Bénichon

Today was the Bénichon Festival, particular only to the Canton of Fribourg. We went to Philippe's parent's house to eat with the entire extended family, an annual tradition that extends back fifty years. In all, we probably numbered about 25 or 30, which meant alot of introductions, and awkward half-conversations. Despite my relative inability to comport myself in French, I think people definitely underestimate my proficiency. They talk to me with painfully deliberate enuciation, crawling through their sentences to ensure that I understand, and immeadiately afterwards translate any potentially difficult words. I appreciate the gesture to reach out and include me, but I feel a little silly when they talk like a children's television character. Today, one woman told me her husband was Simon and Alain's uncle. "Tu sais que s'est, oncle?" she said "It's Uncle, in English." Perhaps I just have a naturally inquisitive face. Admittedly, I have developed the rather obnoxious habit of responding to anything adressed toward me, with "Quoi?" or "Repete." One of my greatest fears is responding to the wrong quesion, so I always ask to double check my comprehension, regardless of whether I think I understand it. No doubt, that gives the impression I understand far less than I do. Many of the adults talk about me in French, assuming I don't understand them, but my eavesdropping skills far exceed my speaking skills. Interestingly, I can sometimes do this with German. Based on context clues, cognates, and what little German I know, I can deduce what Ruth or my brothers are saying. I always feel rather proud whenever I successfully eavesdrop - French or German - because it feels like I'm a level above where I should be.

We were there from about noon until 9:30, for two meals. The first consisted of cabbage soup, and lamb, and potatoes, and meringue - not exactly what I would have chosen, but it was good enough. Philippe's mother kept insisting I eat, filling my plate with slabs of lamb, despite my good-natured protests. I think Alain and Simon's grandparents almost treat me like one of their kin, inquiring about my being, drowning me in food, and taking me on outings in the mountains. The next meal consisted of, like most evening meals in Switzerland, just bread and various toppings. There are invariably dozens of varieties of bread, each sweet, fresh and soft, three or four cheeses, sharp and pungent - entirely different from American cheese, but delicious, several types of jelly, butter (which I only discovered I liked about three weeks ago), meats (turkey or ham), and of course, moutard de Bénichon, a specialty spread of Fribourg. Thus, souper, despite its simplicity, is undoubtedly my favorite meal of the day.

Between the two meals, I spent time primarily with the other kids. There's about five years differnece between the youngest (12 or 13) and the oldest, and there are enough of them, that we can play sports fairly effectively. We played alot of basketball, because there's a hoop that all the older kids could dunk on, with the appropriate lines painted on the pavement. Feu rouge, or Knock-Out, was the main game, and at one point or another basically everyone participated. Simon also grabbed two baseball gloves, so some people were tossing around a ball.

We also went to a carnival to ride the "carousel," which turned out to be a large Tilt-o-Whirl. We also spent some time in some bumper cars, and on a platform of several incredibly springy trampolines. Interestingly, there were hardly any attempts at crowd control or safety restrictions. People were running willy-nilly through the bumper car pit during a run, and the trampolines were regulated only through the number of people in the cage. I also expect the litigation subculture here is less active than that in America, so people can take whatever stupid risks they want.