Back soon

Gentle readers,

Sorry for my extended absence but I have been busy entertaining houseguests and showing them around my beautiful region. Have you booked your weekend yet? The calendar is filling up fast!
At this point, I might be able to squeeze you in between Halloween and Thanksgiving...
I'm not kidding...

For entertainment, here is my horoscope today. I like it.

It's hard to turn down an offer now, for you can see so much potential wherever you look. A decaying pile of compost appears as soil for a beautiful garden. A relationship that is having problems can still show clear signs of hope. Undying optimism is your main strength, but temper it with enough reality to keep you on track.

Soon to come: a call for boycotting British Airways after their unbelievable incompentency at handling luggage (or should I say their great competency at losing luggage?)

Why we love France

After what can only be politely termed as a rather hellish first few days in Europe for Mom and Roger, on Sunday we celebrated the arrival of half of their luggage and Mom’s recovery from food poisoning with a four-hour lunch at La Marande, a charming little restaurant just outside Montbellet, which is in between Tournus and Macon (get out your maps, people!)
We began with Kir Royal à la mûre (champagne with blackberry liqueur) and amuse-bouches (mouth entertainment, in this case, an avocado purée soaking in gazpacho dotted with diced cucumber) and went on to shredded crab over guacamole with a few saffron potato slices, accompanied by a local Macon Igé white for mom and me, while Roger opted for a red St Joseph. Mom and I continued on with a fabulous veal loin in a morel mushroom cream sauce (I had to get her a spoon so she could lick up every last drop) while Roger chose duck breast in a sweet pine sauce. He followed up with fromage blanc with cream and sugar, while Mom and I could not resist the temptations of the cheese platter. Gail discovered the delights of Reblochon and Brillat Savarin, but gave her rather masculine Comté to Roger. I selected an assortment of 5 different goat cheeses and a small piece of Reblochon, also one of my favourites. Amazingly, at this point our guts were not exploding, so we gladly dug into the almond-flour cookie flavoured with pistachio, topped with perfectly ripe fresh strawberries and just the right drizzle of dark chocolate, with a side of homemade vanilla ice cream that put Blue Bell to shame. Thankfully, Roger captured the moment here (that's a sugar-crusted rose petal on top of the ice cream).


With our espressos, we finished off with some home-made chocolate, candied apricot and a sugar-coated Marc de Bourgogne bomb, literally an explosion of liqueur wrapped in sugar.
Here we are at our arrival at 12:15, several pounds lighter than our departure at 4:00 pm.








We did not mind that, for the first time since their arrival, the weather was not perfect. We stopped off on the way home to admire the Roman church in Uchizy and the cold front on the horizon.






Remember, you can always click directly on the photos for a close-up and improved view. A description of the aforementioned hellish first few days to follow, once our digestion is complete.

Everything's coming up roses

I wish that I had a voice like Ethel Merman and could belt it out from my terrace to the probable horror and dismay of my neighbours… You know, her revered performance from Gypsy, which you can find here: http://www.allmusic.com/cg/amg.dll?p=amg&sql=11:0ifwxqw5ldhe~T3
(just select “Everything’s coming up roses” then you can let it rip and continue reading at the same time!)
Indeed, Sheba and I are now enjoying a beautiful canopy of roses that are perfuming my office today (see close-up), and more are on the way elsewhere in the garden.
I currently have numerous blog texts in mind:

The Madame Butterfly Manifesto inspired by my unforgettable visit to the Dijon opera this past Sunday and the heart-wrenching lead performance by Marie-Paule Dotti, with a fantastic seat enjoyed for free thanks to my friend, opera singer Eric Demarteau;
The Quest for the Perfect Paris Brest (it’s a pastry, people, so get your mind out of the gutter!) most of the detailed research for which, hélas, was lost when my old laptop died, although it is still visible on my hips and thighs…
A worshipful tribute to food writer Jeffrey Steingarten and an equally reverential homage to Down With Love…

But unfortunately, due to the colossal amounts of the estimates mentioned in Size Does Matter, I’m having to work my poor fingers to the bone right now instead of regaling you with attempts at wit, irony or even accolades.
In the immortal words of Arnold S, however: I’ll be back.

Un gars et une fille, the update

On my old posting about this perfect mise en bouche of a show, I provided a link to see one episode. Unfortunately, that video has been pulled.
The good news is that you can go to this site and see NUMEROUS episodes!!
Enjoy.
http://www.dailymotion.com/videos/relevance/search/Un+gars+et+une+fille/1

Size does matter

The other day on the phone with Emmanuelle (have you checked out her new blog yet? I’m so proud of my formerly computer-backward friend! bravo! see links on the left) I was bitching about the first estimate I received for work on the house when I had a huge revelation, so to speak.
The background: I need to have the attics insulated, because when the previous owners put on the new roof a few years ago, for some strange reason they didn’t insulate. So, the past couple of weeks have been a blur of various strange men coming into my house (spare me your droll remarks, s’il vous plaît), taking measurements, and then sending me exorbitant estimates for work that as far as I am concerned, they will never perform, given their inflated sums. A text on the sexism problem in France might be soon to follow…! But back to the big story:
Besides the insulation, central heat also needs to be installed, and some of the windows need to be changed. Out of these tasks, I do believe that putting in insulation is by far the easiest of the three. So when I got the estimate, for close to 7,000 euros*, I was blown away. 7,000 euros for basically unrolling fibreglass and stapling it to the rafters. What fool couldn’t do that? And what fool would pay that much money for such simple work?
But here’s the crux of the problem: they bill for this by square meter of course, counting the supply of insulation and the labour together. And I have 166 square meters of attic to insulate. This estimate is what finally drove home the realisation of the enormity of my abode (or should I say my folly?). The official living space according to French law is 220 square meters. This does *not* count the two attics, which are perfectly suitable for living space, once they are insulated and fixed up a bit (nor the three cellars, but they are only good for housing the water heater, garden equipment, firewood and hundreds of bottles of wine…). This means that I have purchased almost 400 square meters* to live in, by myself, with my cat.
Even by Texan standards (and we all know that everything is bigger in Texas ;) this is a ridiculously large house for one person and a very old and rather petit cat (runt is not in our Sheba vocabulary).
What are we possibly going to do with all this space? Fill it up with a herd of dromedaries? Put in an ice-skating rink? (I haven’t mentioned the downside to having a marble floor yet… let all upcoming visitors be warned: bring a sweater. Yes, even if you are coming in June.)
Stay tuned to find out.

*For the conversion phobic:
400 square meters = approximately 4,300 square feet
€7,000 is over $9,500

Le Printemps

I got here just in time to see all the trees in bloom. I wish I had the time to stop and take pictures of everything that is beautiful here, but that would require becoming a full-time photographer, and risking car wrecks every 15 minutes or so when pulling over to the side of the road suddenly to capture the magnificent scenery.

I love the small park that runs behind my house (see previous post from when I made the offer to buy) and here's another reason why.

A place to stay in Paris

Although before the end of the year I hope to be able to offer my Parisian pad to out-of-towners, for now it is not nearly in good enough shape to do so. However, a friend of mine is offering her cute abode for minimum stays of 3 nights or longer. She's listed on the following website, but if you go through me, you get a significant discount (€100/night - €500/week - €2000/month).
Check it out!
http://www.ahparis.com/photos.asp?lang=en&pageno=1&a_id=283&id_apt=283

Scenes from my backyard

Moving, as they say, is one of the most stressful events in any person's life. I'm not going to tell you any different. Buying a house has been wonderful and terribly scary, exciting and exhausting, overwhelming in both good and bad ways. Thus far, the good outweighs the bad, and I'm thankful for that. I'm too worn out to write much more, but I wanted to share some photos of my backyard when I arrived last Wednesday, and then this week's image of Sheba basking in the sun. He has adjusted to the new home better than I could have ever expected. Not bad for a cat of 17!
Please come and visit us soon...

Another good reason to get a dog

http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/H/HEIMLICH_HOUND?SITE=KVUE&TEMPLATE=STRANGEHEADS.html&SECTION=HOME

Berber Humour

First of all, let’s get one thing straight: they are dromedaries, not camels!! According to our guides, there are no camels in Morocco.

After a whirlwind few days in Marrakech, a city I loved the moment I stepped off the plane, Lisa Smith and I ventured forth into the south of Morocco, on a quest to see the desert. After almost two full days of non-stop driving with our guide Abdelilah (mind you, the speed limit on the two-lane national highways is just 90 km/hour and Abdelilah followed it faithfully… a little too faithfully for my taste, but that’s why they call me Leadfoot…)

Anyhoo, after the very long car ride south, across the snow-capped Atlas Mountains, into the Dades gorges and the oasis valleys, we arrived at Merzouga, gateway to the Moroccan Sahara.
We immediately leapt onto our trusty dromedaries, Jimmy and Malé, and sped off into the sunset over the dunes. Or sort of.
Anyone who thinks that riding a dromedary is similar to riding a horse is sadly mistaken. The beasts lurch along at a very uncomfortable rhythm, guaranteed to chafe you the most in spots where you have never been chafed before. Mind you, there’s no saddle, just woolen blankets seemingly woven with desert thorns thrown over some sort of metal frame. My inner thighs and buttocks are still complaining and I’ve been off the dromedary for a good four days now… I don’t know if I’ll ever walk the same again. Plus, sand does not make for an easy trail (hence the lurching). You are often going up a dune or down a dune and especially on the downward stretches, you feel like you’re going to pitch forward head first over your dromedary and into the sand. I held on for dear life, grimacing and wincing over the pain in my butt, occasionally crying out in a sound not unlike that the dromedaries make, which was surely the inspiration for Chewbacca’s voice in Star Wars.

We were led by our very own nomad, Omar. Omar is from a long line of nomads, and grew up in the Sahara. Thanks to his work in tourism, his family now lives in a house in Merzouga instead of wandering around aimlessly in the desert.

We arrived at our tents well after nightfall, tired, cold, sore, stiff and hungry. We were served mint tea (surprise, surprise). In Morocco, every event calls for mint tea. I love mint tea (see my earlier post from September 06 when my wonderful friend Judy likened it to hot chocolate without the chocolate) but I’m pretty much all mint-tea’d out for a while after consuming it several times a day, every day, for 8 days straight.
Omar surprised us by cooking up a fantastically delicious tagine all by himself (normally in Morocco, cooking is women’s work) which we then consumed using only our right hands. (Ok, well I cheated and sometimes used my left hand, but I don’t think anyone noticed.) For those of you wondering why you’re supposed to use only your right hand, let’s get something straight: this is the third world.
Charmin doesn’t exist in the third world.
Your left hand exists in the third world.
Nuff said.

After sating ourselves on this fabulous repast, Omar built a fire out in the sand and we gathered around to gaze at the mind-boggling amount of stars, warm ourselves by the fire (it was extremely cold) and meet Omar’s nomad friend Hahmed, who just happened by on his way to deliver 4 dromedaries somewhere. They got out their drums and treated us to authentic Berber music, explained the Berber ways and languages to us, and regaled us with stories of navigating at night in the summer when it’s too hot to travel by day, using only the stars and their expert knowledge of the desert to find their way.
When the fire had settled down to softly glowing embers, the echo of the drums had faded, and we were contemplating the stars in the deep and philosophical silence available only in the desert far, far from the farthest reaches of civilization, with each person lost in his or her own inner world, Hahmed suddenly piped up “So, do you know any good jokes?”





After recovering from our laughter and surprise, we realized that none of us had any good ones to tell (there were four of us tourists, Lisa and myself and a young British couple) so Hahmed launched into his comedy routine.

“How do you get a dromedary in the fridge?”
We pondered this for a while, proffered up some lame responses, then finally gave up.

“You open the door, put him in, and then close the door.”

Berber humor.

Then he launched into one that wasn’t really a joke, but more of a riddle, one of those “Three people come to a river to cross it. One person sees and touches the water. The second person sees the water but can’t touch it. The third person neither sees nor touches the water. Who are these three people?”

Of course, it’s a pregnant woman carrying a child on her back. It took us a while, but we figured that one out.

Then he came up with one which we couldn’t tell if it was a riddle or a joke.
The lion, king of the jungle and all the wilderness, decides to hold a party to end all parties. A magnificent feast, where none of the animals would eat each other, but all would be vegetarian for this extremely special occasion. The entire animal kingdom is invited, every species, in a kind of Noah’s ark rave.
Only one animal doesn’t come.
Which one is it, and why?

Again we racked our brains, guessing madly, but none of our answers came close apparently, until I shouted out “the dromedary!” and Hahmed seemed rather impressed. Yes, the dromedary was the only animal who didn’t attend the lion’s celebration. But why?

More guessing, to no avail.

The fire had almost died out at this point, and we were freezing and sleepy, so Hahmed finally took pity on us.

“Because he’s in the refrigerator.”

Four Seasons in One Day

With a nod to Crowded House for the title, I have to say that visiting Morocco, I did experience four seasons in one day, or rather over a couple of days in a row... what a place of contrasts, a fascinating mix of ancient and modern, hot and cold, clean and dirty... my mind is still reeling, but I loved it.

While I recover from my return journey and scramble to get ready for my Burgundy trip this week to finalise the purchase of my house, I'll leave you with a couple of images to contemplate.

Bali High, part 2

In keeping with its volcanic origins, Bali was a real explosion of discovery for Emmanuelle and me. An explosion of colour, with luxuriant, seemingly bursting-out-of-their-skin greens that have to be seen to be believed; intensely flaming orange, pink and red tropical flowers, not to mention the pristine white of jasmine and the ever-present frangipani; an explosion of taste, with the spicy and delicious local cuisine; an explosion of heat and rain, with downpours the likes of which I haven’t seen since I lived in Texas, ditto for the sometimes oppressive sunshine and humidity.


No bomb explosions however. Contrary to the fears of some of my nearest and dearest, Bali is an incredibly peaceful island, being 93% Hindu. Gorgeous Hindu temples are everywhere, since every home and every village has one. The Balinese people are adorable, very charming and friendly, and amazingly, they all speak English beautifully.


There was a lot of sensory overload.
Such as being pampered to death in the fabulous five-star hotels where we stayed. Of the three, Alila Ubud was the best overall in terms of setting, décor, amenities, service, spa and most importantly, food and wine!! Although the private pool, personal butler, and vast living space at the Balé were hard to beat… you can check out all three hotels using the links in my last post.


Now it’s back to reality, as I fly to France tonight. I have a short 9 days back in Paris before I take off again on my next trip: 8 days in Morocco!! Life as a freelancer is rough.
After that, I drive down to the Saône et Loire to sign the final purchase papers and pick up the keys to my new house on March 22… stay tuned!!

Bali High

Where we've been so far this week:
www.alilahotels.com
Check out the Ubud and Manggis locations (3 nights each)

Tomorrow we head to a new level of luxury:
www.thebale.com

We'll be back in Singapore Monday.

Some enchanted evening

In preparation for my next post, which has not even been started yet, some music to put you in the mood... think Mary Martin, Ezio Pinza and the fabulous Rodgers & Hammerstein musical "South Pacific"...

Most people live on a lonely island

Lost in the middle of a foggy sea

Most people long for another island

One where they know they will like to be

Bali Ha'i may call you

Any night, any day,

In your heart, you'll hear it call you:

"Come away...Come away."

Bali Ha'i will whisper

In the wind of the sea:

"Here am I, your special island!

Come to me, come to me!"

Your own special hopes

Your own special dreams

Bloom on the hillside

And shine in the streams

If you try, you'll find me

Where the sky meets the sea.

"Here am I your special island

Come to me, Come to me."

Bali Ha'i

Bali Ha'i

Bali Ha'i!

Someday you'll see me floatin' in the sunshine

My head stickin' out from a low flying cloud

You'll hear me call you

Singin' through the sunshine

Sweet and clear as can be:

"Come to me, here am I, come to me."

If you try, you'll find me

Where the sky meets the sea.

"Here am I your special island

Come to me, Come to me."

Bali Ha'i

Bali Ha'i

Bali Ha'i!

Dell Hell or La vie n'est pas une longue fleuve tranquille

Please, learn from my mistakes. Stop whatever you’re doing (probably the only time I’ll ever ask anyone to stop reading my blog) and get out your external hard drive and back up EVERYTHING right now. If you don’t own an external hard drive, go immediately to your favorite online or brick-and-mortar store and buy one. Then, BACK UP EVERYTHING. And do it often.

2007 has gotten off to a hellish start. But I like to take the optimist’s view and imagine that since I’m accumulating all these catastrophes in January, the rest of the year is going to be smooth sailing.

Cross my fingers, knock wood, etc.

I’ll spare you all the gory details, because not only are they depressing but they are so over-the-top as to be unbelievable. I’ll try to stick just to the barebones facts.

Some of the shitty things that have happened to me since my last posting:

1) I rebroke up with Jerome. Of course, many of you didn’t even know that things were back on with Jerome, which is just as well. But they were for a short period, but then I had to put an end to it again. And whatever your stance on this relationship is or has been, know that it’s been the hardest break-up of my life and the mourning period is not over yet. So that’s a real load to deal with already.
2) I fell and hurt both my knees. In some sort of dim-witted rush move, I managed to entwine myself in my luggage at the Gare de Lyon and fall hard onto the pavement, ripping my pants, opening up one knee and badly bruising both. Of course this happened at 7:25 am as I’m trying to catch the 7:30 train…
3) Somehow that fall appears to have affected my laptop, safely ensconced in my backpack, which although it did not hit the ground, apparently smacked hard enough against my person to kill the hard drive. And when I say kill, I mean that my hard drive died a horrible death. The noises it made when I tried to get my computer to work remind me of descriptions I’ve read of pigs being led to slaughter.
4) Because of point 1, I hadn’t done a full back-up of my laptop in several months. I know, stupid, stupid, stupid. But every time I thought of getting out the external hard drive, it made me think of Jerome, the computer fanatic, who made me buy this external hard drive and even wrote a personalized macro for me so that the back-ups would go as quickly and painlessly as possible. And of course, that made me sad.
So I kept putting it off.
If I had known how sad I would be when I learned that nothing was recoverable on my hard drive, I would much rather have had a little heartbreak backing up my hard drive every night compared to this disaster of huge personal and professional proportions.
HAVE YOU MADE THAT BACK-UP YET?
Imagine losing everything, everything. Your emails, your documents, your taxes, your photos, your amusing blog texts in preparation, everything...
Now make that back-up and you don’t even have to thank me for it.
5) I had to go through an entire week of angry phone calls, emails and online exchanges to get any satisfaction from Dell despite having a valid 3-year “Complete Care” contract with them. Now that I have gotten full satisfaction from them, I won’t go on an anti-Dell rant like I was planning to for several days. Although the next time I need a new laptop, I think I’ll take a long, hard look at Hewlett Packard…
6) I got the worst, most wicked case of food poisoning ever, causing me to vomit in the metro and then all night long chez moi. Nuff said.

Of course, all of this happened during the busiest month for work that I’ve had in ages. While normally lots of work is good news, the timing couldn’t have been worse, and I’ve had to scramble like crazy to not piss off my regular clients completely.
And, various other little emmerdes have cropped each week as well, making this by far the nastiest January I’ve ever had.
But, I reiterate my positivism and remain hopeful that things can only get better...
Pray for me.
And back up your hard drive now!!!

Peace on earth, goodwill toward men...

and of course, Happy New Year!!
This morning, my 2007 horoscope says the following:

This is the year that you have been waiting for as your key planet, Jupiter, makes its once-every-twelve-years return to your sun sign, bestowing grace and opportunity onto your life.
As the Archer, you aim your arrows of intent high; your targets are often far in the distance. Now you can see even further, and your power is even stronger. Jupiter's influence works like a magnifying lens by making your life even bigger. But you like grandiosity, so this will feel quite comfortable, even familiar.
There are other planetary influences this year, but jovial Jupiter in your sign -- from Nov. 23, 2006, until Dec. 18, 2007 -- will likely be the most obvious and should provide a fortunate underpinning for a very successful year. Jupiter was last in your sign in 1995, which may have been the beginning of the opportunity cycle that is currently coming to a close.
You see good news now everywhere you turn...

I love Paris in the winter, when it drizzles

With all due respect to Cole Porter, it hasn't drizzled much this winter. Although winter was long in coming (when I returned from Austin on November 30, it was actually warmer in Paris than in Texas!!) now it has arrived in the best possible way. Near-freezing temperatures are made bearable by brilliant sunshine and little humidity. The sunsets have been incredible. And, they finally changed the Christmas lights on the rue du Commerce. Life is beautiful.

Musical interlude number 2

What I'm listening to today, from Lyle Lovett's Joshua Judges Ruth
It could just be my anthem for the New Year. ;-)

Thank you my friend

I sincerely appreciate the words you say

About how she'll cry

And how she'll grieve and miss me

When she goes away

Say them again

I need to hear the words once more

I can't believe

How she'll miss me when she's gone

And how she'll want to come back home

And never leave

But she's leaving me

Because she really wants to

And she'll be happy when she's gone

She'll be happy

She'll be so very happy

She'll dance and sing

Or even learn to fly

And spend her time with anyone but me

What's that you say

That I'll get over her the more that time goes by

But time goes so slow

When all I have to do is sit around and cry

No she won't be back

I'd be a fool to try to fool myself that way

I know she hasn't one regret

Because she hasn't had one since

The day she came to stay

She's leaving me

Because she really wants to

And she'll be happy when she's gone

She'll be happy

She'll be so very happy

She'll dance and sing

And even learn to fly

And spend her time with anyone but me

She'll be happy when she's gone

She'll be happy when she's gone

She'll be happy when she's gone

She'll be happy when she's gone

Un gars et une fille

I am often quite hard on the French for their terrible taste in music and their even more abominable taste in television. However, from time to time they do surprise me, and I discover a French pop artist that does not make me want to retch or I’ll get hooked into a show unexpectedly. One such case stands out from the rest, and I have to give credit where credit is due: French TV for several years was home to the perfect TV series: Un gars et une fille (A guy and a girl). (NB: upon doing some research for accuracy, I discovered that this show was in fact originally from Quebec and it has since been adapted across the globe, soon to be available for US viewers as “Love Bites”.)
Sadly, this gem is no longer on here, although from time to time there are reruns and I am lucky enough to own one of the “Best of” DVDs.
Here is the genius: every weekday evening, just before the news came on, you could catch Jean Dujardin (this is the show that launched his now brilliant career) and Alexandra Lamy playing “Jean” and “Alexandra” or Loulou and Chouchou as they affectionately called each other. Each episode lasted no longer than 7 minutes. Ah, the ideal espresso dose of television comedy. (Note that in Canada, the running time was the sitcom standard 26 minutes.)
Situation comedy living up to the name. Realistic, hilarious, charming ‑ I don’t think there’s a single episode where I didn’t laugh out loud at least once, if not about every minute or so. There’s never a chance to become bored, they never go too far, thanks to the mini-format. For me, 7 minutes of TV, 5 days a week is about the best possible maximum media exposure.
The chemistry between the two actors is explosive. I once read an interview where Jean and Alex described that while they were standing in line for the show’s casting auditions, they had a professional “coup de foudre” (love at first sight for the non-Francophones) which became clear to the producers immediately, hence their hiring. Interestingly enough, after 3 years of playing the world’s funniest lovers, the two ended up leaving their respective spouses/partners and moving in with each other, the coup de foudre having apparently evolved onto a more personal level. They do make a great couple, although there have been recent rumors of a split, especially since Jean’s career has skyrocketed (Brice de Nice, OSS 117 among others) while Alex’s has stagnated. He was clearly the key talent of the show anyway, and she was frequently rather annoying (hard to tell if it was the role or reality…).

Luckily for those of you who never had the chance to take in this pearl, another big fan has put some clips on their blog (scroll down to the photo of Alexandra Lamy and you'll see a still photo from the show underneath. Just hit the play arrow in the middle for a tasty treat!):
http://radiomikado.blog50.com/archive/2006/10/12/radiomikado-bonjour-14-octobre2006.html

Happy birthday to us

Tonight I pre-celebrated my latest 30-something/
almost 40th birthday with many of my pals in Austin. Amory, Emily and I realized that we have known each other for over 20 years now.
We all agreed that none of us look 20 years older than when we first met.
That's the great thing about true friends, they don't see your wrinkles or cellulite or sags...