Friday, May 20, 2011
How to Get Cream for Your Coffee (in France)
We come from the land of eternal choices, I realize. Liviing in ANY other country for awhile convinces you that we have too much, too many choices in too many daily items of living. But when it comes to cream in my coffee--now, we're messing with a morning ritual which MUST NOT be messed with!! So--I go to the grocery store to obtain coffee cream (and those who know me well know that I have my grandmother's lactose intolerance, and therefore look for NON-dairy options first)--no such thing as soy creamer, or non-dairy "creamer". Next option (good thing I brought Costco's lactase tabs with me): look for creamer in the dairy case, where the milk ought to be. Only most milk in France has added preservatives, so that it's not refrigerated at all . . . OK, here are my choices: lait fraiche, "lactel" (milk with lactase already in it), creme legere semi-epaisse, creme entiere, creme fluide legere, creme epaisse legere (which turns out to be sour cream), creme fraiche epaisse entiere (which turns out to be what you'd put on strawberry shortcake). My solution? Purchase one of each and try them all! (I like the creme entiere fluide, myself). And in French class they only told us there was one word for milk (lait) and one for cream (creme)--who were they kidding? Had they ever been to France when they told us those lies?! Another of my childhood reveries dashed to pieces (but if you need cream anytime soon, come visit me!)
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Driving in France
My buddy Lenore has a rented car--so we have been going around town, doing little errand-ish things which I won't be able to do once she leaves (she actually left about an hour ago). She rented a Fiat Doblo, which is a funny-looking SUV (for those of you who know what Tinkerbell looks like, my electric car, blow it up about 25% and that's the Doblo). It runs on diesel, and gets GREAT gas mileage (about 60 m/gallon, we figured).
One would make the assumption that traffic lights are universal--red means stop, green means go. But what to do with a flashing yellow arrow at a corner? And when you're trying to make a left turn off a major thoroughfare, what does a red CROSS mean?! So, the cautious adventurer waits until someone honks at you, to know you should be going now. This results in many frustrated-looking Gallic drivers, but at least keeps one out of the intersection when you shouldn't be there! Triangular signs seem to suggest that the road is going to do something interesting, anywhere from 20 yards to 300 yards ahead.
In America, we have gotten used to the idea that our towns--relatively recent innovations--will have been laid out on "a grid", which means you can actually go around the block. Not so in towns which began 900+ years ago--little lanes meander along, changing direction, sometimes becoming ONE WAY (the other way) with no warning. You're just supposed to KNOW these things. And, of course, as in every European town, a road will have many names as it goes along--it's Rue Andre Dupre in one block, and Rue Jean-Louis Guillard in the next block. European towns, as well as cities, are built on the idea of a "square", in which all 4 roads which come together to create the space are named the same name. This makes it rather difficult to follow directions, as you might imagine. And the direction "2 blocks over from Place LeClerc" also becomes problematic--in which of the 4 directions does one go 2 blocks?! I understand the concept of cultural relativity (I majored in Anthropology, for heaven's sakes), but sometimes I just want a road to go STRAIGHT and stay named the same name for a 2 mile stretch . . . maybe it's OK that Lenore took the car to the Toulouse airport. I'll stay "home" and play a game of solitaire, where you can lay the cards out in a STRAIGHT LINE--who cares if I win?
One would make the assumption that traffic lights are universal--red means stop, green means go. But what to do with a flashing yellow arrow at a corner? And when you're trying to make a left turn off a major thoroughfare, what does a red CROSS mean?! So, the cautious adventurer waits until someone honks at you, to know you should be going now. This results in many frustrated-looking Gallic drivers, but at least keeps one out of the intersection when you shouldn't be there! Triangular signs seem to suggest that the road is going to do something interesting, anywhere from 20 yards to 300 yards ahead.
In America, we have gotten used to the idea that our towns--relatively recent innovations--will have been laid out on "a grid", which means you can actually go around the block. Not so in towns which began 900+ years ago--little lanes meander along, changing direction, sometimes becoming ONE WAY (the other way) with no warning. You're just supposed to KNOW these things. And, of course, as in every European town, a road will have many names as it goes along--it's Rue Andre Dupre in one block, and Rue Jean-Louis Guillard in the next block. European towns, as well as cities, are built on the idea of a "square", in which all 4 roads which come together to create the space are named the same name. This makes it rather difficult to follow directions, as you might imagine. And the direction "2 blocks over from Place LeClerc" also becomes problematic--in which of the 4 directions does one go 2 blocks?! I understand the concept of cultural relativity (I majored in Anthropology, for heaven's sakes), but sometimes I just want a road to go STRAIGHT and stay named the same name for a 2 mile stretch . . . maybe it's OK that Lenore took the car to the Toulouse airport. I'll stay "home" and play a game of solitaire, where you can lay the cards out in a STRAIGHT LINE--who cares if I win?
Monday, May 9, 2011
Grocery Shopping in France (or, I thought I knew the rules, but was wrong)
Well, my good college buddy Lenore has been with me for a week, and she has had a rental car, so we have made a few trips to the big "super-Marche" ("marche" rhymes with "bouquet"), to get me stocked up before she leaves WITH THE CAR. It turns out that there aren't a lot of shops open within comfortable walking distance here, so having A CAR is a very good idea and offers freedoms which not having A CAR eliminates. (Did ya follow that?!)
So--off we go to the grocery store. We found it--fine. We park the car--OK. We go to the little storage area where the carts are--and they are all LOCKED TOGETHER. You can't just grab one and go. Turns out you have to have a 1 Euro coin to insert into the lock, and that unlocks the cart from all the others; when you return the cart, you re-lock it to the group and get your Euro back. OK, so I can do that. (Leslie, Lenore's friend, lived in Bordeaux for a year so she knows these things). The super-Marche is like a combination of Home Depot and Fred Meyer--and it's in a "mall" with a laundromat, dry cleaners, coffee shop, candy store, clothing stores and shoe stores. So finally we figure out how to enter the grocery-store part. Finding things is interesting--for example, they don't sell paper napkins with other paper goods (like t.p. and paper towels)--they are ONLY in the "party" section, even though they have some which are plain white and clearly meant for everyday use. Also, the array of cheeses is something which would bring a smile to the face of any fromage-o-phile--easily 300 choices. And both milk are cream are NOT refrigerated, but on the shelf--you're supposed to refrigerate them after opening. The bread section is heavenly, as are the pastries--so many fruit tarts it makes your blood glucose climb just to walk by! And when was the last time you saw a real chocolate eclair in the bread aisle?
Getting vegetables is an adventure, also--one puts them into a plastic bag and weighs them IN THE VEGETABLE area, applying the little sticker which the scale spits out at you--you have to know the name for the vegetable or else look at the picture which looks most like what you just picked up. If you fail to do this, you are sent back to the vegetable area from the check-out counter (don't ask me how I know this).
If you ever wanted tripe in a can, this grocery store is JUST FOR YOU!! Also chicken gizzards (a delicacy), many different kinds of sausage (canned), and the local specialty, CASSOULET, which is a white bean stew with bits of meat in it--you can get rabbit, pork, beef, veal, duck, or "sweetmeats" of several species along with your cassoulet. I went with a meatless variety, to which I will add the leftovers of the smoked chicken which we are having tonight for dinner.
The wine aisles are amazing--every region of France (including the island of Corsica) is represented, with wines which range in price from 2.60 Euros to 19.00 Euros (that's the Chateau-Neuf-du-Pape from the eastern Rhone area). You can get splits (1/2 bottles) or the usual 750 ml bottles quite inexpensively. I have not located any local shop which sells table wines by the barrel, as we encountered in Venice in 2008; but I'll bet there is such a place. I'll have to become "a local" to be told about it, I guess.
Anyway--I got out of there with all the things on my list, and my Euro back from the cart-lock, too. It feels like a BIG DEAL to have survived a trip to the Grocery store! This is NOT the same as doing the little shops every day which most French folks do, for bread and vegetables (at "l'epicerie")--there's one within walking distance, I think--I'll have to try that next.
So--off we go to the grocery store. We found it--fine. We park the car--OK. We go to the little storage area where the carts are--and they are all LOCKED TOGETHER. You can't just grab one and go. Turns out you have to have a 1 Euro coin to insert into the lock, and that unlocks the cart from all the others; when you return the cart, you re-lock it to the group and get your Euro back. OK, so I can do that. (Leslie, Lenore's friend, lived in Bordeaux for a year so she knows these things). The super-Marche is like a combination of Home Depot and Fred Meyer--and it's in a "mall" with a laundromat, dry cleaners, coffee shop, candy store, clothing stores and shoe stores. So finally we figure out how to enter the grocery-store part. Finding things is interesting--for example, they don't sell paper napkins with other paper goods (like t.p. and paper towels)--they are ONLY in the "party" section, even though they have some which are plain white and clearly meant for everyday use. Also, the array of cheeses is something which would bring a smile to the face of any fromage-o-phile--easily 300 choices. And both milk are cream are NOT refrigerated, but on the shelf--you're supposed to refrigerate them after opening. The bread section is heavenly, as are the pastries--so many fruit tarts it makes your blood glucose climb just to walk by! And when was the last time you saw a real chocolate eclair in the bread aisle?
Getting vegetables is an adventure, also--one puts them into a plastic bag and weighs them IN THE VEGETABLE area, applying the little sticker which the scale spits out at you--you have to know the name for the vegetable or else look at the picture which looks most like what you just picked up. If you fail to do this, you are sent back to the vegetable area from the check-out counter (don't ask me how I know this).
If you ever wanted tripe in a can, this grocery store is JUST FOR YOU!! Also chicken gizzards (a delicacy), many different kinds of sausage (canned), and the local specialty, CASSOULET, which is a white bean stew with bits of meat in it--you can get rabbit, pork, beef, veal, duck, or "sweetmeats" of several species along with your cassoulet. I went with a meatless variety, to which I will add the leftovers of the smoked chicken which we are having tonight for dinner.
The wine aisles are amazing--every region of France (including the island of Corsica) is represented, with wines which range in price from 2.60 Euros to 19.00 Euros (that's the Chateau-Neuf-du-Pape from the eastern Rhone area). You can get splits (1/2 bottles) or the usual 750 ml bottles quite inexpensively. I have not located any local shop which sells table wines by the barrel, as we encountered in Venice in 2008; but I'll bet there is such a place. I'll have to become "a local" to be told about it, I guess.
Anyway--I got out of there with all the things on my list, and my Euro back from the cart-lock, too. It feels like a BIG DEAL to have survived a trip to the Grocery store! This is NOT the same as doing the little shops every day which most French folks do, for bread and vegetables (at "l'epicerie")--there's one within walking distance, I think--I'll have to try that next.
Standing on Top of the World
On Friday, we (my college buddy, Lenore Ralston) and I went to Andorra, which is a small country ("principality") in the Pyrenees mountains. As you all know, the Pyrenees are the mountains between France (to the north) and Spain (to the south). The Pyrenees are "in" both countries. And the Pyrenees, easily as high as the North Cascades and Mt. Hood (Portland), are stacked in two "waves" as you come from the north. Andorra is tucked into the narrow valley between the waves of mountains. And, since there is no "pass" in the first wave of mountains, you just drive up and over the mountains. I mean OVER--we were higher than snowfields and the timberline for much of the climb. If Lenore hadn't let me drive, it would have been a bad scene--somehow, driving all those hairpin curves was NOT too tough on my (usually carsick) stomach. It took 5 hours from Carcassonne to arrive at our destination, a small B & B style holtel called "Parador de Canolich", which sits in the middle of the mountain range at an altitude of 1635 meters (that's over a mile high). We could see weather changes happening in the valley below us (clouds, which were below us, moving all day long). The quiet, the fresh air were wonderful and inspirational as well--I got the outline done for both of my writing projects; at which time, Lenore swore that there was steam coming out my ears (literally?!) It rained the Saturday (our full day there), but that was perfect for writing, too. When we stepped out of the car at the hotel, it felt like standing on top of the world. Andorra uses Catalan as its primary language, though our host and hostess use Catalan, Spanish and French. It's nice to know that a country somewhere is intent on preserving Catalan. Looks like Spanish sometimes, sounds a bit French sometimes . . . "x" is an sh sound, like Portuguese. All in all, it's another world--and you can literally stand on top of it!
Then yesterday, we descended the mountains to the east and arrived in the resort town of Collioure on the Mediterranean Sea--the town which Matisse, Dali and Picasso all called home at some point in their lives. What a bright, sunny contrast to Andorra! Lovely in its own way. It felt good to arrive at home in the early evening.
Then yesterday, we descended the mountains to the east and arrived in the resort town of Collioure on the Mediterranean Sea--the town which Matisse, Dali and Picasso all called home at some point in their lives. What a bright, sunny contrast to Andorra! Lovely in its own way. It felt good to arrive at home in the early evening.
Friday, May 6, 2011
The Ancient City of Carcassonne ("La Cite")
Don't forget the accent "agu" over the last "e" of Cite! I just can't do it with an American keyboard.
La Cite, which is about a 12 minute walk from my apartment, was originally a Roman fortress, then a fortress for Charlamagne in his attempts against the Moors of Spain, and then it passed into the hands of the Cathar rulers of the Langued'Oc region--which was, until 1271, a separate country from France. In 1271, of course, the French king teamed up with the Pope to take over the rich farmlands and vineyards of Langued'Oc (which means, literally "language of Oc", with "oc" being "yes" in the Occitan language). As in many stories of power and resources stolen, they made up a scenario by which the Cathars were "heretics" and therefore needed to be exterminated. All so they could steal it all and feel good about it at the same time . . . seems that human history repeats itself once again.
Le Cite itself, the largest walled fortress in Europe, is now a maze of stores and restaurants--which are fun to see. The placement of La Cite on top of a hill means that you can see for miles in every direction when you stand on one of the ramparts. The sense of history at the location is palpable. I hope to take that sense of history and turn it into a story worth reading . . .
La Cite, which is about a 12 minute walk from my apartment, was originally a Roman fortress, then a fortress for Charlamagne in his attempts against the Moors of Spain, and then it passed into the hands of the Cathar rulers of the Langued'Oc region--which was, until 1271, a separate country from France. In 1271, of course, the French king teamed up with the Pope to take over the rich farmlands and vineyards of Langued'Oc (which means, literally "language of Oc", with "oc" being "yes" in the Occitan language). As in many stories of power and resources stolen, they made up a scenario by which the Cathars were "heretics" and therefore needed to be exterminated. All so they could steal it all and feel good about it at the same time . . . seems that human history repeats itself once again.
Le Cite itself, the largest walled fortress in Europe, is now a maze of stores and restaurants--which are fun to see. The placement of La Cite on top of a hill means that you can see for miles in every direction when you stand on one of the ramparts. The sense of history at the location is palpable. I hope to take that sense of history and turn it into a story worth reading . . .
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
A Field of Poppies and a 14th Century Town
My friend Lenore arrived, and she has a CAR!! So today we drove to Lagrasse, a 14th century abbey and walled city about 25 miles south and west of Carcassonne. It was a lovely drive, full of vineyards and fields replete with vegetables--and POPPIES!! Today we passed a field which was straight out of a Monet painting--or else the painting came from the field. Bright green grass, and everywhere across the field a riot of poppies, from orange-red to deep red, almost magenta. It was breath-taking. Of course we stopped for a "photo-op". Then we progressed into Lagrasse, which is indeed a small walled town with a historic church and abbey; at noon the bell of the church tolls and everything STOPS--shops close, the post office closes, the pharmacy closes, the tourist information booth closes. Of course, we arrived at 11:55 am; so we wandered around looking in windows until things actually opened again after lunch--meanwhile, we ourselves had a lovely outdoor luncheon--tossed salad with fettucini noodles, cream sauce with bits of ham in it, and an apple tart for dessert. Gazing at the foothills of the Pyrenees while you eat lunch is a great thing to do!
We wended our way back to town after hitting a few shops in the Lagrasse town--they were lovely things. Lenore figured out that the French postal system sells a box which one can fill with 7 kilos of "stuff" to send home--prepaid postage. So she had this box she wanted to send home, and we had tried the Carcassonne post office--only open 9-10:30 am and 3:30 to 4:30 pm--with no luck, so we had the box with us. Well, lo and behold, there's a post office in Lagrasse, inside the walled town. And we found this at 2:50 pm, and it was open until 3 pm--so I RAN back to the car in the public parking lot, drove the car down the VERY narrow streets (think Honda Fit with a very tight squeeze between walls of the buildings), and parked the car at the intersection when I couldn't drive any further. Raced the box back into the post office with 2 minutes to spare! She sent her box--for some reason the post office people thought she was very humorous--after filling out the appropriate forms IN TRIPLICATE. I was able to translate for her a little, which helped. (Her French is, as she says, "long gone", though it was one of her two languages for her PhD program--she keeps saying "y" for and and "si" for yes--can you tell she's Californian?)
We then went to the grocery store, as she's helping me "stock up" while the car is here (she leaves on May 10)--since there doesn't seem to be a grocery store within walking distance. So I went to the carts in the parking lot to get a cart--and they are all chained together! Turns out you pay a euro to "rent" the cart, which you get back at the end of your shopping adventure; the euro fits into a locking mechanism which then "releases" the cart from the whole bunch of them. And the store we went to is called Le Geant (anybody could figure that one out!) and sells TVs as well as household items, food, wine, licquor and acres of CHEESES. We had quite a good time at the cheese counter. And being able to get GREAT Bordeaux wines for 3 euros isn't bad, either! All in all a "geant" experience.
We wended our way back to town after hitting a few shops in the Lagrasse town--they were lovely things. Lenore figured out that the French postal system sells a box which one can fill with 7 kilos of "stuff" to send home--prepaid postage. So she had this box she wanted to send home, and we had tried the Carcassonne post office--only open 9-10:30 am and 3:30 to 4:30 pm--with no luck, so we had the box with us. Well, lo and behold, there's a post office in Lagrasse, inside the walled town. And we found this at 2:50 pm, and it was open until 3 pm--so I RAN back to the car in the public parking lot, drove the car down the VERY narrow streets (think Honda Fit with a very tight squeeze between walls of the buildings), and parked the car at the intersection when I couldn't drive any further. Raced the box back into the post office with 2 minutes to spare! She sent her box--for some reason the post office people thought she was very humorous--after filling out the appropriate forms IN TRIPLICATE. I was able to translate for her a little, which helped. (Her French is, as she says, "long gone", though it was one of her two languages for her PhD program--she keeps saying "y" for and and "si" for yes--can you tell she's Californian?)
We then went to the grocery store, as she's helping me "stock up" while the car is here (she leaves on May 10)--since there doesn't seem to be a grocery store within walking distance. So I went to the carts in the parking lot to get a cart--and they are all chained together! Turns out you pay a euro to "rent" the cart, which you get back at the end of your shopping adventure; the euro fits into a locking mechanism which then "releases" the cart from the whole bunch of them. And the store we went to is called Le Geant (anybody could figure that one out!) and sells TVs as well as household items, food, wine, licquor and acres of CHEESES. We had quite a good time at the cheese counter. And being able to get GREAT Bordeaux wines for 3 euros isn't bad, either! All in all a "geant" experience.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Boules in the Park
Today, I went for a walk along the Aude river, which is just half a block over from my "house". It was lovely weather, about 72 degrees and sunny. I saw a group of folks playing "boules", the French version of bocce ball. It was interesting for two reasons: 1) there were women playing, as well as men (which is very unusual in Italy, but apparently France is moving into the 21st Century) and 2) they were using a magnet on a string to retrieve the balls off the ground, so nobody had to bend over! Something to keep in mind in my 90s.
The Wonders of Bread and other things
One of the most wonderful things about France (aside from the fact that people speak French, even the children!) is the bread. In America, we think we know what bread is; some of us even make a pretty decent loaf. But there is nothing this side of Heaven to compare to biting into a piece of fresh French bread. It's crunchy on the outside and oh, so soft and chewy in the middle (reminds me of a few people I know). Flakey, soft, just waiting for a slice of good cheese or ready to sop up a wonderful French sauce--nothing better.
At the little restaurant where I ate dinner on Saturday night in Paris (Parnass 138, near my hotel), I watched the head waiter cutting loaves of fresh bread. His cutting board was a bit wobbly (it had lost one of the feet)--so he calmly sawed the end off the loaf of bread in his hand, slid the bread-end under the cutting board, and continued to cut away! Many, many uses for French bread!
At the little restaurant where I ate dinner on Saturday night in Paris (Parnass 138, near my hotel), I watched the head waiter cutting loaves of fresh bread. His cutting board was a bit wobbly (it had lost one of the feet)--so he calmly sawed the end off the loaf of bread in his hand, slid the bread-end under the cutting board, and continued to cut away! Many, many uses for French bread!
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