tolls though!

So, thanks to our foolishness, we found ourselves in a tiny town called Le Donjon for lunch. With no cell signal and therefore no reviews or directions to be found, we stopped at the first place that said "restaurant" and had people inside. Given that it's summer vacation time, we were lucky to find a place at all! So we parked the car, walked in and took a seat. An older man approached us, looking perplexed, and when I saw his face, I realized that all the patrons looked perplexed, too. So I said:

"Bonjour! Nous voudrions avoir le déjeuner; s'il vous plaît. Avez-vous une carte?" which means roughly that we want to eat lunch; do you have a menu? And it was then that I noticed that the puzzled patrons were all smoking cigarettes, drinking beers, and staring at us - not eating. Our friend the proprietor said as much, and I choked out enough broken French to ask for a recommendation. Fortunately he was very kind and directed us to a restaurant across the street. "Une bonne cuisine," he promised, "et pas cher."

So with the promise of good food, not too expensive, we walked across the street and found another bar, but this time the old man in the front gently guided us through what appeared to be his family's dining room and into the restaurant.

 At last, lunch! The owner/hostess/server/proprietor greeted us all individually with a "Bonjour!" and a handshake, even for the children, who obliged cautiously. As soon as we were seated I asked for the restroom and followed both kids up a tiny spiral staircase to les toilettes - well, la toilette, anyway. It was a single toilet in a tiny room, with no sink but a hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall. We all did our business and then coated our hands in sanitizer WHICH WAS ACTUALLY SOAP. With no sink. If you've never had to spit in your children's hands and then wipe them down with toilet paper, I don't recommend it. And yet the best was yet to come.

You see, when the three of us walked out of the door to return to our seats, we heard a shout. And there to our left was the old man from the front of the shop, yelling for his wife at the top of the stairs in his underwear. Not even boxers; full skivvies in Navy blue. Quite a start to the meal! And of course he said bonjour as we walked swiftly by.

Meanwhile in the dining room, Josh was enjoying the decor.

 Une boisson pour le bébé?

The menu was, as always in family-run restaurants in France, small and mostly local. The children were served a small salad with local ham for their appetizers, and Josh chose charcuterie while I opted for a filet of herring. Ordering was an adventure - in the presence of the owner, I asked Josh (in English) if he was going to have steak and he said he would. Evidently, Madame understood enough English to consider that his order and left the table, with us assuming that not only was she not going to feed him, but that she'd asked me how rare I wanted my duck! It all worked out in the end, though, and the food was delicious.

Filet of herring that wound up coming on a salad; with a delicious potato and bread on the side. 

Beautiful antique furniture is par for the course. 

 After the entrees (which is what appetizers are called here), came our main dishes. The kids had "steak haché," which is ubiquitous on kids' menus here and is basically a burger patty. As usual, Lincoln chose fries while Sylvia opted for noodles - once we saw on a neighboring table's plates that pasta was an option! After a long, circuitous, frustrating morning of driving, we all felt much better with some home-cooked food in our bellies and were relieved when Josh got a main course after all. We felt so good, in fact, that we got a little goofy.

 Again, as is the custom here, everyone had dessert. The kids were served creme caramel which both of them loved. Sylvia showed off the superpower of not finishing all of a dessert even though she likes it - whose child is she, anyway?

 I had îles flottante again, just like at Le Kitchen in Clermont. It was delicious, but I prefer the version from home*.

 And Josh ordered le fromage - the cheese - instead of sweets. It's a huge disappointment to realize that I forgot to take a photo! Because instead of bringing him a personal selection of cheese on a plate, they brought an enormous, cutting board with seven or eight large chunks of local cheeses. Some hard, some soft, bleus and whites and creamy ivory ones. He had to wait until the couple across from us finished their fromage before it could be brought to him. It was wonderful - and Lincoln, our adventurous eater, found three new French cheeses that he loved. If only we knew their names!

After lunch we used the restroom one more time and were disappointed to miss out on the naked old man show, haha! I fired up The Incredibles on the car DVD player that we save for emergencies (thanks, Ashley!) and we finally fixed the GPS and slowly made our way to the highway. Annecy is a lake city in the foothills of the French Alps, so the drive was punctuated by long, impressive tunnels followed by breathtaking vistas at the ends. I was driving, so I don't have pictures, but I was in awe. We arrived at our three bedroom vacation rental in the heart of town without problems and set about planning our next few days. Part of me wishes that we'd gotten the directions right, but for the most part I'm glad for the adventure of it all. I still have to keep pinching myself to be sure this is all real.

*Home. Talk about a relative term.