On November 5th, 2015, I arrived in France to begin a weeklong trip researching Babette’s story. This was a journey I’d anticipated ever since my professor began telling me tales about her childhood, over fifteen years before. But I couldn’t do it alone. My old friend Eric Smiley provided invaluable assistance through linguistic skills, traveling expertise and generosity with his frequent flyer miles.

I took a train into Toulouse, in Southern France, where Eric and I met up. We then arranged a Blablacar for our next destination. Blablacar is a European rideshare system where people driving to certain locations can connect with others going the same way. A couple cheerful Blablamotorists picked us up and drove us further south, to a little town called Sauveniac.

Pierre’s farmhouse, built in the early 1700s.

There we met a young fellow named Pierre, who had agreed to keep us for the night through couch surfing dot com. He took us along winding roads deep into the countryside, nothing but trees and brambles visible outside his little white van. At last an old stone farmhouse entered into the headlights. Pierre worked as a forester in the region, which he told us possessed one of the largest woodlands in France, originally set aside by Napoleon III.

Pierre’s French cat with a French mouse.

At this, I couldn’t help but share some of Babette’s story, as my professor considered Napoleon III one of her heroes and always kept his bust prominently displayed. Pierre found this fascinating and listened, while carving paper thin slices of cured ham off a large shank. He made us up a wonderful meal with this, plus delicious cheese, fois gras and bread.

Eric and Pierre look up info on the Bonnefonts

Upon hearing about Babette’s family, the Bonnefonts, Pierre pulled down a large old book titled, Dictionaire des Dictionaires and began looking up genealogical information on them. Later we discussed my professor’s love of literature and I mentioned a favorite, the 19th century writer Charles Paul de Kock. Pierre jumped to his feet at this and retrieved several books by him, including a few autographed copies. “How wonderful!” he enthused. “Even in France no one reads de Kock anymore!”

“love to my biggest fan” -CPdK

At last, full of food and wine, we collapsed in a guest room, ready to begin following my professor’s trail further the next day.