carrot-radish salad & a blurry teenage memory
At such a young, fragile age, I had the chance to go to France with fellow language students for 10 days. It’s the farthest I’ve roamed; I haven’t traveled much. While the second half of the trip was spent crisscrossing Paris with classmates and our spunky teacher, the first consisted of a homestay, for which we were separated from familiar faces and placed with a French family with a similarly aged child. My family of four lived in a humble home set on acres of Muscadet grape-producing trees in La Haye-Fouassière, a small town in the Loire Valley, about a 30-minute drive from Nantes (not one of my favorite cities, but one of my favorite songs).