France: Monday, Sept 7

Armed with our Google directions and a map of the region, we set out on our drive to Lake Geneva, specifically a small village slightly inland called Dugny where a childhood friend of my mother's lives. Her name is Jeanette. At first, things seem to be going well until I started to not see the local town names on the map I was following. Then I realized we were heading toward Lyon. We were going west when we should have been going east. We missed a turnoff somewhere. So we got off the highway and started asking locals for directions. Because we were so far out of the way, one person suggested we take a different route. But then we wouldn't have the detailed info like which exit to take for our destination. We were all so stressed at being lost, but I decided we should go back the way we came and resume out original directions. Thankfully, this worked and we eventually made it to to the village of Dugny...or so the wooden sign on the tree told us. We were in the village, but there are no street names or addresses. We only knew that Jeanette's house had green shutters and was the last on one of the two roads we saw. So I got out and asked the first person I saw if they knew Jeanette. They pointed up one of the roads and said "just keep going."

We went all the way up the road only to find a forest beginning. So we turned around and realized it was the last house we had passed: an old and somewhat dilapidated farmhouse that had to be at least 100 years old. Jeanette was not at home. We knew she would be in the hospital having a minor procedure done, but she wanted us to come anyway. She would see us when she came back home in a couple of days. The neighbor, Christine, was expecting our arrival as she saw us arrive and came out to greet us and give us the key to the house. Thankfully, it was still daylight so we could see around the place a bit. The house itself was 2 stories and Jeanette's home was only half of the entire structure. You entered into the kitchen which was large with a big round table. Further in was the living room. There was one bathroom which was on the first floor and 3 bedrooms upstairs. Upstairs the floor slanted a bit and our bedroom window opened up to her "backyard" where her geese and chickens were.

Jeanette had left us some general instructions as well as some food for us to eat that night: roasted fresh chicken (that was probably running around just a couple of days before) and potatoes and carrots from her garden. We looked around outside a bit. There was a garden of vegetables and flowers. And then there was Romeo: the sweetest-faced, gentlist pet mule you ever saw. The neighbor would be taking care of the all the animals in Jeanette's absence. Christine also drove us to the local market so we could buy a few things. A steady stream of Jeanette's neighbors arrived to help greet us: First was Kristen—an American who lives in the village and works for the UN in Geneva. Apparently, she came here on vacation 20 years ago and never left. She married a Frenchman and now lives with her family in the village. She was of great help as she lent us a GPS for our stay. I had never used one before, but I figured it couldn't hurt.

Another visitor was Jeanette's son who just stayed briefly to see that we were okay. Christine's husband Benoit also came over later on since he spoke a little English. He's a very friendly fellow and was apparently very enamored of American culture. He liked to brag that he had driven on Route 66 more than once and had been to New York City.

We finally sat down to our home-made country dinner. At this point, and at the first bite, tears began to stream down my face. I wasn't' sure why at first, but I think it was the culmination of how many months of planning it took to get this far. Coupled with the stress of the day, of just trying to find our destination and all of us getting on each other's nerves was a bit overwhelming. I just wanted everyone to have a good time and not be upset with one another. Charles and my mother were very understanding and comforted me greatly.

After dinner, Charles and I went outside. I had to bundle up as the nights were very cool there near the mountains. We walked up the road a bit and turned around. The sight I saw almost made me tear up again. You could see an amazing, crystal clear view of Lake Geneva (or Lac Leman as it is called on the French side). It looked like a jewel as it was lit up not only by the bright moonlight of that night, but also the lights of all the towns along it's rim. We couldn't believe we were actually here and how beautiful everything was.

However...I still wasn't quite at the final destination I've been wanting to see for 30 years: the village where my grandmother used to live—Excenevex. That would have to wait until tomorrow.

France: Sunday, Sept 6

Taking 2 cars, we headed out toward a town called Plan-de-Baix, taking small country roads heading north. Charles and I were hoping we could keep up with my aunt's driving as she can be something of a speed demon even at the age of 84. We maneuvered through winding roads and eventually made it to the town. We stopped briefly to look at the local scenery: a small old church and a pasture with cows. Apparently, my grandfather worked briefly as a sheepherder near this village. My uncle pointed to a mountain with a plateau upon which stood a very large cross. I thought he was just pointing out the people hiking up there until I realized that the

cross was to be our next stop.

We parked the cars at the base of the mountain, took out the walking sticks and commenced our climb. Now, most of my friends know I'm not much of a hiker, and at first I was concerned. But then I realized that if my 78 and 84 year old uncle and aunt could do it, so could I. In fact, it was not bad at all as the road up was mostly paved and even. Only the last bit was dirt. Charles and I arrived first, shortly followed by my uncle and aunt. Once there, my uncle pointed out various landmarks of the view. I couldn't believe how quickly we had attained such a height. My uncle also asked me about the video of my grandmother he had watched the day earlier. He felt it was too personal and asked if would I be able to ensure it's privacy. I said I would. I also expressed my thanks at his taking us on this little outing. He made sure to let me know that it was completely his pleasure to have shown us these little out of the way places.

Suddenly, we realized that my mother had still not joined us on the plateau. So my aunt went to look for her while we ate a snack of dark chocolate and spiced bread at the base of the cross. We joined them shortly after and found my mother going down the wrong road. Apparently, she did not see the sign for the location of the cross. We escorted her up to see the view and then started our descent.

Once back in the cars, we resumed our excursion into more mountainous areas and ended up at a charming outdoor restaurant, hotel and natural spring called the Moulin de la Pipe. We had a delicious meal there on a patio overlooking a brook. Many cars were going up and down the canyon road. Apparently, somewhere north of us was an antique car show as many antique and classic cars passed by, one after another. During lunch my uncle encountered an acquaintance of theirs. When they learned that we were visiting from California, they seemed eager to talk with us. We found this everywhere we went in France. People were eager to talk with "Les Americains" as we were called. They would often point out if they had been to America themselves or if they knew someone who had. They were always extremely welcoming.

Back at our table I was a bit upset (at myself) that my uncle had gone and paid for the lunch himself. I had wanted to pay and was waiting for the bill, but apparently restaurants in France don't give you the bill until you ask for it. I told him that I wanted to make a gift of lunch, but he responded that my coming to France was already a gift enough for him.

Again, back in our cars, the confusion began. We thought my uncle, aunt and mother had gone to turn around and return south. But we didn't see them come back down the road so Charles and I drove up the road which became quite mountainous and curving. I looked at every parked car along the way trying to find them until we reached the small town of Ombleze. Although they might have stopped to see the waterfalls and such, I didn't think they had come this far. Charles asked if I thought I could get us back to Crest. I was fairly certain as we had borrowed a local map from my uncle just in case. There was no cell phone reception in the mountainous area where we were so that was of no help. So we turned around and headed home as it was getting late in the afternoon anyway and we still had to prepare for our drive to Lake Geneva the next day.

We got back to the house well before dinner time. Unfortunately, we missed my uncle showing my mom the silk factory nearby where my grandmother used to work during their earlier years in France. It turns out we never saw my aunt's car come back down the road and my mother had misinterpreted some gesture I had apparently made on the side of the road thinking it was a signal that we were following right behind. It was at that point we became separated after lunch. It was not a big deal however. Charles and I saw the waterfalls and Ombleze and my mom saw the silk factory where my grandmother once worked. We each had our different little detours on the way back home and all was well.

Charles and I went for a short walk in the hills near my uncle's house before dinner. A pleasant warm breeze rustled the dry leaves of the trees as we walked through them. I was eager for the next day's trip to Lake Geneva, and I thought it would give a nice break to my aunt and uncle that had been catering to us so generously...but I didn't want to stay away for too long.

France: Saturday, Sept 5

I awoked tired and wanting to sleep more, but then suddenly remembered the farmer's market happening in town that morning. My mother had gone with my aunt and uncle (Suzanne and Francois). I realized that my mother and her brother were in there hometown together and that I was probably missing some good photo opportunities with the both of them. I started hurrying to get ready, but unfortunately they returned shortly after. Nonetheless, Charles and I still went to the market as we wanted to see the scene and what it had to offer. The mistral winds had started kicking up so even though it was a sunny day, I donned a hat and scarf for the cool winds. The market was in full swing when we got there, complete with a couple of street musicians, wares for sale and tons of region specific foods. Cheeses and meats of all kinds, but also vegetables, pastries and preserves. We figured it didn't make sense to buy even more cheese than there was at home already, but still couldn't resist buying a tiny container of fresh, non-aged goat cheese, just to see what it would taste like.

It was nice to just relax and wander the streets with no particular agenda for that day. We passed an old hotel that caught my eye. I peered briefly though the window. I didn't realize it at the time, but it turned out to be the hotel were my mother and I stayed in town when I was a kid. We also passed a dry fountain where the day before my mother had told us that near the fountain there used to be a wall. This was the wall she and her mother passed one day during the war when suddenly her mother threw her apron over my mother's head. This was so my mother could not witness the death of several men about to be executed by a German firing squad.

After only a day and a half I was already becoming familiar with some of the streets. We ended up in a sort of cul-de-sac where two small boys were playing. One had a long stick he was using to block entrance to the area. As we approached, I asked if we were permitted to pass. He said I had to have a passport. I said I did have one, but then he said I also needed a password. I didn't have the secret password, but he let us by anyway. Somehow, this still reminded me of games children would play during the war some 65 years before.

We got hungry for lunch and found a creperie with an open storefront. I was amused at the menu which, in addition to offering such things as an escargot crepe, also had a specialty with frogs legs. It was called Le Kermitte. We decided on your run of the mill ham, cheese and egg crepes while listening to the strains of the Red Hot Chili Peppers singing Californication in the distance from someone's apartment. I think I would have preferred the accordion player from the the market earlier. After lunch, we returned home (especially since things turn into a ghost town after everything closes after lunch). We found my uncle and aunt having their afternoon coffee (essentially expresso) that wakes them from their afternoon naps. They have it in the living room with old-fashioned tray, coffee pot and demi-tasse cups. Along with the coffee, they also have a square or two of very good quality dark chocolate. This is a ritual they practice each day.

My mother, Charles and I walked down the road from my uncle's to see his neighbor, Helene. Helene was a childhood friend of my mother's. They last saw each other 8 years ago during my grandmother's funeral. We sat and talked with Helene and her husband in their beautiful home. Helene's son was in the process of dying from cancer so she was understandably sad at times, yet still happy to see my mother. I translated as best I could for Charles so he could also be a part of the conversation.

We returned to my uncle's house just after he and Suzanne had sat down to watch the family videos I had uploaded to YouTube for him to see. One was of my grandmother Agnes just 6 months before her passing. My brother had visited her and videotaped their visit in 2001. By the look on my uncle's face, this had been a hard video to watch. But he was still interested in having a copy of it on disk for himself. His son Laurent, a sound engineer, may be able to convert the format so they can watch it in France.

Later on, Charles and I decided to walk to the local supermarket to get a couple of items and just see what sort of things they have in their stores that might be different than ours back home. Charles was interested in the various liquors available and I was fascinated by the kiddie-sized toilet paper for smaller butts. I bought tissue packets and Charles bought a canned beer. And we enjoyed a simple afternoon walking back to my uncle's house.

After dinner, my uncle produced his collection of liquors and after-dinner aperitifs for us to sample. I think this was another bonding moment for us. He told us he'd like to take us on a little hike the next day in a town about 20 minutes away....

France: Friday Sept 4

We decide to take on the Tower of Crest. I remember being spooked by it as a child with it's fake skeletons hanging from the side and torture instruments throughout the rooms. This time I didn't see either, but there were spooky sound effects and little by little, we made our way to the top of the tower. Not an easy feat for those unnerved by heights. Finally reaching the top, we surveyed the town fro

m our windy heights. Charles laughed nervously as he watched a young German woman put her legs over the side of the tower only holding on to the thin railing. Getting back down took some time. We went into town for a snack and to look around some more. We climbed the hundred steps of another church where we found another great view of the town. Mom also showed us the place where Grandma Neumann used to wash the family clothes near their house. We spoke to an old woman who lived in town. She invited us in since she thought she knew someone that Mom knew. As she was writing down some information for Mom, we looked around at the dark little home. Later we learned this was one of the many ancient prisons in town.

After dinner my uncle showed us the photos he had scanned from my grandmother's collection. We looked at close-ups of a group photo taken in Hungary in 1937 during a funeral for my great-grandfather. We know from letters that my grandfather (Ferenz) wanted to attend the funeral, but we don't know if he actually made it back there. So we can only guess at one man in the crowd that may or may not be him. There are many letters from my grandmother's collection that she, in fact, did keep from Ferenz. Surprising, since she did throw out most other things concerning him. The letters are in Hungarian and thanks to my uncle taking up the language after my grandmother's passing, he is slowly translating them bit by bit. I really relished sitting there with him and going through the old photos, having him show me first-hand his discoveries.

I forgot to mention that the night before, there was much discussion about family histories as well. This time talking about the war, my mother's and uncle's relationship with their parents, etc. I had known that my grandfather Ferenz had left Hungary in 1918, a pivotal year, and we knew that it was over some disagreement with his family. My uncle has since found out that Ferenz was in fact an anarchist. Fascinating.

France: Thursday Sept. 3

The first morning, I woke before Charles (yes, this was highly unusual) and peered out of the bathroom window. I began to tear up again at the site: a warm and lush country hillside scattered with houses here and there. The Tower of Crest finishing the scene to the left as it lorded over the town. It was quiet, calm and peaceful.

I went upstairs to have my breakfast which consisted of local bread

s and my aunt's homemade preserves and some tea. I still couldn't stop smiling. I still couldn't believe I was finally here. I got ready, but Charles was still sleeping. Apparently, I got over the jet lag much sooner than he. So I made him some coffee with which to wake him. Shortly after, lunch was served by my aunt who is an amazing cook. The meals were simple, yet full of flavor. She served in an old-fashioned manner with separate courses. You don't think you're eating a lot at the time, but by the end of it all, you're quite full. The topper to the meals were usually a variety of cheeses (4 or 5) on a large platter. Just one or two bites of each was enough to suffice as they were quite rich. 

In the afternoon, we fetched our rental car in town from a very amicable man with a handlebar mustache by the name of Albert Sorin. We rented the only car with an automatic transmission he had. (We figured driving in a foreign country was not the best time to learn how to drive a stick-shift.) As soon as we had the car, we went into town and started looking around. My mother showed us the old church in the town square and we eventually made our way up the winding, narrow cobble-stoned streets to the house were she used to live on the Rue Cote Chaud. We already knew from my uncle that it was currently closed off for renovations and has been for some time now. We could not see inside the courtyard where many families lived in several apartments of the one building. We went up further and saw the house where my uncle was born. This was in much nicer condition.

It was getting late in the afternoon, so we returned to the house for dinner. I wish I could remember each meal Suzanne prepared. The vegetables and meat were always locally raised so they were essentially organic. A gourmet restaurant could not have fed us much better. Sometimes we had ice cream for dessert.

France 2009

In order to express what I have recently experienced, I would have to tell you my life story and what it took to finally return to the "land that I longed to see again." Suffice to say that it was not just a matter of money, or organization, but also of circumstances which were years in the making.

Getting there:

From the first night of our arrival, I was still excited to once again see the Tower of Crest looming in the night sky, lit by it's tungsten lights, as we passed it on the way to my uncle's house just a mile away. And this was despite the 22 hours of traveling it took to finally reach our destination. Once there, I couldn't contain my tears of joy at seeing my aunt and uncle again and just being there. Although it was a late hour, they still had a wonderful spread of food to comfort us upon arrival including a creamy omelet with fried potatoes. My uncle even took a photo of the weary travelers that very night.

Afterward, they took us to our accommodations which were more than any we could have asked for. Charles and I had a room with our own bathroom as did my mother. In fact, Charles and I were on a separate floor which gave us privacy from the rest of the house.