What’s that?

When one of my nieces was just learning to talk, she would point her tiny finger and ask in her squeaky little voice, “What’s that?” A pencil, “what’s that?” A tractor, “what’s that?” A fingernail file, “what’s that?” a banana, a shovel…you get the idea. Everything was new to her and she was persistently curious. I’ve always thought this was a good way to look at the world and am reminded of it when I travel. In a different country, everything seems new and delightful. The road signs, building materials, slope of roof and road are all a little bit different. As we begin our journey in france, I keep asking, “what’s that?” It’s actually “what’s that? Why’s that” and How do they do that?” We are traveling slowly and taking the minor roads. My eyes feel full of looking. France isn’t Burma or Azerbaijan. Yet, there are delicious differences with the countries I know well.

Just like everyplace, France is liberally peppered with insignificant villages and we pass through them on our route. They aren’t very special, but in the “what’s that?” frame of mind, there is always something marvellous. It would be amusing to write a travel guide from this perspective:

Vizy les Compte: dusty-looking chateaux, house with shutters painted a lovely shade of blue

Vervins; Rose trellis, split hickory gate and picket fence made out of concrete to resemble wood, Short clothesline against wall.

Chepy: alarming cactus in village planter, Good ironwork gate in front of the school. Woman with serious skin condition walking small dog.

Unfortunately, this guide would become obsolete rather quickly.