My Host Family and a Day of Cheese Delivery in Paris
Courtney M, Village13
I will always remember the first time I saw the Eiffel Tower. I stepped off the metro at Trocadero, turned the corner and glimpsed the tower from afar, lit up at night, simultaneously jumping for joy and shedding a tear at the absolute magnificence of what was before me. I felt similarly upon my first visit to the Louvre, Notre Dame, Sacre Coeur, and many, many more sites. The initial entry into a new city is always spectacular and special and significant in any traveler’s memory. But maybe because of my time on The Village Program: Europe Starts Here, I’ve begun to relish a love for the experience — that nexus of place, activity, culture and people — that asks me to dive into what’s beyond the surface of even the most gorgeous sites of tourism. If I had to cite one element of my life on The Village that probably led me to this love of experience over place I’d have to say: my host family and the cheesy way I met the world through them.
What do I mean? Well first and foremost — because my host family brought a certain intimacy and familiarity to my relationship with France and its people like no other — I fell in love with France on a human scape and learned along the way that even mundane activities done with these dear people became special. But along with the usual feasts and festivities that came along with the fun and friendships I enjoyed with my host family, I was also allowed to encounter the day-to-day world what they did to earn their livelihood as a local business. And this is where things get…cheesy.
Literally, because my host père, Jean-Luc, is the local goat cheese farmer in town, and he is spectacularly talented in my humble opinion. He and his cheese are also beloved throughout the Loire Valley, in Paris, and around Europe. In order to reach these various cheese-lovers, Jean-Luc makes weekly deliveries to Paris stopping at many cheese vendors along the way. Because of my love for French dairy products, desire to learn the language, and constant wanderlust, JL invited me along for one of his deliveries. Little did I know at the time what I had gotten myself into and that one long day with fromage in tow would be among the best I’d ever spend in France.
At 2:45 AM in the wee hours of a Tuesday morning, JL picked me up in a large white delivery van, with his lovely pup Puff and a continental breakfast waiting in the front seat, and we hit the road. Several cups of coffee, a few pastries, and three hours later, and we had reached Rungis, a huge wholesale food market a few kilometers south of Paris. I have never seen so many fresh food products in my life. There were giant storerooms dedicated to just Gruyere cheese or products from southern Italy. It was lovely and overwhelming; I felt a bit like a visitor to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory — it was cheese heaven.
After we reached Paris, we delivered to nearly twenty local cheese shops all over the city. We drove from the Bastille area to Montmartre, passing the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame, circling the Arc de Triomphe, darting through tiny side streets and doubting our large van’s ability to squeeze past local cyclists. As I wheeled our cart in and out of each cheese shop, I encountered local farmers and businesspeople; some who had owned their stores for several decades and accrued prestigious awards, others young apprentices just opening their own shops. I could overhear Jean-Luc introducing me as his American friend who really loved French cheese and wanted to learn more. Some joked with me in English; several asked me if I wanted to be a farmer when I grew up; others quizzed me in French about my stay in their country, and a few particularly lovely favorites offered me samples of their best cheeses.
Throughout the day, I saw a new face of Paris and of France. I saw people who loved their jobs, who worked hard every day selling products they were proud of; I met people who wanted to share their culture and their stories with an American stranger. I spent the day with a man who simply welcomed me into his family and his life, not minding that I slowed down his meticulously planned schedule and likely embarrassed him in French in front of his colleagues.
As we ate baguettes and headed back home, laughing about the missteps we’d had throughout the journey, I felt accomplished having completed a long, chaotic day of work, and I relaxed in the comfort of a life away from my own. When we made our way through the Loire Valley and back to the gates of the Abbey that evening, I was more at home than I ever expected, more at ease with the French lifestyle than I ever had been, and more in love with this country’s people than I knew to be possible.
I suppose a very special person could have made this kind of day happen for herself without the benefit of the local connections that The Village Program helped me to make. But then again I kind of doubt that, really. Because what J.L shared with me that day was something beyond just opening his professional world up for an interested American to see. Rather he showed somebody who’d spent time with his family and in his home what it was about his professional life that made him most proud. I saw his genius and his passion reflected back through the morning mist of Rungis. And then again as the sun set on a long day — when we got back to our village and his family treated both of us like conquering heroes who’d brought their sacred chevre out into a discerning and eager world — I saw one more time how a day of authentic experience is worth so much more than a day as a tourist.
