Adventures in Paris

Apologies for the lax communique, once again.  It's been a bit of a whirlwind adventure in Paris.  Yesterday, Mom and I managed to do a stunning number of things.  We started the day with a glorious Parisian breakfast in the Hotel du Louvre (a hotel which, despite being excellently situated right across the street from the Louvre, is obviously making little effort in the room furnishings department), and then we headed over to Printemps for some good shopping in the most fashionable city on earth.

After that, we had lunch with Mom's colleagues at a little bistro.  I ordered a bacon cheeseburger (because I've been living here for 2 months, have eaten things with legs, and you can't tell me what to do!!), but the bacon was gross and ham-like, so I picked it off.  The burger was nearly raw, but I ate in anyway.  It doesn't do to be picky whilst visiting another country.  Following lunch, we headed over to the Louvre, where we feasted our eyes on Greek sculptures, French renaissance paintings, and utterly fabulous architecture.  One day I want to decorate my bedroom to look like the gilded ceilings of the Louvre.

The Louvre closed early yesterday for whatever reason, so we seized the opportunity to head over to Angelina's for a cup of the best hot chocolate in the world.  It did not disappoint.  Mom ordered a vanilla eclair and I asked for four mini macrons.  The flavors were coffee, chocolate, raspberry cinnamon, and pistachio.  Each was a divine experience.  After consuming what we dubbed our Thanksgiving feast, Mom and I agreed that we could probably be happy never eating sugar again and then made our way over to the Eiffel Tower.

Of course it was perfect.  We went straight to the top and gazed down on glittering Paris, which stretches all the way to the horizon.  Those of you who have never been to Paris might be tempted to think that if you've gone up in one tall building, you've gone up in all of them.  Sears Tower is like one of the biggest buildings in the world, how could it get better?  Indeed, the first time I came to Paris, I was tempted to skip it as well.  Thank God I didn't, because it is truly, truly remarkable, and something you must not miss, should you ever decide to pay a visit to the city of love.

We were really flipping cold after the Eiffel Tower though, and while desperately searching for a metro station, we saw a sign for a "boat bus," which listed the Louvre as a point of interest on its map.  "Maybe they dock at all the things on their list!"  How naive we were.  We boarded the boat bus, which thankfully had indoor seating, and enjoyed a lovely moonlight tour through Paris, seeing up close such sights as Notre Dame and the Conciergerie.  After disembarking from the boat after the pleasant hour-long tour, the Eiffel Tower began to sparkle.  It was truly magical.

And so concluded our marvelous Parisian adventure.  This afternoon we shall board a train to Avignon, from which we will rent a car and travel the winding country roads to Les Baux de Provence, my favorite place in southern France.  A bientot!

Paris, Je t'aime

Sometimes I still look around and think, "I'm really in France right now.  I'm really on the other side of the world, in a place that only existed in my imagination and on a map for so long."  Only three years ago, Paris was a place to which I only endeavored to go.  Today I entered it for the third time, after living in the French countryside for two months.

It's funny how dreams become achievements and then memories and then things in your past that once meant the world to you.  I remember watching window shots in the movie Ratatouille, the ones that overlooked the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe and thinking that I would do anything to go there.  And I did go there.

It was magical then, of course, just like it's magical now.  It's the city that sparkles, the romance capital of the world.  It holds some of the most beautiful art and architecture in the world, and every man knows how to wear a scarf like a sexy beast.  Multicolored pastel macrons and chocolate croissants line the glass-covered bakery shelves, and fashion trumps comfort always.

Like any city, it's not perfect.  Scam artists run rampant, whether they're charging you five euros to put your bag in a taxi for you or using a laminated sign asking you, in broken English, to help them reach their son currently held hostage by the prince of Nigeria.  There is an endless supply of embarrassing moments to experience, even when you've been learning the culture and language for two months.  There may be urine on the subway steps.

But I love it still.  Not only because of all those enchanting little things that make the French culture and Paris in particular so beautiful, but because this place is always going to be that faraway city that might as well have been Neverland to my 12 year old self.  It's always going to be that dream that came true.  When people say its name, my heart will jump like the name of someone I'm head over heels for has been mentioned.  I think those things we love all come to belong to us in some way.  Paris is home to many people who perhaps have spent only a week or two of their lives in it.  Though I may hate the train station and the keychain salesmen and the euro exchange rate, coming to Paris will always feel like visiting a childhood home I haven't seen in years.  It's that place where part of me grew up, if only in my head.

British Museum and Singing in the Rain

This morning, Mom and I headed over to the British Museum.  We bought breakfast at a little bakery just down the block from the hotel, and we ate it in a leisurely fashion on the subway.  I had a Spanish omelette. 

The museum was just as cool as I remember it, though after a couple hours, even though there was still much to see, I was kind of done with it.  They have so much of everything that it gets wearying.  By the afternoon, I was thinking that there's not much difference between gold bracelets made in 300BC and gold bracelets made in 500BC, and there were still gold bracelets to be seen from basically every century ever.  Of course it's cool that they have all that stuff, and of course there is way more to the museum than gold bracelets, but there was just so much of the same thing that I didn't feel guilty about not spending all day soaking it up.

My favorite thing, however, is a mesh tapestry in one of the first chambers.  It has thousands and thousands of little pockets sewn into it, and in each pocket is a pill.  The tapestry is supposed to represent the amount of medication a person is prescribed in his/her lifetime.  It's amazing to see such a massive representation of the medicine we take.  It's also very interesting for me to see the progression of a life in terms of the illnesses they needed to treat.  Headaches, Flu, prenatal vitamins, chemo, etc...  The first time I saw this tapestry, I accidentally viewed it backwards, and it was sad yet poetic to watch the clock be turned back for an ailing woman taking pills by the fistful every day, all the way until she was an infant and receiving vaccinations and vitamins.

But after the museum, we had gourmet Mexican food for lunch, which was pretty much the same as above average Mexican food everywhere.  I love me some guacamole. 

The real treat of the day, however, was the musical "Singing in the Rain."  It was fantastically done, with real water pouring from the ceiling, tons of dancing with umbrellas, beautiful costumes, and killer special effects.  The theatre itself was also a work of art.  It seemed to still be stuck in the 1920's, and Mom and I admired the ornate carvings and velvet curtains and foggy windows whilst drinking champagne before the show started.

The tube was quite crowded on the way home, but once the journey was over, our good old faithful bakery was still open and we got a little dinner.  I was rather surprised to find a place still open at 11pm.  In France, there's not a damn thing open past 7:30 usually.  It was a lovely day, and tomorrow we catch a train to Paris.  Cheers!

Day 3 in London

I have become so unreliable with posting!

Today I finally got my Chipotle burrito.  Seriously, I've been craving it almost since the day I first left for France.  Can you believe it's already been more than two months since then?  So hard to believe this adventure will be over almost before I can blink.

It's funny, when one thinks of going to London, the classy British accent is one of the first things you'd expect to encounter, isn't it?  London is a soup of different accents, really.  There is of course the beautiful and princely English accent that we know from movies, and then there's the broader Cockney lilt.  Then you have your Irishmen and a few Scottish  natives sprinkled here and there.  It's also rather easy to find Americans here, as it is probably the least intimidating European travel destination for the likes of us.  It's quite astounding, really, the sheer variety of accents which can be found here on even the shortest walk to the neighborhood bakery.

After eating Chipotle for breakfast, I wandered around and ended up making a stop at the Planetarium, which was cool.  I'm always up for learning about stars and watching omnimax shows.  Later, I headed over to Covent Garden and did a bit of shopping.  It's really fun to see how popular fashion is different from country to country.  I'm falling in love with leather pants.  I think I'm going to have to invest in a good pair somewhere. 

Mom and I had dinner at a pub afterward, and the food was comforting and delicious, as it always seems to be here.  The English like their stews and sandwiches.  They also love their tea, of course.  I've been meaning to take a peek in a specialty British tea shop.  We've also decided to go see a theatre production tomorrow.  Phantom of the Opera was sold out (damn it), so we got tickets to Singing in the Rain.  It should be a fun time.

I'll start being more reliable with my entries again!  See you soon.

Be right back, France: Voyage to London

Hullo from London!

Mom has jetlag and I am just happy to have a fluffy, comfy bed instead of a futon with a bar right where the middle of my spine is, so we are already enjoying our matching twin beds.  We have an early morning, but I've neglected this blog for days!

Today we went to a pony club for Lena's weekly pony lesson.  It was pretty cute, and the ponies listen better than most dogs.  Afterward, Lena's grandmother made steak for lunch, and it was basically raw with about fifteen seconds of cooking on both sides.  I choked it down with ketchup.

Speaking of weird food items, yesterday we also had some sort of sea creature for dinner.  I ripped the heads and legs off my food, and then I peeled its skin off and dunked the meat in a sauce made from it's own juices.  Made me feel rather cruel.  The taste wasn't bad, but I prefer my food not so freshly dismembered.  First world problem, I know.

Anyway, I love the subway.  I've decided that America should get it together in the subway department.  It's seriously awesome that you can go just about anywhere in the city for a couple pounds. 

Tomorrow will be a more interesting post.  Now we must sleep!  Bonne nuit! 

Cathedrals in Marseilles

Today a friend of the Repettos picked me up to go to mass in Marseilles.  We had to leave far in advance of the service, because Marseille is a bit of a drive and seats fill up quickly, but it was worth it.

Absolutely majestic.  The ceiling was unbelievably high, and the stained glass was positively marvelous.  The organ echoed off all the walls, creating music that was almost overpowering.  It was probably the coolest mass I've ever been to.

After that, Emmeline asked if I wanted to go to the highest point in Marseille to survey the city.  Of course I said yes.

Sea, mountains, and rolling hills of darling red-roofed houses.  Can southern France get more iconic?

Yes.  Look at the sailboats.  Can you see the sailboats???  We were really far away, but my main goal with this picture was to capture Chateau d'If, made famous by the Count of Monte Cristo.  It's that little island that is almost in the very middle of the photo.  I want to go there so bad!!  I'm mostly interested in the graffiti that is doubtless there.  Prison graffiti is the best.

While we were up there I saw some dudes playing soccer.  Hello little multicolored ants!

There's also another church on the top of this mountain.  It's got an interesting, circus-y color scheme going on.  I like the boats hanging from the ceiling.  This church was said to protect the fishermen of Marseilles.  It's a really sweet idea, I think, because when you're up on this mountain, you can see miles and miles of the Mediterranean, and all the little boats.  

It was a truly lovely day.

French Baguettes and Airplanes

Picture time!

Today is a super lazy day.  After the night's festivities, we all slept in, and I spent this morning drinking tea and creating an English exercise for Alex.  Today we will learn how to ask basic questions.  Where is the library?  What is it?  Why are you a pineapple today?

It's gloomy and rainy today, which I happen to like, but I have a few pictures from the other day.  On Thursday, Alex took me bike riding to a lake where there were tons of what I'm assuming are swans floating about.  To my delight, Alex pulled out a couple of baguettes, and we fed the birds.

Know what's great about baguettes in France?  They're 80 cents, and they're flipping delicious.  Not soggy like grocery store baguettes, not dense and difficult to tear like "gourmet" baguettes from Trader Joes.  They are light, crusty, perfectly fluffy and just a little moist on the inside, and when you tear them they make the most intoxicating crackling noise.  I'll be honest and tell you that the birds only got like 3/4 of the baguette.

But moving on, the other day we went for a walk around town and stopped to look at this vibrantly painted airplane on sticks.

Marignane is the town in which the Marseilles airport is actually located, so they're pretty big on airplanes here.  Julien, my host dad, actually works building helicopters.  

Also, the Repettos have a dog, and her name is Lady.

Here she is sort of cowering behind a rack of drying clothes during the storm yesterday.  She's ridiculously sweet and thinks she's a lap dog.  If you sit on the floor or on one of the low chairs, she climbs on your lap and sits there, blocking your view of the television or whatever have you, but it's hard to be irritated because she's just so cute.

In other news, yesterday was a record-breaking writing day.  3000 words!  I'm overly proud of it, but considering that a great writing day for me is about 1000, a little victory dance was in order.  Every writer has their own style, and in the past I've always written chronologically, from start to finish.  Of course, I've read at least a dozen books that said, "You don't have to write this way!" and I always said in reply, "Stop your nonsense."  But yesterday I decided to just write a scene I really loved from the middle of the story and wound up writing a ton.  Muddling through the beginning is always slow and painful, and I use scenes I'm excited about later in the plot to motivate me to keep writing.  What inevitably happens is I get stuck and never make it to those scenes I really love, often abandoning the story when too many problems arise early on.  For now though, things are looking good for this story.  Hopefully yesterday was just one of many successful days of writing.

Locked in the Bathroom

It's a pity that yesterday was my bathroom post, because today I got locked inside one.

Tonight we went out in a group to Aix-en-Provence.  We stopped at a fancy Asian-ish restaurant for dinner and had sushi for appetizers and then French entrees.  It was all fairly delicious.  I'm really starting to love sushi.

Anyway, afterward, we headed over to a pub.  I don't know why it is that I can never reliably implement the lesson, "Never pass up the opportunity to pee," but once again, I found myself regretting passing up the opportunity to use the fancy restaurant bathroom and instead having to force my way through a sweaty crowd and wait in line for a bathroom with a centimeter of mysterious liquid on the floor.

There were two bathrooms, but one of them was closed for the entire time I was waiting in line.  I assumed the toilet was clogged or something was otherwise unsavory about it, so I patiently waited with all the others in line for the obviously functional toilet.  Just as I reached the head of the line, however, a girl opened the door of the mysterious other bathroom and peered inside.  All appeared to be in order, and she kindly offered me first dibs, as I was, in fact, at the head of the line.

Though lacking a toilet seat and hand soap, the bathroom experience was not altogether unpleasant until I tried to leave.  After unlocking the door, I grasped the handle and pulled.  It didn't budge.  I tried pushing, and that didn't work either.  After fumbling with the door lever, it broke off in my hand.  I threw it in the sink and had a mini panic time.  The music from the pub was incredibly loud, meaning no one could hear me, and my phone ran out of credit the other day, so I couldn't make calls-- I could only receive them.  A couple of minutes were spent trying to figure out how long I'd have to be gone before my group figured something was wrong, and then I pondered the likelihood that they would figure out I was trapped in the bathroom.

Ultimately, I decided it was impractical to just wait there for someone to find me, so I dug into my purse for my cheap pocket knife and used the tip of the blade to start unscrewing the door hinges, since no one had responded to my attempt at ninja kicking the door down earlier.  Unscrewing the hinges was super slow going though, so I decided to just pound and kick the door like a crazy person indefinitely.  After two minutes, someone stuck their finger into the hole in the door and fumbled with the loose metal pieces until the latch clicked open and I was free and face to face with my rescuer.  It was love at first sight.

Just kidding.  It was an awkward moment where I said, "Uh, merci" while he stared at me with a raised eyebrow until I tossed my purse back over my shoulder and walked back to the dance floor, tripping over the uneven floor once before leaving his sight.

Was not a fan of the French bar experience.

French Toilets

A word about toilets.

Really the only thing I want to talk about today is the European bathroom.  It's true that I'm a bit overly germ-cautious sometimes, but I really like the idea of the toilet being separate from the bathtub and whatnot. In France, and in all of Europe, really, the toilet is in one room, and the bathtub and sink are in another.  Paranoid though I may be, I really enjoy not having to visualize a mist of toilet water on the shower curtain, the shampoo bottles, and on my toothbrush.

I do, however, think it's super weird to use the toilet and then go to the kitchen to wash my hands.  Sometimes the room with the bathtub (salle de bain) is too far away from the toilet to be practical.  I also think the flushing mechanisms are strange.  The first day I got to France, I had to spend five minutes trying to figure out how to flush the dang toilet, because there was something on the top that looked like a button, yet it was impossible to push.  Eventually I tried pulling it up, and that did the trick.  Definitely not intuitive for me, though.

But in other news, we rode bikes to the lake and fed the swans baguette pieces.  It was charming and lovely, and afterward we went to a mall and bought clothes.  We were going to go bowling after dinner, but then we all felt lazy, so that's an adventure for next week.

Tomorrow we go to the discotheque!

The Election

I spent the day with Gladys at her beauty school.  For the first two hours, a girl in her aesthetician program used me as a test subject for her first gel nail manicure.  Obviously gel manicures are nothing new, but I'd never gotten one before, so it was interesting for me to see how she crafted each faux nail with a gummy substance and then filed it into a nail-looking shape.  It wasn't the most pleasant experience ever, though, as during the ordeal the student filed through my skin a couple times, and she didn't tell me my fingernails would burn whilst under the tiny heater, and after the first hour of the process, I was like, "Maybe we should just pull them all off and call it a day."  

But the end result isn't bad.  Her teacher had to correct some stuff, but I have a lovely French (true French!) manicure with streaks of gold.  Quite lovely.  The rest of the day was nice; I alternated between writing in the meeting room and helping Gladys organize her little beauty products shop downstairs.  The days pass quickly here, probably because I'm so busy.  The sun seems to set far too soon every day.

For dinner we got some takeout sushi, and though I didn't eat the raw salmon kind, the rest was quite good, especially alongside generous dollops of wasabi.  I like to cry a little when I eat my food, I guess.  

By the way, the French really love Obama.  I'm pretty sure that if we hadn't wanted him, they would have been happy to take him.  Today there were montages of Obama looking suave all over the television, to the point where I don't think any actual French news was covered today.  It's amazing to me that the French care so much about our politics when our news broadcasts seem to only address other countries when there's a bombing or a typhoon.  There were actually polls featured on television yesterday which talked about what percentage of the French population was rooting for which American presidential candidate.  I'm bad at keeping up on politics in general, but I didn't even know the French had moved on from Sarkozy, much less who the new guy was running against.  

I would say I should watch the news more when I come home, but honestly most news broadcasts are 60% previews of what stories they're going to cover later in the program.  Maybe I should just get French cable or something.

Aix-en-Provence and Aperatifs

It was a busy day and tomorrow has an early start, so this shall be brief.

Today we went to a street market and bought some delicious chicken and freshly-grown produce, and then we made a lovely lunch of it before heading out to Aix-en-Provence for a few hours.  We enjoyed a brief teatime, which I spent gazing at all the lovely shops on the main road of the town.  Aix seems like a great place to go clothes shopping if you're into that.

Alas, I was not able to peek into the shops, because we had to go help Gui clean out his mother's garage.  It was pretty chilly, but there was pile of burning evergreen branches to keep warm with.  It was very fragrant.

After a long drive home in French rush hour, we went over to the home of the Repettos' friends and had drinks and little finger foods, called aparatifs.  The conversation was quite interesting, which I can finally say with certainty because I'm getting so much better at understanding French, and everyone in the room spoke at least a little English.  My comprehension is actually pretty great when people speak slowly.  My problem now is translating French to English in my head fast enough to keep up with the rapid pace of normal conversation.  I just might get there before I come home, though!

Time for sleep!

Apple Pie, LMFAO Party, and Adventures in Marignane

So.

I've been on hiatus for three days, because between the crazy parties and get-togethers that last til dawn and moving to a different city, I've barely had time to sleep.  So here's what's been happening.

On Friday, I made one last American dinner for Edith and Nico.  It consisted of meatloaf, topped with ketchup of course, mashed potatoes, and apple pie.  Not your usual apple pie, however.  A while back I saw a truly adorable apple pie recipe which involves baking the pie filling inside a hollowed out apple instead of crust.  You top the whole thing with pie pastry woven in a lattice pattern, et voila:

The most adorable thing ever.

After dinner, we went to a wine bar, which was relaxed and lovely.  Five of us squeezed onto a couch and we all ordered our drinks and talked and admired the ambiance.  We got back around 3am, so a blog entry that night was not to be.

Nor was it to be the following day, because it was the day of the LMFAO-themed party that Nico has been planning since before I even got here.  In case you don't know, LMFAO is a band, and they look like this:

For the party, everyone was required to dress accordingly.  All the parties I've been to so far have had really elaborate themes, so I think I've been throwing parties the French way for my entire life.  People really went all out.

However, the most memorable part of the day were the things I spent literally five hours making.  

CAKE POPS.

The cake pop is an art I've tried to learn several times in many different ways, with no success.  Either the cake crumbles, or the balls fall off the sticks, or the melted chocolate destroys everything, or they flat out just don't taste good.  However, I have discovered the secret to amazing, Starbucks style cake pops, and it is Mascarpone.

Are these not the most beautiful cake pops you've ever seen??  Okay, I know they're not the most beautiful, because these exist:

And you just can't compete with that.

But they're still the most impressive baked good I've ever made with my own hands, and they were pretty damned delicious to boot.  

Though I was super happy with the end result, they were a major pain in the ass to make.  Each one requires a solid five minutes of labor, and when you're making enough for a whole party to enjoy, they suck up your day.  So suffice it to say, if I ever make cake pops in the future, I either really love you or you're the president of the United States. 

But when all the pops were eaten, the LMFAO songs had all been played, and the faux afros had been abandoned, I think Nico was pretty at peace with everything.

And by "at peace," I mean drunk and out of his mind.  But there's joy in those deranged eyes.

And why didn't I write yesterday?

Well, yesterday was my last day with Edith and Nico.  I spent the morning cleaning up the devastation from the previous night's festivities with Edith, then packed my bags.  Since there was still time afterward, I decided to take one last walk to my windmill.  It was raining lightly, and that only made me want to go more.  

The ruins were even more beautiful than ever, and while there, I wrote a tiny message, rolled it up tight and pushed it into a tiny glass vial.  It's now hidden in the ruins.  I don't expect anyone will ever find it, but since I couldn't carve my name into the wall (not all of us are made of time, Cossettini), I like the idea that something of mine will still stay in the ruins even when I have gone.  It was really difficult to leave that place.  Of course I'll find my way back someday, but probably not for a very long time.  Before leaving, I ran my fingertips over Cossettini's name and said goodbye to him, because I feel like he's still there.  There are many names carved into the wall, but I think the windmill belonged to him in the same way it belonged to me.  Many people have popped in for a minute to see the inside of the windmill, but only Cossettini and I have spent hours within the crumbling walls.  When I left the windmill finally, it was like I was saying goodbye to a great friend, not knowing when we would see each other again.  But it's my place, just like it's Cossettini's place.  It will always belong to people like us.

After I got back, Nico and Edith had already loaded my stuff in the car, because Madame Repetto had called to say she was ready to meet us in the city of Salon.  I'd been trying not to think about how difficult it would be to leave Edith and Nico, so the car ride was difficult.  They treated me like family from the very start, and I'll never forget my time with them.

But now my life is in Marignane, a town only two miles from the Mediterranean Sea.  It's not as beautiful as the rural towns you've been seeing pictures from, but it has its own species of charm.  The Repetto family has two children.  Alexie, 15, and Lena, 4.

It's a very different experience, but I have a feeling I'm going to learn a lot.  I've been speaking a lot more French with the Repettos, because only one of them speaks English.  My comprehension is now improving rapidly, and my speaking abilities are coming along too, though slowly.  Today Gladys took me to her hairdressing school.  She is the headmistress of the best hairdressing school in southern France, I'm told.  Her students are always the ones to win all the awards at hair shows and competitions.  She used me as a model for a new hair straightening technique today, which was pretty dang sweet.  Using a steam iron, she made my hair Asian straight.  When she was done, like twenty people came over to pet my hair.  

It was a nice day, and Gui (you remember Gui from the abandoned nightclub intruders story) came over for dinner.  We ate stuffed mushrooms and then watched an American movie with dubbed French dialogue.  Il etait interessant.  

So that is the crazy that was my life for the past three days.  Now I'm going to snuggle up with a delicious caramel cookie and the latest episode of Once Upon a Time.  A bientot!

Wine Bar

How did it get this late already?

We went to a wine bar this evening, which was quirky yet comfortable.  Before this, however, I made dinner for Edith and Nico one last time before I leave for my second host family.  I'm too tired and tipsy to post pictures, but dinner was comprised of meatloaf, balsamic honey carrots, sauteed potatoes, and apple pies baked inside of hollowed-out apples.

Pictures will follow tomorrow.  Right now it is 3am, and my motivation level is at 2%.  Bon soir!

Mini Doughnuts and Other Things

We went to the French equivalent of a Crate and Barrel today, and it was divine. I bought a Christmas ornament shaped like a cupcake and some other things to be distributed as gifts during the holiday season.  I'm probably the most annoying customer ever in places like this.  A collection of mostly impractical things ends up in the basket, among which are items like fragile glass mushrooms and a giant ceramic teapot, neither of which travel well.  Before getting to the checkout, I inevitably have second thoughts, forget where I got the things from, and leave them scattered haphazardly throughout the store.  Oh well.  I figure I've still got karma left over from putting away merchandise abandoned at the Menards checkouts.  

Anyway, I now wish to share with you the French idea of a chocolate chip cookie:

That is not a cookie.  That is a scone.

But whatever.  This evening for dinner, I decided to make dessert.  Mini donuts again! The last ones turned out a little odd-- salty for no discernible reason and rather porous.  The ones tonight turned out delightfully.  Dense, moist, and beautiful.  

For these I made a honey infused sugar glaze.

And these I topped with chocolate and cinnamon, to make them a little more autumn appropriate.  Though there were only five of us at table, all the donuts were devoured during tea time, but for a single sugar glaze one which everyone was too polite to take.  

Tomorrow I will make one last American dinner for Edith and Nico.  I'm thinking meatloaf or deep dish pizza, but it depends on what I can fricking find at the grocery store.

French Fashion in Winter 2012

It was quite rainy and cold today, and the power went out, so I spent quite a while doing my writing by candlelight. 

It was a really nice day.  I just kept writing until the wick fizzled out.  Maybe that should be my writer's quirk.  Every day, I should light a tea light candle and just keep writing and writing until it burns right down to the end of the wick and the desk goes dark.  Considering tons of writers wrote standing in the nude or climbed trees nude before coming back down to write, having a candle quirk seems pretty normal to me. 

But after dinner this evening, Edith and I had a very long talk about fashion trends.  Vintage clothing is just becoming popular over here, though it's been popular in the US for a good three or four years now.  She laughed at the American habit of wearing Northface and Ugg boots in the winter.  I asked her if the French wear berets, and she laughed and made a gesture that I'm pretty sure is the equivalent of miming a nerdy guy pushing his glasses back up his nose with his index finger and said, "NO, Lind-zay!"

But okay, are you ready for what is going to be the hottest fashion trend in France this winter?  Ready??

That's right, ALADDIN PANTS!  Better start stocking up for next year, because apparently these are poised to dethrone skinny jeans.  I guess this style is nice if your thighs are your biggest insecurity.  Hopefully this is one of those flash-in-the-pan trends, like nautical striped clothing with anchor-shaped buttons was.

Les Baux de Provence at Night

This evening I was in Les Baux long after the sun had set and the full moon had risen.  Adeline and I walked briskly down the narrow, lamp lit cobbled roads together in silence.  As my white trench coat rippled behind me in the chilly wind, the bell tolled, and I felt as though we were walking through the first page of an adventure story.

Can't you just imagine what it would have been like to walk hurriedly up to the castle in the dead of night to deliver an urgent message to the king?  

Adeline and I went for a walk during our English practice tonight, just to make things more interesting.  Before we actually got to the town, we stopped a ways off so as to far away view of the Les Baux illuminated.  

I did not take this picture (the one I posted before this was the only one out of dozens to come out somewhat clearly), but I wanted you to see how cool it looked.  

Today was not a day big on action, but the experience, however fleeting, was rich.  

Harry Potter in French

This week I agreed to tutor Edith's cousin in English, because Adeline has a big exam coming up which will determine whether or not she gets a cool job which requires intermediate proficiency in one of four languages.  I guess I didn't really understand the logistics of this plan, because today Adeline came to the house, knocked on the door, and said, "We go?"

I did not know where it was we were supposed to be going (I thought the plan was that she and I would practice talking in English whilst going for a long walk), but I've learned to just live in a state of constant confusion.  It's easier to be confused than try to ask and understand what's going on most of the time.  Adeline and I drove through the winding country roads under the silver light of the full moon, and we eventually wound up on a farm.  She parked the car, and we got out.  It was not immediately apparent that there was a house nearby until I'd spent a moment or two thinking that this is how every horror story starts out, but we rounded some trees and came upon the home of Adeline's parents.

It's a very large farmhouse with a crackling fireplace and huge kitchen.  There were many antiques gathered in the living room, like old bird cages and grandfather clocks.  Adeline's father sat watching news coverage of the hurricane currently ravaging the east coast of the United States.  Her mother kissed my cheek and handed me an orange, and then I followed Adeline back to her bedroom.

We had a lot of fun just talking about whatever.  I think she mostly wants to get practice with audio comprehension, so we had normal friendly banter.  I noticed a Jane Austen book sitting on her desk, and I had to flip through the inside for a minute before realizing which one it was, because my literal translation of the title didn't directly correspond to any of Austen's books.  Once I saw "Marianne," however, I knew it was Sense and Sensibility.  Adeline also showed me her version of Pride and Prejudice, and then she brought out her whole collection of Harry Potter books.  Did you know that the French don't call the magical school of witchcraft and wizardy "Hogwarts" like we do?  They call it "Poudlard."  What???  The cover art was super different too.

You'll notice, too, that instead of being titled, "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone," the first book is called, "Harry Potter at the Sorcerer's School."  The book is significantly thinner than its hefty English counterpart, too, which makes me wonder if a lot of stuff got cut during translation.  While in college, I learned that a lot of stuff goes on during the translation process that authors are usually unaware of, as it's hard to gauge the accuracy of your translated book if you don't speak the language.  And obviously, a lot of things flat out have to be changed, because many things just don't translate from culture to culture.  There are even differences between the UK version and the American version of HP. 

So most of our conversation was me flipping out about the differences between the French and English versions of my favorite books.  Adeline seemed entertained.

Birthday Parties in Southern France

Marseilles isn't my favorite city by a long shot, but the view off this monument there is spectacular.  If you stand in the right place, you can almost believe you're standing in the 1800's, because there's nothing to suggest otherwise.  Most of the architecture seems untouched.  

One thing that I love about Edith is that she shares my passion for impractical pleasures.  We were in a hurry to get somewhere while in Marseilles, but Edith had a serious sweets craving.

When Edith wants a sloppy Belgian waffle covered in liquid Nutella, she doesn't like a silly thing like having to drive stop her.  This picture was followed by twenty minutes of crazy driving through the city and phrases like, "Ah!  Hold my waffle for a minute!" and "Oh noooooo!  There is chocolate on my clotheses!"  One habit I haven't yet been able to break Edith of is adding an extra syllable onto the word "clothes."  It's a common error among many French people, I've noticed.  They just can't wrap their minds around the fact that "clothes" is already plural for some reason.  

Today was Nico's birthday, so we set up a banquet table in the living room and set places for twenty guests.

Looks like a wedding reception, doesn't it?  The French know how to dress a table in a hurry, and they do it often.  I think it's kind of funny that on Thanksgiving, whoever is hosting dinner is usually super stressed, but here they have four course dinners for 12+ people regularly, and the general attitude among hosts is always, "No big deal."  

Dinner was lovely, and there were these during appetizers:

France's answer to the pig in a blanket.

Joyeux Anniversaire, Nico!

Hippie Cafe

I'm completely exhausted, so this will be quick.

Today Edith and I went clothes shopping in Marseille, which was pretty sweet.  After, she had to go cut a client's hair, so she dropped me off at a cafe and told me to go inside for two hours.  She told me it was a "surprise."  Honestly, I was kind of sketched out by that description.  I thought for sure it was going to be some sort of burlesque show.

When I walked inside, the man asked me if I'd been there before, and when I said no, he told me to take my shoes off and put them on the shelf, and then head on down the hallway.  The hallway and beyond had a sand floor.  It was hippy-tastic, but also really cool.  Everyone sits on cushions and the tables are just three inch tall wooden platforms.  I got a pot of African tea and a citrus cake, and I cracked open my kindle and read until Edith returned.

After she picked me up, we headed to one of her friends' birthday parties.  It was positively lovely.  There were several people who spoke English (one of the perks of being in a main city), so I had the pleasure of several pleasant conversations.  There was even an ex-American who grew up in Boston.  He told me how he met God on the Paris subway one day in 1987, and after that he never dreamed of going home again.

Throughout the party there was a lot of singing, and after the cake was cut, there was dancing.  Real dancing.  Though I have no dancing skills, when some of the party goers pulled me out onto the dance floor, I had a wonderful time, because if the man knows how to dance, the woman can pretend she knows how to dance.  There was lots of swirling and dipping and all that fun stuff.

Today is Nico's birthday!  His LMFAO-themed party is next weekend, but today is his little gathering for family and older friends who aren't "Sorry for Party Rockin'."

French Grocery Stores

I'm becoming good at improvising meals with whatever ingredients are around.  Going to the grocery store is sometimes frustrating here, because I'll have an idea for something I'd like to make, but when I go around gathering the ingredients in my basket, I often discover that only 2/3 of what I need can be found.  The grocery stores here are truly tiny.  In fact, they more closely resemble gas station convenience stores, except there's a produce section and most of the food on the shelves isn't junk.

Ground beef is a little bit hard to come by, and if there does happen to be a package or two on the shelf, it usually contains only enough meat to make two hamburger patties, and it costs almost 6 euros ($8).  Cow is my favorite animal to eat, so this makes me sad, but the good news is that salami, chicken, and ham are all pretty cheap.  What I've come to discover is that the more popular something is in America (beef, peanut butter, M&Ms, or soda), the more it's likely to cost here.

Edith told me something interesting last night when we were discussing popular perfumes.  She said that most French people she knows thinks of America as the place where new fashions come from.  She was surprised when I told her that a name of perfume that is already three years old in France is just now becoming popular in the U.S.  I, in turn, was surprised that France, of all countries, would look to America for fashion guidance.  Haven't we all heard that Paris is on the cutting edge of designer clothing, elegant fragrances, and daring new foods?

I guess we all think the fashions of other lands are more fresh and exciting than our own.  Tomorrow Edith and I are going to head to Marseille to look at clothes and stuff.  She promised we'd go to a perfume store so I could smell all the latest stuff.

Best Way to Improve French Quickly

Today I decided to speak only in French, because my language skills have not been improving the way I'd like.  Whenever French people ask me questions, I have a mini panic time trying to figure out what they said and respond in a timely manner, which leads to some major stumbling over words.  After a few minutes of French conversation with Edith over dinner, however, it became much easier, and the words came more naturally.  Basically, I discovered that I'm not actually that bad at French; I just don't use the language enough every day.

That's definitely going to change with my next host family, though.  Unlike here, where both Nico and Edith speak English, at my next stop, only 1/4 family members speak English, and the one that does only speaks a limited amount.  Perhaps I will come back with advance French speaking abilities after all.

Lazy Day

It was kind of a lazy day today.  After spending about four hours curled up reading a book that turned out to be a bit of a letdown, I wandered outside and ended up at a bakery that I did not know existed.  I was hoping they'd have macarons, because I really really love those things, but they're not easy to find anywhere but Paris, but alas.  However, they did have this thing:

A sort of dark chocolate and clementine mousse.  Though I'm not usually a fan of the chocolate citrus combo, the flavors were so airy that I savored each bite alongside a cup of caramel tea.  

For dinner, I made an egg and potato casserole, with bacon cooked the way it deserves to be cooked.  It went nicely with red wine.

Tomorrow I have resolved to speak in only French.  My language skills have not been progressing the way I'd like, and it's largely due to the fact that Nico and Edith always speak in English to me.  Tomorrow shall be awkward but educational.  

Names to Faces

So by now you've been reading this blog for over a month, and you don't even know what the cast of characters in this story looks like.  Therefore, tonight you're going to see pictures of actual people instead of objects and places.

These beautiful people are my hosts, Edith and Nico.  See Nico being all metro with that scarf?  The men are classy with the scarves here, and it's awesome.  

Antics are common.

These pictures were all taken at a birthday party, which was for that woman in the grey dress you see there.  Her name is Geraldine.

That is Geraldine's boyfriend, Felipe.  He was fairly drunk at this point in the evening.

Nico has a friend named Olivier, who we often have dinner with.  They're very saucy together.

Olivier has five children who I simply adore.  They're so sweet!

The girls and I spent the most time chatting though.  We bounced on the trampoline for literally hours, playing the French version of "Truth or Dare."

Geraldine didn't have a birthday cake, so mayhem ensued in the kitchen while four of us whipped one up.

A little light on the words today, but hopefully you will be contented with the photos.

Foot Fungus Cheese

Edith and I had a grand time making dinner for her family today.  It was chilly and rainy outside, making it the perfect day for soup.  Healthy, homemade soup.

The colors of all the veggies delighted me.  We spent a couple hours peeling potatoes and carrots, chopping onions and tomatoes, and blending, blending, blending.  That bit of soup in the bowl was the first of about ten blender batches.  Don't let its slightly odd color fool you; it was absolutely delicious, especially with a bit of crusty baguette.  Edith decided, once that soup was done, that some variety would be nice, so she made tomato soup as well with her huge hoard of home-grown tomatoes.

Meanwhile, I decided to make an autumn American delicacy for dessert: Smores.

Fancy ones.  The French don't have straight up graham crackers, of course, but these nice flat biscuits are lightly flavored with cinnamon, so they worked just fine.  Edith had bought some strawberry marshmallow fluff, so this afternoon I raided her chocolate collection and assembled the smores with milk chocolate chips, pieces of dark Lindt, and marzipan Milka.  The French would obviously turn their noses up at our waxy excuse for chocolate (Hershey's), so the old standby was nowhere to be found.

During the post-entree cheese course, I popped the little beauties in the oven for a quick melt and then arranged them tastefully on a square plate.  For being what they were, they looked pretty high class, I must say.  All of them were devoured, and they appeared to be finger-kissing good.  Though apprehensive about the strawberry flavor, I too found them delectable.  

But I have go back to the cheese for a moment.  There was a cheese so horridly rancid that I shuddered a little bit.  It was like the foot odor of a hobo who wears Ziplocs for socks.  I have eaten several things which I found distasteful while in France, just for the sake of really experiencing the culture, but that cheese was where I drew the line.  No foot fungus cheese.

Harvesting Olives: How it's Done

There are many things that I've experienced here that I don't expect to ever experience again, after leaving France, at least.  Helping the Arsac family harvest olives from their orchard in Les Baux is one of them.

Their field of olive trees is nestled between the mountains, and getting there requires a rather hilly and precarious drive.  However, it's definitely worth it.  Not only is the scenery beautiful, but wind perfumed with  the plants of the region sweeps through, encouraging you to really savor every breath.  

I had no idea how olives were harvested.  I assumed it would involve picking each one by hand whilst carrying a wicker basket, but it's a bit more efficient than that.  

First, you surround the tree you wish to harvest from with a large piece of netting on the ground.  Then, being careful not to step on any of the olives which gather at your feet, you use a small rake to basically brush the tree's tresses, which sweeps the olives off their stems.  Since olives are constantly falling from overhead during the process, tons of them wound up rolling down my shirt, and I found like three of them in my bra later.  

Once you strip a tree of all its olives, you gather up the net and then carefully transfer all the olives into large plastic boxes, being careful to filter out most of the leaves that fell down during harvest.  

Perhaps if I'd grown up doing this every autumn, like Edith did, I would not find the task so enjoyable, but the novelty and peacefulness of the quiet, methodical harvest was really therapeutic, and five hours of constant labor went by without me wishing we could be done already.

Olive harvest is a family and friends affair.  Many people who know the Arsacs come to help during harvesting weekends.  Those ladders are kind of cool, aren't they?  I like the triangle design.  They're a lot more stable, and they're aesthetically pleasing, to boot.

Once we gathered all the olives, four of us went out to a Chinese buffet (they're much beloved in France), and then we saw some amateur theatre, which was pretty entertaining, even though I couldn't keep up with the dialogue.  Nico furiously whispered the plot points in my ear when things got crazy.  There were about eight love triangles in the six-character play.

One of the lovelier days I've spent here, and that's saying a lot.