I was anxious to see how this would work out, because I had called for reservations several weeks prior. I stumbled through my broken French only to discover the man on the other end spoke Italian, as he uttered "Mama Mia!" and promptly handed the phone to someone else. Struggling to get through the it without hysterically laughing at how ridiculous a phone call without a common language is, I said, "Treize" and then "Tredici - Tray-dee-chee!" as Stefan looked on. We hoped for the best and considered asking our native speaking friends to make reservations next time.
Evidently the owner came from Southern Italy with next to no money and stumbled upon this place, which was in ruins. At that time the French government was heavily subsidizing farmers, so he was able to purchase it for 1 franc, provided he would raise animals. She claimed he was a real ladies man and that the quality of both the home and food changed depending on the woman in his life.
One of the farmer's grandsons was showing me two lizards he had caught in a small package and chasing kittens around until a couple of foxes arrived in hopes of rounding up some table scraps. The German woman was fearful the foxes would take a kitten, so she and her partner ended up taking one home.
It was one of those incredible days that only solidified my love for the area that much more.