SDF's en France

So, being from the suburbs, I would like to begin by noting that my experience with homeless people in the states is very limited.  Deerfield had only one homeless person when I was growing up.  He was so unique in this aspect that I decided to give him a name (Copernicus) and report sightings to my friends.  I've seen a lot more homeless people here than at home.  In France, not only are homeless people seemingly all over the place, but SDFs (sans domicile fixe) are much more active in asking for handouts or just making your acquaintance.  I have never talked to a homeless person in the United States, but I have talked to numerous SDFs and beggars in France.  I have been approached on the street, in restaurants, near the beach, and at tourist attractions for change.  Interestingly, though, there are also some wayfaring wanderers in Avignon who just want to tell you their story.  Today, my friend Sam and I ran into one.  It's funny, Sam's had a couple really crazy things happen to him in Europe (including being deported from Spain to France by the Spanish Policia for forgetting his passport), and I have my own stories, but this nutjob totally blew our stories out of the water!

We were sitting on a bench at the foot of the Palais des Papes studying for our phonetics quiz when a tanned, bearded French guy sat down next to us.  He had a purple sparkly backpack, and he reeked of booze.  He pulled a mug out of his backpack and filled it with some red wine.  He then proceeded to dunk a baguette into the wine and listen quietly as Sam and I wrestled with the infamous "e caduc" of the French language and tried to understand the rules of French syllabation.  After we finished, this guy started talking to Sam.  He began by asking if Sam spoke French, and then mentioned that he had lived in Wyoming for two years and that his grandfather was Scottish, so he spoke some English.  Then, he told us this story about how he became a member of the Cheyenne tribe (the details of the following fantastic story can in no way be verified or confirmed, haha).   Apparently, he was a blacksmith, and one of his clients was a Native American tribe.  He had horse's foot between his knees to shoe it.  As he was working, the horse stood up, but he managed to keep the horse's foot between his knees and finish working.  The chief was so impressed that he declared that this guy must be special.  In an intense ceremony, they cut our friend's hand, and the chief cut his hand, and they exchanged blood in order to become "blood brothers."  They gave him the name "Cheval Debout," or "Standing Horse."  So yeah, apparently we were chilling with a French member of the Cheyenne tribe, haha.

After that, he informed us of his deportation from the United States after gaining citizenship.  Apparently, his sister was a member of the French communist party, so by association, he was too suspicious to stay in the US.  He was given a week to leave the country, and he has never been back since.  He has hope to return now because of Obama, haha, and the improving relationship between Americans and the French.  At about that time, Sam and I made our exit.  As we were walking away, Sam and I agreed that his deportation story might be even better than Sam's... and we couldn't believe that we spent about 15-20 minutes talking to a drunk guy with a little kiddie backpack.  Oh, France :-P