French McDonalds

You might remember that I said everyone keeps their doors open during the day.  Because of this, walking down the street is an audible montage of human life.  On my way to the post office, I heard phones ringing, snippets of conversation over morning coffee, television shows, wooden spoons tapping against frying pans.  It felt like I was not walking by peoples' houses, but through peoples' houses.

But anyway, today I mailed a big fat stack of postcards and then headed up the hill to see the chateau that the famous French author, Daudet, got most of his inspiration from.  After wandering through the woods for a while, I found it, but it was closed.  The outside was pretty, though:

I guess being an American has spoiled me when it comes to hours of operation.  I expect that things be open every damn day for normal business hours unless it's a mom and pop shop and mom and pop are sick.  Places in France close whenever the people working in them feel like it.  I am irritated at the Chateau, because they said they'd be open from 10-1, and I got there at 10:30.  The French and their business hours, man!

So I walked around the grounds.  I saw graffiti on the back wall and gasped in a manner that would make a pompous aristocrat proud.  Damn kids!  In retrospect, though, it was probably a bad idea to erect a skate park right next to a treasured historic estate.

While I was standing on top of one of the jumpy things to snap this picture and survey the area, a couple drove by at about 5 miles per hour and stared at me with their mouths agape.  I wasn't naked or anything (though I've learned that it's totally cool to sip coffee outside in your thong underwear), so I don't know why they gave me that expression of disbelief, but I made sure to stop what I was doing for the full two minutes they were in sight and stare back at them in earnest.  

In the afternoon, I made baby donuts with the special pan Sabeen gave me.  I can't figure out why, because I didn't add any, but they taste kind of salty.  Things I bake just haven't turned out quite right here, and maybe it's because I suck at converting, but I'm starting to wonder if their baking materials just have a different composition than ours.  

Aww, they look like giant chocolate-covered cheerios.  I'm enjoying the square plates.

We went to McDonald's for dinner.  With the French accent, I didn't even recognize the name until we pulled into the parking lot and saw the arches.  All I could hear was "Makedonow," and I couldn't understand why jaws dropped every time I said I didn't know it.  Downright un-American.  The menu was almost unrecognizable.  I've had McDonalds near Paris before, but the burgers here have square buns, and in lieu of ketchup there was some white condiment ominously named "Frites Sauce," and the mcnuggets look like they're made with actual chicken.  However, I felt as fat and full of self-loathing as I usually do when I eat McDonalds, so in that respect, the experience is truly universal.