Wednesday, September 25, 2013

La douceur angevine part I

I have the day off, so here is a little taste of la douceur angevine I was experiencing today.. Oh wait, what's douceur angevine you say? This "Angevine gentleness" or sweetness is a cliché, for starters, but I think there's plenty of truth in it. Part of it concerns the weather. Even in the winter the weather is mild [entry titled Part 1 so that come January or February I can verify.] I noticed it a little myself the other night. It looked so blustery outside after I went to my first French yoga class(!) and I was bracing for the worst. When I stepped out, it just wasn't so bad, and my friend said, "That's la douceur angevine! It can look awful out, but it's never as bad as it looks." It's also a little bit of the territorial identity for people from the region. One Frenchman, Eric Groud, describes it like this, "a historic richness, an agreeable climate, a grand attraction in the university, an economic fiber, industrial, the very diversified agriculture, a region at once both traditional and turned towards the future..." And if you haven't gotten enough of an idea, a French film director, Jean-Pierre Mocky says, "La douceur angevine? If it's the wine that gives it, then with pleasure! There is in Anjou a convivial side, the people are laid-back. It is a welcoming region where there isn't excess. One senses a sort of harmony, of serenity, of calm. The Loire that snakes, and the troglodytes, that is the surrealist side. In other places, the contours are more delicate. More than the gentleness, I will speak of calm. Here everything brings quiet. The gastronomie, too, is sweet."

Too much typing for one day! That was a nice little exercise in translation to renew my appreciation for translators... so keep in mind my translations above lack a certain something from the originals.

Bees. Daisies. And the Maine.

 

An archway leading to my favorite square, favorite for it's sun-drenched buildings and openness, and being right next to the old Tour St. Aubin.

 

Below, Rue St Aubin, a street since Roman times.

 

I stopped at Cafe St Martin to write postcards. The sweet rosé isn't too sweet, but light and fruity. Perfect day off!

 

Then back chez moi in the evening, fall is slowly arriving outside the kitchen window.

 

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