Musical Interlude

What I’m listening to on this sunny Saturday of Indian Summer:

Teenage Fanclub’s “Ain’t That Enough” (from their album Songs from Northern Britain).

3 minutes and 42 seconds of pure melody and lush harmonies combining to create a pop poem that never leaves me indifferent (dare I say it makes my heart soar?).
For me, a sunrise is quite often enough.

Is British music so good because their food is so bad? Consider their cross-channel rivals, the French, who have taken cuisine to the highest heights, yet their popular music is, to put it politely, unpalatable… obviously no country can be strong in every artistic domain, but could there be some sort of inverse relationship between the ear and the stomach? I welcome your thoughts on this.

Meanwhile, I’ll share the delicious TF lyrics with you, although without the music it’s bit like having a mouth-watering meal put before a man with no nose… although if you click on the title of this post, it will take you to the album on Amazon where you can scroll down and hear a sample.

If you can I wish you would

Only if you feel you should

Bring your loving over

All adds up with circumstance

All stood up with taking stands

Bring your loving over

Highlights glisten

Silence listens

Days that found you

Embrace that found you

Here is a sunrise Ain’t that enough?

True as a clear sky, ain't that enough?

Toy town feelings here to remind you

Summers in the city do what you gotta do

Time can only make demands

Fill it up with grains of sand

Bring your loving over

Highlights glisten

Silence listens

Days that found you

Embrace that found you

Here is a sunrise Ain’t that enough?

True as a clear sky, ain't that enough?

Toy town feelings here to remind you

Summers in the city do what you gotta do

Toy town feelings whose gonna argue

Summers in the city Summers in the city

Tribute to La Nonna

My grandmother is a real inspiration. How many ninety-two and a half year-olds do you know that would be willing to hop on a plane and fly from Southern California all the way to Italy to spend two weeks touring Tuscany? She is simply amazing.
Not only does she keep up with the rest of us almost effortlessly, but she does it with grace, elegance and aplomb. She never complains, never seems tired, and is always game for what’s next.
We’re already talking about our next globe-trotting adventure for the spring of 2007 (when she’ll be a cool 93½!)
Bravo la nonna!

Perfect end to perfect holiday

Although admittedly I am a teensy bit nervous about the fact that the ladies are flying back to the US (via London) on September 11, I'm trying to persuade myself that the new security measures mean that they are perfectly safe (and the fairy card answers to Judy's question Saturday at the Pisa airport prove it! long story/inside joke).
Our Tuscan dream wrapped up with 2 days in Paris, and the balmy weather followed us back here (see the gals in front of the Eiffel Tower, where we walked after stuffing ourselves on croissants and pain au chocolat).
We ended this perfect vacation with an impeccable meal at my new favorite restaurant (conveniently located just around the corner from chez moi!!) La Potence (78, rue de la Croix Nivert and tell them Catherine the American sent you). Their fixed price menu at €24.90 is the bargain of the century. I thought that Mom might actually pick up her plate and lick it she loved her foie-gras coated steak so much.
We were lucky enough to have Emmanuelle join us and spend some precious time with her before she takes off to Singapore.

Scenes from an Italian holiday

On the Arno

















Judy at the spa



















Kiss the cook!





















Mom in Montecatini

O the posh, posh travelling life...

the travelling life for me...!! (if you're scratching your head wondering what that's in reference to, I invite you to screen the children's classic Chitty Chitty Bang Bang to refresh your memory.)

I know it seems overly decadent to be thinking about my next big vacation while I'm still on one, but I'm so excited that I just have to share the news!! Check out Alila's hotels in Bali and know that Emmanuelle and I will be lounging around them over 9 sumptuous nights in February after I visit her in Singapore... www.alilahotels.com

What a way to ring in the Chinese New Year!!!!

Putting the Terme in Montecatini Terme

Today is our day for treatments at the spa (see photo). We all need a good day of RnR, but no one more than Mom, who deserves great congratulations and deep bows for the extremely difficult job of chauffeuring us around Italy in our ridiculously oversized car. The lanes here are unsettlingly narrow, and all of the freeways we were on suffered from congestion, especially from gigantic trucks and 18-wheelers. Neighboring vehicles like that already make me nervous even in Texas, the land of extra-wide highways and endless visibility, so Mom’s sang-froid and constancy (and velocity!) were impressive in a country that never felt the need to make high-speed thoroughfares in straight lines and where I would only feel comfortable in one of those silly little Fiats that looks like it belongs to a clown troupe so that I could potentially put my arm out the window and not touch the car in the lane next to me…
Hats off to Mamma mia!! (from driving here so much she’s becoming rather Italian by osmosis, boosted by her purchase of beautiful hand-made sandals in Assisi and the massive quantities of pasta we down every day).
Another post to follow our steams, scrubs, massages and facials, meanwhile a few more pics to give you insight into our life under the Tuscan sun…

Pics to go with previous post

I'm taking advantage of the Chocohotel's fabulous WiFi connection to give you some glimpses into our recent visits. (aside: the Italians pronounce WiFi like in the US "why fie" which seems odd since it should be Wee Fee like the other Latin countries and even Switzerland...)

Here we have lovely Lucca & Serravalle Pistoiese, the beach where we dipped our toes in the water, and St Françis' Basilica in Assisi.

More soon, stay tuned!!

Italian road trip(s)

After several days of horrid frustration, suddenly I am able to upload photos to the blog again, so there’s some catching up to do!!

Please check out the revised San Miniato post to see a few shots of this magical place. When the trip is over, I’ll be doing a Kodak Gallery photo album so if you’re not already on that mailing list, let me know if you want to be added.

Here’s a brief rundown of what we’ve been up to lately:
Saturday we visited Lucca, which lived up to the guidebooks’ promise as a charmingly beautiful yet sleepy Tuscan town with strangely few tourists given its architectural, cultural and natural splendor.

Sunday was a day of rest, with a brief excursion up the hill from our villa to see a truly undiscovered jewel, Serravalle Pistoiese, a tiny towered village so picturesque as to seem unreal, within less than 10 minutes of our Tuscan home, and not a tourist to be found. We wandered about in awe, taking in the gorgeous sunset, and were treated to a private tour by a delightful 70-year old man (who chattered away in Italian enthusiastically even though I made it clear that I only speak and understand “un po”) of the Oratorio with frescoes from the Giotto school. We managed to communicate the essential though, and it was the perfect way to end the weekend.

Monday was our first “setback” in that we decided to get an early start to head to the coast (I had to work that evening so we needed to be back at a decent hour). For all our previous excursions, we have been preferring the small country roads, which provide breathtaking Tuscan views framed by cypress and lime trees and a glimpse into “real” life as we pass through the smaller towns. Since we had less time Monday, we took the “autostrada” which despite being a modern, toll highway, only has 2 lanes, which were backed up for over an hour due to a horrendous 18-wheeler accident (the only vehicle involved, but burned to a crisp and the driver was helicoptered out…) To top it off, the snail pace was through a horribly polluted industrial area that marred the views of the Apennines in the distance and the Versilia coast to our left. When we finally escaped the mind-numbing traffic jam, it was time for lunch. We had some quick but tasty pasta by the sea, took a short walk to the water, dipped our toes in, then made our way back to the villa, exhausted from the strain.

Tuesday, our bad luck was almost repeated, in that once again we needed to take the autostrada since we were off on a pilgrimage to Assisi to see St Francis. After patting ourselves on the back for making an earlier-than-expected start, we quickly realized the error of our ways as we got stuck in rush-hour traffic heading into Florence (again, only TWO lanes on the major highway!!??!?)
St Frank was apparently with us in spirit though, as we were only delayed about 20 minutes this time and then were able to whisk through the spectacular Chianti countryside into scenic Umbria. We had lunch in Perugia, a town we wish we had more time to visit as it offers so many delights, but we were on a mission!! After we FINALLY made it to Assisi (getting out of Perugia back to the highway proved a more difficult task than our free map from the tourist office could handle) we couldn’t visit anything!! It turns out we just happened to be there the same day as Italian president Giorgio Napolitano was visiting the world conference on religion for peace.
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20060904.wrelig0904/BNStory/International/home
For security reasons, only the monks, nuns and lucky holders of press passes and conference attendees could enter the Basilica and other famous sites.
We consoled ourselves with chocolate: I am writing to you now from the Etruscan Chocohotel in Perugia. The entire hotel is decked out in a chocolate theme, they give you a bar of chocolate when you check in, every room is a different chocolate brand (Mom and I are appropriately enough in the Cadbury Fruit & Nut bar!) and in the outstanding restaurant, there is an entire dinner menu based on chocolate… all washed down with a superb local wine.

We’ll be making another go at St Frank today.
Stay tuned for more news from the road and more pictures to be added soon!

San Miniato al Monte

Yesterday we had a perfect day from start to finish.
After taking the train from Montecatini Terme to Florence, we stopped by Francesco da Firenze on the Via Santo Spirito to pick up my custom fit, hand-sewn sandals (ordered on our previous visit to Florence Tuesday). They are wonderful! Grazie mamma mia!
(photo complete with mosquito bites that have increased in number and ferocity of itching)
Then we wandered over to the Palazzo Vecchio to meet up with Curt, the organist from Judy’s wedding (and formerly of St Barnabas, the church Judy & Mom attend in Scottsdale). Curt has been staying at the Benedictine monastery at San Miniato al Monte, an exquisite example of Romanesque architecture and style. We had a delicious lunch* in Curt’s company before hiking all the way up to the uppermost heights of Florence (bravo Gramma!) for our private guided tour provided by the charming and knowledgeable Curt. I literally took 112 pictures. San Miniato is the jewel in Florence’s crown if you ask me.




Next, we attended the monks’ traditional vespers at 5:30 pm with a brief mass. Although we weren’t always sure when to stand or sit, we did manage to follow the service in Latin pretty well (Curt had provided us with written copies). As always, I was amazed by the similarities between the Episcopal church service and Catholic mass.

The monk leading the vespers (in town for the Gregorian chant conference this weekend) had a heavenly voice (pun intended).
Then we were in for a real treat: a brief concert by Curt on the freshly tuned organ. DIVINE.





















A taxi whisked us back down the hillside to Santa Maria Novella, where we only had to wait 2 minutes for our train back to the villa.
Exhausted but satisfied, we skipped a formal sit-down dinner in favor of yoghurts, fruit and grissini (my favorite breadsticks, with my preferred brand being the lightly salted Dal Cesto di Alice, Fagolosi Croccanti e Stuzzicanti).
We are truly fortunate and blessed.


*I started with a carpaccio of swordfish topped with lightly sautéed crunchy carrots and zucchini, followed by pick-up-your-plate-and-lick-it-when-you’re-done-it’s-so-scrumptious maccheroni (which are actually big fat tubes of pasta) in a saffron sauce with fresh asparagus tips. All washed down with a very fine house red.

Formidable foes

Although when thinking of the world’s current great military forces, Italy does not spring to mind, they actually have a powerful weapon at their disposal, which could wreak havoc on the globe if developed and wielded at large: the mosquito.
Now, as everybody knows, I’m from Texas, and we have HUGE mosquitoes in Texas, as do our neighbors in Louisiana, where you can see t-shirts with the ugly monsters on the front and “State bird” as the caption. But our massive mosquitoes have nothing on the petite yet feisty Tuscan variety. I call them “stealth mosquitoes” because they are incredibly fast and silent. I can be happily cooking in our beautiful kitchen with a view, and the next thing you know, I’ve been attacked, with no warning or time to respond.

You can barely see them they are so swift as they zip, dive and dodge any attempts to reduce their numbers. And compared to the familiar annoying whine of the Lone Star strain, these babies are totally quiet unless they get right up to and practically inside your ear, which they only do when you’re lying down to sleep… even then, they are fierce, as my ankles attest (I sleep with my feet outside the covers).

They also hit below the belt, while I’m working at the computer, and my thighs and knees have paid the price.

The worst is the unbearable, persistent itching that follows. These are venomous little insects! And perhaps patriotic… maybe they read my blog and somehow know that I supported France in the World Cup? In any case, I've only managed to smash 2 in the 5 days we've been here, so they are definitely winning this game.
Innocent travelers, be warned! (As a reminder, you can always click on the photos in this blog to get a closer view.)

A Room with a View

Here’s a couple of shots of the villa we rented (the view from my room, two sides). They don’t do justice to the gorgeous countryside and immense olive grove (and some fig, pear, plum, & walnut trees...) surrounding the property, which is on top of a hill, with the olive groves sloping directly down, making photography difficult. Our landlords make their own olive oil and charmingly left 2 bottles for us upon our arrival (along with a huge basket of pasta, sauces, snacks, coffee, etc. to get us through the first couple of days).

Judy and Mom have begun a ping-pong tournament. Judy is everyone’s favorite blond and the ideal traveling companion. She is permanently cheerful and enthusiastic, game for anything and a good sport (and as we’ve discovered, a very skilful table tennis player!) Not only does she always have an upbeat attitude, but she also manages to contribute an energetic and positive spin to every situation.

My favorite Judyism thus far on the trip:
On the first night of the trip in Paris, I took the ladies to my local Moroccan restaurant for some excellent couscous and tagines (my current craving being the lamb tagine with onions, prunes and almonds. So tasty that I almost consume even the prune pits and lamb bones…) We finished the meal off with the traditional hot sweetened fresh mint tea, which none of them had ever tasted before. After her first sip, Judy exclaimed in her bright and merry way “It’s like a hot chocolate only without the chocolate.”
How can you not love someone who says this in all seriousness?
Here’s a view of our first excursion to Florence.
More soon.

La Dolce Vita

I haven’t had much time to blog lately as I’ve been doing some much needed work on my apartment in Paris and gearing up for my two-week trip to Tuscany with my mom, grandmother and our dear friend Judy. Today I bought a fabulous Michelin map of Toscana, Umbria, San Marino, Marche, Lazio and Abruzzo (no. 563 in the Italy regional maps series). I lurv Michelin maps. I looked at 5 or 6 maps from various publishers and there is just no comparison in terms of legibility, aesthetics and what the French charmingly call «convivialité» which despite appearances actually means user-friendliness (in this context).

This is our third year in a row to make a big European excursion with this group. We started back in 2004, renting a house on the border of Provence/Languedoc Roussillon. That was by far the best rental house I’ve ever found and I would have willingly gone back there every year for the rest of my life if the owner hadn’t sold it that same summer (he offered to sell to me since we got along swimmingly, but sadly it was way, way, way out of my budget).

That summer there were 6 of us (my Aunt Lee and another family friend, Jane, shared the enormous 6-bedroom, 4-bath house with us, and we enjoyed drop-in weekend visits from my pals Emmanuelle and Cyndi, and my cousin Dion.) The pool and gardens were gorgeous, and of course we were well situated to roam around and see the sights (very close to the Pont du Gard, Avignon, Arles, Nîmes, etc.)

Last year, Judy, my mom and my grandmother (who is my dad’s mom, btw, and is 92!! a walking advertisement for eating right and getting plenty of exercise with a daily dose of chocolate for good measure…) and I met up in Bilbao, Spain and went on to San Sebastian before heading down to follow the Santiago de Compostela trail. After our pilgrimage, we then headed up to the coast and gradually made our way back to Bilbao. The northwest of Spain is a food-lover’s and tourist-hater’s paradise. We ate fabulously for scandalously little money, gaped at the stunning scenery, slept soundly in the lovely and spotlessly clean accommodations we found quite easily, and basically spent 2 weeks congratulating ourselves on having discovered this gem of a destination that only the Spaniards seem to know about (until I just now ruined it by telling you).

We have great expectations for this year’s journey. We have rented a villa again this time, with a pool, between Florence and Lucca, near Montecatini Terme. I’m looking forward to hearty red wines, soave whites, fruity olive oil, and plenty of sunshine, as the Paris canicule is long gone, having been replaced by late-October-like rain and chilly gray skies. The villa actually has internet access, so stay tuned for a posting direct from la Bella Italia.

I get by with a little help from my friends

Recently a number of you have sent encouraging and kind words about my blog, and each time it prompts me to reflect upon how lucky I am to know so many interesting, intelligent and wonderful people. I have been so fortunate in my life to encounter a variety of friends from different backgrounds across the globe, with each and every one making a contribution to my enrichment and happiness as a person. I am truly thankful to have developed such a terrific community over the years and honored to call its members my friends. When times are tough as an expat, I often play back a video in my mind of my favorite memories with my loved ones, savoring the images like a fine wine…and realizing that I have truly been blessed over the decades. This never fails to help me get through any adversity.
In a nod to Sandra Bernhard, “Without you, I’m nothing” and in another to the old Bartles and James ads, "Thank you for your support."

Food, glorious food

Click on these babies to get a close up of the ripe skin, bursting with flavor. You can almost smell them!

I love France because food seasons still exist here. I know when it’s spring because the asparagus and baby veggies have arrived, and summer doesn’t start until the first cherries and melons come up from Provence. When the oysters are as plentiful as the golden delicious apples, I know the temperatures will be dropping soon and bringing plenty of autumn rain. In winter, all the pumpkin soup I could ever desire starts off most meals of hearty stews or tender confit de canard with lots o’ potatoes.
All of these repasts are washed down, of course, with equally seasonal wines. Lighter reds, from the Loire Valley, go best with Spring, while the whites from the Maconnais and rosés of Provence (punctuated by the occasional Vino Verde from Portugal) cool down summer. For fall, the Côtes du Rhone contribute a fond reminder of August sunshine, while Bordeaux warms up the winter with toasty intensity. Luckily, champagne is appropriate and inexpensive year round.

Cheeses are seasonal in a special way in that their individual “personalities” are considered more appropriate at different times of the year. The moist, fresh goat cheese on your salad in June is a far cry from the runny vacherin that you scoop up with a spoon onto hearty bread in December. There are actually peak times of the year for certain cheeses (such as vacherin) depending on the ageing/curing process. However, this is one of the few staples of French cuisine that will truly be delicious all 12 months of the year. And anyone who thinks of themselves as an Epicurean or cheese-lover should follow the appropriate order in consuming the tempting array on their carefully arranged platter!

The culinary cycle is based on what is ripe, what is fresh, what tastes best at this particular point in time. While sometimes I miss the fact that in the US, you can satisfy a craving for anything at any time of year (and even any time of day or night, simply unthinkable here), when you stop and consider that the plums you so desire in January could not possibly have come from anywhere near where you live and therefore were not picked just as they were ripening… they kind of lose their appeal (and moreso when you see the price tag!) There’s a certain charm to limiting oneself to the foods that nature intended us to eat on Her schedule, and the markets and the menus here tend to be an accurate reflection of what is seasonal.
Right now is my favorite part of summer, as the cherries have just made way at my market to juicy nectarines, fresh-cheeked apricots and peaches and plump blueberries. Melons are still readily available, the tomatoes are bursting with flavor and raspberries literally explode on your tongue. I find great delight in the simple cucumber, with a sprinkling of herbs and a liberal dose of fresh feta straight from my local cheese shop.
Another thing I love about the French is that conversations about food and wine can last for hours; gastronomy and the pleasures of the table are among their top priorities, the basics, the crucial elements that make life worth living.
Vive la France et bon appétit !

Picnic 2 2006

Zeus, Indra, Teshuba, Mother Nature [insert other preferred weather deity here] were all with us last night (along with Bacchus, Lakshmi, Vacuna, etc.)

While it poured rain in Montmartre around 7:30 pm, at the Eiffel Tower we were settling in for a gorgeous sunset accompanied by a glass of rosé champagne (my current favorite: Besserat de Bellefon, Cuvée des Moines Brut Rosé, on sale right now at your neighborhood Nicolas for less than 24 euros whereas normally it goes for close to 30).

This picnic wins the record for late finishes: the last 12 of us finally left at almost 3:00 am.
Merci, grazie, thanks to the 40+ guests who came and contributed to the fantastic time had by all!!

The daring dozen that stayed into the wee hours enjoying the first real break in the canicule and the Eiffel Tower at 2 am.

Life is just one big picnic

I have to admit that I’m rather proud of myself for having come up with the idea of my group picnics back in July 2000. The original one was held to usher in my new career as a freelance translator. I held it on a Saturday afternoon, starting around 3 pm. About 40 people came to help me rejoice in my departure from Cheuvreux, and we drank about 40 bottles of champagne over the course of the 7 ½ hour celebration. (This is not an exaggeration, neither in terms of bubbly consumption nor party duration.)
At that first picnic, I made the error of preparing all the food myself, which detracted somewhat from my enjoyment since it is clearly no small task to provide fresh food for 40 people in an outdoor setting a kilometre from your kitchen. I also made the mistake of scheduling it in the afternoon, when the park cops are still on their beat. First they forced us to move from the Champ de Mars to a tiny nearby park, and later they came back and busted up the very lively (thanks to the aforementioned champagne) croquet game we were playing (under the pretext that “ball games” in the park are against the law because they are bad for the grass… you can have 40 people sitting on blankets crushing the grass, but not a few small metal hoops pushed into it!! whatever. In my tipsy state, I confronted the flics, appealing to their patriotism with the example of the French Resistance, who broke the laws during WWII because the laws were evil and encouraged them to see this law in a similar vein. Needless to say, they did not appreciate my logic and luckily someone separated us before I received a citation).
Over the next few years, I organized another couple of picnics on a smaller scale and in more sober fashion in various Parisian parks or locations, but never on a recurring or formal basis. But the summer of 2003, forever engraved in French memories as “LA canicule” when the thermometer soared to record highs and the elderly dropped like flies, it was too darn hot to stay inside to eat. So, I started picnicking on a regular basis on the Champ de Mars after nightfall, to beat the heat on the surprisingly cool grass. The following summer I decided to share this pleasure with my Parisian friends and acquaintances.
These picnics solve the problem of my not being able to host dinners or parties in my miniscule apartment, and I am so pleased with their rousing success.
Generally, 30 to 60 of us gather around 8:00 pm on the fresh expanse of green near the Eiffel Tower and enjoy the sunset, the twinkling tower lights, and the array of food and drink (although I always provide the basics – plates, cups, forks, knives, napkins, etc. – now I only make enough food to feed around 20 and bring several bottles of wine and water. The guests all contribute some food to share and something to drink, and there’s always more than enough to go around). Sometimes there is good mingling and mixing among the attendees and sometimes everyone stays put in the conversation circle they formed upon arriving. In previous years, we were one of a few bold groups picnicking on the grass (it is of course, strictly forbidden, hence our expulsion to the petit parc in 2000. In the evenings, though, the authorities show great indulgence and tolerance by turning a blind eye if they happen to be present.. at least for now…unfortunately the increasing number of copycats are often not as well behaved as we are and some leave behind masses of litter, which could end up jeopardizing our fun in future summers). Nowadays, I have to arrive extra early to stake out precious space, as by 10 pm there are literally hundreds of picnickers and no more room. (See photos below from the May & August 2005 gatherings)


We often stay until 1 am or so, although there is always a mass exodus around half past midnight for those who need to catch the last metro.
If you happen to be in town this Saturday, July 22, come along and join us!

The Dog Days of Summer

Thanks to powerful fans in my apartment aimed directly at me at all times, I’m riding out the latest heat wave in France much better than the last great canicule (« la canicule » the word to designate the hottest part of summer, is now used to mean heat wave too). From Wikipedia: “The term itself was coined by the ancient Romans, who called these days caniculares dies (days of the dogs) after the constellation of Canis Major (big dog) within which Sirius (α Canis Majoris) is found. As the hottest and most humid days of summer generally coincided with the period where Sirius rose/set with the sun, they believed that heat from Sirius was increasing the heat of the sun.”
Anyhoo, thus far, this heat wave has been reasonable compared to 2003.
But the folks back home in Texas or Arizona should consider this: today’s forecast calls for a high of 36°C. That’s 96.8°F for those of you not on the metric system. We’ll call it 97° to have a rounded numeral. 97° not counting the humidity or the searing city pavement that continues to reflect heat up into my apartment well past midnight. You may scoff, as temperatures in the Lone Star state or AZ are well above 100°F these days. But here’s the crux of the matter: 97°F and no a/c. The temperature inside my apartment hasn’t gone below 80°F in days (that’s in the middle of the night. Most of the time, it’s about 85°F). And there’s no place to go to escape, as people here are superstitious of drafts (as in airflow, not as in military conscription) and air conditioning, so even in places that you would think would provide relief (movie theatres, shopping malls) you don’t get any (relief that is). The one place that feels good is my grocery store’s refrigerated section, so I’ve been taking my time picking out yoghurt lately.
Think about it. And go give your air conditioning unit (which is probably contributing to global warming and increasing the frequency of these terrible heat waves!!) a big hug.

Cultural Differences, round 2

How do fairy tales end in English? “And they lived happily ever after.” How do they end in French? “Ils se marièrent et eurent beaucoup d'enfants.” (literal translation: they got married and had lots of kids) Somehow, in my mind, having lots of kids is not necessarily the logical equivalent of living happily ever after... as a translator, this brings up an interesting issue: most of the fairy tales present in US culture were written by Europeans, so it would appear that an English-speaking translator at some point in history made the choice of translating “they got married and had lots of kids” as “and they lived happily ever after.” Why they would do this is an fascinating question, but not one that I’ll go into here and now…

The World Cup Coke commercial that I referred to in a previous post: a cartoon (the French love animation, particularly “BDs” or bandes dessinées, adult “comic books” that are taken very seriously here) where we see a series of various unlikely couples listening to or watching one of France’s games (unlikely, as in a cactus and a balloon, for example). The last of these apparently “mismatched” couples is… a husband and wife… They are lying in bed, watching the game on TV. France scores, and ecstatic, the husband leaps out of bed and starts doing a victory dance in his boxers. He is promptly joined by the wife’s lover, who ‑ unable to contain his enthusiasm ‑ leaps out of the closet, where he apparently has been hiding since hubbie came home. After a brief exchange of “what the hell?” looks, they continue celebrating the goal, dancing around together. Check it out on Coke’s French website; http://secure.coca-cola.fr/index.jsp
Could such a commercial exist in the US? Hello? The company that wanted to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony? That asks us to have a Coke and a smile?
I get into this discussion frequently with the French. Many mistakenly believe that I am saying that there is less infidelity in the US than in France. This is not what I am saying. All I am saying is that I think that infidelity is considered acceptable and “normal” behavior in France. It obviously happens in the US, too, perhaps just as often as in France, but in US culture, cheating is looked down upon and generally condemned. It almost always results in break-ups/divorce. It’s something to be ashamed of, kept taboo, not flaunted and vaunted or simply accepted as the norm as it is here. The only American couple that I have ever heard of surviving infidelity is the Clintons, and I think strident political motivation is the only glue holding that one together. Infidelity is not considered acceptable or routine in the US. I’m not saying this is right or wrong or that Americans are better people. I’m just pointing out my perception of a cultural difference. I can provide numerous examples of how this normalcy/acceptance is portrayed in French culture, especially in advertising... a mind-boggling number of ads where someone is having to sneak out of the house because the legitimate spouse or live-in has returned or one partner is shown covering up their cheating in one form or another… Or how about the name of a leading dry cleaning chain? 5 à Sec. It’s a play on words. A “5 à 7” is a euphemism for having an affair (usually implying a man seeing his mistress right after work, at 5 pm, before heading home to the wife at 7…) Countless more examples exist in garden variety French TV, films and music. Obviously, there are also plenty of movies/books/TV shows in the US that address the issue of infidelity, and songs as well (who doesn’t love “Me and Mrs. Jones”?) but again my point is HOW infidelity is portrayed. Mrs. Jones has to be “extra careful” while Madame Untel wouldn’t necessarily have to exercise the same discretion… This leads to two reasons as to why I say that Jérôme is not typically French (and why I love him so much): 1) fidelity is of utmost importance to him, he has never cheated on anyone and would never tolerate anyone cheating on him; 2) he is the only French person I’ve ever met that hates BDs too.

Blessed be St Georges

Just got back from what has now become an annual tradition (3 years in a row), my long weekend with Emmanuelle’s family in St Georges de Didonne, a charming little beach town near Royans (just north of Bordeaux).
I adore spending time with Emmanuelle and her family. They could be right out of 1950s television, they are so ideal. Really, one of the healthiest and happiest families I’ve ever met. I wish that everyone I know could have such a loving, generous family. And boy, her mom can cook!!!! (from L to R: Anne-Laure, the youngest, Marie-Christine, Emmanuelle)
My favorite things to do there (not in any particular order, although this list pretty much follows the sequence of each day): 1) take early morning walks on the beach, where there’s only ever a few fisherman, a couple of serious joggers and a scattering of dog-lovers who want to give their pets a swim (normally dogs are not allowed on the beach, sadly…but at this time of day, there’s no one around to spoil their fun and they provide some laugh-out loud moments playing with the waves) and watch the sun come up over the pines.
(You can click on the photo to get a better view of my canine friend.)
2) eat (did I mention that Marie-Christine, Emmanuelle’s mom, is a fabulous cook?). 3) hang out at apéritif and mealtimes with the fun extended family (her aunts, uncles, cousins, etc.) 4) ride the bike to the colorful local market to get provisions for yet another unforgettable meal. 5) eat (did I mention that Michel, her dad, also whips up a mouth-watering ratatouille or tapenade in addition to wicked cocktails?) 6) nap after lunch on a lounger in the backyard, under the pines. 7) soak up the sun in the early evening beach sessions, when the crowds have left but it is still hot enough to savor a cool dip in the water. 8) dine on the terrace, with the sun setting over the pines.

9) enjoy the stimulating, always interesting conversation at the table (accompanied by the delicious wines chosen by Michel). 10) read until midnight or so to digest the fantastic meal just consumed and sleep the sound sleep of the vacationing just…to wake up the next morning and start all over again… I’m already looking forward to next summer!!!

Cultural differences

I’m writing this blog entry on the train from Lausanne to Paris (note to self: next time keep camera at seat to take pictures of gorgeous scenery outside. This train definitely has one of the most beautiful routes I’ve ever traveled. Breathtaking, from bucolic green pastures in Switzerland to the magnificent forests of the Jura to the rolling hills of Burgundy... I highly recommend it.) Besides catching up on my sleep, what has weighed most on my mind during this almost 4-hour trip are the cultural differences between the US and Europe in general, France in particular. Witness my choice of travel: the TGV. It’s clean, it’s fast, it’s on time, it’s so much easier and convenient than flying. (I’m also writing this from 1st class, which in addition to having a socket so that I can actually plug my laptop in, for some crazy reason is picking up a WiFi connection too, although I haven’t been able to actually access the internet from it…) Did I mention how inexpensive this mode of travel is too? For a mere 65 bucks, I’m safely ensconced in an extremely comfy seat and Sheba gets to hang out next to me (in his carrier of course). How much would EasyJet (the European equivalent of Southwest Airlines) charge for an equivalent flight? And how far in advance would I have had to get to the airport, check my bag, line up for the cattle call to get a seat, *no* first class, wait for my bag upon arrival etc. etc. Jérôme and I pulled up to the train station just 20 minutes ahead of my departure and I felt no pressure, no rush, no stress. Smooth sailing, so to speak.
The first time I was living in France in 1991, the French were very proud of the fact that Texas had just decided to purchase some TGVs to improve intrastate travel (the French model having beat out the Japanese and the Germans). The Texas TGV was supposed to link San Antonio, Austin, Dallas and Houston if memory serves… anyhoo, of course Southwest lobbied their asses off (by the way, I don’t have anything against Southwest Airlines; in fact, it’s probably my favorite US airline) and some fools managed to convince the dairy farmers that the vibrations from the high-speed trains would be bad for their cows (I’m sure the thousands of cows I’ve passed on this journey alone would be surprised to hear it.) So, in the end, Texas dropped the TGV.
Another difference over here: the importance of the World Cup. The past few weeks, our evenings have pretty much revolved around nothing else. Yet when I lived in the US, I only have a vague souvenir of anyone ever talking about it. And I *love* soccer. I played for 2 years on the Lucky Shamrocks, undefeated in our district. I have great memories from those games, even though admittedly I myself wasn’t very good. And in high school, our soccer team was way better than our football team (I am of course referring to St Stephen’s, and so there are those who would say, “yes, but that’s private school.” Whatever.)
But back to our main story: Italy's win last night is more bitter than a bad espresso. I have to admit, going into the game, I had my misgivings, considering how poorly France played against Portugal to get into this final. But the truth is, after a somewhat sluggish first half, they DOMINATED that game. They came back from halftime (I could write a whole other entry on cultural differences in sports: notice no cheesey half-time show and NO CHEERLEADERS!! although the Coke ad featuring marital infidelity is yet another key cultural topic… there are some very interesting observations to be made on these points, but this is already an extremely long-winded bit so I’ll spare you that today) and ran all over the Ritals. Somehow, they just couldn’t score though, and thus the tragic ending that you are certainly all aware of by now. But I am really proud of the French team for how they played last night, and that is rare (both my pride in French soccer and their playing). They clearly had their mental game together and combined with their physical talents, they were a sight to behold. They were the better team last night and deserved to win.