Yves

This is my second post of the evening.  Judge me if you must but I'm exhausted from this week.  I went to a pub tonight for about thirty minutes out of social obligations to my fellow 22-year-olds and then it hit me that I'm actually 65 at heart.  My room, tea, and writing were calling my name (as well as a bed which I will visit in just a few).

I've had a few minor victories whilst in France this week.  At one point on Wednesday I began thinking in French.  The only thing that made me conscious of it was that I got to a word I didn't know fully and then thought, "What?!  I'm so cool!  I'm so, 'comment-dit-on' French!"  My second victory lies in the saliva I spewed across the room during a conversation with a classmate.  At that moment memories of my teacher in high school, Madame, came flooding back and I realized that my pronunciation was getting better.  C'est si bon.

Lastly, I'd like to introduce you to Yves:

For these two weeks I've walked past this ity-bity shop called "Librairie les Annciennes".  It was so small in-fact, and so infrequently opened that I thought it some random museum of ancient literature opened only by appointment.  

Today I looked in and there happened to be lights warming the spines of the books and dust of the shelves.  I saw an old man reading and smoking his pipe among them and I had second thoughts before walking down the steps.  I felt like an invitation was needed before entering this man's private library.

Soon I discovered no matter the culture, the elderly love to talk.  Just so you know, the shop is actually open in the afternoons at about 3pm and except for Mondays (Sundays is simply a given).  Oh, and tomorrow Yves has plans to eat lunch and venture out into the nearby woods to chop down his own wood for the upcoming cold in the Alps; so the shop won't be running then either.

With further inquiries I found out that he grew up in Chambéry.  My favorite part of the conversation was when he pointed his knobby finger to the wooden cross above the staircase to the loft and said in plain French, "Thanks to God I get my shop, my coffee, and my tobacco.  He gave this all to me, even surprise conversations with young American girls.  You don't know what each day holds."

I was excited to find another believer in Chambéry.  I was looking at his shelves of réligion and found an old book of Catechisms.  It didn't have a price and at this point I really wanted to buy something from this man.

"How much does this cost?"

<<Pour toi, gardes-le pour ton souvenir de Chambéry.  C'est mon plaisir que je te le donne.>>

(For you, keep it as a souvenir of Chambéry.  It's my pleasure to give it to you.)

After that I had Yves inscribe a little note and date on the inside of the book for me.  Hopefully I can come back and visit him to practice my French, but I have a feeling I'll do most of the listening.

<<Fin>>

Catechisms of Unbelievers, but it's actually a conversation between God and a non-believer.  

Almost C.S. Lewis style.  C'est intéressant.  

One last thing, I"m not going to lie and say that I didn't have flashbacks of this after talking to him:

Maybe that's why I like old bookstores.  Say, there's a castle up the road from there too:

château des Ducs de Savoie