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.