gens du voyage


"Zig" and "Zag" a couple of gypsy chicks (...or "pintades") that live up the street. I mentioned them in Saturday's Cinéma Vérité, and showed a few other "characters" from my neighborhood including one Don Juan of a swan.

(boo-zhowt) noun, feminine

    wanderlust; itchy feet 

avoir la bougeotte = to have ants in one's pants, to be always on the move

French definition : envie de voir le monde - a desire to see the world

Example sentence from French news*:
Aujourd'hui, Robert Piché a toujours la bougeotte mais il voyage en sage aventurier. Today Robert Piché still has wanderlust, but he travels as a wise adventurer.

*"Le tour du monde - Commandant Piché : les racines du ciel," Le Devoir

Audio File: hear the French word "bougeotte" and the example sentence: Download Bougeotte Wave . Download Bougeotte MP3

My French Coach by Nintendo: Learn French through mini-games and competition
Speaking Better French: The Key Words and Expressions that You'll Need Every Day

A Day in a French Life...
by Kristin Espinasse

The enigma surrounding my mother is beginning to dissipate. It began with her response to a question I posed in a recent post: "Tell us your goals". Mom's were to:

Hit the road, whether in a Porche or on a donkey, find out what lies around that next mountain!

There could not have been a truer statement and, in a nutshell, that is my Mom: 99 percent wanderlust, one percent rooted to the ground. As I read my own mother's comment among a dozen others, I think about Mom's husbands.

All four of them, if they read Mom's answer, would surely be shaking their heads at the day a young bride ran away: whether on foot, by car, by plane... or by Mexican ponga. She hasn't stopped "running" since, and she's never caught up with "that next mountain."  My mom, I am beginning to realize, is a gypsy at heart... which might explain why my childhood home came with wheels.

There in our single-wide trailer, I observed my mom and her "enigmaties" (so as not to say "eccentricities"); beyond the exotic exterior, deep inside her beautiful heart, basking in the twilight of mystery, was the golden seed. A French gypsy had unwittingly sowed it there, on fertile ten-year-old "soul", setting my Mom and, by design, me on a wayward and wonderful journey.

Today I invite you to enjoy part two of Mom's story. (Read part one here.)

Mom writes:

53 years later; as I recline around a lovely French table in the heart of Provence, memories of my first encounter with the French color my thoughts as I inhale the aroma of spring deep in the Rhone Valley. 

(note: Jules is missing from this picture... busy taking the photo from afar!)

I am seated with a bunch of Kristi's French relatives by marriage - my mind fading in and out of the scene - unable to follow their lively conversation. I reminisce once again of my first encounter with JOSEPHINE - the first and only Frenchwoman who took up her brush and painted my future on the rainbows of dreams.  Of course she was a GYPSY!!!
Josie's first words to me were "Bonjour, Cherie, comment vas-tu?"

My ears perked up and they were filled with this strange and melodious sing-song chatter....what on earth was this? At ten years old and in 1956 (pre-t.v. and coming from the mountains of northern Utah) I was ignorant of France and the most beautiful language in the world.
Josie's voice floated down the stairs enhancing this already enchanting memory.  Her slippers were a metallic gold, like the sparks of light bouncing off of her hair this late afternoon.  I didn't know which end of her to focus on first -- it was all so magnifique.  After her shoes my eyes caught the repeated glimmer of gold woven throughout the hemline of her dress.  In and out, the strands of gold swam through the heavier layers of thin taupe-colored yarn that constituted the knitted entirety of her dress. So many firsts for me in that treasured moment of time... a foreign language... metallic gold shoes... colored hair... a dress made of  strands of gold... BIG DIAMONDS on graceful fingers... and of course the finale: a glass of rose-colored liquid in a beautiful cup, fused on a stick of glass with a tiny upside-down saucer attached. How great it was to be ten years old, to have your body and soul quake with expectation and wonder of what is around the next corner!  At this moment I was seduced into the wandering, dreamy life I would continue to pursue with joy every day of my life.
I was invited through the gate into this magical garden of delights in the fall of 1956 -- a door I stumbled upon that opened up door after door... each doorway introducing me to the magic and wonder of life.  Josie and her adorable husband, Jimmy, lit the fires of language, history, archeology, cuisine, cocktail-hour, style & elegance, the art of sharing (with a ten-year-old)... mentoring to all of the little sprouts of my senses and soul.
There was so much to discover about Josie and Jimmy; of course I had to share this find with my 13-year-old brother, Rusty.  And so our adventure began.  When Josie and Jimmy met Rusty, I was kind of pushed into the background, understandably so, because Rusty was a star -- a STAR whose brightness couldn't be denied.  I was fine with this, mostly because he was my star too. Underneath my skin resided a solitary soul who could turn on and off her brightness when need be. 

*     *     *

I hope you have enjoyed my Mom's stories.  If you would like to respond to them, please do so here, in the comments box. Merci d'avance!


A Message from KristiFor twenty years now, support from readers like you has been an encouragement and a means to carve out a career in writing. If my work has touched you in any way, please consider a donation. Your gift keeps me going! Thank you very much.

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For more online reading: The Lost Gardens: A Story of Two Vineyards and a Sobriety