Chez Sullivan

Chateau La Coste

2012-01-29T16:03:00.001+01:00

There are so many places to visit in Provence. There are, of course, all of the major attractions listed in the tour guides but there are other sites/locations to discover and enjoy.

During our time in the states, Ellen collects news features from which we can learn more about France. My eldest sister also sends items from the New York Times that she thinks might interest us.

When Bruce and Judy were visiting from Paris, Ellen pulled out her folder of newspaper clippings and we decided to go to a little village just north of Aix-en-Provence to visit a winery/architectural showcase. The winery is called “Chateau La Coste” and is now owned by Belfast-born Patrick McKillen. In addition to producing some fine wines (big reds, amazing rosés) and olive oil, the owner invited works from internationally-renowned architects including Jean Nouvel, Frank Gehry, Tadao Ando and sculptures from Richard Serra and Louise Bourgeois… According to Lanie Goodman in her article in the New York Times Magazine, Sept. 22, 2011, still to come are more structures by Gehry, Oscar Niemeyer, Norman Foster and Renzo Piano. Not mentioned in the article is a mobile by Alexander Calder placed in a reflecting pond just outside of the café on the grounds. There is also a small sculpture that resembles Anish Kapoor’s “Cloud Gate” (the Bean) in Chicago. The bean sprout/flying saucer called “The Drop” was created by Tom Shannon.

"The Drop" by Tom Shannon

Ellen in front of the mobile by Calder

Every aspect of the architecture seems to have been designed for good “feng shui.” The winery, the architecture and the sculptures create a peaceful, welcoming setting.

"The Spider" by Louise Bourgeois

Gehry's Music Pavillion as seen from behind "The Drop"

"Infinity" by Sugimpoto (on the left)

-If readers have other suggestions for day trips, PLEASE add them to “Comments.”

Impeccable (ampeckobleh) is Sweet !

2012-01-10T23:22:00.002+01:00

« Impeccable » seems to be the “hot” new way for shop owners to acknowledge when you pay the bill. I don’t hear it as often as “merci,” but I hear it a lot.

· Give the person exact change and s/he says: “impeccable.”

· Pay by check and the clerk says: “impeccable.”

· Offer a credit card and I hear: “impeccable.”

Last year, it seemed that “pas de problème” was the hot expression – both in France and as well as its American counterpart “no problem!” Unlike “pas de problème,” “impeccable” does not have a perfect mirror reflection in English. I don’t often use impeccable in normal conversation and I don’t think it will become as popular in English as it has in French. When English speakers use it, it seems to be used in a very literal sense of “perfect” or “faultless.” I suppose “perfect” or “faultless” could apply to a small financial transaction but it doesn’t seem quite right. I want my taste to be impeccable (not much chance of that!) not the action of handing someone cash.

I realize that I am putting myself squarely in the OF (old fart) camp by commenting on language usage changes.

Impeccable and “pas de problème” will never match the current popular US response among 20-somethings who use “sweet!” as a response to most sentences. We had an exchange with a young person who texted (don't get me started on nouns becoming verbs!) us and could have written “I understand” or “okay” as an appropriate response but instead we read “sweet” in all of its syrupy splendor.

A while ago, I apologized for an error I made in French and the person with whom I was speaking suggested that my error would have gone unnoticed if I had been speaking with a teen because the teens of today no longer use proper French when they talk. He went on to complain about cell phones and text messages and how these phenomena were going to destroy proper language. As he continued to rail about the deterioration of language, I realized that I had heard these complaints before except they were in English! Even more, I realized that I had heard these predictions about language 50-60 years ago. The difference was that you had to replace “text messaging” with “rock and roll.” “and the beat(ing) goes on…” to paraphrase Sonny and Cher.

Generations have worried about the demise of language/culture/(insert your word here) based on the habits of those who are younger, yet every younger generation seems to push the envelope until its shape is unrecognizable and they take us to places with discoveries and inventions we never dreamed possible.

Sweet.

Ill-tempered Clavier

2011-12-28T00:03:00.000+01:00

Note to self: laptop computers do not like red wine – not even if it is good red wine!

On Christmas Eve, some wine spilled on my laptop. I chose to use the Mexican “no fault” approach of explaining the accident thus without assigning guilt. I could have written the sentence with “I” or “he” or “she” as the subject, but what fun is that?

We worked to remove as much liquid as we could. On Monday morning, I stuffed my not-too-soggy laptop in my backpack and headed for the computer shop. Vaison la Romaine has three computer shops. One is always closed on Mondays and one does not do repairs on-site so I headed to “door # 3”, hoping the shop would be open.

The owner was there but he was not very encouraging as he turned on the laptop. The French rarely take a positive approach to anything. Rather than say that something is good, they will usually say that “it is not bad” but I wasn’t optimistic either. The machine groaned and beeped but slowly came back to life and, after about 10 minutes, the sign-in screen appeared.

At this point, the computer guy stepped away and asked me to type my password (mot de passe) and we discovered that not all of the keys were working. Some seemed to still be drunk and responding slowly. Others were completely passed out and no amount of encouragement could make them work. Computer guy plugged in a new keyboard and asked me to try again.

“Login failed” came up several times as I tried to follow the lettering on the French keyboard. He saw the problem and told me to type as if the keyboard was an American keyboard. Voila! It worked! I was not only able to see my desktop, everything seemed (seems) to be still working. I purchased the French “clavier” and said “Now I have another Christmas present! I get to learn how to type on a French keyboard! He smiled and said: “It could have been worse.”

The computer shop is a small, one-room place – maybe 12’ X 12’. There was a small desk and chair, shelves on three walls, a full-size copier, a small table (under which was a dog bed and his little dog). While I was there, three other clients came and went. One man just needed copies but joined the others in shaking his head and saying “dommage” (too bad!) as he learned from the others about my plight. We were all trying to stand out of the way as the computer guy pulled cables, opened CPUs, made copies, and moved about his tiny space. One person carrying an old CPU said how happy he was that the shop was open. Computer guy said that he had not planned to open. He had just come to the shop to get something and people started arriving.

The French “clavier” and the American keyboard are different. Ellen had read that they distinguish the two by the first line of letters (starting at the top left). The American keyboard layout is called “QWERTY” and the French layout for the clavier is “AZERTY.” Even if you didn’t have Miss Gilliland for typing class in high school, you can probably see that typing the letter “A” is going to be a problem (having switched places with the “Q”). And that is only the beginning.

Typing an “M” is no longer next to the “N” but has replaced the semi-colon. Typing a period requires using the Shift key. I guess the French want the writer/typist to think twice before ending a sentence. Then there are all of the keys for French accents…

The good news is that I still have a computer processor that works and I have a new keyboard/clavier! The bad news is that there is some truth to the expression “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks” and this old dog’s fingers are not adapting to this new keyboqrd very fqst.

Back in France

2011-12-19T23:02:00.000+01:00

Returning to France makes me smile. I smile at the changes I know are going to be part of our lives for the next six months.

The topography always strikes me first. Flying to Marseilles over the Mediterranean and seeing the small uninhabitable islands jutting out of the water. Then there is Marseilles and the backdrop of steep limestone hills. Along this section of the Mediterranean, the hills start at the water and climb as cliffs up to plateaus. You leave the airport and get on the autoroute heading north. The autoroute mostly follows the Rhone valley and minutes after leaving the congestion of Marseilles, one is surrounded by vineyards and farms and more vineyards. Olive trees, with their silver-green leaves, break up the scenery.

Blue sky, green pastures, blue/gray clay under the vines (the leaves are gone), limestone cliffs and the meandering Rhone river make a stunning tableau. Gorgeous. Conversely, I was struck by the amount of smoke pollution I noticed this time. Maybe living with little heavy industry in Lansing masks the amount of smoke pollution we make or see, but here, one sees smoke rising from all sorts of buildings both near and far.

People are enchanting to watch anytime and anywhere, but on the European side of the Atlantic, I am struck by how differently people look. You know you are “not in Kansas anymore.” Clothing, shoes, sacks/purses, hair styles, jewelry, even glasses frames are very different from the way we are used to seeing people in the US. If you see someone wearing “sweats,” s/he is likely an American. I don’t wear sweats, but the French seem to know that I am American. Is it something tattooed to my forehead like a Harry Potter scar that says "this one is not one of us"? Europeans not only look different, they speak differently (and look different when speaking.) I noted in a previous blog that the French seem to start words by forming their lips as if they were going to kiss. Americans form words from a smile. Germans and northern Europeans start their words with a frown.

Then there are the cars. Smaller, diesel, much more efficient and the diesel doesn’t stink! On the autoroute, if you are passed by a car going 150 km/h, it is likely going to be German-made. I guess that if you buy a Mercedes or a BMW, you are obliged to drive as if every road was the Autobahn. I also smiled as we passed a sign announcing that there is a speed trap ahead where a camera will get a picture of your license plate if you are exceeding the speed limit. (How is it that they still catch speeders and issue tickets? – What part of “speed camera ahead” don’t people understand?)

I even had to smile on my first return to the grocery store where the shopping carts have four wheels that rotate (rather than only the two front wheels on shopping carts in the US). When you are in the grocery store and want to turn left, you can’t push on the handle and expect the fulcrum of the frame to assist, you must conscientiously turn ALL FOUR WHEELS so that you make the turn without running into the end-of-counter displays. On the other hand, you can easily move the cart left or right to get closer to the products or to get out of the way of another cart.

And the food! How I love the food! Two years ago, my sister-in-law and her husband were here and he wanted to have “fat-free half & half.” I told him that the French didn’t understand that concept. You can get skim milk, but when it comes to cream, the French LOVE their fat-filled creams and “crème fraiche” and cheeses… and, as we learned just last evening about cheese, it is not only where the cheese is produced, it is from which breed of cow…! (DeGaulle was right when he asked how anyone could govern a country that had more than 200 kinds of cheese.)

After the first level of slaps-upside-the-head reminding me that I am no longer in the US, I begin to settle into the life of the village where people say “hello” as you walk by or as you enter their shops. And they stop their cars when you stand at the crosswalk… all the while thinking to themselves: “Who is this American and why is he smiling so much?”

Reunions

2011-09-12T05:30:00.000+02:00

This has been a summer to visit old friends. Starting with our nephew’s wedding in May, we have had the opportunity to see and spend time with family, former Peace Corps volunteers, my high school classmates and old friends.

In June, we went to the Boston area for a reunion of Peace Corps volunteers who had served in

Chad

. It is amazing that after 40 years, it was so easy to exchange ideas and news with fellow RPCVs. Many of the returned volunteers who were in Chad had served at times different from my years there, but the crucible called Peace Corps Chad created similar life experiences and memories. We had the good fortune of staying with a former

Chad

volunteer and her husband, so the whole weekend was filled with stories and news and a shared perspective on the world and world politics.

We drove to Pennsylvania to attend a class 65^th birthday party. We got to see my classmates – some of whom had had the good fortune (misfortune?) of having me in their class for all 12 years of education in Sharpsville. It was fun to exchange stories and reminiscences and, as at the Peace Corps reunion, the only problem was that there was not enough time to talk with everyone or as long as desired. At one point, I thought: “My, are these folks old!” – and then I looked in a mirror and realized that I fit in perfectly. Returning to one’s birthplace can evoke a variety of feelings. Mostly, it felt odd. For instance, when we went shopping, I looked carefully at every person I saw expecting that I would recognize him or her (didn’t happen).

We stayed with Lynne and Harold; Lynne is one of my oldest friends (though she is five months younger than I am). Lynne grew up only one block away from my parents’ house.

Harold and Lynne at "Falling Water

I was able to walk around the old neighborhood and note the changes and similarities. As a test of memory, I tried to list the names of the neighbors to whom I had delivered newspapers when I was a teen. (The long-term memory works!) My parents’ house looks the same though the trees in the front yard – including the spruce that we used to jump over – are now mature/out of control. At the end of our street is a huge park that was created by the Buhl family. The “casino” is still there and recently renovated. (The casino was the place to go for summer dances when we were in high school. With a pond bordering two sides of the casino, it was such a romantic place to dance to “Sherry” by Frankie Valli, songs by the Shirelles and other sounds of the ‘60’s.) As teens, the Casino was also the place to warm up with a cup of hot chocolate in the winter after spending hours skating on the frozen pond. The walking trails are in good shape and the pool – the place where I spent most of my summer days – is still operating and very popular. Lynne and I shared memories of favorite and not-so-favorite teachers and how they had an impact on who we became. We had fun remembering teachers and their foibles. Lynne’s recollections were more academic/more substantive than mine though she was sure that the school had not provided a career advisor to female students. (The student advisor for the boys was the football coach. The student advisor for girls was the girls’ basketball coach.)

I got to talk with a woman from my high school class who also writes a blog, It is called: “Yo Jo What’s for Dinner?” at http://jolallycooking.blogspot.com/. Jo’s blog is about menus and great recipes she learned while in

Italy

. (I wonder if Miss Sarcinella ever thought that some of her journalism students would become writers.)

We spent Labor Day weekend with my sisters in Philadelphia. Great conversations, reminiscences, wonderful food, French wine (mostly) – it doesn’t get much better than that.

People always want to know: 1) why we chose to go to

France

and 2) what are the most striking differences between the two places. The answers to both questions are the people. We have wonderful friends here – many of whom have been friends for our lifetimes. We have made wonderful friends in

France

– many of whom seem to have been our friends for our lifetimes. As here, the inhabitants are the embodiment of the customs and language which ARE different. The best part is that we find that kindness and the joy of humanity are universal.

Another glass, PLEASE!

2011-07-30T03:18:00.000+02:00

Last night, we were talking about wine and when it is necessary to decant it. (The “we” included Karlice who came to visit and to see Tish before she leaves for Cairo on Sunday – now, both of my belle soeurs are here!)

In general, most red wine is improved by opening the bottle 20-30 minutes before pouring. (I think that counting to a hundred by fives is ample time…though you might count faster than I do.) You have undoubtedly seen people swirl wine from a newly-opened bottle in their glasses. They are doing that to let more air interact with the wine. Wine changes – opens up – when the air starts to mix with the liquid.

Some red wines should be decanted. Older red wines should be decanted slowly to reduce/prevent the sediments from ending up in one’s glass. Red wines that have a lot of tannin should be decanted. (Tannins are the chemical compounds in wine that make your mouth pucker and make you feel like you should go brush your teeth.) When we were tasting wine at Domaine de Beaurenard wine museum (www.beaurenard.com), Catherine, who manages the tasting room, told us to decant a young, tannic wine brutalement – which is French for ‘turn the bottle upside down and let it splash into the decanter.’

Using the same picture of Catherine again... At least she is photogenic!

One vintner told us that he opens his red wine in the morning and then it is perfect when he serves it with dinner that evening. I don’t know whether I have that much foresight, so I will stick to counting to a hundred by fives…

Summer Reading

2011-07-25T03:13:00.001+02:00

It has been over a month since my last post. House projects and television seem to have taken up way too much of my time. – I am the boob who watches the tube… although it has been fun watching the “Tour de France.” (Congratulations to Cadel Evans; the first Australian to win the Tour de France.)

I have also been reading The Greater Journey: Americans in Paris by David McCullough. My sister-in-law bought me the book for my birthday and it has been fun reading about the Americans who went to Paris in the early 1800’s to learn/improve their skills at the center of art and medicine. (I know I am being redundant but must say again that I admire the French expression for relative-by-law. I think belle soeur – beautiful sister – is so much more friendly than our legal term.) But I digress…

David McCullough is a great writer. He weaves together the stories of so many famous, adventurous Americans from their correspondence with families and friends in the states and historical events. He writes about artists, writers, architects and doctors including the artist Samuel Morse (also of Morse code fame.) I have been struck by the adventurous nature of these men and women and by the beautiful style of their writing.

I was also struck by his references to Democracy in America by Alexis deTocqueville which the author described “as clear-eyed and valuable a study of America as any yet published…” To me, the most striking observation that deTocqueville wrote was about education: “the originality of American civilization was most clearly apparent in the provisions for public education.”

Given what appear to be the prevalent attitudes and direction of our country, I am guessing that a 21^st century deTocqueville would now say that America has lost its compass because it has cut its investment in education. We expect our teachers to do more while cutting their salaries, their benefits, their classroom resources. Then we blame the teachers for the failures of the schools. What is wrong with this picture?

Sounds

2011-06-22T23:11:00.001+02:00

In addition to the semi-annual exercise of realizing that “we’re not in Kansas anymore”[i] and we have to adjust our lives and life style, I was awakened the other morning by a train whistle. Trains crisscross Lansing on a regular basis and one can hear train whistles as the trains cross roadways.

Since France has invested in a high-speed rail system where the trains never have to cross a roadway, one rarely hears a train whistle in France. (Vaison la Romaine is not a village with rail service.) In fact, the trains use quiet, electric motors and thus are so quiet, the sound they make is “whoosh” as they speed by. Probably the loudest sound connected with passenger trains is the conductor’s whistle as s/he signals that the train doors are closing. French trains are quite a contrast with the US where the automobile reigns and trains must traverse roads on a regular basis. Even if the US rail system could handle high speed trains, the engineers would still need to maintain lower speeds to reduce risks at railroad crossings.

Given the location of our house, we can hear the vehicular traffic on the expressway that cuts through Lansing just a few blocks from here. There is a constant drone from the interstate. Over the years of walking our dogs in the evening, I have noted that the drone disappears on Sunday evening. I guess Sunday evening television is so good people get home early to watch their favorite programs.

In our village in Provence, one hears the local traffic – often moving too fast – and the annoying sound of motorbikes with two-stroke engines. The motorbikes sound like chainsaws and the teens who ride them love to race everywhere.

In Vaison la Romaine, we are serenaded by a rooster who takes his role very seriously. Starting at 5:00 AM (in the spring), the rooster announces the arrival of a new day and then spends the rest of the day crowing about the success of his prediction. Lansing has passed an ordinance permitting residents to have hens, not roosters. While in France, every time I am awakened by the rooster, I try to go back to sleep by listing the ingredients that go into “Coq au Vin.”

When I volunteer at the crèche, the kids enjoy pointing out jets, planes and helicopters as they fly overhead. Here in the states, if we notice air traffic, it is almost a subconscious awareness. In Vaison, we regularly hear and see the French Air Force jets as they fly by (low and fast) in an eight-jet formation. (The sorties seem less frequent now. My guess is that several of the jets/pilots have been ordered to Libya.)

I miss the happy screams (or crying) of kids at the crèche on our street in Lansing. The closest child care is about five blocks away and the two toddlers who live in the neighborhood are happy, secure kids who are just beginning to talk, so they are very quiet. I miss hearing one of the teachers at the crèche telling Gaston (not his real name) to go to “time-out.” He spends so much time in “time-out” that it seems that he spends his time there thinking about his next transgression rather than reflecting on why he had to go to “time-out.”

The Rhone Valley from Chateauneuf du Pape

We have had a few severe thunderstorms and tornado warnings recently in Lansing. These weather events usually include high winds but they occur much less frequently than the Mistral winds of Provence. The Mistral blows from the north and brings dry air as it races down the Rhone Valley as it heads to the Camargue on the Mediterranean coast. Vaison la Romaine is situated among several high hills and does not get the full brunt of the wind but our friend Beth who lives at the very edge of the Rhone Valley has said that a person who committed a heinous crime would be able to claim that he temporarily lost his mind due to the Mistral because the winds are so forceful and so constant, it can drive one crazy!

[i] Wizard of Oz, 1939

Nesting

2011-06-08T02:18:00.000+02:00

Wow, it has been about six weeks since my last blog entry. In that six weeks, Sarah Palin has provided a new interpretation of Paul Revere’s role in American history, a Congressman has added his name (and body part image) to the list of notables on the “What could he have been thinking?!” list, and our Michigan governor gave a big tax break ($1.3 billion) to businesses at the expense of low-income residents and senior citizens’ retirement incomes (read “ours”).

I am honored that people read and comment on my blog entries – some even comment on the frequency (or lack thereof), reminding me that it is time for another entry.

Life goes on and may be spinning out of control but our focus has been on nesting: recreating our space at our

home. Our wonderful tenants and dog caretakers have moved out and we are making the house ours once again. Though all was well-cared-for in our absence, for the past three weeks we have been cleaning, reorganizing cabinets, adjusting furniture, as well as adjusting ourselves to the switch from one culture to the other. It is a gentle hit-upside-the-head reminder that perceptions and values are very different when comparing

France

to the

—and vice versa.

Before leaving

France

, we hosted our good friends Marge and Charley, showing them some “new finds” since the last time they were in Vaison la Romaine together in 2007. Since they were hard at work setting up our newly-acquired apartment on their last working visit, we were determined to eat well, taste/drink the wonderful wines of the Côtes du Rhône and generally enjoy spring in Provence. Mission accomplished!

Our friends in

France

gave us great send-offs and we enjoyed two end-of-year class parties with our two French language study groups. A bittersweet aspect of our class parties was saying goodbye and merci bien to our devoted and talented professor, Michelle Paris, who is retiring from her volunteer teaching commitment after nearly ten years. How fortunate we were to have her for our first three half-years in Vaison!

Spring was beautiful with vines covered with green leaves and orchards already producing cherries and flowers everywhere. Ellen was so pleased to enjoy the early spring in Provence and the spring in Michigan after our return that she doesn’t think of it all the time as suffering through allergy season twice! She and Charley could commiserate through their sneezes and runny eyes over a soothing glass of wine.

With spring, Catherine reopens the Musée du Vigneron, located between Roaix and Rasteau, where one can see a vast collection of ancient winemaking implements and old vines that tell the history of winemaking. The winemaking family of Domaine de Beaurenard has been in business since the 17th century and their family collection shows vividly the tools and methods used over the years. An audio tour available in several languages, including English, enables understanding. And what is not to like about having their success illustrated by tasting and enjoying the fine wines of Domaine de Beaurenard! Their Chateauneuf du Pape and Côtes du Rhône Village Rasteau are award winning wines—and we like them, too..

Only one day after our return to the

, we travelled to PA for Ellen’s nephew Will’s wedding to his dear Deanna. Since our return to Lansing we have hosted a

reunion visit from Marge & Charley and also enjoyed a long-overdue visit from our friends Ellen & Bob and their now adult son Jeremy. We last saw Jeremy when he was about 10 years old so it was a treat to again meet this recent Yale grad on his way to a Ph.D. program at the U of Michigan in the fall. One of the pleasures of being at home in Lansing is that it offers us space to entertain and to have visiting friends stay overnight with us. On the other hand, I love that I can clean our whole apartment in Vaison la Romaine while practically standing in one spot (as per Dan S.)! It could be said that we enjoy the best of both worlds, couldn’t it?

Oregon Visitors

2011-04-20T23:36:00.000+02:00

Mark and Dan in Portland

Dan & Mark, Brian and Steve visited us during their European tour of Amsterdam, Prague, Vaison la Romaine and Paris.

Dan & Mark were our next-door neighbors in Lansing until they moved to Portland, OR. When they lived next door, there was a path on which no grass could survive between their back door and ours. They are still BFF and it was so much fun having them here/hosting their time in Provence. Long-time blog readers may remember that I want to write with as much humor as Mark and to cook as creatively as Dan (and I haven’t accomplished either.)

Since they missed the Vaison market, we went to the market in Carpentras on Friday. It is a sprawling market but seemed to be dominated by textile booths rather than food booths. I like the Vaison market better (showing my chauvinism).

On the way back from Carpentras, we stopped at the village of Le Barroux and toured the castle built in the 12^th century for the “Seigneur” – is that a bishop or higher? Or lower? The village is also the home of the Benedictine monastery Abbaye Sainte-Madeleine de Barroux) (www.barroux.org).

Whenever we are with Mark and Dan, food and wine are important parts of the agenda. We ate very well – Dan prepared a wonderful roast of lamb, fingerling potatoes and asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. I made my stalwarts: spinach pie and, on Saturday evening, lasagna (with layers of zucchini.)

So many wines, so little time

We went wine tasting at “Vieux Clocher” in Vacqueyras. Vieux Clocher is a winery that has been family-owned since 1717. We like it because they put good wine in a bag-in-box (“BIB” in French). Next stop was Gigondas and the Caveau du Gigondas which is temporarily located under the Post Office while the permanent shop and the surrounding buildings get updated. (http://www.gigondas-vin.com/decouvrir/le_caveau_du_gigondas.php). Last stop and “la piece de resistance” was the Wine Museum in Rasteau. The wine museum was created by Paul Coulon. His family has vineyards in Chateauneuf du Pape and in Rasteau (www.beaurenard.fr) The Wine Museum and tasting room are run by a wonderful woman named Catherine who is extremely knowledgeable about wines and wine making. She is so engaging that we spent almost two hours in the tasting room and none of us realized that we had been there so long. Maybe, it was the sparkle in her eyes… We followed the prescribed process: start with light and progress to heavy. We tasted some wonderful whites, some great reds and some super Chateauneuf du Pape wines.

Before leaving for Paris, we had dinner at our neighbor’s house. She had also invited Phil and Margaret and their daughter. As we sat on the balcony as the sun set, Mark commented on how perfect the visit was: the weather, the food, the wine and, of course, the friendship. He asked: “What could make this more perfect?” and then, almost as if on a movie set, the full moon appeared. “Cue the moon!...”

The next morning, the four young men left for Paris and left us to recover. As Ellen said, “You realize how old you are when you try to keep up with those who are half your age.”

ChezSullivan meets “Our House in Provence”

I have been following a blog written by an American from California who has a house in Sablet (just 10 km from here). You can read his blog at: www.sablethouse.blogspot.com. I have been following it for two years and like Michel Augsburger’s stories and reports on local restaurants. He found my site and we have traded comments for the past two years. I finally met Michel at the Vaison market last Tuesday. I heard someone speaking American English behind me, turned and recognized him from his blog photos. – you gotta love small towns!

BTW, I wrote about Carpentras, Vacqueyras and Gigondas as villages that we visited. Locals know that when you say “Carpentras”, you don’t pronounce the “s” but you do when you say Gigondas and Vacqueyras. The three towns are located almost next to each other but the pronunciation differs. I think it is a plan to keep Americans confused while we are here.

Spring

2011-04-03T17:10:00.000+02:00

We have been watching for spring since the beginning of February. When Ellen was at the Institut de Français in Villefranche sur mer, hints of spring were already evident. The almond trees with their pinkish-white (or whitish-pink blossoms) were first to welcome the sun. Then, being close to the Mediterranean, the mimosas bloomed and there were hillsides covered with the yellow mimosa blossoms.

I once heard that spring travels north at a rate of 50 miles per week. It has been six weeks since Ellen left Villefranche sur mer so we have had the time to see the same hints of spring pass us here and see the real thing arrive. New leaves are coming out on the deciduous trees and the blossoms are on the fruit trees (cherry and apricot). The temperatures have hit 20 Celsius (about 70°) for the last couple of days and we have not had a frost since the Ides of March.

Another, man-made sign of spring is that the grape vines have been pruned and are ready for a new season of buds and branches to fill in with grapes. Between November and the end of the frost season, vintners and their helpers go into the vineyards are cut back all of the branches that produced grapes the previous summer. As winter progresses, one can see more and more fields of pruned grape vines. One vintner explained that they cut back all of the branches but leave enough so that the roots can produce another four to six buds. As these develop during the spring and early summer, the workers go back into the fields and remove half of the new growth thus concentrating the flow of earthly riches to a few remaining branches. This gives the wines more body and thus flavor.

Although folks sit outside in the café all winter long, the café terraces are now filled with people enjoying their coffee or glass of wine (or pastis) as they enjoy spring and watch the world walk by. We are off to join them! Wave if you walk by, better yet, come and join us!

BTW, since we just celebrated April Fool’s day (my favorite day) I wanted you to know that it is celebrated in France as “Poisson d’avril” (Fish of April) when the French try to attach a paper fish to one’s back. Although the original celebration of fool’s day did not come from France, it has been celebrated here since the 1500s.

Visitors and Visits

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Ellen returned from Villefranche sur mer and the Institut de Français with a much higher fluency but had little occasion to practice her new skills as we hosted English-speaking visitors for the next two weeks. Last week was the reverse: we visited long-time (30+ years) French friends in Biarritz and Ellen spent most of the weekend speaking French.

We got to enjoy a visit from Lansing friends Dusty and Tim. It is always fun showing the sights and tastes we enjoy to people who appreciate them as well. We walked, visited villages, tasted wines and ate well. They both appreciate the good wines of the Rhone Valley so we get along well.

We barely had time to get the laundry done before Marie arrived from Tokyo. In Fall 2007 she spent a semester at Michigan State University. We were sort of “house parents” as Marie and another Japanese student spent weekends at our house. Marie was taking her last big trip before beginning her post-university career in Tokyo.

Marie wanted to see

Arles

and to see a little of the area where Van Gogh (pronounced Van Gockh in French) lived and painted. Margaret and Phil joined us and the five of us had a wonderful day walking around the city of Arles. It was market day, so there was a lot going on. We went to the site where Van Gogh painted “Starry Nights” and then to the street where he lived and then to the hospital where he stayed. Later in the week of her stay with us, Marie used all of the spices she had brought with her from Tokyo to treat us to a home-prepared Japanese curry. We also enjoyed fruit-flavored jellies and jellied chestnut treats as desserts.

Early Tuesday morning we took Marie back to Avignon to catch the 7:47 train to Paris--the same train that Dusty and Tim and MB had taken earlier. (It is a perfect connection for travelers as it goes directly to Charles de Gaulle airport and it allows us old retirees to get up long before dawn to get folks to the train station. Since Marie’s suitcase was so heavy, I bent the train service rules and helped her carry it to the baggage rack on the upper level of the train where her seat was located. As I was coming down the steps, I heard the conductor’s whistle and saw the doors starting to close. I raced to just barely squeeze my way through the closing doors and off the train. As my second foot hit the platform, the train started moving. The French mean business with their schedules!

A few days later we were with our friends Daniel and Irene at their new old apartment in Biarritz. We had visited them at their retirement home in Auch about five years ago, a home which was part of an old convent. In Biarritz Irene was fortunate to find an apartment in one of the historic houses of the city. They are close both to the center of town and to the sea. It was a fun drive there with Margaret and Phil as we saw a fascinating Cathar memorial along the way and then drove along the autoroute paralleling the Pyrenees. The memorial describes a 13^th century crusade to the center of

France

ordered by the Pope to wipe out the non-Catholic Cathars.

The architecture is interesting in Biarritz in that the houses look like they might have come from a Swiss village but this is, in fact, Basque style.

The Atlantic Ocean was warm enough for some people to be bathing. (The surfers were wearing wet suits but two young women were swimming wearing nothing.)

On Saturday we drove to San Sebastian in

Spain

to see a highly-contested rugby match between Biarritz and neighboring Bayonne. The contest has so many followers that neither the stadium at Biarritz nor the one in Bayonne could accommodate the crowds (30,000). It was my first rugby match and was a lot of fun. I was fortunate to have Daniel, a big rugby fan, as my guide. While Daniel and I used our much-sought-after tickets to attend the match, Ellen and Irene went on a walking tour of the old city.

On Sunday, we visited the lovely old village of St. Jean de Luz, where we toured the town and walked along the coast, in the same place where Louis XIV was married in 1660 to the young Marie Therese of

Spain

. It was another gorgeous day in the south of

France

, experiencing a historic spot in

France

that has a history preceding the birth of our young

USA

Another great experience in the south of France.

All Aboard!

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During Ellen’s month in Villefranche-sur-mer, I took the train for two of my weekend visits. I have written about trains in France before and despite the glitch with printing tickets in November, I want to underscore how impressed I am with train travel in France.

The cars are clean and quiet. The trains are superfast and one can set one’s watch by the train schedules. I used www.voyages-sncf.com to purchase my tickets on line this time. Being retired has its advantages. I was able to pick my travel times (having discovered that the cost of a trip is based on three th ings: the destination, the time of day one travels and the date of purchase. (Ticket prices increase as one approaches the travel dates.) If I had purchased a senior pass, I could have saved an additional 20-25%.

The one aspect of train travel in

France

that I still don’t understand is the need to “composter” (time stamp) the ticket.c There are several waist-high yellow time-stamp machines located in every train station waiting area and everyone must take the ticket and get a time stamp. I don’t understand the logic behind the machines. But, if you take your assigned seat and are traveling to the destination named on the ticket but did not time-stamp your ticket, the conductor will reprimand you. (Having been reprimanded several times, I began to wonder why I needed this date-stamp. I was clearly on the train and in my assigned seat and going to the destination written on the ticket. What then does this additional procedure serve?) I have no idea but now am diligent about “composter” my ticket (so that the conductor - who was probably a nun in a former life - does not make me feel like I am seven years old again.)

Going to visit Ellen twice by train permitted me to get a sense of traveling by train in France. From Avignon to Marseille or Aix-en-Provence: 30 minutes. From Marseille or Aix-en-Provence to Nice: 3 hours (stopping at Toulon, Cannes, Draguignon, St. Tropez, Antibes before arriving in Nice. There were places where the train ran along the Mediterranean with beautiful vistas (when it wasn’t raining).

The train travel was great but the goal was to get to Villefranche-sur-mer and to see Ellen. When Ellen had finished her month at L’Institut de Français (www.institutdefrancais.com), our neighbor Jane drove to Villefranche-sur-mer with me to collect Ellen’s belongings and Ellen. We (Jane and I) spent the day visiting the Rothschild villa in St. Jean Cap Ferrat (www.villa-ephrussi.com).

We had lunch at a café overlooking the bay and then went to Ellen’s graduation ceremonies.

Ellen made great progress in her spoken French. (She had always had good skills in written French.) The picture shows the Institut’s administrator announcing that Ellen would not be held back from passing to the next grade. Bravo Ellen!

La vie d’un célibataire (life without a partner)

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How do you make a 400 sq. ft. apartment seem too big? Live there alone.

Ellen is attending L’Institut de Français (www.institutdefrancais.com) where she enrolled in a French immersion course in Villefranche sur mer. It is a one-month course that focuses on practical, oral French. L’Institut de Français is one of the premier/the premier French language school(s) in France. Villefranche sur mer is located just east of Nice – between Nice and Monaco on the Mediterranean coast. She has already completed two weeks at the Institut.

She has a beautiful view from her apartment though she doesn’t get to spend much time appreciating the view. The school opens for breakfast at 8:30 and then the students spend the next nine hours working on improving their French. With two weeks under her belt and two weeks to go, it is already obvious to me that it is having a positive impact on her ability to speak French. This past weekend, for example, Phil, Margaret and I went to visit her and when rain ruined all of our Sunday plans, Ellen worked on her homework (devoirs). We offered to help her but she wanted to get it right and to understand why, so she worked alone. (Meanwhile, Margaret, Phil and I tried to improve our French by correcting each other on subjunctive verbs, pronouns, etc. Not a day at the Carnivale in Nice nor the Lemon Festival in Menton, but we still had fun.)

I have visited Ellen on each weekend that she has been at the school. The first weekend, the Institut offered a walking tour of Villefranche sur mer. On Sunday, Ellen and I went to Nice. (The bus service between Nice and Monaco costs only one euro so it was easy and inexpensive to enjoy the city of Nice – we haven’t yet been to Monaco.)

This past weekend, we went to two villages on a tour again organized by the Institut. In St. Paul, we went to the modern art museum at which there are many Miro and Giacometti sculptures as well as many paintings.

We saw a chapel that was designed by Matisse. The tour continued to the village of Tourettes sur Loup (towers on the Loup river) which is a medieval village located between Nice and Grasse. Tourettes sur Loup is known for its tanneries which I learned is the reason that Grasse became the center of the perfume industry. Apparently, in the early days, tanned leather was sought after but its products smelled bad. Working with people from Grasse, they found a way of adding a scent that was less offensive – thus creating the perfume industry in France.

Ellen’s apartment may have a beautiful view but it has not been updated and thus there is no wifi and the kitchen is wanting in terms of preparing foods. Ellen has a stove top with four elements and a microwave (no oven). When I arrived to make dinner, I had to change my ideas of what to prepare as I rely on casseroles and dishes that require oven time…

I am continually gratified that we chose to live in Vaison la Romaine. The Mediterranean coast is gorgeous but it is crowded with people who want to live with a view. Too many hills (and stairways up the hills!) and too many people. I like the calm and easy flow of life here. Secondly, I have been surprised at the number of people in our village who know that Ellen is away and are routing for her. It is a rare day that someone doesn’t ask how she is doing (and how I am getting along without her). It seems that they all know that she has a lot to say and they want to hear it from her – rather than through her interpreter.

Bonne chance, Ellen! (Good luck, Ellen.) We are all routing for you.

Walking in the park

2011-02-04T17:20:00.002+01:00

According to “France on Foot” www.franceonfoot.com, France has more than 110,000 miles of hiking trails. The same website says that there are 38,000 miles of “sentiers de grande randonnée” (long, national paths).

I first learned about the hiking trails when Tish came to visit two years ago. She had done her research on hiking in

France

and came ready to start walking. We picked up a few hiking guides at the Tourist information office that listed the starting point(s) distance, elevation, etc. Tish, Ellen and I had some very fun walks by picking hikes from the books. (For long-time blog readers, you may remember my text about our hike through the Dentelles: “Les Dentelles de Montmirail”, January 5, 2009.)

As a result of being introduced to the system by Tish, I have become very aware of the markings that indicate national paths or grande randonnée. Grande Randonnée 5 (GR5), for instance, goes from Amsterdam to Nice. If you are in France and see a tree or a light pole or a building with yellow or white and red horizontal stripes, you will know that you are on one of the national paths. I was reading “Follow the Yellow and Red Striped Road” by Anne (www.justanotheramericaninparis.blogspot.com) in which she talked about seeing the red and yellow stripes on posts in Paris. Local trails have single, yellow stripes designating petite randonnée (PR).

The hiking trails include urban centers as well as rural areas. I would have said frontier areas but

France

has been traversed and settled by so many groups, there really is no true frontier anymore. You go for a walk in an area in which you think that you must be the first person to trek down this path and you learn that the path was one that the Romans created in 400 AD or the Celts used in 700 AD.

We learned recently that there are excursions each Sunday that leave from the Vaison la Romaine Post Office parking lot where the hikes are 10 to 20 kilometers and of varying degrees of difficulty.

In addition to the “GR” and “PR” trails, we have had friends show us other promenades. (Remember MB – “Embay” – standing below one of Les Demoiselles Coiffées? Tuesday, December 1, 2009.) This year, Tish walked with us past the ‘coiffed women.’

In addition to the well-marked trails that are part of the national paths, there are shorter, more local trails. There are also the ubiquitous yellow signs that one sees in town and in the country that show directions and the number of kilometers to the named destination.

Last weekend, Jane called and asked if we wanted to join her on a little walk above the village of Piégon. We had a great time (though the Mistral wind made it feel very cold when we got to the top of the ridge). The picture below is of a carving in Piégon.

So, the next time somebody tells me to “take a hike!” I will answer: happily! (and I will know where I am going).

England

2011-01-22T18:10:00.001+01:00

"Pussycat pussycat, where have you been?"

"I've been up to London to visit the Queen."
"Pussycat pussycat, what did you dare?"

"I frightened a little mouse under her chair"

We visited London, but didn’t see the queen nor did we frighten any mice. We did have a great time visiting our Vaison neighbor who also has a house in Stamford. We knew that Jane had gone the extra mile in welcoming us when we saw this sign about 100 yards from her house.

We ate at some great pubs and also had wonderful meals at Jane’s house. One of the pubs where we ate was called "The Olive Branch" and was just a short drive from Stamford in a little village called Clipsham. I had a wonderful game terrine as the first course followed by a game casserole with juniper fondant potato and roasted root vegetables. Jane had the other option: prawn & crab cocktail and then breaded plaice, brown shrimps on buttered kale. Ellen chose from the regular menu and had fish and chips served with minted peas. (She managed to surprise an otherwise unflappable waiter by ordering broccoli as her entrée.)

After leaving the pub, Jane took us to the “Clipsham Yew Tree Avenue” where huge yews have been trimmed to a variety of images. There were yews that celebrated each decade of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, yews with animals and even one tree celebrating Neil Armstrong’s lunar walk.

and as if ordered by the stage props people, there was a herd of deer eating and romping in the estate at the end of the avenue of yews.

The bookends of our visit to England were our first two flights on Ryan Air (www.ryanair.com). Our tickets from Marseille to London-Stansted were 10 euros each way. It is much cheaper to fly to London than to take the fast train to Paris. Ryan Air is the cheap-ticket airline. We carried on our bags (maximum 10 kilos per person – ONE bag per person. If you have two bags such as a carry on and a purse or briefcase and cannot insert the second bag into the first and still meet the weight/dimension requirements, you must pay 35 euros for the second bag.) Though no longer the only airline to do so, Ryan Air charges for water, drinks, food items, etc. (At one point, they joked about installing pay toilets but have not.) As the man seated beside Ellen said when he heard that we were first-time Ryan Air flyers, he said: “Welcome to the world of slum-dog millionaires.”

It had been 40 years since the last time we were in England. With cheap tickets from Ryan Air and good friends who enjoy showing us around, I know it will not be another 40 years before we visit again.

Gobble gullible

2010-12-27T13:24:00.000+01:00

There are cars and then there is Rolls Royce.

There is caviar and then there is Beluga.

There is turkey and then there is “dinde de Bresse”

Ellen read these phrases as she was trying to find special recipes and information on the turkey (the expensive turkey) that I had bought from one of the butcher shops in town.

I had gone to a butcher shop on Wednesday wondering if I would be able to order a turkey for Christmas. We had invited a friend to come for dinner and we wanted to cook an American-style dinner. We thought it would be fun to repeat the wonderful menu we had in Paris at Thanksgiving. I was relieved when the woman behind the counter said that I could still order a turkey and that I would need to pick it up on Friday before they closed. I gave her my name and left the shop.

On Friday, I went to the grocer to get Clementines and then to the butcher shop to pick up the turkey. I told Ellen that I was also going to stop at the barbershop if they weren’t busy. When I got home, Ellen noted: “You didn’t get a haircut.” I replied: “No, I got fleeced! I picked up our turkey and it cost almost as much as our apartment!” Ellen opened the package and showed me that the turkey was tied with a cute red bow. Not only had it arrived with the head still attached, it was numbered and had an “AOC” tag. AOC stands for “Appellation d’Origine Contrôllée” and is a guarantee that the product – be it wine or cheese or even this turkey – comes from a specific region and in that region, one obtains the “AOC” tag only if one meets the defined standards. One of our friends said that at the butcher shop, AOC really means “American is coming. Raise the price!”

I have calmed down since Friday morning. Time permits perspective and mine has permitted me to think about how humorous (ludicrous?) the episode was. I will never again place an order at the butcher shop – or any store – without asking the price per kilo/price per pound. Had I taken the time to do that, I would never have ordered the turkey I felt compelled to purchase. I would have willingly purchased one of the fresh birds available at the supermarket. (

Turkey

is not #1 on the French Christmas dinner menu. Our friends said that they would more likely have duck or lamb but would rarely think of having turkey for Christmas.)

As I calmed down and Ellen read a few recipes to me, I began planning the cooking of the turkey. At this point, I was no longer blushing about my error, but I was still upset enough that when I unwrapped the turkey again, I had to cut off the head (while thinking to myself: “I paid for this!?!”) The turkey came with the cavity filled with sausage stuffing (“I paid for this!?!”). Turkey in France is generally leaner with less white meat and less fat but this bird from Bresse was at least 10% fat (“I paid for this!?!”) We started talking about finding ways to use the bones after we made stock out of the carcass so that I could begin to think that I got my money’s worth.

I told my sister Sue about the turkey-purchasing episode and before the bird was even done, she had sent the following poem.

Turkey in the barnyard, what does he say?
Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble all day.
Turkey in Vaison, what did he say?
I got here but you're gonna pay.
Turkey in our tummies, what did we say?
We could've gone to Paris for a day.

She then added: “What can you make from leftover turkey BRESSE? Turkey hash, turkey casserole, turkey soup, and, as they do here in the south, don't forget the turkey feets!!! We hope you enjoy every golden bite.”

I hope your holiday meal was as joyful and tasteful but less expensive than ours.

Happy Holidays

2010-12-24T13:31:00.000+01:00

Nous vous souhaitons un joyeux Noel

et une bonne année.

Les Sullivans, Ellen & Mark

8 gr8 days

2010-12-18T22:50:00.000+01:00

A (not so) quiet week in Lake Wobegon…

On “A Prairie Home Companion,” Garrison Keiller begins his news stories of Lake Wobegon with: “It’s been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon…” Our week was just the opposite – filled with fun, friends and excitement.

We met Bruce and Judy at the TGV station in Avignon last Friday morning and then drove to Uzès, about 30 km west of Avignon. It is a beautiful little village with wonderful medieval alleys and architecture, an imposing cathedral with a fenestrelle tower

and the castle of the first duchy of France. The castle was built on the site of a Roman camp. (The pictures are from the Uzès website: www.uzes.fr.) We had lunch, walked around the village admiring the shops (closed during lunch time) and the architecture and then drove back to Vaison la Romaine.

Our neighbor Jane had made a lovely chicken stew so we had a wonderful dinner across the street at her house. Saturday, we went to the truffle market at Richerenches and Judy bought some truffles to take back to their friends in Paris.

Richerenches

As we did with Margaret and Phil last year, we ate at the town hall. The menu was the same: truffle omelets, salad, cheese, dessert and coffee. There were bottles of local rose and red wine on the tables to go with the meal. The long tables seat 16, so we got to rub elbows and converse with the truffle mavens on either side. We drove back to Vaison and then followed Jane to Mirabelle aux Baronnies to see the house that her friend owns there. It is situated in the center of the village and includes five or six different levels. (I got confused after walking from one area to the next, then through a passage way, an OLD circular staircase…)

We were back in time to make dinner for the four of us plus Terry who had come to claim his sweet dog, Cesar. Cesar had been staying with us for a week while Terry was in the UK. It was Ellen's (and my) opportunity for a dog fix, since our own deerhounds are back home in Lansing with our wonderful dog/house sitters.

The lovely Cesar!

I made lasagna but with a few twists: Greek yogurt instead of ricotta, Scamorza instead of mozzarella, fresh pasta (as in rolled out in front of us), and with each layer of pasta, I added a layer of zucchini slices. Ellen and Judy made salad and Bruce and I had gone to the cheese store to get Roquefort and goat cheese (chevre). Terry brought dessert. (French language error: When the merchant showed me the rolled out pasta, I said it looked like twice as much as I would need. He understood me to say that I wanted twice as much and rolled out another sheet of pasta… I tried using the extra pasta dough as a crust for a pie, but it doesn’t work too well!)

Bruce has become a discriminating connoisseur of “pain au chocolat” for breakfast. He has honed his skills in the bakeries in Paris near where they live. We asked him to continue his research in Vaison la Romaine so that we would know to which bakery we should go whenever we wanted “pain au chocolat.” Between Saturday and Sunday, we stopped at five bakeries and, at each one, asked for one croissant and one “pain au chocolat.” Tastes vary, but there seemed to be general agreement that the “pain au chocolat” from Emile Bec was tops. (The croissant from the bakery on Cours Taulignan got the highest marks.) For lunch, we went to La Lyriste, our favorite restaurant in Vaison and run by our dear friends Ben and Marie Joulain. We had a lovely Sunday lunch with good friends. Later that afternoon, we took Bruce and Judy back to Avignon to catch their evening train to Paris.

Tuesday, Père Noel (Father Christmas) visited the crèche (it was not I this year as the kids know me too well). He talked with the kids and gave out candy. The kids ate way too much candy and as one can guess, they were still on sugar highs three hours later when their parents came to take them home.

On Wednesday, we left early in the morning to drive to Villefranche sur mer to visit the village and the language school where Ellen will spend February as she has enrolled in the “Institut de Français” (www.institutdefrancais.com/). The village is located between Nice and

Monaco

and is built on the cliffs rising out of the Mediterranean.

When I first looked at the map, I noticed a lot of hairpin turns – they are switch-backs – as one climbs or descends from the main road through town. The hills made us both think of Greensburg, PA – though the PA hills seem almost flat when compared to those in Villefranche sur mer. We are both excited about the school because of reports that we have heard from former students. Ellen will spend a month immersed in French. Once the program begins, the students are allowed to speak only French. The emphasis is on developing oral skills. I plan to visit Ellen on the weekends and of course we will speak only French.

For the last week of our French class before the holidays, we had a combined Thursday/Friday class “apero” that included all of the students of the Vaison French classes. We shared wonderful foods and wine/champagne and good conversation (mostly in French but there were side conversations in Dutch, German, English…)

The holidays are upon us. The towns and villages are all decorated with holiday lights and people are wishing one another happy holidays. There will be parties and “aperos” and more good times with friends and neighbors. The opportunities to over-eat abound… (It’s time to clean some carrots to put in a bag to eat before starting the next food fest.)

May your holidays be filled with good friends, good times, good foods and the joy of sharing them.

Meilleurs vœux et bonne année !

Town square, Villefranche sur mer

Halfway to Heaven

2010-12-05T17:07:00.000+01:00

We are currently taking care of our friend’s dog while he is in England for the week. As we talked about places to walk with the dog, our neighbor Jane suggested a walk up to a beautiful little chapel located in the Drome – the county (French “department”) next to ours. We loaded up her car and then drove about 20 kilometers from here. As we got close, I could see the chapel St. Jean d’Ollon on top of a very high hill. We parked in the valley and started our climb.

The chapel, from the valley

The picture may not capture how spectacular it looks from the valley below, but the little yellow building to the left of the tree with its fall leaves is the chapel. The day was sunny but cold (when in the shade). We had to cross a small stream twice as we started up the hill. With the rains that we have had, the stream was pretty high, so we did our best to jump from big rock to big rock. The walk itself was fairly easy as the path circled the summit. Plus, Ellen had little Cesar – the very energetic English Cocker Spaniel – to pull her up the hill.

Once at the top, the sun was warm and the vistas were awesome.

St. Jean d'Ollon

One can go around to the back of the chapel and enter a small room from which you can see the interior of the chapel.

According to information that I found when I looked up the chapel on Google, it was built in the 12^th century and then renovated in the 19^th century. I am always amazed by the craftsmanship and the feats of engineering of old buildings here. First, who decided that they should build a chapel on the top of the hill? (I am guessing that the person who chose the sight thought it would be nice to have a chapel halfway to heaven.) Second, did this person believe that it would be a good place for the congregation to gather for mass? Third, how did they manage to tote all of the building materials to the site? And, of course, how long did it take to construct the chapel? Pretty amazing.

It is equally amazing how often I use the word “spectacular” to describe the vistas. I have stood in a valley below a limestone cliff gleaming in white and gray and yellow and thought: “This must be the most beautiful spot in Provence.” Then I go another kilometer/turn another corner and think: “No, this must be the most beautiful spot in Provence.” Our friend, Brian talked about enjoying the art of the impressionists – especially those who lived and painted in Provence – but he thought that they must have used a lot of imagination in choosing the colors for their landscapes. Then, he came here and discovered that the colors are real!

Quelle belle région!

Thanksgiving in Paris

2010-11-28T23:38:00.000+01:00

Our friends Bruce and Judy invited us to join them for Thanksgiving in Paris. They were going to have an “American Thanksgiving” with two other couples and us. We went and had a wonderful time but getting there was not as easy as we had hoped.

SNCF, idTGV, sncf-voyages.com,

Here’s one for the file folder called « soul-sucking French bureaucracy. »

Weeks ago, Ellen started to work on finding the best fares for the train between Avignon and Paris. When she found good rates and good travel times, Ellen purchased the tickets on-line from “idTGV.” (TGV are the initials for the super-fast train system in

France

. All trains are run by the SNCF and the trains are fast, clean and on time.)

She printed the return tickets first. The printed tickets had a few lines of advertising stating the advantages of e-tickets including:

Plus rapide (faster)

Plus simple (easier)

Plus souple (more flexible) – and ends with:

« SNCF vous souhaite un bon voyage » (emphasis added)

Ellen went to print the tickets for the trip from Avignon to Paris and every time she clicked on the print command, she was directed to an error web page which said “website not found.” She tried a number of times over the next few days with the same result every time. We went to our friends’ house and tried from their computer to see if it was our machines. No luck. Finally, we borrowed our friends’ car to drive to the TGV station in Avignon to ask one of the SNCF clerks to help us print our ticket for us so that everything would be ready on Wednesday morning when we were to leave.

We approached the clerk and I said “I hope you can help us.” I then explained our problem to the young man at the counter. The young man named Yohann looked at our paperwork and said that since we bought our tickets from “idTGV” and he works for SNCF, he couldn’t help us. Ellen showed him another page that we had brought from our on-line purchase on which was printed a header “voyages-sncf.com” and asked why the SNCF was different from “voyages-sncf.com.” He consulted another colleague and came back and said: “They are not the same as us. I can’t print your ticket.” We asked what his advice to us might be and again, he left his chair and consulted his colleague and came back with the suggestion that we just show up with the printed ticket-confirmation page that we had showed him. That way, he said, the conductor can look up your number and know that you have seats on the train. I asked: “If we encounter any trouble, can we tell the conductor that Yohann from the SNCF office told us to get on the train?” He smiled and said “sure” which in French or English usually means “there is a snow-ball’s chance that this guy will remember my name and, even if he does, the conductor won’t have time to come and find me and plus I don’t work next Wednesday… I am off the hook. Next in line?”

On the way back to the car, Ellen said that if the clerk had not been so cute, she would have reached across the counter and throttled him.

PS: On Tuesday afternoon, less than 24 hours before our departure, Ellen got an e-mail from idTGV reminding us that we needed to print our ticket. Ellen followed the links and THIS TIME she was able to print the ticket.

Once in Paris, all of the TGV/SNCF/idTGV/sncf-voyages.com frustrations evaporated. We were in Paris!

Bruce and Judy live in the Marais so we lugged our luggage

(? does luggage come from ‘something lugged?) onto the metro and then walked about 10 blocks to their apartment. They have a great apartment.

We walked to the “Hotel de Ville” (City Hall) and got in line to see an exhibit of the works of Andrée Putman – a French woman who designed furniture, room arrangements, Concorde seating, etc. (I had never heard of her, but recognized several of her designs.) That evening, Judy, Ellen and I went to the Left Bank to see the Ionesco play “The Bald Soprano” in French. We met up with Bruce and went to dinner at “Le Bouledogue” (the Bulldog) which is a restaurant in their neighborhood. Wonderful food.

As I walk around Paris, I am amazed at the number of restaurants. It seems that few Parisians must cook at home for all of these restaurants to remain viable. – but when one goes to the markets of Paris, one gets the opposite impression: most people must be wonderful cooks given the things in their shopping baskets. After restaurants, there is a plethora of eyeglass shops, followed by lingerie shops… If I try to deduce priorities from my impressions, I might suggest that food is at the top followed by being able to read the menu (while looking gorgeous) and being able to eye – from head to toe – the women who come into the restaurant…

Thanksgiving

Judy, Ellen and I walked to Judy’s favorite vegetable shop to pick up cranberries. The vegetable shop owner had to special order the cranberries because he thought that Thanksgiving was over. Judy explained that it was Canadian Thanksgiving that was over. American (as in US of America) is the fourth Thursday of November. We then went to the shop to pick up the fresh turkey that Judy had ordered. It was five kilos instead of the seven she had ordered. Judy bought two coquelet (young chickens) to ensure that we would have enough to eat. Just to be sure, we stopped at Bruce’s favorite bakery and bought five baguettes.

Ellen and Judy made stuffing. Judy made cranberry relish and Waldorf salad.

As folks started to arrive, Ellen had made amuses-bouches (appetizers) with foie-gras that she had bought. I served wine until it was time to mash potatoes. I had very capable guidance from Suzanne who said that mashed potatoes were her favorite food. She encouraged me to add more cream, more butter, a little more cream... (Cooking à la Julia Child!)

Suzanne had made "American" green bean casserole with French haricots verts, cream and crème fraiche cooked with mushrooms and American style French-fried onion rings in a can. She also made a squash casserole. Both were perfect in the comfort food list of favorites.

Rounding out the list but proving that ‘the last shall be first’ were the dessert offerings that Yolanda brought. We enjoyed sweet-potato pie and pumpkin cake each served with ample amounts of chantilly (whipped cream) or crème fraiche. Everyone went home with left-overs.

Quel repas! (What a meal!) We had a wonderful meal that was second only to spending time with wonderful people. Quelle chance! (How lucky we are!)

And then…

Friday included shopping (Ellen bought very stylish boots – thus ending two months of women staring at her for wearing her Croc sling backs or her klunky but comfy Merrell boots) and going to two of the museums that were participating in the photography expo across Paris. In the afternoon we went to see an American film: “Mother and Child” in English with French subtitles (so different from what we usually get to watch at the cinema in Vaison.) Bruce made bouillabaisse for dinner that evening. (Another great meal)

Saturday, we went to the Museum of Modern Art to see one more of the photo exhibits connected with the expo. Then back to the Marais, lugging our suitcases to Gare de Lyon and the trip home.

Paris is always thrilling but I like our little village.

A Picture is worth...

2010-11-17T13:54:00.000+01:00

Thanks to Betty for sharing her pictures with us including this collage.

Strikes in France

2010-11-15T00:04:00.001+01:00

cWhen John et al. were here, we had conversations about the French strikes, French lifestyle and the meaning of life (which usually means having had too much wine). We talked about the frustration (for Americans) of ordering a coffee and then spending the next 30 minutes trying to get the attention of the waiter to bring the bill so that we could pay it and leave. In Vaison la Romaine unlike most restaurants in the states, there is absolutely no pressure to “turn a table,” so you can sit at the café as long as you want. This is antithetical to Americans who want to keep a schedule and are frustrated that their commitment to a schedule is not shared by their French wait staff. Life moves along more slowly in

France

. In

France

, most stores are closed between noon and 2:30 PM for lunch. In the

, lunch “hours” are rarely that – more often 30 minutes.

As we discussed the differences, Arleen, who has collected data on the millennial generation, told us about the different approach to life and work of the new American workforce. Her comparisons between our generation and the millennial generation reminded me of the old Japanese film “Woman in the Dunes” in which the protagonist asks: “Do we live to shovel sand or do we shovel sand to live?” (The answer for the millennial generation is: ‘We will work – and we will be productive while multi-tasking while working – if it doesn’t interfere with life.’)

The question in “Woman in the Dunes” is, of course, a parable of life anywhere but Americans of my generation view work as life-defining whereas it seems that the French view work as a means to support their lifestyles.

These are very essential differences. Americans celebrate individualism and believe that everyone can become a success if one works hard enough. The French prefer looking at life as “the tide raises all boats” and work to keep the tide rising. Even though times have changed, the differences between individualism and the collective provided an insight for me as to why the French put up with daily life-crippling strikes and demonstrations. The French believe that collectively they have the capacity to develop surprisingly strong and demonstrative changes through strikes and demonstrations. On the down side, it also appears that at the individual level, there are some who use this “collective umbrella” to manifest personal discontent through vandalism such as breaking car windows, setting fires, etc.

The strikes and demonstrations across

France

have mostly ended but friends in the states remain concerned about how safe it is in

France

. From my narrow view of the world, the strikes and demonstrations were never a threat to our safety. True, there were a few violent incidents that attracted a lot of press coverage. Unfortunately, the press picked up on these incidents and made the focus of the stories about violence. In reality, people across

France

were angry but showed their anger in peaceful demonstrations and strikes. The unions managed the strikes and demonstrations so that they had the maximum impact without violence or injury. Two years ago, the president of

France

had dismissed strikes as unimportant and of no consequence. “Désormais, quand il y a une grève en France, plus personne ne s'en aperçoit", s'était amusé Nicolas Sarkozy le 6 juillet 2008 devant des militants UMP (Le Monde, 5 novembre 2010).

The French people participated in and/or supported the strikes because they were upset not only about the plan to change the age of retirement eligibility; they were equally angry about how the Sarkozy-led government has changed national policies, leaving French low and middle class people exasperated by increasing inequalities with the upper classes in taxes, salaries and employment as well as by Sarkozy’s nepotism scandal. (Even teenagers have demonstrated against the new retirement rules, something about which teens usually don’t think until they are in the workforce.)

Our friend sent me a wonderful description of her perspective on the strikes. I have included much of what she wrote because I think that she does a good job of describing the situation. (I have also shown this to a few French friends to be sure that I was not guilty of “disinformation” à la Reagan administration.)

“The media coverage has been a bit simplistic and overly dramatic. Our daily lives have been unaffected by the strikes and the political turmoil. We have to go out of our way to see a demonstration, and we have not seen any violence. My husband takes the metro to his French classes and his commute has not been disturbed at all. There were some problems with garbage pickup in Marseille and other cities. There have been a few travel delays on trains, but that seems to be over. I think that some teenagers burned a car in a suburb of Paris. That footage has played over and over making it look like the city is on fire. There is real frustration among many segments of the society, and the strikes give people an opportunity to voice that frustration.

“There has also been coverage of the long lines at the gas stations. Refinery workers and some truck drivers were on strike, but that is over. We rented a car for four days to drive to Alsace, and the longest we waited in line for gasoline was about five minutes. An innkeeper in Alsace told me that the exaggerated media coverage had hurt his business because clients from

Germany

Belgium

saw the news and think that

France

is in a civil war.

“The media also make it sound like the “lazy” French don't want to work past 60. The age to get the minimum retirement benefits will be raised from 60 to 62. That is like me taking my Social Security at 62, and not getting full benefits. The age for full benefits has been raised from 65 to 67. The number that I find to be truly amazing is that now in

France

one must work for 41 years to qualify for full government benefits. I know a lot of Americans that take their Social Security that have not worked for 41 years. If a doctor manages to finish his or her training and begin to work by age 29, he or she would have to work to age 70 to get full pension benefits. Of course, people who earn middle to high incomes can invest in private retirement funds, but many people cannot afford to do that.

“The unemployment rate in

France

has been between 8% and 10.5% for decades. Just as in the

, unemployment tends to hit the youngest and the oldest workers the most, as well as workers in certain industries. The lower-paid workers, who cannot afford a private pension, may lose out on full government benefits due to extended periods of unemployment. A worker who is laid off or down-sized after age 50 does not have a good chance of finding another full-time job and may never be able to log 41 years of work.

“Due to some tax policies 20 to 30 years ago that encouraged people to have a third child, France is one of the few developed countries that has enough young people of working age to support the retirement system. With a high rate of unemployment, many of those younger people cannot find work until the older workers retire.”

The major protests are over. The French Senate approved the Sarkozy plan to change retirement ages as proposed. President Sarkozy signed the bill into law on November 10, 2010. The Left has pledged to continue the pressure against what many in

France

consider their birthright. (In 1982, the Mitterand government established the retirement age at 60.) The Left will focus their demonstrations and strikes on generating the sentiments necessary to overthrow the Sarkozy government in 2012 and reverse the policy.

I thought the differences between

France

and the

were significant but then I read the press release on the “deficit-reduction committee” recommendations. It seems as if “equality” gets trumped (again!) by liberty. The Americans and the French have similar items on the national agenda. The difference is that the French plan to use collective action to do something about it.

Friends

2010-11-07T15:03:00.001+01:00

Our friends have left Vaison la Romaine and returned to the states. Betty and Cecilia left for Paris on Wednesday and John and Arleen left on Friday. Despite too many rainy days, it was a wonderful visit and a lot of fun to meet the friends of our friends and to enjoy time with the four of them. During our time in Provence, we have been making our way in our village meeting new people and finding new/shared interests. It was wonderful having the chance to meet John’s and Arleen’s friends and getting to know more people that we want to have on the “BFF” list.

If laughter is the best medicine, we should be healthy for quite a while. We had so many laugh out loud moments from sharing stories and experiences. A lot of laughs came from stories of our friends and their missteps in the dance of French culture. (In their defense, they did run into a few folks who should be in counseling for career change.)

I guess most Americans have asked/been asked the following as we clumsily trip our way through a foreign culture:

Why should one have to ask to have butter on the tablein a restaurant?
Why is coffee often served tepid?
Why do the French drive so fast? Once they get to the café where they are headed, they will sit there for an hour after they have finished their coffee waiting for the waiter to offer to bring the bill.
Why do they permit trucks on two-lane roads when the truck takes up one and a half lanes?
If you want to have a coffee with cream after 9:00 AM, does it mean that you expect to get a croissant with it?
Will people who you know expect three “air kisses” every time you see them?
Where can you get “coffee to go” in Vaison la Romaine? (Why would you want “coffee to go” in Vaison la Romaine?)
Why can you find only an “eastern style” toilet when you are pressed for time?
How can such “cute” (Monopoly-like) currency be worth one and ½ times US currency?
Why do most French dictionaries not include words found on menus?
Why are there two flush buttons on the top of the toilet?
Why does one ask “Ou sont les toilettes” (where are the toilets) when you need only one?
How many different kinds of a single cheese are there? In Lansing, we consider ourselves lucky to find Comte or Roquefort. Don’t confuse us with multiple choices of each.
Do shopkeepers actually spend 2 ½ hours eating lunch? (In a more American-style question: Do the French need to have a 2 ½ lunch period?)
What makes the metric system so special?
Are shop clerks going to expect me to say “Bonjour, Madame” and “Au revoir, Madame” every time I enter/leave a shop?
Is it the sum of these questions and similar questions that makes another culture intriguing and charming?

Eat some chocolate!

Too bad our guests had to leave before this weekend. There was a wine and chocolate festival at the Rasteau wine cooperative. John would have been especially pleased. (It is he who ends his answering machine salutation with “Eat some chocolate!”) The cooperative was offering wine and chocolate pairings. There were three chocolatiers (chocolate artisans) from the area offering samples and selling their art. In the wine tasting room, I heard them promoting vin doux de Rasteau (sweet wine from Rasteau) to go with the chocolates but I prefer deep, dry red wines – the ones that make you think of chocolate as you sniff the aroma or sip the wine. Red wine and dark chocolate: it doesn’t get much better than this! – and John is right: “Eat some chocolate!”

Another half-year in Provence

2010-10-29T23:12:00.001+02:00

Leaving Lansing was bittersweet. I was ready to leave but we had so much fun at the gatherings of friends prior to our departure. I was happy to see that our deerhounds continue to defy the odds and live on but also know that they really are not immortal… On the other hand, we left the dogs in the care of two wonderful folks who will give them more attention than they deserve.

Alors, it’s back in France for another six months. The strikes and demonstrations did little to prevent our return. We are now comfortably settled in our village of Vaison la Romaine and enjoying the company of wonderful American friends John and Arleen and their friends Betty and Cecilia. It has been cooler than I remember from years past but on sunny days, the beauty of Provence shines through (and the temperature climbs to the 70s.)

Friends were really concerned about our return because of the strikes. They had seen photos in the American papers of burning automobiles and angry demonstrators and expressed concerns about our safety. While the strikes were frequent and included interrupting public transportation, we were lucky enough to arrive without a hitch. Our friends reported similar successes in coming from the states (though John and Arleen did have to wait several hours in Frankfurt after a flight was cancelled because of fog.)

From my perspective, the strikes and demonstrations in France are “le pipi du chat” (small potatoes) compared to the machinations going on with the mid-term elections in the United States. From what closet did all of these crazies emerge? – One of Ellen’s regrets about returning to France was that we were going to miss the John Stewart/Stephen Colbert rallies in Washington this weekend. I can think of no other time in my life’s history when the distinctions between equality and liberty have been so clear and so far apart. – and I used to think that Halloween was scary!

At times like these, one finds security in things that don’t change.

· Our apartment is just as small as when we left – but feels like there is more space.
· The village is about to begin the renovations to Place Monfort – just as they were about to begin when we left.
· Our friends here appear the same – maybe happier – or may be it is I who am happier to see them?
· I recognize a bunch of kids at the crèche. Some of the older kids must have not been old enough to move to Ecole Maternelle.
· Our French class is again on Thursday and again taught by the wonderful Mme Paris.
· The village workers have begun pruning the plane (sycamore) trees by cutting all of the branches that have leaves back to a knarly stub of a main branch.
· The bakeries have not forgotten how to make baguettes – though there was not one to be found on Wednesday afternoon…
· Mont Ventoux appeared to have snow on it – though it was just being as “bald” as usual.
· The church bells that ring hourly still start ringing five minutes before the hour.
· The vendors on market day have not changed their locations so I can still find the olive vendor that I like, the fruit vendor who sells the BEST pears, the cheese lady…

All in all, life returns to normal – and continues to be wonderful. It is good to be back!

Wonderful Summer

2010-09-27T15:55:00.000+02:00

After my last post, some people told me that it seemed that I did not like being here and they wondered how I could endure a summer in the states. I must apologize to all who got that impression. While I do prefer to be in

France

, it does not mean that life here is without charm. I was trying to highlight differences in lifestyles and aspects of living that I like and the aspects that I don’t like whether here or in Vaison la Romaine.

From the day we arrived here (and learned that our good neighbors had planned a welcome home party at our house) to today, it has been a fun-filled summer. As I reread this, I guess that fun and friends go together in any location but which sentence describes it best: “Home is where the heart is.” or “Love the one you’re with.”?

· We live on the most neighborly street in the best neighborhood in Lansing – possibly the best neighborhood in the

. People who live on our block enjoy making others feel welcome and appreciated.

· We got to show Phil and Margaret (from Vaison la Romaine) some of the sites of Michigan.

· We traveled through five states when Tish was with us and then returned to eastern PA for a reunion with my sisters. I had forgotten how beautiful Pennsylvania is.

· We were invited to a “BFF” dinner at Brian’s and Ken’s house where alums of Patricia Wells’ cooking school met for a weekend in Lansing and prepared an absolutely wonderful meal.

· We got to see Mark & Dan (more below) and Jeff & Lynn in Portland. We also enjoyed a wonderful dinner with Francophiles Susan and Alain in Ann Arbor.

· Jim and Taffy stopped on their way to Beaver Island. Karen stopped on her return to Chicago.

· We spent an afternoon with Nancy who was in Lansing to attend a business meeting and confirmed that “it is we.”

· Linda invited me to speak at her training class for child care directors (more below).

· John and Arleen visited from CO and during their visit we had a wonderful meal with Sue & Jerry and Marge & Charlie.

· We saw Marge & Charlie numerous times here and in St. Joe as well as Olga & Blair at Gull Lake.

· Denise (next door) gave me plants for my garden. As a result, we have enjoyed wonderful tomatoes, eggplants, peppers and herbs for the past two months.

· We haven’t yet seen MB (Embay) but laughed through most of the summer about the way that she “scored the slices of eggplants” (Patricia Wells’ recipe for baked eggplants and tomatoes). She sent a picture of a pan of eggplant slices with little flags on each slice and each flag had a score on it – “7”, “9”, …

What is it about friends and food that make gatherings fun?

When we were in Portland, Mark & Dan invited their friends to a dinner made from locally-grown products (from backyard gardens). We got to attend a nine-course meal that included fresh-from-the-garden items complemented with good wines, local protein and desserts from local fruits and dairy products. Since Dan and Mark were extending the invitation, it was clear that everyone bringing a dish knew that s/he had to step up to the level of cuisine one expects at the “Schmapp” household and, to my enjoyment, everyone did!

Since I volunteer at child care centers in both Vaison and Lansing, Linda had invited me to speak to her class about the similarities and differences between the

and

France

. In most categories the French are leading the way, though the child care directors were surprised at the adult/child ratios for Ecole Maternelle in France--one teacher to up to 25 kids! On the other hand, most of the teachers have degrees similar to our Masters degrees.

All in all, it has been a wonderful summer here in Lansing and parts east, west and south (no north yet). We are still harvesting and eating the vegetables and herbs from our garden but, better than the food, we have enjoyed time with friends, neighbors and siblings. So perhaps it’s true that home is where the heart is, and the heart is where there are friends.

Food

2010-07-27T05:15:00.002+02:00

We have been travelling this past month with Ellen’s sister Tish. In addition to enduring a lot of “windshield” time which can be very boring in the midwest, we have had some wonderful and some not-so-wonderful meals along the roads and routes of Michigan, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania.

When we went to Bloomington, Illinois, I’m sure that when we turned south at Joliet, the scenery immediately became and remained corn fields all the way to Bloomington. I was trying to imagine what a farmer would do to occupy his mind while driving a tractor down a field and creating a row of corn that would be several miles long. – that is ONE row… Think about fields that are miles long by miles wide.

When we stop to eat or when we go out to eat, I prefer to eat at restaurants that are not franchised or part of national chains. I prefer the surprises of a locally-operated restaurant to the predictable, same-menu-in-Bloomington-as-in-Benton Harbor that one gets with franchise/chain restaurants. I admit that it is a small, albeit feeble stance against fast food restaurants. My major motivation is the life style for which I have been singing praises, i.e., local is better, more flavorful, less expensive, etc. And it is fun getting to know the people responsible for our foods – be they the farmers or the chefs.

In addition to the surprises of stopping at a local restaurant and having a wonderful meal, we stopped at a number of local restaurants where they apparently chose to replace quality with quantity. We got off of an interstate to stop at a local restaurant. The service was very friendly but the menu choices included only fried, deep-fried or salads. I chose a salad. The waitress wheeled over a serving cart and then hefted a bowl that was larger than the bowl we use at home to serve salad to four people. I started looking around the room and saw that everyone else in the dining room was served similarly-sized portions. If I had been able to eat half of the salad, the remaining portion would not have fit in a Styrofoam take-away box. (It would have fit in a computer packaging box.)

At another restaurant, Ellen ordered “the town’s favorite” called “The Horseshoe.” It was a grilled chicken breast on a piece of “Texas toast” covered with crinkle fries and then vast quantities of a melted cheese product. Luckily, Ellen was able to choose a vegetable as a side dish–though she could have had more fries or chips or a cream-of-something soup. (The restaurant also had a smaller portion called “The Ponyshoe.”) The cheese reminded me of a Bill Bryson observation: “In

America

, there are only two kinds of cheese: White and yellow.” By the way, neither the horseshoe nor the ponyshoe resembled what we put on a horse’s hoof or throw at a stake or nail above the entryway.

America

, people often ask for take-away boxes for the uneaten portion of their meals. Waiters are never surprised at the request. (It would be a very surprising request in

France

.) In fact, waiters often suggest take-away boxes to those who are eating too slowly or who have stopped, leaving large portions of the meal on the plate. Weight Watchers encourages the practice – though in most cases, Weight Watchers would suggest making three or four meals out of the quantities delivered as one dinner. Given the size of the meals served and the “clean your plate” mentality that most of us grew up with, it is no wonder that

America

is the most obese nation in the world.

Now that I am officially old, I can understand the attraction of a restaurant where you go for lunch and take home dinner as a bonus: Two for one! Never mind that the food will be as boring the second time as it was the first time.

Why fuss? Take the bus!

2010-07-02T03:59:00.000+02:00

One big difference between Lansing and Vaison la Romaine is the distance one must go to obtain goods and services. When one compares a town of 7,000 to a small city of 120,000, it is clear that Lansing is 17 times larger than Vaison. All other factors aside, that suggests that the goods and services available four blocks from our apartment in Vaison are likely to be 68 blocks away in Lansing.

In a country where the automobile is sacred – pretty much to the detriment of all other forms of public transportation – one must have a car to get around to cover the 68 blocks one has to go to get whatever. If you don’t have a car, you can walk, ride a bike or take a CATA bus. Today, for instance, Ellen was off delivering Meals on Wheels at the same time I needed to go to the dentist in the neighboring town of Holt. I couldn’t walk there – I would have been several days late for my appointment. I could have ridden my bicycle but decided that I did not want to be all sweaty while I sat in a vinyl coated dentist chair. I took the bus.

Lansing has an excellent bus system. You can get to most destinations easily and with a minimal amount of effort or cost. I left the child care center where I had spent the morning volunteering, walked three blocks, got the bus exactly on time and headed to “Bus Central” in downtown Lansing where I transferred to the Holt bus. Since the trip is about a half hour, I brought a book to read.

I must have read the same 10 paragraphs a dozen times as I looked up every time we stopped to watch as new riders climbed into the bus. I love watching people. There have been times when Ellen has said “Close your mouth, Mark” as I sit in awe watching the threads and patches of the American fabric pass by me. The bus is about the same as when it was my transportation to MSU thirty years ago. There are the regulars – all of whom know the bus drivers and each other and seem to share a sort of mobile community as they move from location to location. There are the ubiquitous students going to Lansing Community College, Davenport, Cooley Law School, MSU or some other learning location. There are the infrequent riders (like me) who slow the line of would be riders by not knowing the procedures for bus entry ("You don’t have change for $20?") there are parents with young children and elderly (older than I) folks who have difficulty standing erect as the bus lurches forward. I think I have a good sense of balance, but I ended up getting a lot closer to a rider than she – or I – wanted as a result of a quick start.

On the way back from the dentist, I decided to get off the bus at the city market so that I could buy a baguette and get an espresso from Neva at Aggie Mae’s and then walk home.

Walking is a sensual experience in that it engages the senses in ways that car travel excludes. There are the sounds, the differences in temperature as you walk under a large tree, the smells (city restaurant grills, flowers, cedar mulch and a neighbor making stuffed peppers for dinner.) The biggest difference is having time to see the “sights.” Walking from the market, I went down the street that has most of the restaurants that serve the Monday-Friday denizens their lunch. In front of one shop was a sandwich board that had three lines: “Cherry Salad” “Panty Hose” and something on the third line that I frankly cannot remember because I was so intrigued with the questions: “What kind of restaurant sells cherry salad and panty hose? Who would be enticed to stop there and eat? I was guessing that most people would order “panty hose” to go when I looked at the front of the shop again only to discover that it was NOT a restaurant but “A General Store.” Thank goodness.

Tomorrow I will walk downtown again to have Brenda cut my hair. After getting my hair cut, maybe I will see if I can get panty hose on pita bread. To go, of course.

French food reduces homesickness

2010-06-13T03:37:00.001+02:00

It has been a long month since our return. We have settled into our state-side routine plus ou moins (more or less). But the comfort of routine does not reduce homesickness. I miss our little apartment and the village in which it sits. I feel the same as our neighbor who wrote in an e-mail: ‘I look across the street at your apartment and wish you were there to turn on the lights.’ On the other hand, the deerhounds seem to be pleased that we have returned and the back of the house didn’t paint itself so there is plenty for me to do.

I still do most of the cooking but find that I don’t get as much help from the ingredients. The foods here don’t seem to have as much flavor as what I could buy in

France

. We can get good wines from the Rhone valley but at about twice the price. In a parallel to Herbert Simon’s “satisficing,” we are living with adequate most of the time and good once in a while.

BUT WAIT!

Last week, we had an invitation to eat at Brian’s house. He and several of his classmates from Patricia Wells’ cooking school had planned a reunion at Brian’s house. Brian called it a “Best Friends Forever” (BFF) reunion. He had napkins with “BFF” at each place setting. I thought of the five of them making the menu and then buying the ingredients and then cooking the meal and I thought they should be called the “Fab Five.” The “Fab Five” of cuisine planned a French menu for 20 or so of Brian’s and Ken’s friends and we were fortunate enough to be on the list. (Three of the women were able to come to the reunion, the fourth – who couldn’t come – sent French cheese. Ken stepped up to fill in for her.)

Ellen helped to recreate the menu:

· Aperitif course: asparagus quiche and paté served on the terrace (under the umbrella and awnings as it was raining)

· Appetizer: avocado and grapefruit slices in pistachio oil

· Entree: Thin-sliced beef Vietnamese style (recipe from Patricia Wells' recent class in

Vietnam

)

· Plat: lavender-spiced chicken thighs, green beans, and compote of onions & tomatoes

· Cheese course: selections too numerous to list but including Comté, several goat cheeses and others Fed-Exed to Brian from the BFF who could not come at the last moment

· Dessert: A salty caramel ice cream

· Coffee

- Nice wines to go with every course, of course.

Every course was memorable in its own right and memorable in that each course reminded me of good foods eaten in

France

. And oh so tasty! By the time the evening ended, I had been so transported by the excellent French-inspired food that I was speaking French (or maybe it was too much French wine???)

If excellent cuisine isn’t enough, we have discovered that Neva Austin is now making a wonderful baguette and selling it at her bakery called “Aggie Mae” at the Lansing City Market. Ellen has said that the baguette is almost as good as those that come from “Emile Bec” – considered by us as one of the best bakeries in Vaison la Romaine.

If I can’t be in

France

, at least I can sometimes eat as though I was there!

The Sound of Silence

2010-06-06T18:40:00.002+02:00

It was a beautiful Saturday, so I rode my bike to the City Market. Just as two Saturdays ago when I walked there, I was surprised that in the 15 or so blocks to the market, I saw very few people thus no voices, no cars, no motorbikes, no dogs. Just the breeze and me. I was struck by the silence. Downtown Lansing was pretty much uninhabited. Once at the market, I found a throng of people but it appears that most of them had arrived via automobile. We had a similar experience in PA when we visited Ellen’s brother and sister-in-law. Ever wonder why a relative by marriage has a “legal” designation (in-law) in

America

whereas the designation in French is “beautiful brother” or “beautiful sister” (beau-frère, belle-sœur)?Isn’t the French a whole lot friendlier? After seeing the renovations that their son is making to his house, we decided to stop at a local restaurant or café for lunch. We stopped at or drove past five cafés before we found one that was open on a Saturday. Conclusion: “downtown” small-city

America

is dying. It seems impossible for downtowns to compete with the large parking-lot destinations located in every direction – except downtown. This is not news. It just makes me wonder what it will take to rejuvenate our cities.

Contrast the “no one in sight” in Lansing with the village of Vaison la Romaine, where the downtown is open for business from 7:00 in the morning until the last café closes in the evening and filled with people throughout the day sitting in the cafés, walking or shopping for their daily baguette.

I love sitting on our veranda in Vaison and watching the day go by. Even though we do not live “downtown,” it is amazing to me how many people walk past our apartment building every day. cWhen I leave the apartment to go shopping or to go for a coffee or for a pichet de vin, I encounter people every step of the way.

I see Jacqueline who walks her dogs twice daily. There is the elderly woman who lives down the alley, and there is the mother of one of the kids at the crèche who has a shop. Once in “centre-ville,” there are folks everywhere. There are parents whom I have met when they come to the crèche to pick up their children. There are the merchants and shop keepers whom I see on a daily basis and who recognize me. There are the few “street people” – clean and quiet but always present. On sunny days, there are older men and women occupying every bench that has a southern exposure (and there are a lot of benches in town.)

One of the advantages of small-town Vaison la Romaine (population 7,000) vs. small-city Lansing (population 120,000) is that I see more people that know me or that I recognize or know in Vaison la Romaine than I do in Lansing. – and we have lived in Lansing almost 35 years!

Centre-ville Vaison is the destination of most residents. The stores are there and they provide the services and products that we need for daily life. When I walk through downtown Lansing, there are few businesses that could help me meet day-to-day living needs. There is a very good men’s store, a nut shop, a souvenir shop and a number of restaurants/cafés/bars several of which are not open on Saturday and most of which are closed Sunday.

Is a downtown vibrant because of the critical mass of people who live in the area or come to visit the shops or do people move to an area because of the products and services available (a.k.a., What came first, the chicken or the egg?) If I knew the answer, I could be a highly paid urban planning consultant. Maybe that was the role the pope played when he ordained the “market days” throughout Provence (Tuesday was ordained Vaison’s market day by the pope in the 16^th century.) The Tuesday market in Vaison remains one of the best markets in Provence.

Visitors

2010-05-18T23:29:00.000+02:00

Just before leaving Vaison la Romaine, we got to spend a day with our long-time friends Margaret and Gary and their friends Ann and Andy. They had come to

France

to visit Provence and Paris. It is always a joy to see Margaret and Gary and meeting their friends made the day even better. It was a rainy day so we spent most of the time indoors. After a lunch at the new café on Place Monfort called “Mama Mia Pizzeria” we spent the afternoon inside vineyard tasting rooms in Seguret (Domaine du Mourchon) and then to Gigondas (the Gigondas tasting room where one can sample any/all of the wines made in Gigondas). We went to another winery that Ellen had wanted to visit – Domaine des Escaravailles – where they make a wonderful Rasteau white wine, but it was closed for the May 1 holiday.

We then went with them to the apartment that they had rented in Nyons where we got to drink some of the treasures that Gary and Andy had purchased at the wineries. Nyons is a lovely village situated beside a river and surrounded by mountains. It is the center of the olive oil industry in

France

. That evening, we went to a restaurant called “L’Arc en Ciel” (The Rainbow) in the arcade in Nyons and had a wonderful dinner. At the end of the evening we sadly had to leave our friends to finish packing and getting ready for our departure.

What a wonderful day with friends!

Just 10 days after seeing Margaret and Gary and meeting Ann and Andy, we picked up Vaison friends Phil and Margaret in Detroit. They had added a visit to Michigan to their vacation in the

and we got to spend a week with them showing them some of the sights of Michigan including a day tasting Michigan wines on the Mission Peninsula just north of Traverse City and a day at Mackinac Island. We also went to Greenfield Village in Dearborn. On the “no travel” days, we walked to the City Market, to the Michigan Historical Museum and the Capitol. On Monday, we took Phil and Margaret back to Detroit so they could begin their odyssey of returning to their home in Vaison la Romaine.

Hosting Margaret and Phil helped us make the transition from

France

to Lansing because we got to spend time with friends from Vaison la Romaine in our Lansing home. We were able to talk about the things we already missed about our lives in

France

and the facets of our Lansing life that we enjoy. Both topics helped define our perspectives on the duality of living here and there and loving aspects of both.

What a wonderful week with friends!

I guess whether it is “amitie” in French or “friendship” in English, the best part of being anywhere is the people who enrich our lives.

Soft Landing

2010-05-07T17:03:00.000+02:00

I finally had my head turned to “re-entry” mode. We cleaned the apartment, stored some stuff with neighbors and went to Marseille to get started on our trip home.

Ellen had already confirmed that since we had purchased our tickets before November of 2009, we were still allowed two pieces of luggage each. We arrived at the check-in counter with our three bags, all of which were within weight requirements. As the flight assistant proceeded to put together our seating assignments, she got a puzzled look on her face and then called someone and then announced that our Paris – Detroit flight had been cancelled! – a decision made by Air

France

in February.

The Air France agent looked for alternatives, but all of them involved indirect routes and more time in the air and on the ground. She called her supervisor and he and she offered their apologies and promised to get it all together for us to leave on Wednesday. In the meantime, since Air

France

had not notified us of the change, the agent offered us a night at a luxury hotel near the airport. After a few hours of very attentive service, one can easily see the reason not everyone chooses “sleep cheap” lodging…

The flights on Wednesday were uneventful and Air

France

continues to maintain its reputation of serving good food on flights. We collected our bags, went through customs and got the MI Flyer to East Lansing where our friend Brian met us.

More important than uneventful flights or luxury hotels, our re-entry was softened by the actions of our neighbors. When we got home, we learned that the neighbors had planned a “Welcome home!” party which they had to move from Tuesday evening to Thursday evening because of our flight schedule changes.

Last evening, the neighbors arrived bearing food and wine and new babies and we spent several hours reconnecting with the very wonderful people who comprise our section of the Westside. Not only do we have the good fortune of living in a close and supportive environment of neighbors, the residents of the neighborhood have more of a world view than one usually attributes to Midwest

America

. They actually could find

France

on a map and are conversant on world politics. (On the other hand, our local newspaper did not include any stories on the elections in

England

on the day of the elections. There was a one-paragraph report the morning after voting.)

In Provence and in Midwest

America

, friends and friendships make all of the difference.

Bittersweet moments

2010-04-27T19:13:00.001+02:00

The countdown has begun. We leave Vaison la Romaine in six days.

We leave Provence as EVERYTHING is in bloom and becoming green. The plane trees are green, the orchards are filled with blossoms and one can see the beginning of new growth on the grapevines. When we were out on Sunday, we saw the first of the red poppies. The temperature has been pleasant (warm but not hot) and the days are filled with sun and low humidity. We have been having our “apero” on our balcony watching the sun move west. Two evenings ago, we ate outside at our neighbor’s house. The days are long even though we are still two months from the solstice. Il fait beau, quoi!

Leaving is bittersweet. We have made more friends here and have a very nice vie quotidienne. On the other hand, we have wonderful friends in the states, most of whom we have not seen since October. We will miss the long summer here but hope that summer 2010 in Lansing is as nice as last year…

Nonetheless, I will miss the people here – especially the friends we have made, the wonderful foods and wines, the children and the staff at the crèche, the “good energy,” and the beautiful vistas. I can rarely walk anywhere in town without seeing someone whom I know – someone from our French class, a parent of a child at the crèche, our favorite shop owner, etc. Life is good.

Work clothes?

2010-04-19T14:14:00.000+02:00

We helped Margaret and Phil paint the shutters (les volets) on the front windows of their home. As we were getting ready to go there, I realized that I had not brought old/work clothes to

France

. I found a pair of pants that I had last year (too large) and a long-sleeve shirt that is also too large. We spent the next few hours painting and we did a good job of turning the medium-blue shutters into a dark blue.

The concept of needing work clothes is sort of foreign to me here. I might need to amend my list of reasons why I love

France

to include NOT working. We had fun helping with their chores but the idea of needing “work” clothes is one aspect of my wardrobe that I completely ignored – and I think the plan to avoid work works (mostly).

My time at the crèche has never been “work” for me – I have too much fun with the kids and the staff. Confucius (I think) said: “Give a man a job that he loves and he will never work again.” That is how I feel about going to the crèche for my volunteer time.

As for the staff, one of the teachers invited us to come to a play in which she performed. The play was called: Exercises de Style by Raymond Queneau and includes a number of skits describing the same two scenes. Ellen was afraid that it was going to be clever nuances and plays on words beyond our French skills but the performance contained very funny and very understandable skits. For instance, there were two women – one English or American talking in French with an Italian woman – both with very accurate accents. There was the church choir that sang the description of the two events as well as an operatic duet in which the singers described the events to an aria from Carmen. There was the jogger’s description, the vamp’s description and, Ellen’s favorite: the person with a tooth ache who tried to describe the two events through a mouthful of cotton… VERY funny! (and we didn’t have to work to enjoy it.)

Language

2010-04-07T23:11:00.002+02:00

I have discovered a neat feature in MS Word. You can go to “Tools” and set the language in which you are writing. When I write in French, the “spell check” function works pretty well and catches the spelling errors, most of the missing or incorrect accents and, occasionally it suggests verb-tense changes or corrections when I use a masculine adjective with a feminine noun.

My computer has an American keyboard, so every time I need to insert a letter that has an accent, I either have to go to the ASCII codes or click on “Insert/Symbol” and then choose the correct one. French keyboards have all of the letters with accents but to accommodate them, they had to move a few things around so the layout is similar but different enough that it usually causes me to groan or curse or both.

French keyboards are similar to French word formations. Peoples’ faces appear very similar to American faces but when they start to say a word, they purse their lips as if they were getting ready to kiss. Whether it is “ooh la la!” or a stammering “euw,” the way they form words starts with a kiss. Americans seem to make words by starting with a smile and thus our words are broader.

I am getting better at predicting who are Americans even if I can’t hear their conversation but can see the lips making words… Of course, we Americans also LOOK different. I am happy to say that the distinction is becoming less noticeable, but I am still surprised at how often a vendor will speak to me in English even though I have not said a word or how I can guess the nationality of someone that I see on the street. – in truth, I can usually guess “French/not French,” but it is a start…

Spring is definitely in the air. When Phil and Margaret took Ellen and me to Avignon yesterday, you could see the fruit tree blossoms everywhere. The sky was bright and warm and we had lunch on the terrace of a little café in Vacqueyras. An American that we met on Sunday said that we should definitely change our schedule and plan to be here in May and June. She said that those two months are like heaven. Maybe next spring…

Update: Roman ruins

2010-03-20T19:42:00.001+01:00

Ellen, Margaret and Phil went to a presentation about the archeological work on the Roman ruins discovered in Place Monfort. The presentation was given by the lead archeologist and the mayor. (I was at the crèche.)

The archeologist announced that the equipment that I saw last week had been brought in to conduct a “sondage” – a sampling of the ruins that rest below the surface of the present town. We have heard from a variety of sources that the current town is built on top of the Roman ruins. We also heard that there are probably many more walls/remains to discover but most are below the current layout of the city. Our French professor told Ellen, Phil and Margaret that one wall of her basement is a Roman wall…

The backhoes had created holes – somewhat at random – across the parking lot to determine what rests below the surface and whether the city could proceed with its plans to change the area around the big fountain.

The team of archeologists had worked for almost a week clearing the holes and scraping and brushing the walls that they had found.

The lead archeologist announced that the dig had uncovered what was a large basin for holding water during the Roman times. He added that it was not a major find nor did it hold much promise for uncovering valuable artifacts. His team had discussed whether they should attempt to make the site visible from the surface using glass or thick plastic but decided that the exposure would ultimately do more damage from moisture condensation and mold.

The result? On Friday, the backhoes were back refilling the holes with dirt and sand. It appears that the city’s plans to change the square will proceed.

The Romans and Vaison la Romaine

2010-03-17T16:08:00.000+01:00

This story has two parts but the parts are connected by 2000 years – give or take a century or two.

The first part starts in the hills near Mt. Ventoux, between the villages of Beaumont du Ventoux and Ste. Margarite about 20 km southeast of Vaison. High above the Gorges du Maupas are the quarries from which the Romans cut the stones that built Vaison la Romaine.

We went there with Phil and Margaret for a walk/picnic. They parked the car beside the small stream in the Gorges and we walked up to the site of the quarry along the road that the Romans had built for transporting the stones from the site. One can still see rocks in the roadway that have ruts worn into them as a result of the carts and their heavy loads. Because the incline is fairly steep, there are also places where one sees the striations cut into the rocks to improve human or beast of burden traction. The quarry is immense and, even after 2000 years, one can get a sense of the work that was done at the site.

Side note: I know nothing about the etymology of words, but I find it interesting that the French words for career and quarry are the same – carrière.

The second part of the story comes from Place Monfort in Vaison la Romaine. The city had planned to change the traffic patterns and create a park in front of the cafés and bars that line the north side of the center of town. A few days ago, the city closed half of the parking lot and brought in the back hoes and started tearing up the area around the fountain. They worked about one half day…

Gone are the back hoes. The big equipment has been replaced by a team of archeologists who are working with hand tools and brushes because the back hoes had uncovered more Roman ruins about two feet below the surface of the parking lot – probably some of the stones from the quarry are buried in the parking lot. I don’t know what will happen to the city’s plans, but clearly the city’s plans have been put on hold…

Au Revoir

2010-03-15T19:55:00.002+01:00

I love the way French women say « Au Revoir » when they are ending a conversation on the phone. It is sort of a breathy, lilt-in-the-voice way of saying good bye that makes me feel like they enjoyed talking with me and are hoping to speak again soon.

I generally fear phone conversations in French because I have to be VERY attentive and listen to the words carefully and then respond – on occasion I can actually respond intelligently – on other occasions the caller will cask me to repeat the sentence (usually because my response was not a sentence). In person to person conversations, I know that I get a lot of cues from watching the face and body language of the person with whom I am speaking. None of that is available – unless you are using Skype with a webcam – when you are talking on the phone.

The way French women say “Au Revoir” on the phone seems to be pretty much a universal phenomenon. Whether the woman is older than I or younger than I, from Vaison or from Paris, the lilt seems to be the same…

Women say “Au Revoir” VERY differently in person-to-person situations. Maybe it is the situations – I most often see women across the counter of a grocery or a shop. It is more matter of fact – more friendly than “Have a nice day” sounds in the

but just a few degrees from warm. Sort of like the difference between kissing a loved one and kissing your aunt…

Dining in France: What Restaurant Should We Try Next?

2010-03-07T22:55:00.001+01:00

“Well, I can no longer say that I’ve never had a bad meal in France! “

This was Ellen’s pronouncement as we left a small vegetarian restaurant – and she was right: the vegetables were over-cooked and without the advantage of herbs, the cauliflower sauce was gummy, the pasta was bland and there was nothing memorable about the food or the presentation. I could have sucked on old tennis shoes with more flavor. It made me think of the contrast of how wonderful were the vegetarian meals we had in Cairo over the Christmas holidays where they know how to use spices and herbs to enhance flavors.

Our friend Cindy pointed out that no one in the restaurant was overweight – an observation that was easy to comprehend because no one would have wanted to “clean the plate.” It was a waste of time to have spent a meal there but we had walked out to the “lunch only” restaurant called “Auberge de la Brocante” and it was “complet” (sold out). Since we passed the veggie restaurant on our way back, I agreed that we stop there when Ellen said she had always wondered how the food there was so we decided to try it. . . It turned out to be a BIG mistake--BIG. We all agreed on that. (My bad!)

In contrast to this disappointing experience, we went to La Lyriste in Vaison la Romaine for Ellen’s birthday and chef Benoit created another menu that was superb. After amuses bouches of hummus and olive tapenade, we had an entrée of his foie gras with salade frisée and a crème brulée . The main dish was salmon with sesame seeds en brochette and shredded fennel in an orange sauce. Cheeses came from the Vaison cheese shop – the best of which was the Reblochon. Dessert was a parfait of pear mousse, chocolate mousse and a final layer of pear mousse and pear chunks.

Happy birthday, Ellen.

SNOW - Encore

2010-03-07T21:37:00.001+01:00

Ellen’s good friend Cindy left the snow and grey of Michigan and came to spend a week with us. So far, she has discovered how mean the Mistral winds can be and today, on March 7, she has been served a healthy portion of snow – approximately five inches of “Lake effect-type” snow. Meanwhile, the temperatures in Michigan are higher than here and the “spring thaw” of Lansing appears to be in full swing. As our Lansing neighbor Jeff commented a while ago: “It's 30 degrees, the sun is blazing, and folks are coatless and drivin' w/ the windows open. Must be mid-Michigan! “

Welcome to Provence, Cindy!

From the “So what?” department: It was two months ago (January 8) that we had 20 cm of snow in Vaison la Romaine.

On Wednesday when she arrived I told Cindy that she and I would need to get pictures of the almond tree blossoms to post at this blog. Now, the blossoms are covered with snow and since they are so white/light pink, it will be a while before they are visible again (if they dare open their petals ever again). Before it snowed, she did get to see the Roman ruins, the medieval village, the olives of Nyons (at Huilerie Richard) and, today, a French dog show in Valence.

We may be an ocean away from the

, but I can now report that dog shows are the same on both sides of the Atlantic. Dog shows are held in large, poorly ventilated buildings into which the organizers try to make space for too many show rings. Then the people come – dog lovers all – and squeeze into the spaces between the owners, the breeders and the plethora of dogs.

I thought it would be fun to take Ellen to the dog show. It has been almost five months since we had Smokey and Braise visiting us and Ellen has been missing our deerhounds. So, we drove to Valence to the dog show at which there were NO deerhounds! But, we got to spend time with the wolfhounds and the Ibizan hounds and, in small measure, Ellen got her dog fix.

QUAIL

2010-02-22T23:41:00.000+01:00

Tonight I made dinner for Ellen and our good friends Phil and Margaret. I made quail with root vegetables. Ellen made her green beans à la Patricia Wells (The Provence Cookbook, 2004. p. 193-4) – a recipe that Ellen learned from our Lansing friend Brian. We then had salad, cheeses and a light dessert. Not to mention, a lot of good local wine: Vacqueyras, Cotes du Rhone, Vinsobres.

At one level, this is no news at all. Since we have been in

France

, I have cooked with quail, pheasant, free-range chickens and turkeys, rabbit and a wide variety of fish. I have commented on how the flavors are so much broader/deeper/real here in previous posts, I don’t want to get redundant or boring.

At another level, this is amazing in that I don’t have a clue as to where I would need to shop to actually find quail or pheasant in the

. (I have found rabbit at Goodrich’s in East Lansing – frozen and from

China

– and US turkey is so engineered to have a big breast that it is so far from what we get to purchase and cook here.)

Ironic, isn’t it? To have spent my teen years thinking about big breasts and now suggesting that French small-breasted turkeys are better??? Go figure… better yet, go taste the difference!

At a third level (don’t worry, this is where it ends. I will not take you down to the depths that Dante explored) it surprises me how much I have come to enjoy cooking and the little compliments that come from a meal well-prepared. The quail was good (better than usual) tonight because I took the time to braise/sear the quails well before adding the root vegetables. My previous cooking was either soups – always better the next day – or microwave cooking. In previous attempts at this menu, I was always impatient and stopped the braising process too soon. Tonight, I let the hot pan really brown the quails before I removed them to deglaze the pan with a good red wine.

I remember a conversation with my mother at a time when Ellen was living in Austin, TX working on her PhD. My mom asked me what I was having for dinner and I replied that I didn’t know. She asked: “How can you not know?” I said: “I look at the back of the box and find out how long it has to cook. I don’t look at the name of what I am cooking.”

I have changed. My goals are few: I want to cook with the creativity of Dan, the finesse and great flavors of Brian, the artistry of Benoit and the celebration of Provence found in Patricia Wells’ cookbooks. – I guess that I should have started learning about 70 years ago…

Happy Valentine's Day

2010-02-16T15:23:00.000+01:00

Valentine’s Day

We got back from Paris around 10:00 AM after spending 10 days with Ellen's brother and sister-in-law (the last three of which were in Paris). During their visit, we covered a lot of ground – including a day trip to Carcassonne to see our long-time friends Daniel and Irene.

Paris was cold and it was snowing and on the day that we went to the Eiffel Tower it was snowing AND blowing AND cold! We left Paris at 0:dark 30 to get a 7:30 AM train back to Avignon. As we were making our way to the metro, we saw a lot of people who were just leaving the bars – early Valentine ’s Day partiers?

On the train, we got “Happy Valentine’s Day” wishes from the cupids in the picture.

We were back in time to have lunch with Phil and Margaret, rest and then go to La Lyriste for dinner. It was the best meal that I have ever enjoyed at Benoit’s place. It was the Valentine's Day menu and more expensive than usual, but we enjoyed:

"Mise en bouche:" - Benoit's own foie gras (the best!) plus a goat cheese/cream cheese with scallions wrapped with magret de canard.

Entre: Cannelloni de Saumon Farci à la chair de crabe, légumes craquant, brochettes de Gambas Grillées. (vegetables, crab and herbs wrapped in smoked salmon; lettuce and grilled shrimp.)

Plat: Aiguillettes de canard rôties, croustillant de Risotto, Spaghetti Végétale. This was the dish to see. Ben put the Risotto cooked as a crispy round cake on the plate. He then added three aiguillettes that he had rolled into tight spirals and then put on a "hat" of grilled tortilla on which he placed the vegetables-cut-like-spaghetti. Gorgeous presentation, delicious flavors.

The cheeses came from the local fromagerie and included brie, Roquefort and goat cheese. I plan to go to the shop and ask the cheese shop owner what she chose for Ben's menu - and then buy them.

The dessert was a macaroon (pink), dark chocolate ice cream, some kind of marscapone filling in a sugar shell and a piece of cake that had been marinating in some "eau de vie"...

What a wonderful meal. Only once before had we enjoyed a similar Valentine ’s Day meal and, by coincidence, it was at a restaurant only 8 km away in Sablet. It was a restaurant that Brian knew about and we went there with him for a memorable Valentine’s Day lunch.

In the news

2010-02-16T14:43:00.003+01:00

A few weeks ago, I met a free-lance reporter who had just finished an article on the crèche. She had seen me working there and had asked the director about me. (I imagine that she asked “Who is the old guy with the American accent?”) She said she wanted to do an article on me because it was rare to see a volunteer and she wanted to learn more about me and my interest in volunteering.

We met at one of the local cafés and, over espresso, I answered her questions. I like her article and hope you will, too.

Vaucluse Matin Vendredi 5 février 2010

by: Sophie Grebel

Translation: A happy volunteer in

France

Marc Sullivan comes from Michigan. For the past two years, he and his wife spend six months in Vaison and six months in the

United States

. Since last March Marc works as a volunteer two afternoons per week at “Gingerbread”, the program for young children in Vaison.

He tells stories, sings songs in his language and tries to be helpful wherever he can. The children have accepted him totally. They correct his French when he makes mistakes and say “bye bye” when he leaves.

For him, nothing makes him happier. Now as a regular, he enjoys his time and comes home to tell his wife about the events of the day that he shared with the children and the staff of professionals with whom he works (and enjoys).

His decision? Before joining the program, he had to explain in a letter that he was retired and wanted to return to working with young children, the focus of his career. He had to provide a police record and other documents related to his work.

From the time he was in college, he volunteered his time working in child care programs for poor children (Head Start). And, after teaching in

Chad

, he found work in child care, ending his career as the director of a child care trade association for Michigan which organized training programs and where he worked to find funding to continue to offer the programs.

The work became more administrative and that is why today he is pleased to be able to have meaningful contact with young children. Living next door to “Gingerbread” Marc adds “even when I am not there, I can hear the kids, I can watch them play outside and it makes me smile.”

Guests

2010-02-03T21:39:00.000+01:00

Tomorrow, Michael and Mary Ann arrive to spend a week with us. Hosting visitors is always fun because it gives me another chance to show someone why I love being here.

I should have the hosting responsibilities down pat but I find that there are too many attractions to fit into the times our visitors are here. Do we forfeit a trip to “Les Baux” – the 13th century castle-fort built into the rocks at the top of the mountain to go wine tasting? Will we have time to see the Alps (from Mt. Ventoux) if we want to have our visitors meet some of our French friends?

Guests/visitors bring their own perspectives. Paul and Denise had so many questions about Roman and French history for which I had few answers, I had to get busy and learn more about my environs. MB (EmBay) saw colors on shutters and buildings that I had walked past without a (recent) thought. She enjoyed meeting our French and English friends and marveled at the architecture and the landscape. Michael – who also owns an apartment in the medieval city – talked about wine tasting at vineyards that I want to add to my list. Betsy and Howard were so passionate about the area; all I could do was nod in agreement.

Michael and Mary Ann will get to see the Mediterranean Sea, the Rhone Valley, the Dentelles and the Alps and the two-thousand plus years of history of the Vaucluse – and then a few day trips that we think they may enjoy… Clearly, every visitor brings an extra bag of expectations. Hopefully, they will leave having exchanged expectations for expectations filled and experiences they will long remember. And, if we don’t fill their extra bag with the sights and tastes and sounds of Provence, in this instance, we will get a second chance when we go to Paris with them – “for Paris is a moveable feast.” (credit to Ernest Hemingway.)

Good Energy

2010-01-22T23:13:00.002+01:00

THANKS for all of the suggestions for the “Shameless self-promotion” division of Chez Sullivan. I am humbled by your helpfulness and creativity. (and I hope you like the website.)

“Good Energy”

A woman we met who has spent a lot of time working in and studying psychic energy (I am probably not describing her skills well) asked why we chose to live in Vaison la Romaine. I explained that we had visited Provence many times and, on each trip, had spent some time visiting Vaison la Romaine. When we started to look for a place to buy, it was clear that my idea of living in Avignon did not work. Ellen and our friend Dan both felt it was the wrong choice. So, we traveled around and looked at towns and villages across the south of France. We liked Sète a lot, but continued our trip and ended up at the villa that our friend Brian had rented in Vaison la Romaine. Since we were here, we asked friends and, based on their suggestions, contacted a realtor who showed us several options the final one being the little apartment that we bought. The realtor called it our “pied à terre” – an expression that Ellen still uses. We both loved the view and the small dent it would put into our savings in order to purchase it. Brian, a realtor by trade, helped us finalize our decision and then Ellen spent the next six months negotiating the French red tape of purchasing a property.

The woman who had asked the question may not have expected such a long answer but she had a huge smile and said that we probably decided to buy a place in Vaison la Romaine because of the “good energy” of the town. She did not emphasize the metaphysical but added that if you sit in any one of the cafés and watch the street, you see people who appear happy and pleased with life as they walk by. She said “Vaison has very good energy” and said that is why she and her husband bought a house here. I can barely see the street signs in front of me so I am sure that I scored poorly on the “see the psychic energy” test. But I feel that choosing an apartment here was not just serendipity. I wake up every morning happy (SO happy) to be here.

When you think about it, why did the Romans decide this was a good spot to establish their town? It might have been more than the valley surrounded by seven hills/mountains reminding them of Rome… Maybe they sensed the good energy/good sunshine/good spirit of Vaison?

Apartment for rent

2010-01-20T00:56:00.002+01:00

Okay boys and girls, friends and followers, "mes amis, quoi." As the French say in a traditional formal letter: "I write to you on bended knees to ask you for your attention to this trivial matter."

(This post comes to you from the “Shameless Self-Promotion Division” of Chez Sullivan.)

I write to you to ask you to share the website listed below about renting our apartment with all of your friends and neighbors and those who may be interested in spending time in Provence. (A woman I met on Sunday talked about the “positive energy” of this area of Provence/France. – but that will be another story…)

And, if you know of/think of other sites where I should send our new website address, PLEASE let me know.

http://chezsullivan.com

En attendant une réponse vite et favorable, acceptez, s’il vous plait, mes meilleurs vœux.
While waiting on your positive response to my request, I send you my best wishes.

Cairo Reflections, Snow in Vaison

2010-01-08T23:09:00.001+01:00

We have been home for less than a week so before my short-term memory fails me again, I wanted to note a few more things about our time in Cairo.

• We got to see a free performance of the Dervishes – the whirling dervishes. It was fantastic and we were lucky to have gotten into the packed-to-overflowing room…

• We went to a small hall and heard Zar music – the traditional music of Egypt and Sudan – performed by a group called Mazaher. In fact, I am listening to a CD that Tish purchased before we left. Great!

• Our experience in Alexandria made me reflect on the arrogance of foreigners as we expect there will be someone who speaks our language…

• It is COLD in Vaison la Romaine with temperatures less than half of what they were in Cairo, but it is nice to be able to drink water from the tap and to eat the salads and fresh greens…

Snow in Vaison la Romaine

A year ago, I wrote about the light dusting of snow that fell in Vaison la Romaine but fell in quantities enough to close the autoroute and Marseille airport. This year we got about eight inches of snow here in Vaison. It looked pretty as it fell but it shut down this town. No school, no crèche, few retail stores… In fact, Ellen and I walked over to the Cinema and it was closed. The only places that appeared were open were the bars…

In Cairo, I watched men at a construction site where some of the workers had hard hats, many did not. Some of the workers had work shoes, others wore sandals. In Vaison la Romaine, the work safety standards aren’t much higher. This evening, Ellen and I watched a dump truck creep down the street as two men (wearing the requisite reflective green work overalls) stood in the back of the truck and shoveled sand onto the roadway… Vaison la Romaine was not prepared for a snow like the one that fell today. Hopefully, it will melt quickly and not return…

Out of Africa, Part Deux

2010-01-03T09:46:00.003+01:00

Tish wrote her impressions of our misadventures in Alexandria.

     Do you believe that taxi drivers are infallible in navigating the streets of a city to deposit you at your requested destination? Think again. After years of movies and TV shows, I thought taxi drivers knew every place and all the short cuts. Egypt has taught me different. Drivers can be experienced navigators of a city or they can be part-time hacks driving a rented cab trying to make milk money for their families. They can know their area of a city intimately or know nothing at all about other sections of the city. Cairo is immense.

     When Ellen, Mark and Ruth got into the yellow and black cab on the Corniche in Alexandria, I thought we were home free. What driver wouldn’t know the main railway station? It is only 10 minutes away from the Corniche. It is thru a maze of one way streets, but this is a main destination. Whew! Maybe we didn’t need to leave early to make sure we got to the station well before our 7 p.m. departure time. Alex is a small city compared to Cairo. Mafeesh mushkala. No problem.

     Karlice, Ed and I thought we would see them outside the station as they had left in the first cab. Nope. They weren’t inside the station either. We found the platform for the Cairo train. Ed stationed himself at the end of the platform. Karlice searched up and down the platforms. I patrolled the front of the station looking for Ellen, Mark, and Ruth. It was 6:30 and we still had half an hour until the train left. I wasn’t worried. They would be here soon. They must be in a traffic jam somewhere.

     By 6:45, I had tried Ellen’s phone twice and got a “call barred” message. Now it was scary that there was no sign of them. I briefly flashed on their having been kidnapped until I remembered I was not in Guatemala any more. You can get irrational when you are worried. Where are they??? The taxi could get lost, but not for this long. Karlice, Ed and I strategized. If they don’t get here in time, we’ll have to take the next train. When is it? Can we get tickets or is the train full? I was thinking of hotels in Alex for an overnight stay.

     At 6:55, we got their call. At first I thought that they were at the main station, but on the wrong platform. Then I got it, they were at the next station and would wait for us there. We had to run to make the train and find our car. Trains are one of the few things in Egypt that do run on time! Our adrenaline was running high.

     I was confused about where we would meet at the stop. I had an image of them waiting on the platform as the train went by so that we could jump out and swoop them into our car. I called again and spoke to Mahmoud who had helped Ellen, Mark and Ruth. He was excited and he said that they would be in Car 4. Why Car 4? Our tickets were for Car 7. Platform 4, Car 4? No!!!

     When the train stopped, we followed thru with our strategy. Ed stays in the car. Karlice stations herself at the door to the car while I run up and down the platform like a crazy person yelling their names. And searching the crowd. The platform was crazy busy with passengers jostling to get themselves and their luggage on the train.

     A man, later I learned it was Mahmoud, stopped me as I was running along the platform and asked if I was looking for my family. He told me that Ellen, Mark and Ruth were in Car 4. Too bad that the cars didn’t have any numbers on them. I went to the end of the train and counted backwards until 4. No Ellen. No Mark. No Ruth.

     In the surrounding cars? No Ellen. No Mark. No Ruth. Calm down. Let me count the cars again. 1, 2, 3, 4. No Ellen. No Mark, No Ruth. I started yelling their names again. Everyone on the platform was looking at me, but not Ellen, Mark or Ruth. Where were they? How could I have missed them? Start again. My phone rang and Karlice let me know that the lost were found. I ran to car 7-- an Ellen, a Mark and a Ruth.

     A possible disaster was turned into a good memory and comic story due to Mahmoud and his willingness to help strangers on a train platform in Alexandra. Taxi!!

Lost in Africa (almost)

2010-01-01T11:43:00.003+01:00

It started as a beautiful day for a trip to Alexandria. We got up early to get the metro to the train station. Five adults (Ed, Karlice, Ruth, Ellen and I) walking in single file behind Tish on our way to the metro station. (Sidewalks are not very good, so one walks in the street trying to stay out of the way of the cars.) We dutifully waited for Tish to give us our metro tickets but, unlike the lemmings we had been to that point, we pushed and shoved our way onto the already packed metro.

We got off at the Mubarak metro station and walked to the adjoining train station. The train was faster than we enjoy riding on Amtrak in Michigan and, a little more than two hours later, we were in Alexandria. We had sped through miles and miles of farmland heading to the lowest part of Lower Egypt. On the train, we all looked at Tish’s tourist guide and suggested a few sights that we might like to see though mainly we wanted to see old Alexandria and the Mediterranean Sea. The train stopped and as we started gathering our things, Tish told us that there are two train stations in Alexandria and we would not get off the train until we were at the second, “end of the line” train station.

Since there were six of us, we had to take two taxis to the Corniche – the promenade along the Mediterranean Sea in the harbor of Alexandria. It was gorgeous: sunny and warm. In other words, it was a great day – a great day for a day trip. We stopped at an historic coffee shop for breakfast. We then walked along the Corniche to the new Alexandria library built on the site of the original library. Ellen almost became one with the fender of a car and/or the pavement as we tried to cross six lanes of traffic to get to the library entrance. Ellen avoided injury but we all wondered why Ptolemy – who built the original library – would chose to put the library on the wrong side of the road when he first ordered its construction.

We backtracked along the Corniche to a hotel that had a roof-top café from which we got to see the whole harbor and to enjoy 25 £-minimum drinks. (About £ 5.60 Egyptian equals one dollar.) While on the roof-top café, it actually started to sprinkle thus validating the weather forecast that we had read the evening before and the prediction of the taxi driver who said: “Rain? Maybe one minute!” We continued west to the fish market enjoying the rainbow that the few seconds of rain brought. We had an early dinner so that we could get the 7:00 PM train back to Cairo.
Then the beautiful tapestry we had woven with the experiences of our day started to unravel. We started walking east along the Corniche slowly as we tried to hail a taxi. When the first taxi stopped, Ellen or Ruth asked the driver how much to go to the train station. The taxi driver didn’t seem to understand, so I said “Train station – 20 pounds?” to which the taxi driver nodded okay. Ruth, Ellen and I climbed in and sped away. We had never been to Alexandria before but we had studied Tish’s book some and knew when the driver sped past the right turn to the train station that we were heading for trouble. I asked Ellen for Tish’s guide book but Ellen had given it to Tish. Ellen got out her cell phone and tried calling Tish without luck. We told the driver who was heading east along the coast at breakneck speed that he was going in the wrong direction. He stopped and asked a young woman if she spoke English. We told her we wanted to go to the train station to go to Cairo. Ruth was in the back seat making “choo-choo” sounds. The young woman seemed to understand us and tried to explain to the driver where he needed to go. A second woman/friend seemed to confirm what the first young woman had said.
The driver said something and we were off again racing east along the harbor road. I said “la” which is "no" in Arabic. I then began singing “la, la, la, la” from “Deck the Halls” and the driver finally pulled over again and asked for directions again. We offered our pleas. After another exchange in Arabic, we were off again but this time, we went only a short distance and turned right. Right into what appeared to be a 12-lane traffic jam. Actually, there were only six lanes but lane lines are pretty much a waste of paint for the way people drive in Egypt squeezing cars into spaces not made for another car.

The taxi driver inched his way through the traffic and, after what felt like a half hour, pointed to a building off to the left and started saying: “Train! Train!” He then pulled off to the right and let us out. We jumped out and I paid him but he wanted more money because he had driven so far. (Now he speaks English!) I sang another chorus of Deck the Halls and we started inching our way across the 12 lanes of traffic and then went quickly to the train platform. We started asking about which platform was for Cairo and folks told us/pointed to the middle platform. Ellen kept trying to call Tish but without luck. Ellen said this is not the right station but I disagreed and pointed to the name on the wall. The name on the wall in English spelling was “Mahattat Sidi Gaber.” I can be so assertive when I am wrong! The train station where Tish, Karlice and Ed were – and where we should have been was “Mahattat Misr.” We started asking each other if we should go and try to buy tickets (Tish had the tickets!)

Ellen said that she was going to go outside to look for Tish, Karlice and Ed. Ruth wisely told her that we needed to stay together and then started asking people about the train to Cairo. While she was trying to make herself understood when talking to an Egyptian soldier, a man who overheard her interrupted saying: “I can help you.” He said that we were at the second train station but that the train would stop to take us to Cairo. Ruth asked him if he had a cell phone. He did and he called the number and connected with Tish. Tish said that they were looking for us at the first train station. Ellen told them to board and we would get on at the second station and all would be fine. Then Ruth or Ellen asked about our train car so that we could be ready to board at the right place. We heard “Car 4” and the man confirmed that we should wait at the spot where Car 4 would stop. He told us that he was in Car 7 if we needed his help again. (The man in the picture was our interpreter/cell-phone owner/savior.)
About two minutes later, the train to Cairo pulled into the station where we were waiting. We boarded Car 4 – but Tish, Karlice and Ed were not there. We went running for Car 7 and our interpreter (and his telephone) checking the cars as we passed. When we arrived at Car 7, we saw Ed sitting at a window seat. Karlice was with him. Tish had left the train and was on the platform yelling our names but we found her a moment later.)

We all hugged. Tish gave us our tickets and we sped off into the night toward Cairo. For the next two and one half hours, one could hear spontaneous laughter coming from Car 7 as we looked at each other and laughed our relief.

Egypt

2010-01-01T11:21:00.001+01:00

As we walked between tombs in the Valley of the Kings just west of Luxor, we passed a young woman wearing a Santa hat. It was only then that I realized that it was Christmas day. Not being aware of the date or the holiday is one of the aspects that underscores this vacation to Egypt. The loss of orientation is not simply the luxury of vacation and forgetting the day, it comes from the cultural slap upside the head – and my head is still spinning.
My head is still spinning because we left the quiet life of Vaison la Romaine and have come to the second largest city in the world. And the third world. And the home of 5,000 years of documented history. And the place where the dust raised in the desert and in the streets of the cities never gets washed off of leaves or buildings because it never rains. And where the smog can be so thick you can’t see the pyramids. And where the first “wake up” call is the Moslem call to prayers at 5:30 AM. And where the calls to prayer come from so many minarets in so many mosques that they compete for your attention. And where city services have failed to keep pace with population and that means, among other things, garbage is not collected. And where the pollution from plastic – be it plastic water bottles or plastic bags – is overwhelming. And where I feel safer than I do in most cities in the US…

At the same time, my head is spinning because it is amazing to view the temples and pyramids, fortresses and early mosques and try to fathom the skill, craftsmanship and engineering required for their construction. For example, red granite was quarried in Aswan in the south of Egypt and then transported on the Nile to the sites where it would be used as coffins or sarcophagi or as a statue or obelisk or as part of a wall… One of the obelisks from Luxor (Karnak) is at the center of the Place de la Concorde in Paris. Another obelisk – “Cleopatra’s Needle” – stands in Central Park (New York) both transported from Egypt via modern ships (I think)… Our guide told us that some of the pieces weighed more than 200 tons. What kind of boats did they have 4,000 years ago to carry such weights? And then once at the destination, where did they have to go to rent a crane to lift it into place? The pyramids, the Sphinx, and the burial tombs and the elaborate drawings and carvings therein have been preserved well though the relics and icons did not fare as well due to centuries of looting. Archeologists and Egyptologists continue to uncover more sites…

My head is spinning because I thought that France was the “scarf capitol” of the world. After seeing the creative ways women here wear scarves, I am beginning to think that Egypt seems closer to the scarf fashion epi-center. The majority of Moslem women – the majority of women here – have their heads covered. They create fashion statements with the scarves that they wear. Most younger women wear multiple scarves which are always beautiful and well-coordinated with their other garments.

Whether in Cairo or in Luxor, internet connections are readily available and that makes my head spin too. Skype, e-mail, Google work here as well as in France or in the US. Technological advances in communication cross the divides faster than air mail. We were talking about movies and learned that within 24 hours of the release of a movie in the states, bootleg copies are available in the markets here. When I stop being dizzy from spinning, I return to a state of amazement. Awesome vacation. Awesome world.

HAPPY...

2009-12-11T20:47:00.001+01:00

We are going to Cairo for the holidays. We have heard that the reindeer there look more like camels than caribou but they will help guide us in delivering our sincere holiday wishes to everyone.

Joyeux Noël

Merry Christmas

Happy Hanukah

Happy Solstice

Bonne Année

May 2010 be filled with peace and love.

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Fresh is best!

2009-12-10T22:05:00.002+01:00

Everything tastes better here.

It is not the preparation – though the way the French prepare foods does make for great flavors – it is the quality of the food items. Everything: apples, beets, chicken, cod, turkey, zucchini.

I attribute the better flavors to several things.

• The food in the market is fresh, most often locally grown.
• The food is raised using few chemicals.
• The animals are raised using fewer hormones.

Fresh and local seem to be the keys to the good flavors here. In one very important sense, the French never forgot what community-supported-agriculture proponents are promoting at markets in the states: Buy local.

We have seen the ads and signs reminding people to buy their Christmas turkeys and we have heard that the supermarkets macy have only a short supply because the long distance truck drivers want better pay and thus may strike/boycott the turkey delivery system. The other thing we heard is that the turkeys here will be more like those sold in the US which I interpret as more white meat, less flavor. Savourez la vie! Taste life (and good flavors)!

As cookbook author and French food expert Patricia Wells writes in The Provence Cookbook, “I live more than half of each year here, much of it spent touring markets, shops, restaurants, farms, in search of the freshest and finest of the season… Vendors laugh as I gasp when I see the first-of-season fresh white shell beans – cocos blancs – a signal that I can add Provençal vegetable soup, or pistou, to my weekly repertoire.” (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2004, p. xiii.) Also visit Patricia Well’s website at: http://www.patriciawells.com/.

Thanksgiving

2009-12-01T12:05:00.001+01:00

After leaving our dear friend Mary Beth at the TGV (fast train station) at “0 dark thirty” this morning, we drove east toward the sunrise and Vaison la Romaine. As the skies lightened, the most notable aspect of the horizon was the snow on all of the major mountains. What we experienced as rain on Sunday fell as snow in the higher elevations.

What a beautiful sight. It matched the beauty of some of the other sites we saw during MB’s visit (a French friend calls her “EMBAY” to fit the French pronunciation of the initials.) On Saturday we walked along roads at the foot of Mt. Ventoux past the four rock structures called “les demoiselles coiffées” (the women wearing hats). We walked past olive groves where the olives were black and ready to be picked. We met a man who had a sighthound and, during the conversation with him, we found out that he knew about Scottish deerhounds but he spent most of his time telling us about the Egyptian lineage of his sighthound.

Sunday, we went to the market in Isle sur la Sorgue. It started raining, so we left the beautiful town and its market and headed back north toward Vaison la Romaine. We stopped to taste wine at the Wine cooperative in Beaumes de Venise where Ellen and MB (EMBAY) enjoyed the presentation of the young man serving the wine—and the translation by the old guy with them--as much as the wine tasting. We took back roads over the Dentelles mountains and had spectacular views of distant horizons, valleys and vineyards.

MB (EMBAY) had come to join us for Thanksgiving. She almost didn’t make it. On the Sunday before her Monday departure, she discovered that her passport had expired. Luckily, there is a Department of State office in Chicago. With all due speed in one day MB was able to complete her renewal application, get speedy photos, and plead her case with the requisite amount of charm and groveling to leave the passport office the same day with a renewed passport and a great sigh of relief. She made it to her flight and we met her at the TGV station the next afternoon.

We had a delicious Thanksgiving dinner: rabbit in mustard sauce, home-made stuffing with fresh sage, sweet potatoes, green beans and a fresh winter squash/pumpkin pie made by Ellen that was better than any canned-pumpkin generated pie of previous years. We were thankful for the good food, the good fortune of enjoying it in France with good friends, and EMBAY’s success at the passport office.

We were also thankful for friends, both enduring friends and new friends including our new neighbor who lives across the street from the apartment. She joined us for “apero” (cocktails) while EMBAY was here and invited us to a wonderful dinner on Saturday evening.

Every morning, EMBAY shouted: “I am in France!” – a sentiment that we are fortunate to feel and enjoy everyday.