The Bartender from Brittany
About a year ago, I was touring the French northwest, the region of Brittany. I was in Saint Brieuc, a quaint little town in the extreme northwest. Even though I live in a port city, Saint Brieuc was very different from Marseille. One thing that was evident very clearly was the lack of sun. I’m not exaggerating when I say that it rained, quite literally, every fifteen minutes. That’s Brittany for you.
The lack of sunlight didn’t prevent the Bretons from being warm, though. Despite the perpetual drizzle, there was an undeniable warmth – in the way they welcomed a stranger like an old friend. As I meandered through the cobbled streets of the town, I stumbled upon a modest bar on the banks of the Gouet river, tucked away from the town's bustle. The setting was magical – one could even see the Bay of Saint Brieuc at a distance from there. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and the inviting aura pulled me in from the dreary weather outside.
Inside, the atmosphere was serene, an oasis from the incessant rain. The bartender, a young local with a welcoming smile, stood behind the counter. Loic, as I learnt later, immediately greeted me with a “bonjour”. Having lived in France for some time now, after a certain point, most greetings seem like an obligation – it's like they have to greet you. That didn’t seem to be the case with Loic. He genuinely seemed interested in that hello. Our conversation unfolded naturally.
“Would you recommend the Breizh cola? I haven’t had it yet”, I inquired about the locally made cola drink that a friend had recommended.
“Of course! That is actually the only cola drink that we serve. There is a lot of demand for it. It’s mostly locals who come here so they all drink that”, he replied, the smile still as big as when he had greeted me.
“Perfect! I’ll take a Breizh cola then. And if I don’t like it, it's on you”, I joked.
Loic chuckled while his colleague, also standing behind the counter, perhaps his supervisor, didn’t seem very pleased by my proposition.
It was 10 am on a Wednesday, so naturally there was no one in this bar except for me. So I took an elaborately long time to decide where to sit – I finally went for the table in front of the doorway, overlooking the river.
“Do you happen to know a place where I can find Breton speakers?”, I asked Loic before beelining towards my table. “I actually speak Breton!” he exclaimed as I turned my back to him. “Do you want to learn some expressions?”
“I would actually really like it”, I said, turning my head halfway for the quick response.
At this point, it was very awkward because I didn’t know if that was a signal to stay at the bar or if I was free to go to my table. The supervisor, judging the awkwardness, nodded at me to take the table. “I’ll send Loic to your table for the lessons”, he said.
Excited, I went to my table with my cola and took out my journal and a pen from my backpack.
In a few minutes Loic came to my table. He didn’t hesitate to grab a chair and sat confidently across from me. “Thanks for not leaving. I never get requests for teaching Breton and it would have been a shame had you left”, he started rambling.
“Well, my cola isn’t finished”, I replied, calmly. He smiled.
I learnt so much about Brittany that day. Loic explained how he was born and raised there, and that his father was a fisherman. He had many memories of going to the Bay (most of which is now protected) and spending time with his father. He asked me many questions about Marseille and India. He was one of the few French people that actually knew about Odia when I told him about my native language. We talked for way too long while he had also discreetly given himself the permission to take my journal and write in it. I didn’t question the process of my guru for the day.
I ended up having lunch there – a dish made of freshly fished scallops with my third serving of the artisanal cola – I was definitely bloated.
“Are you okay?” Loic asked.
“Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll go for a walk to the Bay. That should help me digest”.
“Can I come?”
“How about your shift?”
“We close after lunch on the weekdays”.
“Well then, sure!”
We ventured out into the rain-soaked streets, the town taking on a different charm as Loic shared anecdotes about the lesser-known stories of Saint Brieuc. The rain seemed almost companionable, adding a poetic rhythm to our conversation.
With every step, Loic's pride in his town became evident. He pointed out landmarks, sharing snippets of local history and traditions. Even in the downpour, his enthusiasm was undamped, his laughter blending seamlessly with the patter of raindrops.
As the sun started to set, I decided that it was time to head home. I left Loic at the entrance of the bar where I had met him that morning. I had about an hour of walking to do.
“Kenavo!” he shouted.
I quickly took my journal out and saw that it meant goodbye.
“Kenavo!” I waved back.