Visitors and Visits

  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!

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)

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

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

"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

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

Nous vous souhaitons un joyeux Noel

 et une bonne année.

Les Sullivans, Ellen & Mark