The village of Fourcès had a charity committee set up for raising funds for an orphanage in Kerala, S.W. India. They decided to deliver the money in person rather than post it to the orphanage, to see the place for themselves and have an exotic holiday as well.
My host Anne took me along to one of the committee meetings, armed with saris for the members to try on. We were a bit late in setting out.
Upon arrival at the village, Anne went straight up a flight of stairs behind a door, walked into a room, and started to spread out the saris on the side table for people to take a look and try on.
Then, we turned round to find seated around the big table in the middle of the room were a bunch of big beefy men, all eyes trained on us, wondering what we were doing there.
It turned out to be the hunting committee having their meeting — we’d gone to the wrong place. Anne apologised, and we scooped up the saris and left in a hurry.
Upon arrival at the village, Anne went straight up a flight of stairs behind a door, walked into a room, and started to spread out the saris on the side table for people to take a look and try on.
Then, we turned round to find seated around the big table in the middle of the room were a bunch of big beefy men, all eyes trained on us, wondering what we were doing there.
It turned out to be the hunting committee having their meeting — we’d gone to the wrong place. Anne apologised, and we scooped up the saris and left in a hurry.
Those big beefy men must’ve felt most relieved at not having to try on our silk saris out of politeness.
(Fourcès, SW France, 2007)
