Life at the speed of light: delicious

And so, we, english assistants in France, find ourselves already in the month of February, time speeding full-force ahead and leaving us with little over 12 weeks left of our contracts.  While many of us will travel in Europe and elsewhere long past this date of departure,--therefore making use of every last day of our Schengen visas--we are plagued with momentary lapses into panic over the thought of parting from our lives in France.  I, personally, have seen so much since Christmas alone, that every time I sat down to record the experience, I found myself overwhelmed by the string of events that I had failed to record, and ultimately gave up on the attempt, leaving the duty of recording to my memories and pictures.

In attempt to register on paper some of the many events, I propose a quick recap...

Patou and Roland lighting candles in the chapel.

Following a whirlwind of a trip in Budapest, Christmas in Sospel was very much the sanctuary of which I had been dreaming.  It was a perfect Provençal Christmas, complete with a crêche of santons, a candle-lit gathering at the St. Joseph chapel chez Pavia-Orengo, (interjection of a reading of "The Night Before Christmas" preformed by the two traveling americans), and a sumptuous feast which commenced with oysters.
The 13 desserts were heavenly, not to mention the rest of the 4 other courses and the Bûche de Noël. The feast fit for kings finished around 1am and was subsequently followed by coffee at the neighbors'.  I thought it was a joke until coats were passed around and cookies were boxed to accompany the late night conclusion of festivities.  We talked of our hopes for the coming year and ended the evening somewhere around 2h30 in drowsy merriment.

From there, Kelly and I regretfully packed our bags once more and headed north to Paris for a few last days of seasonal tourism.  She flew home and I stayed in Paris until the passing of the New Year, discovering new museums (and making use of my awesome Carte Professionelle---Teacher pass), and indulging in delicious french bread and Parisian culture.  I made some new friends including a street artist whose work I had admired since discovering him on the banks of the Seine when I was in Paris in the spring, and became reacquainted with fellow assistants, passing New Years Eve with the lively bunch of them and their french friends.

Back in Lorgues, the students arrived back at school surprisingly refreshed and excited to begin new semester.  I discovered that my quietest students had the most to say, for a change, and I felt inspired to continue to meet their enthusiasm with that of my own.  It was as though the rest they had been granted over the break allowed all the information to soak in, and they were eager to ask the questions that had been plaguing their minds all vacation long.  As nerdy of a student as I was in high school, I don't quite remember being nearly so excited to go back to school after vacation; and so, as a teacher, I never took for granted the unprecedented enthusiasm of these lycéens.

The enthusiastic return to school was only the start of the exciting month of January that followed.  We Lorgues-inhabiting assistants held many a "girl's night", got a taste of some delightful live jazz in Vieux Nice, and even built a snowman!  Madame la Snowman was either being caught by the police for doing some illegal, or was saving Le Petit from being hit by the police vehicle... the jury is still out on the story.

January also holds the title of Month of Most Food Tasted.  Traditional French foods now added to the list are as follows:

• Oysters; I ate my OWN plate of 7.
• Unshelled shrimp; yes, it was my first time de-shelling them... 
• Un chapon farci; a castrated rooster, stuffed and roasted
• The 13 desserts; actually my first time eating dark nougat, dried dates and figs, and fugaces d'olives (my favorite!; a type of bread made with olive oil but tastes more sweet than savory!)

• New Zealand carmels; brought back from Kiwi land by Lucy---such flavors as malt, mint, and eggs & cream 
• Socca; a traditional food of Nice---a savory crêpe made from chickpea flour, eaten with salt, pepper, and olive oil (of course!)     

• 1)Gallette des Rois et 2)Gallette Provençale; traditional cakes eaten in January to celebrate the 3 wise men that visited Jesus;---1) a tarte made with a layer of marzipan in the center 2) a provençal brioche topped with real "fruits confit" (stewed/candied fruit) 

• ===The tradition is to hide a santon or some small figurine in the cake as well as a bean. When the cake is cut and distributed, the person that finds the santon has good fortune all year, while the bean brings bad luck.                                                
• Cassoulet; a traditional food of the Southwest of France---a bean dish made with every part of the pig imaginable, as well as traditional sausage from the region and duck confit

• Dès de fois gras dans bouillon aux épices; a soup of pan-seared fois gras in bouillon infused with chinese spiced tea
• Chou Farci; cabbage stuffed with beef and sausage, then covered with cheese and baked till crisp
• Liver; served floured and pan-fried---perhaps not a tradition, but definitely something new for me!
• L'andouille de Vire---Chitterings in the form of a sausage from Vire (in Normandy)
• Caillette---Stuffing (composed of meat, herbs and spices) in the form of a roll and baked to perfection... like the french version of meatloaf
• Croustade aux pommes à l'armagnac; crispy apple tarte made with phyllo dough
• Espouma de fois gras aux 3 epices; a fancy spin on the already-fancy fois gras---a sort of mousse or whipped cream of fois gras topped with allspice

• Kir suédois; a drink made with champagne and syrup of "sureau" (elderberries)
• Pousse-rapière; an aperitif made with white wine and liqueur à l'Armagnac 

C'EST BON D'ÊTRE GOURMANDE!

Le bonheur et la bonne humeur

"Si vous voulez que la vie vous sourit, apportez lui d'abord votre bonne humeur." Spinoza 

"If you want life to smile on you, you must first give him your good humor." Spinoza

Who knew that a candy wrapper could bare such wisdom? I feel that this little scrap of paper quantifies quite nicely my experience here in France; life is too short to have a bad attitude. We always here people say, "There are simply not enough hours in the day!" and while I agree with them wholeheartedly, I must add that it is useless to waste the fleeting hours in negativity.  Obviously there are those that battle depression and other malcontents of the mind who have little control over their own happiness, but I address those who choose to make their own misery when they have the power to do otherwise.  Negativity is counterproductive 9 times out of 10, and is strangely enough contagious, leading to a downward spiral of overall unhappiness and ungratefulness.  Ultimately, complaining incessantly about the tardiness of your train will not make it arrive any sooner;  whining about losing something will not make the past return it to you; and bemoaning your piles of work will not make them disappear.  The best way to help life smile on you is to laugh in the face of its difficulties, because the sunny forecast of a better day will appear sooner when you begin with less clouds. 

During my time in Paris, Kelly passed me a book entitled "Le Voyage d'Hector," which describes the journey of a psychiatrist seeking what renders people happy or unhappy.  He makes a point to question why those in the lands-of-the-most-psychiatrists are most often the wealthiest and most powerful.  He continues on to keep a notebook of revelations about "le bonheur," which are listed below:

1) Un bon moyen de gâcher son bonheur, c'est de faire des comparaisons.
    A great way to waste your happiness is to make comparisons.

2) Le bonheur arrive souvent par surprise.
    Happiness often comes by surprise. 

3) Beaucoup de gens voient leur bonheur seulement dans le futur.
    Many people see their happiness in terms of the future.

4) Beaucoup de gens pensent que le bonheur, c'est d'etre plus riche ou plus important.
    Many people think that happiness comes from being rich or important.

5) Le bonheur, parfois, c'est de ne pas comprendre.
    Happiness, sometimes, is to not understand.

6) Le bonheur c'est une bonne marche au milieu de belles montagnes inconnues.
    Happiness if a nice walk in the midst of beautiful, uncharted (foreign?) mountains.

7) L'erreur, c'est de croire que le bonheur est le but.
    The mistake is to think that happiness is the ultimate goal.

8) Le bonheur, c'est d'etre avec des gens qu'on aime.

-- Le malheur, c'est d'etre séparé de ceux qu'on aime.
   Happiness is to be with those you love.  Unhappiness is to be separated from those you love.

9) Le bonheur, c'est que sa famille ne manque de rien.
   Happiness is when your family hurts for nothing.
10) Le bonheur, c'est d'avoir une occupation qu'on aime.

    Happiness is to have an occupation you love/ is to love your job.

11) Le bonheur, c'est d'avoir une maison et un jardin.
    Happiness is to have a house and a garden.

12) Le bonheur, c'est plus difficile dans un pays dirigé par de mauvaises personnes.
    Being happy is more difficult in a country controlled/run by "bad people." (bad leaders)

13) Le bonheur, c'est de se sentir utile aux autres.
    Happiness is to feel useful to others.

14) Le bonheur, c'est d'etre aimé pour ce que l'on est.
    Happiness is to be loved for who you are.

Remarque: On est plus gentil avec un enfant qui sourit.
Remark: We are more gentle/kind to a child that smiles (a happy child) than those who do not.

15) Le bonheur, c'est de se sentir completement vivant.
    Happiness is to feel fully alive. 

16) Le bonheur, c'est de faire la fête.
    Happiness is to party/ to celebrate.

17) Le bonheur, c'est de penser au bonheur de ceux qu'on aime.
    Happiness is to think of the happiness of others.

18) Le bonheur, ce serait de pouvoir aimer plusieurs femmes en même temps.
    Happiness would be to have the ability to love many women at the same time. 

19) Le soleil et la mer, c'est le bonheur pour tout le monde.
    The sun and the sea bring happiness to everyone.

20) Le bonheur, c'est une manière de voir les choses. 
    Happiness is a way of seeing things/ a way of thinking. 

21) Un grand poison du bonheur, c'est la rivalité.
    A great poison/contaminant of happiness is rivalry.

22) Les femmes sont plus attentives que les hommes au bonheur des autres.
    Women are more attentive than men to the happiness of others.

23) Le bonheur, c'est de s'occuper du bonheur des autres?

    Happiness is to make others happy?

...Still in "the East" (more thoughts on Budapest)

 

Fisherman's Bastion: array of towers built end of the 19th century to represent the seven Maygar tribes that settled in the Carpathian Basin in 896, later creating the first Hungarian state under King (Saint) Stephen.  It serves one main purpose: to act as the ideal lookout for a perfect photo opportunity and panoramic view of Pest. 

In my less than 6 days in Budapest, I managed to experience an array of emotions and sights, the amount of which was enough to fill two entries of this blog. I must say, for a city that left me so conflicted, I have to take a moment to acknowledge this phenomenon.

Budapest holds plenty for the picture-happy tourist, and even* in the dead of winter (*some might say, especially),  the the city offers herself up for a glamour shot or two.  She seems to be calling out from every mounted mosaic and dramatically-lit bridge, "It's time for my close up Mr. Demille."  St.Matthias Cathedral atop Castle Hill is a perfect example.  The church is extravagant enough when viewed from the outside, with its mesmerizing roof and ornate gothic decoration (mixed with others).  Take a step inside (for a small fee, of course, because even church visits cost money in this country), and you will immediately find that your 3 euros were well-spent.  Every inch of the interior is covered with art deco designs and images, intertwining into eternity and romantically evoking the mediaeval predecessors of the church (originally built in the 13th century but its interior has been changed with each passing era).

My personal discovery of St. Matthias occured about halfway through my trip, I was lucky to meet a lovely British couple on my way up to Castle Hill, and passed the day with them, the product being the most delightful day I spent in Budapest.  Tina and Trevor, as I now know them, are two of the most charming individuals I have ever had the pleasure to meet, and it is thanks to them that I had the chance to see the interior of St. Mattias, the Buda Castle, and even went for a ride on the famous funicular. Sometimes you need to be reminded that spending a bit of cash gives you more than its monetary worth, it grants you memories that you otherwise would not have had and allows you to experience things that you may never see again.  Life is too short to pine over a couple of euros when you are seeing the world.

I promised myself after this trip that I would officially begin making lists of the things I did not have the time to experience the first time around.  This task is do be done with each place I visit, because I believe there is always somethings glazed over, somethings under-appreciated, because there are never enough hours in the day to see it all.

For Budapest, this is the list: [Go in Summer!]

The ancient ramparts of Castle Hill

The Buda Castle Labyrinth

Mary Magdalene Tower on Castle Hill

The Vienna Gate

Memento Park and its Communist statues

The Museum of Fine Art & Palace of Arts in Heroes Square

The Botanical Gardens in City Park, and perhaps the Budapest Amusement Park

The Great Market Hall (remember not to lose the camera next time)

See a ballet or dance performance

Get a massage at the Gellert or Szechenyi Spa and spend more time in the pools

Eat authentic food (better goulash) at an authentic local restaurant (dont forget to make a reso)

Buy more hungarian paprika to give as gifts

+Take a river cruise at night

Things I enjoyed but did not record:

Traditional hungarian dancing lessons with locals (with DePaul group)

St.Stephen's creepy hand relic in the Basilica

Heroes Square and its awesome horse statues (especially the one with the antlers)

City Park and the Vajdahunyad Castle (representing different architecture throughout Hungary's history), and the statue of "Anonymous" writer of Hungary's history

The super cheap opera (La Boheme for 2 euros)

Learning the 7 words I managed to pronounce and retain: kosonöm (thank you), kerem (please), [beszélsz] angolul? ([do you speak] english?), hello (hello), igen (yes), nem (no), egy (1)

All photos taken from flickr.com in lieu of my own due to loss of camera.

Paris of the East... keywords "The East"

         When I began reading about Budapest in preparation for my travels, I came upon its proud title as the "Paris of the East".  The implication of this title goes much deeper than the image recalled at face value, and I learned quickly that the most important words to consider are "of the east." Budapest has a very rich history, beginning from the joining of the cities Buda and Pest, and continuing through the chaos and terror of successive occupations by the Nazi and Communist parties in the 20th century.  In understanding the difficult times that have scarred the Hungarian people, I was able to better understand their attitude towards tourists and foreigners.  Unfortunately, until the end of my adventures in Hungary, I was more or less unaware of such critical events and was more convinced that I should find a modernized "Paris" like the one I know and love.

Instead, I found myself in a city (in many cases) laden with hostility towards non-hungarians, or a keen sense of how to cheat such foreigners.  I am aware of the danger one poses to oneself when traveling as a tourist, especially one not speaking the local language, but to be consistently stiffed change when paying for something, or to have prices manipulated in front of ones eyes by someone only after the fact claiming not to speak english, was all a bit too much for me to handle.  I reached the point where I had no desire to spend any money for fear that I would be ripped-off, which is unfortunate for all parties involved; I did not experience as much of the food as I had desired, and the Hungarian state did not profit from my touristy spending as much as it could have.  The Hungarian form of currency is the Florint; 500HF is approximately 2 euros.  In doing the math, there are a great number of zeros, and not being accustomed to dealing in such high numbers, many Euro-and Dollar-dispensing tourists are easily taken advantage of.  I suppose all my complaining sounds bizarre when you consider that for one week's time (filled with a comedy of errors and unforeseen late-night excursions to retrieve personal affects), I spent 70 euros in total.  I only wish I could have spent it on items of my choice and not those things which happened "par hasard" and had to be accommodated.

For all the chaos that ensued during my journey in Budapest, and all the hard feelings that remain imprinted on my memory, there is a great number of things that stand out as extraordinary and, without a doubt, worthwhile.  One of them is the outstanding architecture and extravagant use of art nouveau discernible at the turn of each corner.  The city is in an unmistakeable stage of recovery, having only recently emerged from behind the Iron Curtain, and the process of its facelift is easily noticeable by way of countless scaffoldings buffering glimmering, newly-restored facades and crumbling remnants of the Old World.

Another unmatched facet of this city's allure is its collection of nature hot-spring baths. First made marketable by the Ancient Romans (of course), these baths uphold their glamorous legacy by exhibiting decadent displays of architectural and artistic achievement throughout the ages. While many of the baths that remain in use were built at the turn of the century, and have since been restored, one cannot help but feel in a world apart upon entering the waters. The largest collection of public baths (and subsequently the ones I chose for the experience) is located at the Szechenyi bath house.  The experience is like none other, and quite possibly, in itself, turned my trip into a gratifying one.

The outdoor baths consistantly hold a temperature between 26-38 degrees celcius (80-100 degrees fareignheit), depending on the pool, and include a whirlpool, underwater jets, fountains, and, strangely enough, a few chess boards.  The most impressive and memorable aspects of this unique spa came for me at night when the air temperature formed my dripping hair into a series of tiny icicles melting ever so slowly above the rising heat.  There is no shortage of amorous young lovers in this sanctuary of rising steam, and I took great pleasure in watching different scenes appearing and disappearing with the ever-changing movement of the fog.

A definite advantage to traveling Europe during the Holiday season is the never-ending array of Christmas Markets that one has to enjoy along the way.  Budapest was no exception, and the entire atmosphere, with a little help perhaps from the Gluwein (Mulled wine), did a great deal to warm my frozen core, and even thaw my spirits. I vowed to myself to return when I have the money to throw at expensive artisanal crafts, precisely to purchase the most fabulous (as well as humorous) fur hat I have ever come across in my travels.

While I may not have had the chance to experience all the savory flavors that Hungary has to offer in its cuisine, I did treat myself to some specialties at the Christmas market and elsewhere.  Polenta with cottage cheese was most definitely an interesting choice, and not necessarily one I would choose to repeat, while Hungarian goulash is a must-have.  The most delicious item to tease my taste buds, however, was a doughy dessert called kurtöskalác.  It seemed to me to be a sort of sweet dough wrapped around a form, glazed with butter, and heated over a coal fire.  It can be served plain, as well as with cinnamon, sugar, or nuts as toppings. It was heavenly and left me with a serious craving for much of the rest of the trip.  Honestly, I believe I avoided the Christmas market after that night for fear that I would spend my remaining florint on said sugary goodness.

All photos taken from flickr.com in lieu of my own due to loss of camera.

Père Noel, pinch me please.

Nicole's delicious homemade cajun gumbo; 

a fitting choice for a cold winter's night.

On the cusp of this upcoming holiday season, I have awoken each day with an unusually acute sense that I am indeed dreaming. I already feel that I live my dream everyday here in France, but lately, each day has brought something especially exciting.  Back-to-back celebrations of the coming holiday anticipate the future festivities with their own personalized versions of the fun, and leaving very little time to sit still and ponder the happenings elsewhere. I find such distraction to be a great comfort, being as it is never easy to be away from loved ones around the holidays, and I welcome the freeing nature of this never-ending merriment because it allows me to truly take advantage of this unique experience.

Chestnuts roasting on a semi-open fire in Geneva

This past week alone, I made use of my Eurail pass and took a last-minute trip to Geneva, so as not to miss out on any fleeting moment of the season.  Mulled wine and characteristic cuisine was in abundance, and a chilly winter breeze made sure its presence was known, so as to make the experience an authentic one. My return home was swiftly followed by lessons with my students about Festivals of Light around the world, and discussions of their own holiday traditions.

In keeping with our own traditions, our North American crew of english assistants (myself-Chicago, Nicole-Lafayette LA, and Julie-Canada), introduced the concept of the Gingerbread House to the Kiwi and the Frogs.  They ate it up. Literally. Not that I could stop myself, neither; Nicole's recipe for the gingerbread was irresistible, and frankly, put the french "pain d'epice" to shame. Vince and Julie's house took the ginger-cake, leaving us all with a feeling reminiscent of Halloween when Vince's first jack-o-lantern grinned down on all the others in its magnificence.

Nicole and Jeremy had some construction mishaps for all her planning and preparation done on behalf of the group, but despite all their troubles, their "petite maison provinçale" turned out to be quite the charming creation. Lucy and I teamed up for a joint re-working of the "Eglise Francaise" complete with arches, stained glass rose windows, and a priestly inhabitant. Our little candy village was quite the sight to behold, too precious to eat, yet too tempting not to want after, and ultimately each house slowly met its fate in a distant setting.

The church was to be a gift to some colleagues, but never quite made it, the culprit being a young mademoiselle with a sweet tooth and an insatiable curiosity.

Les Lumières de Lyon

I have always had a deep appreciation for Christmas lights around this time of year (or simply any time of the year), being as I rather enjoy the impression that I am viewing the world through a kaleidoscope. The whimsical glow adds a certain warmth to even the coldest of nights. It is the sort of sensation you get when drinking hot chocolate from your favorite mug after sledding, or when you find yourself enveloped head to toe in winter wears watching kids pelt each other with snow.

This past weekend, I had the privilege of experiencing this feeling magnified tenfold at one of France's most luminescent festivals: Le Festival des Lumieres in Lyon. Coinciding beautifully with the commencement of the holiday season, this 5 day long festival of city-wide illuminations adds modern technlogical feats of light to the traditional candle-lit ceremonies of the 8th day of December.  In its humblest beginnings, the Festival of Lights took the form of candles lit on window sills in commemoration of Lyon's deliverance from the Plague in the 17th century.  In thanking the Virgin Mary for saving the city, the city's gratitude is represented in a myriad of forms, not the least of which being the words "Merci Marie" in radiant lights beside her basilica on the hill Fouvière, and in clear sight from anywhere in the city below. She watches over the weekends proceedings from her post atop Fouvière as the tourists file in in droves impatient with anticipation.

First the Hotel de Ville melts away before their eyes, followed a snow storm that mysteriously touches only the building's facade, only to sparkle its way into oblivion as the gargantuan clock ticks away the passing time.  In the Vieux Lyon (Old Lyon) a prodigious hand from above traces the rose windows of St. Jean, sketching each pane to perfection. The work then shifts across the cathedral canvas from pencil and paper to the construction of the church by armies of animated medieval workmen.

Photos of St. Jean by Lucy Hodge

Photo by Lucy Hodge

The streets are lined with temptations of chataignes and vin chaud, the sumptuous pairing of piping-hot roasted chestnuts and mulled wine.  Middle Eastern kebab stands rest comfortably between traditional crèperie carts and sandwich vendors, their allure rivaled only by the aroma of candied pralines wafting through the air from around the nearest corner. And just when you begin to adapt to the overwhelming magic of the moment, you turn to face the Rhone River, only to be rendered breathless once more. Dozens of twinkling buoys grace the river's gentle azure waves, leaving the impression of viewing the night sky at one's feet. It is truly a spectacular demonstration of shear artistic brilliance, and the magnitude of its force is unimaginable.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

I find it somewhat difficult to imagine that Christmas is swiftly approaching. I happen to have a countdown on my desktop, more so as a reminder of time until travel plans, and it reads 24 days left to go. I felt a strange urge to put up my 3 euro-garage-sale-Christmas tree upon my return home from class today, and realized halfway through the process that I must have been in line with the stars; I had forgotten it, but somehow December 1st made itself apparent to my senses. As I sit here listening to Christmas music streaming live from across the globe, I feel warmed by that nostalgia that can only be found in the month of December. My tree is glistening with a bizarre, yet wonderfully charming collection of antique glass ornaments paired with homemade creations and recent plastic additions.
I felt unexpectedly jovial as I assemble its clumsy color-coded limbs, remember the affectionately named "ghetto Christmas tree" of Damen Avenue. I still remember dragging it out to the trash after Christmas one year, and it seemed to be comically resurrected in my new found wonder.  I had to chuckle as I shoved extra branches between boughs, filling in the holes in my Charlie Brown tree, perfectly set to the station skipping from The Chipmunks Christmas Song to Satchmo reading The Night Before Christmas to some artist's new version of Melikalikimaka. At some point I heard a song about "The House on Christmas Street," which I would have normally detested for it being a clear reminder of the extreme commercialist contradictions of the holiday, it made for a good laugh to remember that house with far too many lights that shocks and thrills you all at the same time.

They have been steadily assembling Christmas decorations around Lorgues for weeks, and each time I walk home at night, I am filled with anticipation to see them all aglow.  I have been told that there are very special traditions in Provence during this time of decking the halls. In the true spirit of France, food is an art form; thirteen desserts must be present, each with a special significance. Christmas markets, as to be expected, are an essential part of the holiday celebration spreading across Europe, and I already have plans to indulge in some heart-and-soul warming mulled wine.


The most interesting tradition for me will be the celebration of the Santons [Santouns in Provençal]. It is essentially the manger scene, but imagine it with representations of every member of provincial society present. I am not only talking about the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker, but also the fisherman, the water bearer, the miller, the old couple, and even a tambourine-man (check out Provence Christmas Traditions and for those of you with familiar with french: Les Santons).