Abroad in Bordeaux
In late August fifty-five years ago I flew to France to spend my junior year in Bordeaux as part of the University of California's Education Abroad Program. Born in Montana and raised in Southern California, I had never been east of the Rocky Mountains. The oldest buildings I knew were the Spanish Mission churches and my limited urban experience had been visits to Los Angeles. Nothing had prepared me for life in the city that would be my home for the next academic year. Bordeaux, with its elegant 18th buildings, open public squares, and bustling shopping streets, could not have been more different than the American West, nor more beguiling.
Out of the 100 students from the various UC campuses in the program my French fluency was in the bottom percentile, and I knew I would have to work diligently to improve. That is why I chose to live with a family in the city rather than in the dorms on the Université de Bordeaux campus in nearby Talence. What luck to rent a room in the elegant townhouse of Madame Marguerite Assémat. Madame Assémat, a recent widow, lived with her spinster sister Gabrielle, her white-haired mother Madame Lalande, and Hernandine, the Portuguese maid. Madame welcomed me into her fine home on Rue Abbe de l'Epeé where from my small room on the third floor I ventured out to discover a country and a way of life I have treasured ever since.
Madame Assémat and me on a visit to Bordeaux in September 2001
As a locataire, renting my room, I did not take my meals with the family. Most often I ate in the school cafeteria in town. On occasional Sundays I was invited to join Madame, Mademoiselle Gaby, and Madame Lalande for a long, leisurely lunch in the formal dining room where Hernandine, dressed in black with a starched white apron and matching collar would serve us. It might have been a scene out of a French film, the characters perfectly playing their roles, including me.
Madame Assémat, a compact, efficient woman clearly in charge of her domain, would begin our lunchtime conversations, with the tall slender Gaby joining in, her cigarette in a long holder waiting for the after-meal chat in the parlor. Madame Lalande, snowy hair piled high on her head, wore only black garments with a white grosgrain ribbon around her neck. The Lalandes were a respected old wine family and portraits of earlier generations graced the walls of the house. Madame Assémat had married into another wealthy family who had made their fortune importing African peanut oil. Throughout the meal they would ask me about my family, my studies, and my friends in the program. I would respond in my feeble French as they gently corrected and encouraged me.
Madame Lalande and me on a long weekend at Madame Assémat’s country home in the Pays Basque
Hernandine and me in the Ascain house in the Pays Basque
Outside of the house, the streets were my language school. Several times a week I would walk to the Rue Sainte Catherine, the main shopping street. I went not so much to buy anything but to force myself to make small talk with the shopkeepers who would always greet me with a polite plural "Bonjour MessieursDames" in even though I was alone. I frequented neighborhood cafés, chatting with the waiters as I lingered over my coffee.
As most of my classes were in Talence, I would often join other students at the La Place de la Victiore to hitch a ride rather than take the bus. The tenor of the conversations with the students who ferried us to campus was a world apart from the refined discussions chez Assémat. Just the year before France had been rocked by strikes and demonstrations. Université de Bordeaux students like their counterparts in Paris retained some of the rebel spirit of Mai 68. That same spirit animated conversations on campus and at the cafés surrounding La Place, although the café gatherings often devolved into flirtatious banter. The Frenchmen seemed to find the young American women trés amusantes. Before school year was over there were more than a few romances. And broken hearts, including mine.
By May, my French was nearly fluent. New outfits with pert scarves tied at my neck had replaced my too bright Southern California clothes. I had come love all the women in Madame's home and I was grateful for their returned affection. It was time to leave, but I took Bordeaux home in my heart.
